“No. There’s nothing in his chart to suggest that,” he admitted and quickly added, “but if it’s a recent diagnosis, his records may not be updated yet. You know how slow things can sometimes move in this town.”

“I do. But this is another inconsistency we’re going to need to address before I feel comfortable signing off on a cause of death.”

He looked at Spenser, his face painted with frustration. It was clear Swift was hoping to have this cleared, closed up, off his desk, and be back on the golf course this afternoon. Swift could be right. It might be nothing. It could have been heart disease passed down his family line that caused the man’s demise. As for the possible injection site, for all she knew, Hamill very well may have stuck himself with something sharp by accident. But Spenser had questions. And she wasn’t going to close anything until they had the discrepancies cleared up.

She wouldn’t be doing her job if she let it pass without an actual investigation. Wouldn’t be doing her job if she closed the case and left all those questions unanswered. She certainly wouldn’t be doing Seth Hamill and all who loved him any favors if she signed off on something she had reservations about. If something untoward happened to him, they deserved to know about it. And if that was the case, he deserved justice.

“I need you to send blood samples to the crime lab in Seattle. I want a full tox screen,” Spenser said. “And tell them to put a rush on it. Please.”

Swift sighed and looked crestfallen as the image of him getting eighteen holes in this afternoon came crashing down around him. Spenser wondered why he didn’t hang it up and let somebody who wanted to do the job take over for him. The perks of the job couldn’t have been that great.

“Thanks, Doctor Swift.”

Spenser turned and walked out of his office without waiting for his reply.

If only campaigning to keep her job was as easy as doing it.

“Hey, Sheriff. How are you doing this morning?”

Spenser looked up from her computer to see Amanda standing in the doorway of her office with a strange expression on her face. The younger woman shuffled her feet, hands in her pockets, an awkward flickering of her lips.

“What is it, Amanda?”

“What is what?”

“Why are you standing there looking like a kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar?” Spenser asked.

“I’m not.”

Spenser closed her laptop and sat back in her chair, her gaze fixed on her undersheriff. The silence between them was strained and uncomfortable. It was unusual, to say the least.

“Okay, out with it,” Spenser finally said. “What is it?”

Amanda shrugged and with her cheeks flushing, looked even guiltier. “I was kind of wondering… I mean… have you seen the papers today?”

“No. Not yet. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just asking.”

“Seems like more than nothing.”

Spenser turned to the stack of newspapers on the corner of her desk. Every morning, Alice Jarrett, the department’s receptionist, made sure to bring in the major newspapers for Spenser to peruse, staking them on her desk for her to get to when she had a chance. That morning, she needed to fill out some paperwork on the Hamill death and hadn’t gotten the opportunity to see what was going on in the world. Judging by the way Amanda was acting, that had been a mistake.

Not sure which paper Amanda was talking about, Spenser started to shuffle through the stack. She flipped through a bunch of major papers until she found the Dispatch and paused when her eyes fell on the headline in big, bold letters.

“An Innocent Man in Prison?” Spenser read the article’s headline and the subheading. “Is Sheriff Song Railroading a Man For Personal Reasons?”

Spenser quickly scanned the story, her face tightening, her mood growing darker with every word she absorbed. When she was finished, she dropped the paper on her desk and stared straight ahead into nothingness for several long, tense beats.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asked tentatively.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been the victim of a hatchet job before so I’m still trying to process how I feel about it all. I think I’m… pissed. No, I’m pretty sure of it. I’m pissed.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” Amanda said. “But the one thing you should remember is that it’s the Dispatch. Nobody really believes anything they read in the Dispatch. I’m not even sure that anybody even reads it anymore.”

“According to Alice, the Dispatch is the third most popular paper behind only the Wall Street Journal and the Seattle Times.”

“Well… there’s no accounting for taste?” Amanda offered.

A wan smile creased Spenser’s lips. “I appreciate the effort.”

“So, what do you want me to do? Should I drag this Kyra Foster into an empty parking lot and beat the snot out of her?”

“Well, I wouldn’t suggest doing it in a full parking lot.”

Amanda chuckled as Spenser picked the paper back up and looked through the article again, really paying attention to it this time. Her information was specific. It was all incorrect and her conclusions were spurious, but it was specific. It led her to one conclusion.

“What is it?” Amanda asked.

“She’s getting her information from Alex Ricci. He was her source.”

“Why do you say that?”

“This article has a clear bias and a clear agenda. Its purpose is to put me in a bad light over his brother’s trial,” Spenser said. “That could have only come from him.”

“I thought he was trying to kill you. Why would he stop doing that and then expose himself by giving an interview?”

“It’s a good question. Waging a PR war doesn’t seem like his style.”

“Maybe this isn’t coming from him?”

“I’m positive it is,” Spenser said, her tone grim. “I don’t know what purpose it serves or what he’s up to now.”

The phone on the corner of her desk buzzed. Knowing it was Alice, Spenser picked it up before it stopped ringing.

“What is it, Alice?” Spenser asked.

“Sheriff, Mayor Dent is on her way to your office,” Alice replied quietly. “And a word of warning, she doesn’t look happy.”

“Great. Thank you for the heads up.”

She had no sooner hung up the phone than Maggie Dent, mayor of Sweetwater Falls, stepped into her office. About four inches shorter than Spenser, Maggie was a stout, solidly built woman. Her dusty brown hair was cut short and flecked with gray, her light blue eyes glittered, and she had an incredulous expression on her round, pale face. In blue jeans and a red plaid shirt, she looked like somebody who was comfortable working on a farm—which was what she actually did for a living. Being mayor was Maggie’s side hustle.

At the moment, the mayor looked equal parts flustered and annoyed. Like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to slap Spenser around or give her a hug, she was pretty sure she already knew what had brought Maggie down to the office today.