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growing marijuana—probably Kentucky's largest cash crop, if it were possible to get accurate statistics.
    State, county, and local law enforcement had cooperated in the confiscation of more than five hundred plants. They had arrested the owner of the property, one Jerrod Mortree, his two shiftless brothers, and an uncle. The police had hoped to bargain with the accused men for names of distributors—but all four men had now been released.
    It was not the fault of the police who had raided the farm; everything had gone by the book. They had been certain that this time there would be no legal loophole.
    “I knew it,” said Church. “Any time it's the Mortrees, there's no chance of an indictment. That family's been sharecroppers on Callahan land for generations, always handy to do the Callahan dirty jobs while ol’ Massa keeps ’em out of trouble with the law!"
    Brandy knew Church suspected, but couldn't prove, that Judge L. J. Callahan was in on the local drug trade. Every case that came before him ended in a dismissal or an acquittal when the accused was one of the county's good ol’ boys. Only independent operators like Dr. McLaren, who traded in prescription medications, were ever convicted.
    If only they could find out exactly where Judge Callahan fit in. A corrupt judge, both detectives agreed, but that didn't explain whom he was working for. It was no secret he planned to run for governor in the next election—if he were simply a pawn of some drug lord, he would be discouraged from leaving his very convenient current post.
    No, there had to be more to L. J. Callahan. He was power-hungry—there were even rumors that the governorship would be the first step in a campaign for the Presidency. If so, he was gamemaster, not a piece on the board. But what was his game and who were the other players?
    To Church's annoyance, there was no way of connecting what had gone wrong this time to Judge Callahan, although it was possible, of course, that he had paid someone to destroy the evidence. It was “an accident.” It “could have happened to anybody.” “Sure,” Church growled, “anybody who couldn't read evidence tags!"
    The 500 plants confiscated from the Mortrees had been stored with evidence from other cases. When they burned the pot from the closed cases—somehow the 500 from the open case in Callahan County were destroyed along with the rest.
    If this sort of thing happened only once, or once in a great while, it would be frustrating enough. But every time they arrested one of Judge Callahan's cronies they lost the case, in court or beforehand.
    But the Callahan family was so old and powerful, the very county was named for them. Church never dared make his suspicions official. All he could do was stay vigilant until he found something that would stick.
    Brandy understood her colleague's frustration as she took the thick folder out of his hands, and filed the latest Mortree case as closed.
    The phone rang. “Detective Mather,” Brandy answered.
    “Brandy, this is Dr. Sanford. About your John Doe at the college? You're not gonna believe this. I took dental x-rays, of course, but I didn't expect a quick answer because nobody seemed to know that old man. But I've got an answer already, from Dr. Mulcahey. It's one of his regular patients: Professor Everett Land."

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    Chapter Two—Murder in Callahan County
    Brandy reported Dr. Sanford's call to the chief, then turned to her office mate. “This is really weird, Church."
    Churchill Jones only nodded, but Brandy saw the envy that it was her case, not his. “Isn't there some disease that causes premature aging?” he asked.
    “Yeah—but that's something children get,” Brandy remembered. “And it doesn't happen in a few hours! Everett Land appeared normal in his Friday classes."
    “Find out if he lied about his age,” suggested Church.
    From the Personnel Office in the University Administration Building, Brandy was directed to the Dean's Office of the