Rutherford slid the phone closer to Angus. “You’ve been obsessed with Henry Wayne Lassiter for at least six years, and once you’d killed him, you still didn’t think he was dead. The victims this week have all shown markers of the Lassiter case, and they all resemble the female agents from your ragtag HDD team. You need to account for your time, and you need to do so right now.”

Angus’s phone buzzed and he pulled it free of his jeans to read a text from Tate. Everything inside him went cold. They’d found a note. He looked up, smiled, and then stood. “I have to go.”

Rutherford slid back in his chair. “The hell you do. This is an interview.”

Angus moved toward the door. “I’m here voluntarily and I can leave. Either arrest me or get the hell out of my way.”

Rutherford’s nostrils flared and he kicked over his chair when he stood.

Fields stood more slowly. “Okay. Let’s compromise. If you agree to come in to our HDD office tomorrow for an official interview, we won’t cause a ruckus now.”

They didn’t have cause for a ruckus and they knew it. But Angus needed information on this case, and they’d be bound to give some while interviewing him. “I’ll be there at eight a.m.” With that, he hustled out of the room, Roscoe on his heels.

He turned left down a quiet hallway toward the bullpen, but Tate was already heading his way.

“Took a picture. Get out of here and we’ll talk later,” Tate said, smoothly handing over a printout. “My boss is working on a warrant for your house.”

“I consent to a search of my apartment,” Angus said, pocketing the paper and turning to head for the exit in the other direction. “I’ll text that to you so you have something in writing.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m a suspect?”

“Oh, you’re a suspect,” Tate said quietly, “but no way in hell did you murder those women. I’ll clear you as soon as I can, but HDD is on the case now, and they’re being pushy. Fancy jackasses.”

Angus nodded. “You’re a good guy, Bianchi.” He hurried out of the building in the dribble of rain and jumped into his truck. There were cameras mounted in several spots, so he got Roscoe settled before sending a quick text to Wolfe:

New victim—looks like Dana and had a tattoo logo of one of the papers she worked for. Lock her down and keep yourself safe. I’ll call you later when I know more—Force

Then he ignited the engine and pulled sedately out of the lot. He’d look at the picture once he was out of view.