Stride saw blue veins in Finn’s skull, twisting over his head like rivers.

“Yeah, sure, talk,” Finn said. “I don’t care. Can we open the door?”

“Maybe in a few minutes. This is the only room available.”

“How about some water?” Finn asked.

“This won’t take long, and then we’ll go and get some water and a little more air to breathe. Okay?”

“I just want to get this over with.”

Maggie grabbed a manila envelope from the desk. She opened it and slid out a photograph, which she handed to Finn.

“Does this look familiar?” she asked.

The photograph was a close-up of a monarch butterfly tattoo on a girl’s back, life-sized and detailed, with orange-and-black wings that looked as if they would flutter in the wind. The photo had been taken at the morgue. The girl was Mary Biggs.

“It’s a tattoo,” Finn said.

“I didn’t ask you what it was,” Maggie snapped. “I asked if it looked familiar. Have you ever seen a tattoo like this before?”

Finn turned the photograph over and refused to look at it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No? On Saturday, May 24, you delivered a package to a man named Clark Biggs in Gary. His daughter, Mary, was in the front yard. She showed you her tattoo.” Maggie slapped the photograph. “This tattoo.”

“I don’t remember. I deliver hundreds of packages every month.”

“This girl exposed herself to you. She showed you her breasts. Does that happen every month, too?”

Finn smiled. “You’d be surprised. Women answer the door, and a lot of times, they’re not wearing much.”

“This is funny to you?” Maggie asked. “The night you delivered that package, someone was outside Mary’s bedroom window, watching her undress. He was there again the next week. And on Friday night, he was on a trail with her in Fond du Lac. Terrifying her. Terrorizing her. Mary was just a little girl inside her brain. She didn’t understand. She ran, and she fell into the river, and she drowned. A sweet, innocent girl. Dead.”

Finn’s skin was the color of dirty dishwater. He stared at his feet. “That’s too bad.”

“Is that all you can say? Let’s cut to the chase, Finn. Mary’s mother saw you. She saw the silver RAV you drive, too.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You delivered packages to three other girls who have been peeped in their bedrooms in the last month.”

“I told you, I deliver a lot of packages.”

Maggie reached into the envelope for another sheaf of papers stapled together. She folded the first page back. “This isn’t the first time, is it, Finn? You’ve been watching girls for a long time. According to DMV records, you lived in the Uptown area of Minneapolis for three years in the late 1990s. During that time, there was a string of eleven reported incidents of a peeper targeting blond teenagers. The peepings started a month after you moved to the city. They stopped right after you left.”