Chapter 6

A house droid met them at the door of an elegant little foyer with a lush grape arbor, complete with rustic stone benches, cleverly painted on its walls and ceiling. The droid, sober in a simple gray dress and low heels, requested identification.

Eve held out her badge, watched the droid scan it.

"Please come in. Mrs. Bittmore and Ms. Brigham are in the living area."

The area couldn't be called spacious, but it hit those elegant notes again with the play of light-colored fabrics against walls the color of good burgundy. Art leaned toward the old world with classy depictions of misty forests, quiet lakes, blooming meadows.

Two women rose from a wheat-colored love seat backed by a pair of glass doors and a short terrace—then the view of the great park.

The older one stepped forward. Tiffany Bittmore had allowed her hair to go white, but Eve decided the decision had elements of vanity as the perfect sweep of it resulted in the same sort of classy elegance as the decor.

Her eyes might have been a dreamy shade of blue, but they held a sharp shrewdness. Her face, dewy and smooth despite her years, wouldn't have been called beautiful, but arresting.

The curve of her lips did nothing to soften the stiletto blades of her cheekbones.

"Lieutenant Dallas, it's a pleasure to meet you. And, Roarke, another pleasure. Your reputations and deeds precede you."

"As do yours," Roarke returned, with a charm he could wear like a silk tie. "It's truly an honor, Mrs. Bittmore."

"The gods gifted you with looks designed to stop women's hearts. I'd have drooled over this one," she told Eve, "back in my day."

"I've learned to step around the puddles."

With a laugh, Mrs. Bittmore gave Eve a friendly slap on the arm. "I think I'll like you. Come meet the light of my life, then we'll have some coffee. I've read TheIcove Agenda and seen the vid, which I rarely do, so I know you've a fondness for real coffee. Clarissa?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'll see to it right away." The droid eased out of the room.

"My granddaughter, Seraphim."

"It is a pleasure. It would be more of one, I'm sure, if we hadn't heard the media bulletin." She offered her hand, a woman with her grandmother's eyes in a softer, less dramatic face. "I contacted HPCCY when we did, and spoke briefly with Philadelphia. She told me you'd been in to see her, and Nash."

"You work at HPCCY, and were a resident of The Sanctuary," Eve began.

"Please, let's sit." Mrs. Bittmore gestured to chairs. "This is a horrible thing, and it's distressing for Seraphim."

"I might've known some of them," Seraphim said before she lowered to the love seat. "I almost certainly had to know some of them. The report didn't give any names."

"They didn't have any to give." Eve debated a moment, which angle to play first. She took out her 'link, brought up one of the ID photos. "Is she familiar?"

"Oh Lord." Seraphim took a deep breath, then reached for the 'link, and the photo of Linh Penbroke. "It was years ago, but I think I'd remember her. She's so pretty. I don't. I don't think I've ever seen this girl before. But I lived in The Sanctuary for months. So many came and went... Still, I think I'd remember this face."

"Okay." Eve took back the 'link, brought up the second image. "How about her?"

"Oh! It's Shelby. Yes, I remember this girl. Shelby... I don't know if I knew her last name. She was in residence with me. A year or so younger, I think, but years tougher. She scored me zoner. Sorry, Gamma," she added with a glance toward her grandmother.

"It was long ago."

"The first few weeks I was there, I was really only looking for a place to sleep. I didn't have any intention of getting clean, or changing my attitude, just paid lip service to all that."

"You were so angry," her grandmother added.

"Oh, I was pissed at everyone and everything." She gave a soft, almost wondering laugh, kissed Tiffany's cheek. "Especially you because you just wouldn't give up on me."

"Never."

"So I went to the sessions, did the assignments—because I got a bed and food out of it. I figured they—the Joneses—were suckers, and I snuck illegals, alcohol, whatever I could when I wanted. But it wasn't as easy as I'd assumed, because they weren't suckers. I traded a beaded bracelet I had for the zoner. Everybody knew Shelby could get whatever you wanted, smuggle it in, if you gave her something she liked, and a little time."

