“I have a hard time with that,” Mendez said. “I don’t believe in coincidences—especially not when they start to pile on top of each other.

“Julie Paulson was a prostitute in Oxnard. You were arrested for soliciting a prostitute in Oxnard. Julie Paulson comes to Oak Knoll. You live in Oak Knoll. She gets in the program at the Thomas Center. You work with the women at the Thomas Center. She ends up dead. Karly Vickers goes missing. You knew Lisa Warwick . . .

“Can you see where all these things might lead me, Dr. Crane?”

Crane rubbed his hands over his face. “Oh my God.”

Mendez let him stew for a minute, tapping his pen on the tabletop slowly as the seconds ticked past.

“I didn’t know Julie Paulson,” he said at last. “The girl I got arrested with in Oxnard, Candace, I used to see her from time to time.”

“You were a regular customer is what you’re saying?”

Crane closed his eyes like he had a bad headache. “I’m not proud of it. And it’s not that I don’t care about my wife. It’s just . . . Janet has some . . . issues—”

“I really don’t want to know about that,” Mendez said. “Really.”

“I know you’ve only seen the worst of her,” Crane said. “This week has been a nightmare. She’s really not a bad person. I don’t cheat on her in the truest sense of the word—”

“Don’t care. Really.”

If Peter Crane wanted absolution he was going to have to consult a priest. Mendez had no interest in arguing the definition of adultery. The man was fucking women other than his wife—that pretty much defined the word for him.

Crane sighed. “After I got arrested, I stopped going down there.”

“And Julie Paulson moved here,” Mendez said. “You’re not helping yourself here, Dr. Crane.”

“I’m telling you what happened,” he said, exasperated. “I can’t help it that that girl moved here. It’s a free country. Maybe she had a friend here, but it wasn’t me.”

“And you stopped going to Oxnard.”

“Yes.”

“And . . . ? What? You gave up prostitutes? You gave up sex?”

“I . . . have . . . Oh Jesus,” he muttered, looking down at the floor. “I have an . . . arrangement . . . with a woman in Ventura.”

Mendez slid a paper and pen across the table to him. “I’ll need her name and phone number.”

Crane looked like he wanted to be sick. Mr. Respectable Upstanding Citizen frequenting prostitutes.

When he had written the information Mendez took the paper. “I’ll be right back. You want a coffee or something?”

“No. Thank you,” Crane said, staring at the table.

Mendez went across the hall and handed the paper to Hicks. Vince and Dixon were watching the monitor. Crane sat with his head in his hands.

“Good job, kid,” Vince said. “You’ve got him twitching.”