“A sixteen-year-old boy? Well, I’m inclined to get this case thrown out right now and get on to an early supper.” He turned to Garrett. “Hey, young man, how you doing?”

“My face itches.”

“They Mace you?”

“Nosir, just happens.”

“We’ll get it taken care of. Get some cream or something. Now, I’m going to be your lawyer. The state appointed me. You don’t have to pay. They read you your rights? Told you you didn’t have to say anything?”

“Yessir. But Sheriff Bell wanted to ask me some questions.”

He said to Bell, “Oh, this’s cute, Jim. What were you thinking of? Four deputies in here?”

Mason said, “We were thinking of Mary Beth McConnell. Who he kidnapped.”

“Allegedly.”

“And raped,” Mason muttered.

“I didn’t!” Garrett shouted.

“We got a bloody tissue with his come all over it,” Mason snapped.

“No, no!” the boy said, his face growing alarmingly red. “Mary Beth hurt herself. That’s what happened. She hit her head and I, like, wiped off the blood with a Kleenex I had in my pocket. And about the other … sometimes I just, you know, touch myself … I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t help it.”

“Shhhh, Garrett,” Fredericks said, “you don’t have to explain a single thing to anybody.” To Bell he said, “Now, this interrogation is over with. Take him back to the cell.”

As Jesse Corn was leading him out the door Garrett stopped suddenly and turned to Sachs. “Please, you have to do something for me. Please! My room at home—it’s got some jars.”

“Go on, Jesse,” Bell commanded. “Take him out.”

But Sachs found herself saying, “Wait.” To Garrett: “The jars? With your insects?”

The boy nodded. “Will you put water in them? Or at least let them go—outside—so they have a chance. Mr. and Mrs. Babbage, they won’t do anything to keep them alive. Please….”

She hesitated, sensing everyone’s eyes upon her. Then nodded. “I’ll do it. I promise.”

Garrett gave her a faint smile.

Bell looked at Sachs with a cryptic gaze then nodded toward the door and Jesse led the boy out. The lawyer started after him but Bell stuck a finger in his chest. “You’re not going anywhere, Cal. We’re sitting here till McGuire shows up.”

“Don’t touch me, Bell,” he muttered. But he sat as ordered. “Jesus Lord, what’s all this folderol here, you talking to a sixteen-year-old without—”

“Shut the hell up, Cal. I wasn’t fishing for a confession, which he didn’t give us and I wouldn’t use if he did. We got more evidence than we need to put him away forever. All I care about is finding Mary Beth. She’s on the Outer Banks somewhere and that’s a hell of a big haystack to find somebody in without some help.”