“And I did that in the Petrov case. See, I’m real good at fighting with one hand tied behind my back. Some people don’t like that, but it works for me.”

“So how’d you get him to confess?” Mann asked.

“I had a partner back then. His name was Kowalski. The day after the murders, we went out and questioned witnesses. Then we brought in Petrov and questioned him for twenty-four hours straight. I’d go four hours while Kowalski slept, and Kowalski would go four hours while I slept. Petrov never asked for a lawyer. He just kept saying he didn’t do it. There was only one problem. He did do it. His footprints were at the scene and his fingerprints were on the murder weapon—a shotgun we found a couple blocks away in the bushes.”

“You didn’t think about the Confessional Murders when you saw that?”

“I did, but this was different. It wasn’t some mysterious person claiming to be an angel. It was the victim’s ex. He had a long history of abusing her, to the point where witnesses told us she’d flinch whenever he came around.

“We were sure this guy was guilty, and the evidence was overwhelming. So when we got him in that interrogation room, we didn’t let up. We asked him why he beat her. We asked him about his fingerprints and footprints. We asked him why he put candles around her like she was some kind of sacrifice. Eventually, he admitted he wanted her dead. After that, the confession was easy.”

“So you coerced him?” Mann asked.

“No, I got him to admit what he did,” Coletti said firmly. “There’s a big difference.”

“Then why did you look so guilty when I brought up the case?”

Coletti lowered his eyes. “Petrov came from a strict Orthodox family,” he said sadly. “Killing someone in a church the way he did, literally sacrificing her on his own makeshift altar—it dishonored his whole family, not just him. A few days after his conviction, they found him hanging in his cell. I guess he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”

“Then you don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

“But his cousin has everything to be angry about,” Coletti said. “He blames me to this day.”

“Well, he shouldn’t,” Mann said. “You can’t blame other people for the things your family does. If that were the case, I’d have plenty of people to blame for my uncles’ prison terms and my father’s death.”

Coletti’s sadness and regret began to fade. For a moment, he felt something like sympathy. “How did your father die?” he asked.