Seraphim paused when the droid brought in the coffee, and left just as quietly as she'd come.

"The staff didn't know?" Eve asked Seraphim.

"She was very clever. No, canny's a better word. Shelby was very canny. She got caught for minor things a time or two—and looking back, looking back not only as an adult but as a therapist, she very likely let herself get caught. Minor things were expected, and the punishments easy to get through. We outnumbered the staff probably ten to one easily back then. They were doing what they could to keep us safe, off the streets, out of sex trades, to help us. But to us, a lot of us? They were just marks."

"What about a carpenter's helper? Jon Clipperton."

"I don't remember his name, and may not have known it, but I remember the man Brodie brought with him a few times, in those last weeks we were in that building. Some men look at you," she said to Eve, "and you know they're seeing you naked. Sometimes that's okay, you're seeing them naked, too. And other times it's insulting. Or it's worse. I was young, but I'd been on the street awhile. I knew the way he looked at me and some of the other girls. And it wasn't okay."

"Did he do more than look?"

"I don't know. I think he got some beer to Shelby, but she never said. We weren't tight. I was, to her, an occasional customer. How did they die?"

"I can't answer that yet. Did you ever go back inside that building after you'd changed locations?"

"No. I never wanted to go back there. I changed, before the move. Things changed for me, a transition. The talk therapy I paid lip service to so I'd get that bed, food, it began to get through, even though I resisted. Philadelphia worked with me one-on-one—whether I wanted her to or not and despite the blocks I put up, she began to get through the anger and self-hatred. She finally convinced me to speak to Gamma—my grandmother."

"And you donated a building, and funds to the Joneses."

"I did," Mrs. Bittmore confirmed. "I can't say they saved Seraphim's life, but they helped her come home, they helped her discover who she really was."

Tiffany patted Seraphim's knee as she sipped her coffee. "They were doing their work in an inadequate space in a subpar building, and couldn't afford the loan on that building much less proper maintenance, repair, the right staff. They'd given Seraphim a chance. I gave them one."

"Ms. Brigham, you said Clipperton gave you a bad feeling. Was there anyone else who gave you that kind of feeling, or made you uneasy?"

"Some of the boys who came and went. You'd learn who to avoid. Lieutenant, we were a house of addicts and emotionally damaged children. Some of us, as I was for a time, were just looking for a free ride and a way to score. If the staff found illegals, alcohol, or weapons, they were confiscated. No one was ever asked to leave, not while I was in residence. That was the point. It was a sanctuary, and the risk of that is giving safe harbor to those who want trouble. But the benefits outweigh that risk. They saved me, or put me on a path where I could save myself. I'm far from the only one."

"Does anyone stick out? Anyone you can think of who had reason to cause Shelby harm?"

"She scared the hell out of me, and a lot of others," Seraphim said with a hint of a smile. "I thought I could handle myself. The arrogance of youth, the few months I'd spent on the street, most of that high. But even at my worst, I wouldn't have taken her on. She had enemies, no question, but they tended to give her a wide berth. She could fight. I saw her take down another girl who probably had twenty pounds on her, and wasn't a wilter. But Shelby was just fierce."

She paused a moment. "My anger," she said slowly, "I see now, again as an adult, as a therapist, paled beside hers."

"Who did she hang with?"

"Ah... there were a couple of girls, and a boy. Let me think." As she sipped coffee, Seraphim rubbed at her temple as if to stir up the memory. "DeLonna—skinny black girl," Seraphim continued, closing her eyes. "She could sing. Yes, yes, I remember her. She had an incredible voice, a true gift. And another girl who was Missy or Mikki. I think Mikki. A bit plump, hard eyes. And a boy everybody called T-Bone. Smart, a little spooky. He'd just drift around like smoke. He'd steal your molars and you wouldn't know it. Old burn marks on his arms—he covered some with tats, but you could see, and a scar down his cheek.

"They weren't always together, but they hung together more than not, and more than any of them did with anyone else."

"Did anyone on the staff have trouble with Shelby, or these others? Did anyone threaten them to your knowledge?"

