“We don’t know—” Somers began.

“Where’s Dulac?”

Outside, voices passed the closet. Two of the new guys, Riggle’s hires. Somers recognized Lansdown’s voice for sure; the uniformed cop was saying, “—that uppity nigger bitch probably has teeth in her stinking pussy—”

And then the voices were past, and Somers had to struggle not to go out and break Lansdown’s jaw.

“Where is he, John?”

“He’s . . . I don’t know. You know today, he and Darnell are moving, right? He called this morning and said he had to go help with the move. I told him we were really hammered right now. I told him I needed him here. He begged and begged until I finally said yes; he promised to come in as soon as he could.”

“They’re not moving. I don’t think Dulac is coming in to work today.”

“You think he’s in on this somehow?”

“No,” Hazard rumbled. “I assumed Darnell would kill him today and then make his escape. But an accomplice is actually high on my list of possibilities. You might be right; we have to assume that Dulac has been party to all of this. It makes sense: he can provide Darnell with inside information, and he’s been able to steer the investigation away from ever getting close to Darnell.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, Ree. Not if you think about the fact that it’s Dulac and Darnell. Hell, they didn’t even meet until after the Keeper’s first murders.”

“You don’t think they had met. They could have staged that first meeting for your benefit.”

“Staged a whole complex investigation that involved underage girls being sexually assaulted? That is insane. This whole thing is insane. One of our friends is not the Keeper. It’s definitely not Darnell or Dulac.”

“The law degree,” Hazard said, “his job—”

“I know.” It came out more sharply than Somers intended, and he had to draw in a breath. “I know. I’m just—it can’t be what it looks like.”

A chorus of laughs—more of Riggle’s boys—went up in the bullpen, and Somers wiped his face again.

“I’m getting another call,” Hazard said.

“Please call me back.”

But Hazard disconnected without responding.

Somers thunked his head back against the wall and said every swear he could think of. Then he ran through them again. Out in the bullpen, the Riggle boys were having a fucking laugh riot. Somers had been in a frat at Mizzou. He’d lived in the frat house for two years. He’d heard a lot of dumbfuckery, and he recognized it now: the sound of privileged assholes bonding as a pack. And assholes were dangerous in packs.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

“I’m not trying to fight you about this,” Somers said. “I see the pieces you’ve got in place, and I recognize that they’re significant, but I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Nico is missing.”

“What?”

“Marcus just called. Nico was supposed to help Darnell and Dulac move today. He was supposed to pick up Marcus by now, and he’s not answering the phone.”