Doug looked up, unable to bear the sight. On the wall above the bed, snapshots of nude girls had been taped to the paneling. Dozens of them. All of the girls had been tortured and mutilated, sexually violated with knives identical to the ones lying on the bed.

“I didn’t do it,” Hobie insisted. “I swear to God I didn’t do it. I just got here and found—”

The men by the closet turned around. Chief Catfield’s eyes widened when he saw Doug. “Get him out of here!” the chief roared.

“I just wanted him to see what his friend did,” the mustached policeman stammered.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you wanted!”

Doug staggered backward out of the room, gulping air, not needing to be told to leave. He could still smell the sickening heavy odor of fresh blood, could taste its disgustingly salty muskiness in his mouth. He stood for a moment with his hands on his knees, trying to keep down the gorge threatening to rise in his throat.

“I didn’t do it,” Hobie said. “He did it!” He grabbed Doug’s shoulders, and Doug could see small flecks of blood splattered on his cheeks. “He set me up!”

“Who?” Tim asked from the other side of the room.

“The mailman.”

“Don’t say anything until you get a lawyer,” Doug ordered. He glared at his friend, and Hobie looked subserviently away.

“We have his ass dead to rights,” the mustached policeman said. “Ain’t no way he’s gonna get out of this.”

“It wasn’t me—”

“Shut up!” Doug roared.

“We’ll do the shutting up around here.” The chief emerged from the bedroom. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Doug was still trying to get the taste out of his mouth, the smell out of his nostrils. “Hobie called me.”

“Are you his lawyer?”

“No. I’m his friend.”

“Well, who let you through? Friends are not usually allowed on crime scenes.”

Doug held up his hands. “You want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No!” Hobie cried.

“I’ll find you a lawyer,” Doug promised. “I’ll get you whatever you need. Don’t worry. There’s nothing I can do here anyway.”

“I didn’t do it,” Hobie said. Tears trickled down his cheeks, turning pink as they mingled with the flecks of blood on his skin.

“I know you didn’t. And we’ll get you out—”

“No you won’t,” the chief said.

“But you’ll have to stay in jail for a few days until everything gets straightened out. Do you want me to call anyone? Your parents?”

“No!”

“Fine. But I’ll do what I can, and I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry.”

“Jeff!” Catfield motioned for the mustached policeman. “Escort Mr. Albin to the street.”

The policeman nodded. “Yes sir.”

“We’ll get you out,” Doug promised.