To his surprise, however, the unique description of the man rang several bells among those contacted, and within two hours, they had not only a name but a location. Leaving Carol and a one-man skeleton crew consisting of Clint, who’d been called in even though he was scheduled for night shift, Brad led the rest of his team to an apartment building on the east side of town. Ostensibly, they were only going to question the man—one Leroy Fritz—but with the possibility that this guy was the murderer, Brad was taking no chances. He and Hank were going to talk to Mr. Fritz, while the other deputies would be stationed around the street, ready to act if things went south.

Fortunately, the apartment building was on a cul de sac. Out of sightline of the apartment, Brad had two cars blocking the road should an escape by vehicle be attempted. Three men were on the sidewalk in front of the building in case he attempted to flee on foot.

As usual, the editor of the Montgomery Gazette, who seemed to have his radio scanner on twenty-four hours a day, arrived shortly after they did, setting up a position with his camera where he could get a view of the perp walking out of the house but still be far enough away to avoid any fireworks.

Was he a perp?

That they still didn’t know, and Brad and Hank walked up to the ground floor apartment and knocked on the door. “Sheriff!” Brad announced.

Fritz gave up without protest, without struggle, and it seemed almost as though he’d been waiting for them. He stepped aside after opening the door, allowing them to walk in, where they saw a series of knives coated with dried blood lying on a coffeetable whose top was covered by blood-stained newspaper. The confession he readily offered seemed pre-written, pre-rehearsed, and despite all of the evidence before them, Brad could not help thinking that this was a set-up, that it had all been staged for their benefit and that the man they were arresting was less perpetrator than pawn.

As they’d been warned, Leroy Fritz was a very odd man. Wearing a vest with a pocket watch and so tall that he had to duck to get through the doorway, he did indeed have a high girlish voice. His mannerisms, too, were quite feminine. Gentle, Brad thought, and that did not seem to match the harsh brutality of Taggart’s killing. People snapped, though, and kind men and demure women committed murders all the time, their friends and neighbors inevitably expressing shock that the individuals they knew could do something like that.

Except Leroy Fritz seemed like exactly the type of person who would do something like that. It was only Brad’s gut instinct telling him that the picture was framed a little too clearly.