“We’re after one definite homicide,” Willy answered, “another probable, and some interconnected kiddie perv stuff. Major shit.”

Not how Joe would have worded it, but it worked. Dillon Rowe nodded and asked, “And Lemuel Shaw is part of it?”

“He’s a primary person of interest,” Joe answered carefully. “Do you know Mr. Shaw?”

Rowe glanced out the open door at the expansive, empty parking area, dazzling in the daylight. “There’s not a lot to do in Thomaston,” he began. “There’re three of us, counting the chief, and we stop the occasional speeder or DUI, we do VIN checks and warn folks about their inspection stickers. It’s quiet. Most people drive somewhere else to get into trouble. They don’t stop here.”

Joe could almost feel Willy’s patience wearing. “Okay,” he said encouragingly.

“I told you, or somebody in your office, that we had a computer crash that fouled up our records. That’s not exactly true. We have a really old system. Most of it’s still on paper and in file cabinets. The chief has a computer he can barely work, but he doesn’t have a choice if we want to communicate with anybody or keep up with state regs. But it’s not ideal. Anyhow, part of my job is to upload our older files, which is how I came across your Mr. Shaw.”

“And?” Willy asked bluntly.

That didn’t hasten Rowe’s narrative flow. “It was a funny coincidence, really. Just dumb luck. A few days later, or earlier, and it wouldn’t’ve clicked in my head. But when I got the BOLO, on top of your phone call—it was me you talked to—the double mention of Shaw’s name made me remember a file I’d handled a few weeks ago. It was one of those things, you know?”

Willy sighed and shifted his feet.

Rowe continued, “You read these things all the time—‘At fourteen hundred hours, so-and-so did such-and-such to what’s-his-name.’ Or, ‘I pulled over this vehicle at this location for this offense.’ You know the drill, or I guess you do, going back to your uniform days.”

Willy tried rushing him again. “And you stumbled over Shaw’s name.”

Rowe almost looked surprised. “Yeah. Just under a decade ago, one of the guys before me—no one stays here long, except the chief—noticed a car parked near one of the trailheads near here. That’s no big deal. We get hundreds of cars lining the roads when the season’s high and the hikers are like ants on sugar. There’re so many of ’em sometimes I think they do more hiking to get to the trailhead than they do walking in the mountains. You know what I’m sayin’?”

Neither of his companions responded.

“The difference here was that it was night, and maybe the officer was bored, or something caught his eye. Anyhow, according to his report, he pulled over, walked up to the driver’s side, and caught your man Shaw getting a blow job from a kid.”

It was an effective punch line. He had his guests’ attention now.