A growing apprehension grew in Herrick’s eyes. “No.”

Joe showed him a photograph. “Big unit, also rigged to self-destruct, and containing lots of interesting items, some of them featuring you. Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to make a clean breast of all you know? Right now? Prosecutors pay attention to that. You know they do, along with any help you throw in for good measure.”

To bolster his pitch, Joe added a picture of a dozen thumb drives, all secured from the safe. “Did you know he was as handy with covert video equipment as he was with explosives?” he asked. “You won’t be surprised to hear we have some embarrassing footage of you.”

Herrick’s earlier red face returned. “I didn’t do boys,” he protested. “I don’t do that shit.”

“A man of principle,” Joe said. “I should have known. Still, you’d better start talking about what you did do, unless you want the people coming after us to throw the book at you solely based on this.” Joe tapped the photographs.

“It was part of our arrangement,” Herrick said dully, his voice a monotone.

“Details, Clyde,” Willy threw in.

The man wiped his forehead. “The sex. That was part of the deal. I gave him protection for what they were doing, but I didn’t do boys. I’m no fag.”

Joe worked not to show his disgust, although the scope of what these people had cooked up was filling his brain like acid. “Tell us what you know about Lucy.”

“She was part of it. She did those kids, too.”

“And…?” Joe raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

Herrick’s anger flared briefly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fine. She had a thing goin’ with me, too, for a while, and she supplied me with a woman now and then, too.”

“A woman?” Joe challenged him. “Or a girl?”

“They didn’t have driver’s licenses, okay? I didn’t know how old they were. We’re only talking about a couple, anyhow.”

Joe could sense Willy’s inclination to simply shoot the man. “How did it work, Clyde?” Joe asked, before someone—himself included—could interrupt the confessional momentum. “How did they satisfy their appetites?”

“With the boys? They were never from around here. I saw one once—a hitchhiker—I thought would work, but Shaw said, ‘Never fish your own pond.’ I remember that. He got ’em from cities like Boston or Lawrence or wherever. I don’t know details. They just showed up. The girls they gave me were hookers, I think, or paid-for trailer trash.”

Joe put out a few more photos. “He kept them in these rooms? We found five of them in the basement, all looking like cells.”

Clyde studied those more carefully than he had the others. “I guess. They’re nice-looking. I never saw ’em. No windows, huh? I wondered about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept some of the kids a couple of years. I didn’t know how he could do that.” He pointed at the pictures. “Guess that’s my answer.”

“How many were there, grand total?” Joe asked, as shocked by Herrick’s tone as by what he was saying.