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  “Sure, you work hard,” Rick said. “But what do you like to do when you’re not working?”

  Frank almost cringed at the question. What was Rick expecting him to say? That he liked to break into people’s homes and murder them when he wasn’t sitting behind a desk?

  Adams didn’t seem to notice anything at all. He just swung his head from Frank back to Rick. “Mostly I watch T.V. I am reading this great biography of Bill Romonowski. You remember him?”

  “Sure, hell of a linebacker,” Rick said. He still had that goofy smile plastered all over his face. To Frank it looked about as real as cheese-whiz.

  “He was,” Adams said. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “He was probably the most competitive guy out there. You know that Ronnie Lott was his mentor?”

  “You know what I don’t like about this case,” Frank said.

  The excitement fell form Adams’s face. “What’s that, sir?”

  “This guy killed kids. What kind of fucking animal do you suppose could be capable of that?”

  It wasn’t Frank’s best line. Probably not even in the neighborhood of it, but Rick’s jovial hows-the-wife attitude was making him impatient. Still, it was kind of like driving a tack home with a sledge hammer.

  “I don’t know,” Adams said. “Sounds pretty bad.”

  “You were with your wife yesterday, right? In the morning I mean, when you weren’t at work.”

  “No,” Adams said. He spoke slowly now. “My wife works in the morning.”

  “Sure she does,” Rick said. “Makes it tough to get a little lovin’ when you’re on opposite schedules.”

  “I guess,” Adams said.

  “So no one knows where you were yesterday, then?” Frank asked.

  Adams’s eyes flicked from Rick to Frank and back again.

  “I was alone, sir. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Rick sighed. “Here’s the thing buddy, we came in tonight to talk to a witness and he says you were at the scene. How crazy is that?”

  “Very crazy,” Adams said. “I slept most of the morning and then I watched T.V. until Betty got home.”

  “What time does she get home?” Frank asked.

  “About six thirty.”

  “Mornings wide open?” Frank asked.

  “Well, yeah, but…” Adams stopped talking. “You believe this guy don’t you? Is he still here?”

  “Far away from the building now,” Frank said. “And it’s not that we believe him. He saw your picture and thinks you look like the guy he saw.”

  “Lotsa people could look like me,” Adams said.

  “Well it could have been Dauber from Coach,” Rick said.

  “Who?” Adams asked.

  “Never mind,” Frank said. “Maybe you could answer some more questions in a little more of an official way.”

  “I got nothing to hide,” Adams said. “If you want to go into 2, then we can go in there.”

  “You know that you have the right to have counsel present?” Rick asked. “You know that you don’t have to talk to us?”

  Adams looked down at his uniform. “I know you guys think I’m a dummy.”

  “We don’t think that,” Rick said.

  “It’s okay. I’m not a smart guy. I know that. Barely got through college, had to study my ass off to pass the entrance exam for the academy. But I’m a hard worker, that’s how I got as far as I have. I work hard and I keep my nose clean.”

  “We know,” Rick said. “You’re a good worker.”

  “And even though I’m not as smart as the two of you; I do have some brains. I’m wearing the uniform too; I know the Miranda rights.”

  “And you’re waving them?” Frank asked.

  “As long as we’re just talking,” Adams replied. “If it comes to more than that then I’ll probably want to talk to a lawyer.”

  “You think it will come to more than that?” Frank asked.

  “Since I didn’t do anything wrong, no, I don’t.”

  “Then we’ll go to two and have a little chat.”

  V.

  Adams sat in the same chair that Ellison had occupied not more than an hour ago. Frank and Rick had, likewise, resumed their positions across from him. The tape was rolling.

  “As of right now, you’re not being charged with anything, you understand that, right?” Frank asked.

  “Yes,” Adams said. “I understand that this is merely an interview. You’re trying to determine if I have anything to do with this crime or if I have any vital information.”

  “Spoken like a book,” Rick said.

  “Took me a long time to memorize things like that,” Adams said.

  “So do you know anything?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Adams said. “Yesterday I was in my house. I was there alone, my wife was at work and the kids were at school. They can vouch for me from around three o’clock when I picked them up from school.”

  “Still leaves you time to be involved,” Frank said.

  “I know,” Adams said.

  “Why don’t you walk us through your day yesterday,” Rick said. “Until you left to pick up the kids.”

  “My wife gets them off to school in the morning before she goes to work. She drops them off so that I can sleep.”

  “That’s nice,” Rick said.

  “She’s a nice woman,” Adams said. “I woke up around eleven o’clock. Might have been a few minutes after. I don’t set an alarm and I don’t remember looking at the clock when I woke up.”

  “What did you do after you woke up?” Frank asked.

  “Got some cereal and watched Price is Right until noon. Then I read some of my book, the one I was telling you about, and then it was around one thirty. I made a sandwich for lunch and ate it. I noticed we were running low on soda so I ran out to the store and picked some up.”

  “What time was this?” Frank asked.

  Adams shrugged. “Had to be around two o’clock. I went down to the Rite Aid at the corner and picked up some bottles. I think I still have the receipt.”

  “What about after that?” Rick asked.

