At eleven-thirty Officer Bessell read Milligan his rights again and asked if he would sign the waiver. Milligan just stared.

Nikki Miller heard Bessell say, “Listen, Bill, you raped three women and we want to know about it.”

“Did I do that?” Milligan asked. “Did I hurt anyone? If I hurt someone, I’m sorry.”

After that, Milligan sat mute.

Bessell took him to the fourth floor slating room to get him fingerprinted and photographed.

A uniformed policewoman looked up as they entered. Bessell grabbed Milligan’s hand to begin the fingerprinting, but the prisoner jerked back suddenly, as if terrified to be touched by him, and moved behind the policewoman for protection.

“He’s scared about something,” she said. Turning to the white-faced, trembling youth, she spoke softly, as if to a child: “We’ve got to take your prints. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I—I don’t want him to touch me.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. Is that okay?”

Milligan nodded and let her fingerprint him. After the fingerprinting and photographing, an officer led him away to a holding cell.

When the search warrant forms were completed, Nikki Miller phoned Judge West. Hearing the evidence she had, and considering the urgency of the matter, he told her to come to his home, and at one-twenty that morning he signed the warrants.

Miller drove back to the Channingway apartment complex through the fog, which had gotten even worse.

Miller than phoned the mobile Crime Scene Search Unit. At two-fifteen, when they arrived at the apartment, she presented the warrants and they made the search. They listed the items removed from the suspects apartment:

dresser—cash $343.00, sunglasses, handcuffs and key, wallet, I.D. for William Simms and William Milligan, charge slip to Donna West.

closet—Master Charge cards to Donna West and Carrie Dryer, Clinic Card for Donna West, photograph of Polly Newton, .25 calibre [Tanfoglio Giuseppe] A.R.M.I. [sic] automatic pistol with five live rounds.

vanity—3 1/2 × 11 piece of paper with name and address of Polly Newton. Page from her address book.

headboard—Switchblade knife, two packets of powder.

chest of drawers—phone bill for Milligan, S & W holster.

under red chair—Smith & Wesson 9mm with clip and six live rounds.

under seat of brown chair—clip with fifteen live rounds and a plastic bag containing fifteen live rounds.

Back at the Central Police Station, Nikki Miller took the evidence to the clerk of courts, had it notarized and turned it over to the property room.

“There’s enough here to go to trial with,” she said.

Milligan cringed in the corner of the tiny cell, shaking violently. Suddenly, after a slight choking sound, he fainted. A minute later, he opened his eyes and stared around in astonishment at the walls, the toilet, the bunk.

“Oh God, no!” he shouted. “Not again!”

He sat on the floor, staring dully into space. Then he saw cockroaches in the corner and his expression blanked and changed. Crossing his legs, he hunched up close, his chin cupped in his hands, and smiled childishly as he studied them running in circles.