“I’m the senior officer of the Weldonville Police Department right now, since Chief Roberts was killed. But the department doesn’t need much administration, and I’m a homicide cop. What I’m doing right now is investigating and collecting evidence. Most of the crime scene stuff is secondhand from the FBI labs, which are about the best. I want to connect every bit of DNA from each of the victims to the DNA of whatever prisoner raped or killed them. I want to know which prisoners burned a house, stole a car, or picked up a gun. And I want to know which of the guns were fired, by whom and at whom. And I’m compiling a collection of all the records any police agency anywhere has on each of the twelve men who were the real escapees.”

Bill Halvorsen stared at the desk for a few seconds and nodded. He pointed at the pen and pad she had on the desk by her phone, and she nodded. He said, “I’m writing down my cell phone number, my mailing address, and my email. If the FBI and the others get tired of looking and give up, and you’re ready to go after the men who killed Nick, I’ll be available.”

“You’re not a cop, Bill.”

He looked at her, his sharp brown eyes unmoving. “No,” he said. “But I’m not offering to arrest anybody.” He set the folded paper on her desk. “Thanks for telling me the truth, Hawk. I knew you would. Don’t lose my information.” He gave a sad smile. “Or maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’re good enough to find me without it if the time comes.” He walked out the door.

She had seen him around town a number of times over the next two years. They had talked, but she had never called his number or told him what she had decided she would do if the twelve men weren’t caught in two years.