  “I took a shower and then went to pick up the kids. I lead a pretty interesting life.”

  Frank thought back to the interview with Ellison. Besides the I.D. of the killer there was something else that he’d mentioned. “You carry a duffel, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Adams said. “Same as pretty much everyone else here.”

  “You keep your bag at home?” Rick asked.

  “Yeah,” Adams said. “I bring it in with me and put it in the locker everyday. I don’t even know why. I barely use it.”

  “What’s in there?” Frank asked.

  “Change of uniform, mace, a riot stick. I keep a spare vest in there. It’s sort of like the emergency bag, in case something big goes down.”

  Frank nodded. It was how most of the other deputies and officers used their bags. Frank had stopped carrying his a long time ago. He wasn’t on the street often. “Do you mind if I have Rick go down to your locker and get it?”

  Adams shook his head, but there was some reluctance in the motion. Frank noted it, but said nothing.

  “I’ll go fetch it,” Rick said.

  “It’s locked,” Adams said. “The combination is 22-36-11.”

  It took Rick so long to come back with the bag that Frank was worried that he’d peeked in and found something. Just when he was about to stand up and see what was taking so long, Rick walked back in holding the bag.

  “That lock is a bitch,” Rick said. “Took me five times before that combination worked. I thought maybe I remembered it wrong or something.”

  “It sticks,” Adams said. “Took me some getting used to.”

  Rick set the bag down on the table between them. Frank got to his feet so that he could see inside when they opened it.

  “I want you to unzip the bag,” Frank said to Adams. “Then you can sit back down and we’re going to take a look inside.”

  “
Sure,” Adams said.

  It was probably a waste of time. Adams didn’t seem particularly worried about anything and even if he was the killer why would he bring any evidence into the police station?

  Adams unzipped the bag as instructed and didn’t even look into it before sitting down.

  Frank pulled the sides open to afford him a view inside, the foolish feeling still working on him when he saw it.

  Silver glitter. It was wedged between a brown uniform shirt and the side of the bag. It was a knife and there was blood on it.

  Frank didn’t say anything; he just motioned to Rick and took a step back so that Rick could get a look inside.

  Frank watched and saw the spark of recognition on Rick’s face. When he pulled his head back from the opening to the bag his face was pale.

  Adams looked confused now, but Frank was beginning to wonder what might lurk behind those puppy dog eyes.

  “What is it?” Adams asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think it’s time for you to call that lawyer,” Frank said.

  VI.

  The County jail was located in the same complex that housed the Sheriff’s office and the County courthouse. It was like a one-stop shop for criminals.

  Frank and Rick led Adams out of the sheriff’s office in handcuffs. The booking had been quick and painless, Adams helped in that respect.

  “Just call my wife,” Adams said as they walked down the sidewalk. The deputies on duty in the station had stared after them as they walked out the door. Now, two were pulling up in a cruiser and Frank could see the look in their eyes.

  “We’ll call her,” Rick said.

  “She can arrange everything with the lawyer,” Adams said.

  “Why?” Frank asked. He couldn’t help it. “Why did you do it?”

  “I didn’t do it, sir. I hope that you know me well enough after eight years to know that I couldn’t have done this. I don’t know how that knife got in my bag.”

  The knife in question had been transported down to Roman’s office where he and his team would be able to take samples of the blood and determine if they matched any of the victims. It was just a formality though, Frank knew it. Ellison had identified Adams as the killer and they found a murder weapon with blood still on it in his bag. A bag that only he had access to.

  “Maybe it was the knife fairy,” Rick said. Since he had seen the knife all the joy had gone out of his voice. He was no longer trying to be officer friendly.

  “If I did do this, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring the murder weapon into the sheriff’s office.”

  “Why not?” Rick asked. “It would be the perfect place to hide it. Hide in plain sight.”

  They had reached the county jail. Frank let go of Adams’s arm. “You take him in the rest of the way. Make sure that Hatchet processes him and gets him into a cell before you leave.”

  “Of course,” Rick said. “Where are you going? Back to the lab?”

  “I’m going home,” Frank said. “We won’t have Roman’s report until the morning and I want to get some sleep tonight.”

  It was the truth, or at least part of the truth, but not all of it. Frank didn’t like this, it didn’t feel right and Adams didn’t feel or talk like a guilty man. There was someone else that he wanted to talk to about this.

  Thirteen

  I.

  Bentley was still awake when Frank walked in. He was sitting at his accustomed place on the couch. The television was on, but that wasn’t what caught Frank’s attention. What did was the thing in Bentley’s hand.

  “Where did you get that?” Frank asked.

  Bentley looked up from the cell phone. It was one of the larger ones, with the big screen and the clean white body. Frank could see Samsung stamped on the back of it, right above the little lens for the camera.

  “When Abrams wrote his book about me, he had to buy the rights to my story. The money was held at a bank.” Bentley looked at Frank with something approaching shame. “It’s not much, but I could give you a little rent for letting me stay here.”

  Frank took his jacket off and sat down on the recliner. “So you went out and bought a phone?”

  “Got a good deal, too,” Bentley said. “I just had to sign up for a two-year plan. Anyway, I thought you could have my number and call me if you needed me.”

