“It happens,” Maggie said. “To men like this, an innocent exposure of nudity by a girl—even accidentally—can trigger an explosive string of erotic fantasies. They literally build it up in their heads until they believe they have an actual relationship with her. It can become an obsession.”

“Son of a bitch,” Clark said. “I was always telling Mary not to do it, but she didn’t understand. She thought it was funny.”

“It’s not your fault. Or Mary’s.”

“Didn’t this guy realize she was retarded? I mean, how can anyone think that about a little girl?”

Maggie didn’t answer.

“Don’t let him get away,” Clark told her.

“We’ll do our best.”

Maggie walked away toward the parking lot, but Clark stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. His grip was surprisingly tender.

“There’s something else,” he said.

She turned back. “What is it?”

“He saw her tattoo.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The driver saw Mary’s tattoo. She was bent over, and her shirt rode up, and he saw the tattoo she had in the small of her back. Remember? You saw it. It was a butterfly. He was staring at it, and when I noticed, he looked away. He said something to her about it. Like how pretty her tattoo was. Mary loved that. That was when she flipped up her shirt.”

“A butterfly tattoo,” Maggie said. She did remember.

“Exactly. I don’t know if it means anything.”

“It just might.”

27
___________

The interrogation room was small. From the door to the wall was barely six feet. When the door was closed, it felt as if the ceiling were coming down and the walls were squeezing against your shoulders. The fluorescent light was cold and sterile. You blinked when you looked up. You could smell each other’s sweat, farts, and belches. There was one metal desk—it barely fit inside—and one wobbly chair where the suspect sat, close to the ground. Stride sat next to Maggie on top of the desk, their hips touching. Finn squirmed in the chair, his long legs uncomfortably bent, like a spider’s.

“So what is it now?” Finn said. “I came down here like you asked. God, don’t you guys have anything else to investigate? Have all the criminals gone on vacation? Shit, it was thirty years ago.”

Stride nodded at Maggie, who read Finn his rights.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Finn exclaimed. “What the hell is this? Are you arresting me for something?”

“Not yet,” Stride said.

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Look, I was just trying to help Tish. I didn’t have to say a word. Goddamn it, Rikke was right. I never should have gotten involved in this.”

“You’re not under arrest,” Stride told him. “We just want to make sure you understand your rights. You can call a lawyer if you want. You can walk out that door. Got it? We want to clear a few things up, but that’s up to you. Of course, it’s going to be hard to clear things up if you’re not talking to us.”