Free The River Runs Dry by L. A. Shorter

can we trace it somehow?”
    Jack shook his head again. “There's nowhere in town that sells it. You can't buy it over the counter anyway, so the only way to get hold of some would be if the killer worked for a medical company of some sort, of which there are none in Burgess. Of course, you can make it at home as well, with the right ingredients, but they'd be impossible to trace.”
    “And elsewhere, surrounding towns? There's nothing to say the killer lives in Burgess.”
    “No, of course. There are a couple of pharmaceutical companies in the county, and some major hospitals as well. They would stock it. But there's little chance of that leading anywhere. If, and it's a big if, the killer were to have taken the solvent from their place of work, they could have done so at any time. They could work there, or may have stolen some. And, like I say, they might also have made it at home.”
    “So that's a dead end as well?”
    Jack nodded. “I'm afraid so.”
    Jack stared into Bill's face, who looked just as tired and weary as he did. Things were already starting to take their toll; the heat, the press, this elusive killer, all weighing them down.
    Jack knew where they stood right now. He knew exactly what needed to happen, although he felt appalled at himself for even thinking it. Right now, they had nothing, zip, nada. The killer was beating them, he was beating Jack, and there was nothing he could do about it.
    “Do you want the truth sir?” Jack said, a hint of resignation in his voice.
    Chief Bill Trickle lifted his eyes to Jack's and looked him dead in the eye.
    “I don't think we're going to find anything until he kills again.”
    “And you think he will?” asked Bill, an ominous tone to his words.
    Jack stared at him and nodded, slowly. “Yes sir, I've no doubt about it.”

Chapter 10
    Jessie stood in her house, waiting patiently while the realtor carefully looked around the living room. He was noting down things as he went, and asking questions every so often.
    “So do you own the entire property?” he asked, still ticking things off his checklist and annotating in the margins.
    “Yes, there's no mortgage on it at all.”
    “That's unusual for so young a girl. How old are you Miss Trent, if you'll excuse me asking.”
    “I'm 23, and the house belonged to my mom, it was passed down through the family.”
    “And where is she?”
    “She died, over two years ago now.”
    The realtor turned quickly up from his clipboard and looked at Jessie. “Oh, I'm sorry. So, you live here alone?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    The guy nodded before turning back to his businesslike voice. “So, obviously the market isn't what it used to be right now. There aren't too many buyers out there, so it might be hard to get the sort of money the house might be worth at another time.”
    Jessie wasn't overly surprised to hear that. She'd heard that house prices had been falling for some time.
    “This heat isn't helping either. Someone moving here from another town might think twice when they turn up to this sort of weather. It's off-putting for people at the best of times.”
    “So I guess work's been hard then?” Jessie asked, a bluntness to her words. “You work on commission, don't you?”
    “I get a basic wage packet, but commission is where the real money is. I wouldn't say business has been flourishing lately, no.”
    The guy looked slightly downcast, but continued along professionally.
    He wrote a couple of notes on his pad once more as his eyes drifted around the house. “There's another factor to consider as well, one that may also have a negative impact on our ability to sell your property at the moment Miss Trent.”
    Jessie shook her head lightly and linked eyes with him. She knew what he was about to say.
    “It's these murders, these rumors of a serial killer on the loose. It's not exactly an enticing attraction for people moving to the area. There are fees, of course. If we're unable to sell the house, there will