  “Or you could call me if you get in trouble,” Frank said.

  “I can take care of myself, detective.” That tone. The calculated and somehow patronizing tone had reentered his voice. Bentley took a deep breath in and let it out. “I keep doing that; I’m sorry. You’re a Sheriff now.”

  “We got the guy.”

  Bentley’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Who?”

  “One of my own guys. We had a witness who came forward and he identified him. Then, when we searched his duffel bag, we found a bloody knife.”

  “Was it the one that was used on the family?”

  Frank got up. He needed alcohol. That bottle of scotch had lasted more than three years in the refrigerator, but this business was driving him to it again and again.

  “We don’t know yet,” Frank said from the kitchen. “The report on it will be ready by the morning and then we’ll know for sure.”

  Frank sat back down with the bottle in his hand. This time when he offered it, Bentley shook his head.

  “So why is time important to him?”

  Frank blinked at the question. “I don’t know.” He heard the irritation in his voice but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “What connection does he have with the victims?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “So you arrested him on the word of a witness and a bloody knife that you found?”

  “Doesn’t that seem like enough?”

  Bentley leaned back on the couch and looked at the high vaulted ceiling. Frank watched him as he did it. Wondering again who was the crazy one in this situation.

  “I don’t know,” Bentley said. “It’s very damning evidence; I’ll grant you that. But I’ve been building this profile in my head and…” Bentley trailed off and shook his head. “A cop. I’d never considered that.”

  “Why couldn’t it be a cop? This guy obviously knows our procedures. He knew enough not to leave evidence.”

  “You don’t have to be a cop to know how not to leave DNA,” Bentley said. “I’m proof enough of that.”

  Frank leaned forward. He hadn’t opened this conversation up for doubts. He had hoped that Bentley would put them to bed.

  “There’s still a lot of investigation to do. We have to get a warrant to search his house, talk to his wife.” That was something that Frank was not looking forward to. “Talk to some of the other deputies. We might get a lot of answers.”

  “Or you might get none,” Bentley said. “Where was this guy when Sheila was killed?”

  Frank opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. He didn’t know. Sheila’s murder had almost slipped his mind, at least in connection with this crime, because she didn’t fit in. The others had been killed during the day, but Sheila…

  “I don’t know,” Frank said.

  Bentley nodded as if he expected this. “That’s the first question you need to ask. You have a pretty good time of death on Sheila. Figure out where this guy was when she was being killed. If he’s in the clear on that one, it can’t be him.”

  “But the witness,” Frank said. “The knife.”

  “Witnesses can be mistaken,” Bentley said. “It could be that the killer is someone who kind of looks like your deputy.”

  “What about the knife?”

  Bentley shrugged. “Unless he had his bag with him at all times, someone could have put it there.”

  “Not while we were at the station. There are cameras all over.” Still, he was thinking about how long it had taken Rick to get the bag. But it couldn’t be Rick, that would be insane. Plus, Rick had to have an alibi for at least one of the murders. Didn’t he?

 
“Is that bag at the station at all times?” Bentley asked. “Or does he take it home with him?”

  “He takes it home,” Frank said.

  “Well there’s your answer.”

  “That’s an awful lot to go through to frame someone.”

  Bentley smiled. “If your guy is innocent and the killer set him up, he’s only doing it for his own amusement. He wants to see you chasing your tail. He wants to see that he’s getting you to jump through hoops and jump at shadows.”

  “You really do get this guy, don’t you? You have a knack.”

  “Experience,” Bentley replied. “I’m not seeing it with your deputy.”

  “Lieutenant,” Frank said.

  “Okay, fine. You guys love your titles, I know. Anyway, I’m not seeing it with him. There aren’t enough connections.”

  “You might think like a killer, but you sure don’t think like a cop,” Frank said. “For a cop, the simplest answer is always the right one.”

  “Occam’s Razor, I’m familiar with the concept, Frank. It’s a good one and it usually does work, but serial killers rarely do things in a straightforward kind of way.”

  “Still, it’s pretty convoluted.”

  “Maybe so, but you work with the guy. Is he like me or is he like you?”

  Frank thought about all the interactions that he’d had with Adams over the years. There actually weren’t that many, he really didn’t like the guy that much, but there was nothing that stood out. “You can’t really tell, can you?”

  “Actually I could. If I could talk to him.”

  “Too late for that,” Frank said.

  “Why? Where is he?”

  “Lock up. County jail.” Frank glanced over and saw the look on Bentley’s face. He was leaned forward, slightly nodding. His eyes were shining. “Oh no,” Frank said. “I’m not taking you over there.”

  “Why not?” Bentley asked. “What harm could it do?”

  “You’re not officially part of this investigation.”

  Bentley glanced down at his phone. “It’s almost midnight, who’s going to see me? We could do it discretely.”

  Frank thought about Hatchet and how his tongue had a reputation. He shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Listen, Frank, I don’t think you believe this guy did it. If that’s the case, then the reason you talked to me was for some kind of buoy to your confidence. I obviously haven’t given you that, but what I am giving you might be more valuable.”