I tell them about my conversation with Johnston. “He had previous knowledge … to a degree. I sent everything I have over to the prosecutor, and this is something he’s going to have to look at. I don’t know if he’ll bring charges.”

“Even if he didn’t know at the time,” Glock says, “he found out shortly after. He could have come forward then.”

“It’s tricky.” I tell them about the beating Johnston endured. “There was intimidation involved. He was a minor at the time. Still, under Ohio code, that could mean a complicity charge.”

T.J. shrugs. “Hard to believe he kept his mouth shut all these years.”

I look from man to man. “In any case, Johnston could also be in danger from this woman.” I turn my attention to T.J. “I want you to keep an eye on Norm Johnston’s place tonight. Park out of sight. Keep it unobtrusive. Keep your cell and radio handy. Wear your vest at all times.”

“You got it.”

“Glock and I are going to take Blue back to his place and camp out there. Keep Blue visible and see if she bites.”

“Might get kind of dicey if she takes a shot at him through the window,” T.J. says.

No one has anything to say about that.

*   *   *

Glock and I find Blue lying on his cot with his back to the cell door.

“Rise and shine,” Glock calls out as he approaches the cell.

The preacher rolls to a sitting position, a crease from the pillow marring the left side of his face.

“Do not move.” Glock unlocks the cell door and steps into the cell. “Relax and keep your hands where we can see them. All right?”

“No problem,” Blue replies.

I step into the cell, the ankle monitor in my hand. “Roll up your pants on your left leg,” I tell Blue.

Never taking his eyes from mine, he leans forward and rolls up the hem of his slacks. A meaty white calf the circumference of a telephone pole comes into view. When the hem is rolled up to just below his knee, I cross to him and kneel. “I’m placing a GPS monitoring device on your person,” I tell him.

“I see that.” Blue watches me place the monitor around his ankle. “Aren’t those things for house arrest?” he asks.

“Sure. House arrest,” Glock says from his place at the cell door. “Only you’re going to have two armed babysitters. So keep your shit cool. You got that?”

“I got it. Where are we going?”

“Your place.” I roll down the pants leg. “We believe Wanetta Hochstetler’s daughter is going to attempt to murder you.”

“Her daughter?” Incredulity rings in his voice.

“Maybe she’s your daughter, Blue.”

He stares at me, blinking. His mouth forms words, but no sound emerges from his throat, and I feel a small, cruel sense of satisfaction.