"They were in trouble often, and I'd say, with Shelby in particular, it was a constant battleground with the staff. It's frustrating and difficult work, Lieutenant, full of conflict and struggle. And incredibly rewarding. I would imagine you often feel the same about yours."

"I guess I would. Do you know anything about a Jubal Craine? His daughter, Leah, was a resident."

"I knew Leah. She was quiet, kept her head down, not only stayed out of trouble, but tried to be invisible, if you understand me."

"Yeah, I do."

"I remember her, very well, because she was, in essence, my transition."

"How was that?" Eve asked.

"We were in a class. I can't remember what class, but we had to put in a certain number of hours a week on educational requirements. We were in a class when I heard him—Leah's father. He was shouting, raging really, shouting her name, telling her she better get her lazy ass out there. Shouting at the staff. She went sheet white, I remember that. I can still see the look on her face. First the terror, the kind I'd never felt, then the resignation, which was almost worse. I remember all that, and the way she just got up, no protests, no pleas, and walked out."

Seraphim put her coffee down, gripped her hands in her lap. "It was the saddest thing I'd ever seen, the way she just stood up, walked away. I remember that moment because I thought of the things Philadelphia and I talked about in one-to-ones. I thought of how scary it was on the street when you're broke and hungry, cold, and when you hear stories about rapes and beatings. And I started thinking how Leah didn't have anybody outside The Sanctuary but this man who was shouting how he was going to whip the sass out of her, and that sort of thing. I thought of Gamma, and how she'd never hurt me. Not ever. And I started thinking I wanted to have somebody who'd take care of me, who'd protect me. That I did have somebody. And Leah didn't.

"They had to give her to him, you see. He was the legal guardian, and she wouldn't say he hurt her. She just said she'd go home with him."

"Poor thing," Mrs. Bittmore murmured.

"The next time I saw her was months later."

"She came back?" Eve demanded.

"I don't know, actually. I saw her on the street. I was shopping with a friend. Gamma trusted me—I trusted me by then. Or had started to. I saw Leah getting on a bus. I nearly called out, but I'm ashamed to say I didn't want my friend to know I knew this girl with her torn jacket and bruised face. So I didn't call out. But she looked at me. For just a moment we looked at each other."

Tears shimmered in Seraphim's eyes. "She smiled at me. Then she got on the bus, and I never saw her again. But I did think, even then, I thought: She got away. At least she got away from him again."

"I was told he came back, too."

"I didn't know that. I must have been home by then. He wouldn't have found her at The Sanctuary. She didn't go back there, at least not while I was there—and, honestly, I believe she was smart and scared enough not to go back to where he'd found her. It wasn't long after I went home, to my grandmother, that they changed locations."

"I had the building," Mrs. Bittmore explained. "And when I went back to thank Philadelphia and Nash, the others, I'd already made arrangements to donate it, if they wanted it. I'd done my due diligence," she said with a sharp smile. "So I knew they were legitimate. I asked if they'd be willing to let my lawyers and money people study their books and records, and they were. We were satisfied. I had my granddaughter back. I was more than satisfied. You never told me about this girl. This Leah."

"No. I felt ashamed, I suppose, that I hadn't gone up to her, spoken to her."

"We could look for her, find where she is now."

"Leave that to me," Eve advised. "Thank you," she said as she rose. "You've been very helpful."

"Have I?" Seraphim rose as well. "You must have already known Shelby's name."

"You gave me a better picture of her."

"Any one of them could have been me. Any one of the twelve. I'll do anything I can to help you."

"I may take you up on that."

Eve rolled it around as they rode down to the lobby. "She's lucky she had someone to go home to. Not the money, the privilege, but somebody who didn't give up on her, and wanted her."

"Too many aren't lucky." He had been, Roarke thought. Summerset had taken him in—some bloodied street rat—and for reasons he didn't understand to this day, had wanted him.

"Should I look for Leah Craine?"

Eve glanced at him. "I wouldn't mind knowing where she is. We can hope she's not in DeWinter's lab."

