And Orrin did deserve to be punished for photographing women without their consent. But I did not think he had killed Esther and Willie. He was sick, but not that kind of sick.

Or was I reading him wrong? Was I being arrogant in believing my instincts would not mislead me? Was the killer sitting right here before me?

"I cried when I heard what happened," he said, sitting shrunken in his mother's chair. "I mourned."

There was a metallic taste in my mouth and my muscles were tense. A part of me wanted to hit him. Another part pitied him. He was a lost man. But he didn't feel like a killer to me.

I took a deep breath. "All right. I believe you. Let me ask you something: When you followed Esther to take your pictures, did you see her with anyone? A man?"

"No. But I didn't follow her all the time, just a little."

Just a little, I thought, looking at the five dozen pictures spread over the thick blanket.

"Where are the negatives?" I asked.

They were stored in the final two albums on the top shelf, all neatly labeled. I removed the ones holding Esther's image and put them in my pocket.

"I'm taking these too," I said, gathering the pictures on the bed.

"What? No. Please, don't."

I gave him a stare that made him wilt in his seat.

His voice was beseeching. "Can't you leave me with one? Just one?"

"You had no right to take them. They're not yours." And this, I realized, was how I would punish him, by taking away all his favorite photos.

I glanced at the other albums. I couldn't carry them all with me, nor all the pictures in them—even the stack of Esther's photos was too big to stick in my pants pockets, so I had to hold them in my left hand. But I could do something else. I flipped through all the albums, copying down the names of the women Orrin had photographed over the years. There were over twenty names. If any of these women had been murdered, no matter how, Manny Orrin was my man. If not, then I could be fairly certain my instincts had not failed me.

Orrin didn't ask me what I was doing, but sat quietly through all this, shoulders hunched, thin hands in his lap.

I wasn't sure what else I should do with him. I could sic the police on him, but whatever crime they charged him with would be minor. Maybe he would just pay a fine. Maybe he'd spend a few nights in jail. Neither would do anyone much good.

"I'll be keeping my eye on you," I lied. "If I catch you taking pictures of any more women, I'll pay you another visit. I will hurt you badly."