“Mr. Biggs?” she called.

Clark Biggs emerged from the shadows of a hallway on her left. He had his finger over his mouth to quiet her.

“Mary’s finally sleeping.”

Maggie nodded and introduced herself. She quickly assessed Clark, who looked like a typical Minnesota blue-collar worker. Big and strong, a pot roast and Budweiser guy. Unlaced boots. Old clothes. Long, sandy hair with a ridge where his baseball cap had been. She could see sleeplessness and worry in his face.

They took seats on the tattered sofa.

“How is she?” Maggie asked.

“Scared to death,” Clark said bitterly. “What kind of freak does that to a sweet little girl?”

“I understand how you feel,” Maggie said. “My sergeant tells me that Mary is mentally handicapped, is that right?”

Clark nodded. “She suffered a traumatic brain injury as a child that left her severely retarded.”

“What happened?” Maggie asked.

“A few other kids held her too long underwater as a game, if you can believe it. Physically, she’s a normal sixteen-year-old girl, but she’s barely at a kindergarten level for learning.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Ms. Bei. Mary is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t give a shit whether she’s five years old going on forty. I would do anything for her.”

“Of course.”

Maggie decided that she liked Clark Biggs. She had a weakness for men who hid behind a brusque mask. Mary was the center of Clark’s universe, despite the pain, expense, and hardship that her disability must have caused him over the years. Guppo had told her that Clark was divorced, and she imagined that taking care of a girl like Mary had proved to be more than their marriage could endure. He didn’t look like a man who complained about it. He just went about his life.

“The other police officer said this man has done this before,” Clark said. “Is that true?”

“We think it’s the same man, yes. There have been nine reported peeping incidents on the south side of the city and in southwest Superior. The girls are all blond teenagers, like Mary.”

“You mean he chooses them?”

“We think so, yes.”

“Who is this son of a bitch?”

“That’s what we need to find out. Can you tell me if you know any of the other victims?” She rattled off the list of names from memory.

Clark shrugged. “Katie Larson. That’s Andy’s girl, right? They live in Morgan Park?”

“Yes.”

“I know Andy from church. Katie babysat for Mary a couple times. That was two or three years ago. I don’t know any of the others.”

Maggie jotted down the relationship in her notes. There had been ancillary connections among some of the other girls, too. Two of them were on the same soccer team. Two got their hair cut at the same place. Three went to the same high school. Nothing constituted a trend that tied any of the other girls together.

“Does Mary go to school?” Maggie asked.