"She got away," Roarke said, and because he could picture that terrible resignation too well, he wanted to believe she'd stayed away. And safe. "We'll have some faith she made a life for herself."

"Data's better than faith."

"Such a cop."

"Yeah, and since I am I want to take a pass at Clipperton before we call it."

Anticipating it, Roarke took her hand, gave her arm a playful little swing. "I do enjoy intimidating drunk gits in the evening."

"If Brigham's right, he scored booze for a minor, and maybe got sex in return with said minor. He might've done it more than once, might've developed a sick little relationship there."

"Which leads to him murdering her and eleven others."

Eve checked her notes, rattled off the address before she got into the car. "She was a fighter, a badass. Had a rep for it, and had what sounds like a little crew. But they tell me there's no violence according to her bones, near TOD. All injuries well before that. You don't kill a scrapper without leaving some marks."

"Unless the scrapper trusts you."

"That's right. Maybe you get said scrapper drunk, take her out during her payment. Smother her maybe, or maybe you scored something more than some brew and she ends up ODing on you. Now what the fuck do you do?"

"Build a wall to hide the body?"

"Stupid, extreme, but... where'd the other kids come from? That's a question."

"Why kill all the others? If it did start with this Shelby, why kill eleven more?"

"Every serial killer has to start somewhere. There's always going to be a first. He killed the one, thought, ‘Wow, that was fun, let's do it again."

She tapped her fingers on her thigh as Roarke drove. "He knew this victim, and had to know some of the others. He had to have access to this victim to get her the brew. He knew the building, he had the tools and know-how to build the walls. The Fines may say, Yeah, he's a dick but he wouldn't kill anybody. People who know killers rarely think they know a killer."

She pulled out her PPC. "He's had some bumps, mostly alcohol-related. DD, disturbing the peace, vandalism, destruction of property. And two hits for sexual misconduct. Pleaded down on all, did a little soft time, some community service, some court-ordered therapy."

"The rap sheet of a dick."

"Dicks kill as much as anyone."

"I do try to keep mine nonviolent."

The smirk that crossed her face felt good. "It's got some punch."

"Thanks, darling. I'd love to punch you later."

"You always want to punch me."

"That's love for you."

Amused, she angled her head, studied him. "Maybe I'll punch you back."

"Here's hoping."

"And here's something else on the dick—not yours, the carpenter's helper dick. His listed address is less than three blocks from my crime scene. Which leads me to ask what in the hell are you planning to do with that dump?"

"It won't be a dump when it's done."

"Okay, what are you planning to do with what won't be a dump?"

"I thought we'd create something to connect with Dochas."

The abuse shelter he'd built, she thought. And the place he'd first learned about his mother.

"Connect how?"

"It's a cycle, isn't it, very often a cycle. The young, lost, or abused, ending up with someone who hurts them. Or becoming an abuser themselves. I've talked of it with the staff at Dochas, and a bit with Dr. Mira."

"Is that so?"

"I like to know what I'm about. The plans are to build a proper facility for children, those who get sucked into the system through no fault of their own, but are mistreated or neglected by those who should tend to them."

As she had been, Eve thought.

"And the others—the lost, you could say—who end up on the street trying to find a way just to survive."

As he had.

"We'll work with CPS, educators, therapists, and the like. Not that different, I suppose, from what it was when Seraphim was there. Maybe it's the building's fate to house the troubled and lost, to give them a refuge, a chance. We didn't have one, you and I."

"No, we didn't have one."

"They'll have a safe place, but with boundaries, with structure. Rules, as you're so fond of rules. They'll have therapy, medical treatment, recreation—as I think fun's important and too often left out. Education, of course, with the opportunity to learn practical skills as well. Summerset gave me that."

"He taught you to steal, too."

"He didn't, as I already knew how. Though he may have polished a few rough edges there." He grinned at her. "Still, they were practical skills of a sort. We won't have classes in lifting locks or wallets, Lieutenant."

"Good to know." She thought a moment. "It's a lot to take on."

