I WAS HEADING into the deepest darkness again, attracted to it as most people are attracted to sunlight. I kept thinking about Elizabeth Connolly, still missing and feared dead.

Lipton’s father visited him a couple of times and the two men wept together. Mrs. Lipton was allowed to see her husband. There was a lot of crying among the family members, and most of the emotions seemed genuine.

I was in the interrogation room with Sterling until a little past three in the morning. I was prepared to stay later, as long as it took to get the information I needed. Several deals were struck with his lawyers during the night.

At around two, with most of the lawyering done, Lipton and I sat down to talk again. Two senior agents from the Dallas field office were in the room with us. They were only there to take notes and tape-record.

This was my interview to conduct.

“How did you get involved with the Wolf?” I asked Lawrence Lipton, after a few minutes during which I emphasized my concern for his family. He seemed clearer headed and more focused than he’d been a few hours before. I sensed that a weight had been lifted from him. Guilt, betrayal of his family—especially his father? His school records revealed he was a bright but troubled student. His problems always centered on an obsession with sex, but he’d never received a day of treatment. Lawrence Lipton was a freak.

“How did I get involved?” he repeated, seeming to be asking the question of himself. “I have a thing for young girls, you see. Teens, preteens. There’s lots of it available these days. The Internet opened new sources.”

“For what? Be as concrete as you can, Lawrence.”

He shrugged. “For freaks like myself. Nowadays we can get what we want when we want it. And I know how to search for the nastiest sites. At first I settled for photos and movies. I especially liked real-time films.”

“We found some. In your office at home.”

“One day a man came to see me. He came to the office, just like you did.”

“To blackmail you?” I asked.

Lipton shook his head. “No, not blackmail. He said he wanted to know what I really wanted. Sexually. And that he would help me get it. I threw him out. He came back the next day. He had records of everything I’d bought on the Internet. ‘So what do you really want?’ he asked again. I wanted young girls. Pretty ones, with no strings attached, no rules. He supplied me with two or three a month. Exactly what I fantasized. Color of hair, shape of breasts, shoe size, freckles, anything I desired.”

“What happened to the girls? Did you murder them? You have to tell me.”