They got out of the car and walked around Missy’s Toyota. The doors were locked. Stella doubted there was any evidence in the car. Missy obviously hadn’t made it back to her vehicle after the meeting. “This is where she was abducted.”

Lance pulled out his phone. “We’ll get forensics out here to check the vehicle and have it towed to the impound lot.”

Sliding back into the vehicle, Stella looked over the seat at Spivak. “Does that car look familiar?”

He shot her a fuck-you smile but didn’t answer.

At the station, they secured Spivak in an interview room and posted a uniform to keep an eye on him. While Lance searched for his criminal history, Stella spot cleaned some oily substance from her jacket and pants. From the Italian spice smell, she guessed it was salad dressing.

She met Lance in the hallway. His face still looked pained, his lips pressed white. His gait was stiff, as if he was making a great effort not to limp.

“You OK?” she asked.

He nodded and opened a file folder in his hand. “Spivak isn’t our typical scumbag. He has a degree in chemistry. After college, he moved to Albany, where he was brought up on charges three different times: once for assault, once for domestic violence, and once for statutory rape. The assault charge went away when the victim refused to testify. The domestic violence case was dropped when his girlfriend disappeared—she’s never resurfaced. The Albany detectives think he did her, but they weren’t able to prove anything, which means he’s no dummy. He did serve eighteen months in the state prison for the rape. He returned to Scarlet Falls to live with his parents after his release from prison.”

“Lucky us.” Stella reached for the doorknob.

Spivak had been sitting in the cramped, windowless space for thirty minutes, stewing. His cuffed hands were fastened to the back of the metal chair. His hoodie had been taken with his personal effects, and sweat had soaked through the armpits of his T-shirt.

With an exaggerated sniff, Lance pulled out a metal chair and sat. “The smell of fear in the air.”

Belligerence—and intelligence—shone from Spivak’s eyes.

“If I take the cuffs off, you’re going to behave, right?” Stella wanted his cooperation. Most criminals were smart enough to restrain themselves while being videotaped by a ceiling-mounted camera.

The look Spivak shot Lance could have burned brick. Spivak nodded, and Stella circled behind him to release his hands. He rubbed his wrists, and Stella spotted scars in the crook of his elbow. Track marks?

She sat in the chair across from him, read him his Miranda rights, and slid an acknowledgment across the table for him to sign.

“I know my rights.” Ego lifted his jaw, but a line of sweat trickled down his temple. “I’m not signing anything.”