"Well now, I'll have those trained in all those areas to do the taking on once we're up and running."

But your hand will be in it, Eve thought. You won't just dump the money, then walk away.

"Do you have a name for it?"

"Not yet, no."

"You should call it Refuge, since that's how you think of it. And you should stick with the Irish, like Dochas. What's Irish for Refuge?"

"An Didean."

"That's what you should call it."

He took a hand off the wheel to lay it on hers. "Then we will."

She turned her hand under his, linked fingers. "I guess I'm definitely punching you back later."

"Praise Jesus."

He found a spot, street level, within a half block of Clipperton's building. Eve deduced not many people parked their vehicles along this block or two if they wanted to come back and find it in one piece.

She wasn't worried, not with the shielding and theft deterrents on her DLE.

"You ought to buy this building," she said as they approached it. "It's more of a dump than the other one."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"Just don't... Okay, we got lucky. That's him, coming out of a dive to head to his dump."

Roarke saw the man in a padded canvas work jacket stumble out of the door of a place called Bud's, make a weaving turn in their direction.

"Apparently he's made good use of the dive," Roarke commented.

He was obviously impaired, his balance iffy, but apparently his vision and cop radar wasn't affected. He spotted them halfway between dive and dump, did a flash take, a fast, wobbling one-eighty. Then beat feet.

"Seriously?" Eve shook her head and sprinted after him.

He shoved through pedestrians, succeeded in knocking a woman and her bag of groceries to the sidewalk. A trio of anemic oranges rolled out. Eve jumped over them.

"Take care of her," she shouted to Roarke. "I've got this."

Her target opted to veer right at the corner, or his upper half made the turn while his bottom half tried to catch up.

He tripped over his own feet and skidded along the sidewalk, taking out another pedestrian.

Eve pressed her boot to the back of Clipperton's neck, glanced over at the stunned pedestrian sitting on his ass clutching a tattered briefcase.

"You okay?" She pulled out her badge. "Are you hurt?"

"I... don't think so."

"I can get medical assistance if you want it."

"I'm hurt!" Clipperton shouted.

"Shut up. Sir?"

"I'm okay." The man pushed to his feet, shoved a gloved hand through his hair. "Do I have to give a statement? Honestly, I'm not sure what happened. I think he more or less fell into me, and I was off balance."

"That's fine. Here." She managed to pull out a card and increase pressure with her boot when Clipperton wiggled under it like a snake. "If you need to contact me regarding this incident, you can reach me here."

"Oh, thanks. Okay. Um. Then I can go?"

"Yes, sir." She unclipped her restraints, bent down, and clapped them on Clipperton.

"Was he running away from you?"

"He was more stumbling away from me."

"Is he a criminal?"

Eve gave the bystander a last glance. "We're going to find out. Up you go, Clip."

"I didn't do anything."

His breath was cheap brew and ancient beer nuts. To avoid at least the worst of it, Eve shifted slightly to the side. "Why did you run?"

"Wasn't running. Just... walking quick. Gotta 'pointment."

"You've got an appointment with me now. At Central."

"Whafor? Get off me."

"You knocked down two people, and are even now attempting to immobilize an officer with your incredible breath."

"Huh?"

"Drunk and disorderly, pal. You've been here before."

"I didn't do anything!"

"That's him!" The woman with the oranges pointed an accusing finger. "He knocked me down."

"Did not."

"Do you want to press charges, ma'am?"

"Oh, come on!"

The women eyed Clipperton balefully. "I guess not. This nice gentleman helped me up, helped me get my groceries. And said you'd make this one apologize."

Eve flicked a glance at Roarke, then poked an elbow into Clipperton's ribs. "Apologize. Apologize," she said in darker tones, "or we add assault."

"Jesus, okay. Sorry, lady. I didn't see you, that's all."

"You're drunk," the woman said severely. "And you're stupid and rude. You're a gentleman," she said to Roarke. "Thank you very much for helping me."

"You're very welcome. I'd be happy to walk you home."

