Ruby looked down at her sheet of paper. Kinley's story was thorough. He didn't strike her as particularly capable, not for a whole series of murderers, but she'd look into his whereabouts for the last two murders anyway. She hadn't gotten the gut feeling that he was hiding something from her. She didn’t even get the sense that he’d hidden the detail about the butcher on purpose.

The trouble with relying on witnesses was that witnesses could forget things. The day had been traumatic and stressful and it was easy to skip over details that didn’t seem important.

She stepped out of the interview room, Gabe pacing in the hall.

“Got a name,” Gabe said, “Elias Delko.”

“And his address?” Ruby asked.

“113 Crestview Road,” Gabe replied, “I can't believe it.”

A rock seemed to settle in the pit of Ruby's stomach. There was her connection.

“Then why are we still standing here?” Ruby asked.

Gabe caught her shoulder, stopping her from gathering her things for a possible raid.

“Tell me what I've gotten myself into,” Gabe said, “if it really is all in connection to your Lucky 13 killer.”

Ruby looked him over. Her partners were prone to tapping out even without a notorious serial killer pulling impossible strings from behind bars.

What was she supposed to tell him? Remind him that the last time she went up against Vallejo, her partner paid the price?

“Just get the keys,” she said. “Don't think too hard about that.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Solitude was not something Vincent Vallejo was afraid of.

Super maximum security prison was something of a compliment to him, but even Vallejo had to admit the company left something to be desired.

He sat on the simple cot in the corner of his cell and waited. There was always so much waiting to be done, but Vallejo prided himself on his patience. It was the single most vital virtue he possessed.

To rush things was to ruin them.

There was the jangle of keys outside his door and after a long moment of presumed safety measures, the door swung open.

Henry stood there, his guard’s uniform neat and ironed over his muscular frame. Vallejo was familiar with all the guards, paying special attention to all their nuances and how they responded to certain situations.

Some guards were all too happy to apply brute force. Others treated Vallejo in an almost friendly manner. When it came down to it, Vallejo was simply more civilized that most of his fellow inmates.

“How are you doing today, Henry?” Vallejo rose, willingly cooperating with the elaborate routine of handcuffing and ankle shackling. Boone was not without its flare for the dramatic. It liked to see its guests in chains.