Sherry Calhoun felt like breaking down. She knew she wasn't the only one. The entire sheriff's department seemed to sag when county coroner Chuck Wood rolled in the gurneys that morning. Sherry was at home, sleeping when the call came in. The ringing of her cell woke her and Scooter up. She told her fiance to go back to bed, it was just work. It was Danny, telling her to come down as soon as she could. There were four dead bodies from that massacre at the bar. Everyone was doing something that night. While Mark and Danny did their usual crime scene sleuthing, Clint Land went with Ray Champion to the hospital. He called a half hour later saying he died at Abbeville Memorial, never regaining consciousness. Meanwhile Sherry and Sheriff Parker interviewed the deputies who arrived on the scene. As an officer-involved shooting, someone outside of the loop had to do the interviewing and half the PCSD took a shot at John Norman that night. Nobody wanted to mention that a cop was dead. Scott Andrews, one of their own, had been gunned down by that son of a bitch. Her and Scott hadn't been that close, had fought just a few days ago, but he was one of their own. Sherry knew of John Norman more than she knew him. He was a little bit young than her in school, always remembered he ran with a bad crowd. She picked him up once when she first started working here, public intoxication at the football game. Parker dismissed it since, in his words, everyone at those football games were half-plastered. It was the only way you could watch the godawful thing Pickett High called defense. The truth hit home with Sherry when she saw Chuck going to work on Scott's body. The coroner's office/morgue was in the same facility that the sheriff's department used. The cafeteria of the old high school was transformed into Chuck's office, he used the kitchen as the morgue. Sherry was in there with him as he pulled off the sheet and showed her Scott's face, or what was left of it. "That him, darling?" Chuck asked while he peered over his reading glasses. "You know that it is," she said softly. "I just gotta go through the motions, sweetie. Scott ain't got no next of kin, so I just needed someone to give me a positive identification." Sherry nodded as Chuck pulled the sheet back down. She heard the sound of boots clopping on the floor's scuffed linoleum and saw the sheriff coming up behind her. He put a big arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. She could smell his chewing tobacco on his breath as he spoke softly to her. "You alright, girl?" "Yeah," she mumbled. "These past few days have seemed like a nightmare." "I know," he said with a glazed look in his eye. "It's been hell on earth here in Pickett. We just got to keep pushing through." "What was Scott doing at Ray's?" she asked. "That late at night anyway." "He was chasing down a lead. We liked Norman for the murder that happened up by Reid's Creek the other day, guy named Beggs from out of town. You know Ray was Scott's snitch. Norman must have come into the bar and they called him. They're all dead, so we don't know what happened inside. Danny and Mark found a car outside the bar, an old caddy that belongs to Norman's granddaddy, Mike. It was there along with Norman's truck, so I sent Clint to see if he can find Mike Norman and get some answers out of him." Sherry's phone ringing ended their talk. She slipped out of Parker's grip, excused herself, and left the cafeteria before answering. "Deputy Calhoun? It's Gus Harris." "Deacon Harris, good morning. What can I do for you?" "No, Deputy, the question is what can I do for you? I have something to tell you." -- "Mr. Cade? I'm Sherry Calhoun with the sheriff's office, mind if I come in?" John Cade waved her in with a fat arm. His small Norman house was clean and organized. A large painting of Jesus being crucified hung over the mantel, its eyes seemingly following Sherry across the room. Cade closed the door behind him and flopped down on a well-broken in leather recliner. "What's this all about, Deputy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Sherry pulled out her pen and notebook and remained standing as she spoke. "Chew Lewis and Dante Fulsome. You used to run with them back in the day?" "Yes, ma'am," he said uneasily. "Some time ago, back before Chew went to jail. I soon found God and haven't looked back to those wicked ways." She noted it on paper. "When was the last time you saw either Dante or Chew, Mr. Cade?" Cade squirmed in his seat. Sherry let a small grin slip out. A man of God John Cade may have been, but he was very poor at hiding his feelings. "Dante... I.. it's been years." "And Chew?" "What's that now?" "Chew Lewis. When is the last time you saw him?" Sherry stayed still and watched Cade come to grips with the two sides of his life. A good Christian would tell the truth, but a man of the street no matter how old he got didn't rat out a friend. Sherry prepared to ask the question again when-- "Last week," he said after what felt like a minute of silence. "He came to my door, wanting a place to stay but I... he declined before I could say no. The things Chew did, the things I heard about and saw... I couldn't say no to that man." "Do you know where he is now?" "No," he said with a shake of his head. "That was the last I spoke to him, haven't seen him since." "You used to run with him, where was it he used to go if he wanted to... let's say, hide. Where would he hide?" Cade sighed and looked towards the picture of Jesus on the cross. Sherry wondered if he was identifying more with Jesus' suffering, or the man who betrayed him. "The Bog," he said. "Chew knew the Bog like the back of his hand. If he was going to hide out, he'd go there."