"See, a gentleman." She gave Clipperton the evil eye, then turned to sunshine when she looked back at Roarke. "Thanks, but I'm just in the next block." She beamed a last smile over Roarke, then carried her bag, anemic oranges and all, up the block.

"Let's go, Clip."

"I don't wanna."

"Ain't that a shame?" She quick-walked him to the car, maneuvered him into the back. "If you puke in this vehicle, I'll make you eat it."

He didn't puke—lucky for him—but he whined a lot, and bitterly muttered about someone named Mook. The whining spurted up toward panic when Roarke pulled into Central's garage.

"Listen, listen, it's all bogus, man. Her tits were right out there."

"Is that a fact?" Eve muscled him out of the car.

"Fucking A," he assured her, wobbling his way as she dragged him to the elevator. "And she's got some big-ass cha-chas, you know? They were right in my face."

Eve pulled him into the elevator, called for her floor and sector.

"Come on, man." He turned, appealing to Roarke. "A bitch has her major tits in your face, you're not going to grab a taste?"

"I take the Fifth."

"I'd take a fifth, I had the scratch for one. Come on."

"And Mook objected to you taking a taste of her major tits?" Eve suggested.

"Got real pissy, started carrying on, said it was like rape or something. I never had my dick out. I got witnesses. I never took the slugger out of the dugout, but she says she's going to call the cops. Next thing I know, you're coming for me. How'd you get there so fast?"

"I'm like the wind."

More cops, more Clip types piled on as the elevator climbed, but Eve stayed on, taking the time to work out her game plan.

She'd settle for a conference room if the interviews were booked, but when she hauled him along the corridor, she found A empty. She pulled him in, pushed him into a chair.

"Sit there," she ordered, and went out again.

"That's your prime suspect?" Roarke asked.

"He fits some of the bill, and yeah, he seems pretty stupid. But he's drunk. Either way, I need to go a round with him."

"I'll occupy myself and arrange to have your vehicle fumigated."

"You always do—and good idea. He's too drunk for this to take long."

"Understood. Just let me know when you're done."

"Before you occupy yourself, how about getting me a tube of Pepsi. And yeah, I'm still boycotting Vending. Those machines hold a grudge, but they've got nothing on me."

He obliged, handed over the soft drink tube. "If you're reasonable with them, they're reasonable with you."

"Not in my experience." She pulled out her comm, officially booked Interview A as Roarke wandered off.

Clipperton could sit and sweat a few minutes, she decided, and went to her office, put together a file.

By the time she walked back into Interview, Clipperton had his head on the table. His snores pulled the ugly paint from the walls.

"Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, entering Interview with Clipperton, Jon. Wake up!" She sat across from him, set her files down, gave his arm a brisk shake. "Wake up, Clipperton."

"Huh?" He lifted his head, stared at her with droopy, blood-shot eyes.

"Do you need or wish the assistance of Sober-Up before we begin the interview?" She rattled the small tin she'd brought in with her.

"I'm not drunk." He attempted to poke out his chest in outrage. "I'm just tired. A guy works all day like me, he gets tired."

"Yeah. Do you understand refusal of this aid, as offered, negates any future claim that this interview was conducted while you were impaired?"

"I'm not impaired, okay? Can't a guy take a quick nap after a hard day?"

"Your choice." She set the tin aside. "I'm going to read you your rights, for your protection. You've been down this road before. You have the right to remain silent," she began.

"I didn't do anything!" Clipperton claimed.

"We'll talk about that. Do you understand your rights and obligations?"

"Yeah, yeah, but—"

"Were you employed as a carpenter's helper by Brodie Fine fifteen years ago?"

"Done some work for Brodie, sure. Did some a couple weeks ago."

"And did this work—fifteen years ago—include a building on Ninth Avenue, then known as The Sanctuary?"

"Huh?"

"The Sanctuary, a shelter for youths in need."

"Oh, the dump over on Ninth. Sure, we did some repairs and crap there. So what?"

"How many times did you go there without Mr. Fine?"

