“It’s not against the law to talk to Trent Kalamack,” Edden said, his eyes level with mine. “Half the city knows him.”

“You’re going to ignore that he talked to every one of these people?” I protested.

His face went red behind his eyeglasses. They looked too small for his round face. “I can’t accuse a councilman of phone calls and casual conversations,” he said. “That’s his job.”

My pulse quickened. “Trent killed those people,” I said softly. “And you know it.”

“What you know isn’t worth goose shit, Rachel. It’s what I can prove. And I can’t prove anything with this.” He flicked a hand at the nearest report, making it flutter.

“Then search his compound,” I demanded.

“Morgan!” Edden shouted, shocking me. “I won’t authorize a search on the evidence that he talked to the victims. I need more.”

“Then let me talk to him. I’ll get it.”

“God bless it!” he swore. “You want me fired, Rachel? Is that it? Do you know what will happen if I let you go through his compound and find nothing?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Wrong! I will have accused a well-respected man of murder. He is a councilman. A benefactor of most of the charities and hospitals on both sides of the state line. The FIB will become a foul word in human and Inderland households alike. My reputation will be shot!”

Frustrated, I stood toe-to-toe with him, able to look the man right in the eye. “I didn’t know you became an FIB officer to better your reputation.”

Glenn shifted, making a soft sound of warning. Edden stiffened, his jaw clenching until white spots appeared on his forehead. “Rachel,” he said with a soft threat, “this is an official FIB investigation, and we are going to do it my way. You’ve allowed yourself to become emotionally involved, and your judgment is compromised.”

“My judgment?” I shouted. “He stuck me in a freaking cage and put me in the rat fights!”

Edden took a step closer. “I’m not,” he said, pointing at me, “going to let you waltz into his office and telegraph your vendetta-based suspicions while we’re gathering evidence. Even if we do question him, you will—not—be—there!”

“Edden!” I protested.

“No!” he barked, rocking me back a step. “This conversation is over.”

I took a breath to tell him it wasn’t over until I said so, but he had walked out. Angry, I struck out after him. “Edden,” I called after his swiftly vanishing shadow. For a squat man, he moved fast. A door slammed. “Edden!”

Ignoring the watching FIB officers, I stormed through the open offices, past Rose, and to his closed door. I reached for the handle, then hesitated. It was his office; angry or not, I couldn’t barge in. Frustrated, I stood outside his door and shouted, “Edden!” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You and I both know Trent Kalamack is able and willing to commit murder. If you won’t let me talk to him through the FIB, then I quit!”