Miller was staring up at Pickler as if he were having a religious experience. “Really?” he said, stroking his thin brown mustache, checking the motion, then smoothing it again.

“Sure. Most of these guys are scared out of their minds. Prison was the worst thing that ever happened to them and they’re desperate not to go back. They’re very compliant, even anxious for approval. Hell, the really hard-core pedophiles will check in almost daily. I’m the only adult relationship they have, and they want to make sure I’m happy.”

D.D. arched her brows and took a seat. “So they’re just a bunch of regular Joes.”

Pickler shrugged. “As much as anyone is. ’Course, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think someone was behaving badly. Who is it?”

D.D. checked her notes. “Brewster. Aidan Brewster.”

“Aidan Brewster?” Pickler parroted. “No way!”

“Yes way.”

Pickler’s turn to arch a brow. But then she turned to the first gray metal filing cabinet and got busy. “B … B … Brewster. Aidan. Here we go. But I can tell you now, he’s a good kid.”

“For a registered sex offender,” D.D. filled in dryly.

“Ah please. Now see, this is where the system is its own worst enemy. First, the system has managed to vilify an entire class of perpetrators. Second, the system has created a class of perpetrators too big for its own good. On the one hand, you rape thirty kids, you’re a registered sex offender. On the other hand, a nineteen-year-old has consensual sex with a fourteen-year-old, and he’s also a registered sex offender. It’s like saying a serial killer is the same as the guy who gave his wife a black eye. Sure, they’re both pieces of garbage, but they’re not the same pieces of garbage.”

“So what kind of sex offender is Aidan Brewster?” D.D. asked.

“The nineteen-year-old who had consensual sex with his younger stepsister’s fourteen-year-old friend.”

“He’s on probation for that?”

“He served two years in jail for that. If she’d been a year younger, he would’ve gotten twenty. That’ll teach a boy to keep his pants zipped.”

“Fourteen is too young to give consent,” Miller spoke up, having finally taken a seat. “Nineteen-year-old boy should know better.”

Pickler didn’t argue. “A lesson that Brewster will get to spend the rest of his life learning. You know, being a sex offender is a one-way ticket. Brewster could be clean the next thirty years; he’ll still be a registered sex offender. Meaning every time he applies for a job, or looks for an apartment, or crosses state lines, he’ll pop up in the system. That’s a lot of baggage for a twenty-three-year-old.”

“How’s he taking it?” D.D. asked.