His face, sallow, soft—perhaps once reasonably attractive—pulled into really hard lines as he thought.

"Why would I do that?"

"To see the pretty young girls, Clip. Like Shelby, the thirteen-year-old you bartered brew for sex with?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. If she said I did, she's a liar."

"Like Mook?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' A."

Eve leaned forward. "I've got witnesses, on both counts, Clip. Lying to me isn't going to help, and with your record, I can send you away for a good, long stretch."

"Wait a minute. Just wait. I told you Mook had her tits right out there. That was just a misunderstanding. That's it."

"And Shelby?"

"I don't remember her name."

"So there was more than one minor you traded brew for sex with."

"No. Jesus. And it wasn't sex. It was a bj. That's not sex."

"You're stating that a minor female in residence at The Sanctuary fifteen years ago preformed fellatio on you in exchange for alcohol?"

"It was a blow job." He looked momentarily and sincerely horrified. "We didn't do nothing weird like that thing you said. It was a straight bj."

"In exchange for alcohol."

"It wasn't alcohol. It was just a couple brews."

She wondered why this go-round half amused her, but tried to shortcut it to the point. "Let's put it this way. The minor female gave you a blow job in payment for a couple brews."

"Yeah. That's all it was." He sat back, obviously relieved all was clear. Then jerked up again. "And wait. It was like all that time ago, right? So there's like a statue of limits on that, yeah?"

"That would be statute of limitations." She slid the ID shot of Shelby Stubacker across the table. "Is this the minor female?"

"I don't know how I'm supposed to remember—oh yeah! Yeah, this one. She was a steamer. And she asked me about the bj and brew."

"She was thirteen."

"Said she was fifteen." Folding his arms over his thin chest, he nodded in satisfaction. "Told you she was a liar."

"And that makes such a difference, that you solicited oral sex from a girl you assumed was fifteen."

"She already had a nice little rack on her."

Eve simply stared at him until he blinked.

"How many times did you trade her a couple brews for a blow job?"

"A couple. Maybe three."

The way he cut his eyes away had Eve leaning in again. "How many other girls, Clip? She wasn't the only one."

"There was just the one more, and this one here brought her into it. Plus she wasn't any good at it. Kinda fat girl—the hefty kind. Kept giggling, you know. I barely got off."

"Where did these famous blow jobs take place?"

"Right there. I mean right outside the place. Kid knew how to get in and out, how to get around security. She was a steamer, like I said. And if she's trying to come back at me for it now, that's bullshit. She asked me, and there's the statue."

"Some things have no statue, Clip. Like being a revolting shit, such as yourself."

"Hey!"

"And things like this."

She shoved the photo of Shelby's remains across the table.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's Shelby Stubacker."

"Uh-uh. This is." He nodded toward the first photo. "That looks like some old skeleton, like for Halloween or something."

"This is what Shelby looks like now, after being murdered, then rolled up in plastic, and hidden for fifteen years behind the wall you built."

"You're fucking with me, 'cause we didn't build no walls in that place. Patched a few, painted some, but we didn't build none. And if we did, and we didn't, we sure as hell woulda seen that. You ask Brodie. We didn't see nothing like that. Just ask him."

"I didn't say you and Brodie built the wall. I said you built it, after you killed this girl and eleven others."

"You're shitting me now." His face died from sallow to pasty gray. "What the fuck? I never killed that girl. I never killed anybody. I just got a couple bjs, that's it. Just a couple blows."

"How many times did you go back to that building, meet this girl after they shut down that location?"

"I never went back there, not after Brodie pulled me offa the job. No reason to go back there. You can get a bj lots of places. Sometimes for free even."

God, she thought, a genuine moron. But she pushed through. "It's convenient though, just a couple blocks away."

"I couldn'ta gotten in if I'da wanted. The kid's the one came out to me. I didn't even know they left that place, not for months until I went by it one night. It was all boarded up, and dark, and I thought, ‘Hell, the bj girl's gone.' I never went in, hand to God. I never saw that kid again after Brodie pulled me offa the job. I never killed nobody."