“Squishy’s Car Wash. You know. Where you have an account and get your truck washed and detailed regularly. I bet you’ve talked to her more than once.” Triumph filled Rutherford’s gaze now.

Angus turned toward Fields. “Are you kidding me?”

Fields just stared at him, his shrewd eyes hard.

Angus sat back. This was actually happening.

Rutherford then slid the picture of the mutilated blonde in front of him. “She lived in your apartment complex and was found dead in your laundry room. Oh, and you don’t have an alibi for the time when she was dumped. Oddly enough, the security cameras were all cut by somebody who knew where they were.”

Angus cocked his head. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Have I?” Rutherford pointed to the African American woman. “She’s a professor of theology whose family owns the Brickhouse Pub on Eighth Street. She works shifts sometimes to help out. You know the place, no?”

Angus looked more closely at the woman. She did look familiar. “Yes.” He often met his team at the bar. It was quiet, with good beer. He pointed to the other victim. The woman with the pink streaks in her hair. “And her?”

“Haven’t found the connection yet, but I was hoping you’d just tell us.” Rutherford shook his head. “Come on, Force. You’re a burnout and an alcoholic. I’ve seen it before. You were in the game and you caught the bad guy, but you can’t let go. You’ve re-created the case you miss.”

Angus shoved his chair back from the table. “I didn’t kill these women. Jesus Christ, Rutherford.” He wanted to be furious, but instead he felt numb. Stunned into numbness. “I have an alibi for when McDouglass was dumped.”

Rutherford smiled, going in for the kill. “Yes. Your lover alibis you. That won’t exactly hold up in court and you know it. Also, the second you get wind we’re on to you, your cabin blows up? Sounds like a truly excellent way to destroy evidence. What? Did you kill those women in that miserable cabin where their screams would never be heard?”

Angus just stared at him. Oh, he knew the smart thing to do, but asking for a lawyer felt like defeat. He wouldn’t lose to this asshole. “You’re grasping for straws with both hands.”

“No. We have federal agents serving search warrants on your cabin in Kentucky, Nari Zhang’s apartment, and your former apartment here. I have no doubt we’ll find the evidence to fry your ass. So make it easy on yourself. Claim insanity or something. Who knows? A jury might have sympathy for an ex-FBI agent who became the monster he’d chased for so long.” Rutherford gathered the photographs, sliding them away as quickly as the killer had sliced the life from those women.