“How so?” Sawyer said, making no effort to lower his voice.

“I—I mean…” Ilse glanced at Mr. Campos. Quickly, like ripping a Band-Aid, she said, “Look at him. He was drunk when we found him. He’s clearly in no shape to be chasing young, athletic women down through the woods. One look at him, and Samantha would have run. There’s no way someone with his… particular physique could have caught up.” She held up a placating hand toward the overalls-wearing man but then returned her attention to Agent Sawyer.

“He’s too fat to kill?” Sawyer said, summarizing.

Mr. Campos narrowed his eyes, and Ilse shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t say it like that. But Samantha was quick, fast.”

“Too fat to chase down someone then.” Sawyer rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Hey,” Campos retorted.

“You saying you’re not?” Sawyer said, glancing back at the suspect.

“Imma sue you.”

“So I’ve heard. Well, Dr. Beck, thank you for your insight. But as you’re not a physician, I’ll leave assessments about my suspect’s victim-chasing abilities to the qualified, if that’s all right with you.”

Ilse blinked. “I wasn’t trying to intrude. I just think it’s pretty obvious he didn’t—”

“Thanks, Doc. Really. Any other insights?”

She stared at him, clearly put off. He didn’t tend to inflect his words with sarcasm, or any emotion really. But he was growing tired of this back and forth. He didn’t like having a babysitter. Didn’t much like therapists to begin with. And now, as he stared into those piggy little eyes of Mr. Campos, he could see violence lurking there.

Only one withdrawn complaint on the man’s record. But Sawyer could smell mean from a mile away.

And Mr. Campos was oozing it. If he wasn’t a killer, then it was only because he was too cowardly to follow through. Sawyer knew this sort of man through and through. Could see the violence in Campos’s eyes. Could see it in the beading of the sweat on his jutting upper lip. Could see it hidden behind a veneer of stupid and belligerent.

This was a violent man, no doubt. The doc might have hidden behind her degrees and statistics and facts and observations, but at the end of the day, Sawyer was in the killer-catching business.

A spade was a spade.

A bastard was a bastard.

Dr. Beck was wrong about this man.

But what if she’s right about Samantha?

Sawyer felt a flicker of… of something. Self-doubt? Not possible. Reconsideration, then? Perhaps. Mr. Campos was not a nice man, but that didn’t mean he was involved in Samantha Wright’s kidnapping. Still, there was a killer out there, on the highway. A killer trolling the roads and mountain passes. Two young women dead already. Now, Samantha missing. The same guy?

Maybe not Mr. Campos. But it wasn’t like Sawyer had any other leads.

And so, that settled, he began to ease the door shut again. “Thank you, Dr. Beck. Have a good morning.”

“I—I really think—”