Herrick pretended to look baffled. “This is crap. I know nothing about it.”

“We wondered,” Joe continued, “why you did that, instead of just destroying it, but then it became obvious. You wanted to keep it for a rainy day—to remind Shaw of the favor he owed you.”

“You ever use it?” Willy asked.

Herrick tried pushing back. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s curious.” Joe said, holding another sheet of paper, which he added to the collection before their increasingly nervous guest. “This is a lab report on the original citation—a citation with your fingerprints on it.”

“You were getting nervous, Clyde,” Willy said. “Were things weird enough between you and Shaw that you wanted a smoking gun always available—and maybe it was time to use it?”

“You were scared Shaw might be going off the rails,” Joe proposed. “I don’t blame you. It was time for a little insurance. If we hadn’t knocked on your door, you were probably thinking about using it, weren’t you? The guy is completely nuts, after all.”

“But your timing sucked,” Willy said. “And now you’re screwed.”

“Not necessarily,” Joe argued. “You know a lot. You’ve got more than just proof of a little illegal sex.” He suddenly saw a possibility, as could happen in the middle of such conversations, where a moment’s clarity presents like a bright light. “For example,” he added, “I bet you can name the young man your officer found in that car, can’t you? That’s why the report was so red-hot. Especially now. Go on, Clyde. I’m right, aren’t I? That’s why you played dumb when Dillon Rowe asked you about Shaw.” Joe laughed. “Come on. Prove me right.”

Herrick couldn’t resist. “Seamus Kyle.”

Joe lightly punched Willy’s arm, who was impressed by this bit of deduction. “You dog, Clyde,” Joe complimented the man. “It must’ve driven you nuts, knowing Shaw was about to kill your golden goose. Did you and Seamus ever discuss how you knew it was him in that car, so many years ago?”

Old trick, Joe knew, but it worked now. “Nah,” Clyde confessed. “He was clueless.”

“It must’ve amazed you, when Seamus began working for Shaw. Did you see that coming?”

“No,” Clyde admitted. “But he was different from the others. He ended up like Frankenstein’s right-hand man.”

“Igor?” Willy suggested.

“Yeah. Right. Him. But like brainwashed, you know? Creepy. A horny old man who treated him like shit, and he acted like he was God.”

“What happened to the others?” Joe asked casually, again reading between the lines.

Clyde immediately stilled, watching them carefully. Satisfied that he’d played out enough slack to the man, Joe decided to tighten the rope. He began laying out documents from his folder as if dealing from a deck.

“Turns out you weren’t the only one taking out insurance, Clyde. Shaw didn’t trust you, either. You knew his place was rigged with booby traps?”

“Sure.”

“Well, he relied too much on them to cover his tracks. After Seamus was killed, we had a bomb disposal team disarm the entire building. This is their all-clear report, including Shaw’s office and his personal safe. Did you know about the safe?”