Gibson opened the bottle and placed it inside the chain-link fence. It fell over and rolled in a lazy circle, spilling water on the concrete floor. Tate followed the bottle with his eyes, calculating the risk. Hunting for the trap that must be there. He scurried forward without standing up, snatched the bottle, and squatted on his haunches to gulp it down. When the water was gone, he retreated back to his straw nest.

Gibson set another bottle of water where Tate could see it.

“Still thirsty?”

Tate nodded.

“I need to ask you some questions.”

Tate became still.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t even come in there. Just come closer so I can see you. I’ll give you the water, and we’ll talk a little.”

Tate shifted but didn’t move. Gibson tried again. Coaxing, reassuring. He put the second bottle of water inside the cell and sat on the ground outside the makeshift cell, hoping to seem less threatening.

Gradually Tate crept to the front of the cell. Gibson needed to be able to see the man’s eyes. Tate took the bottle and sat cross-legged on the ground facing Gibson.

“So don’t good cops get masks?” Tate said.

“Who are you working with?” Gibson asked without preamble.

“What?”

“Who’s your partner?”

“I ain’t got no partner, man. I ain’t got no partner ’cause I ain’t doing nothing. Like I told them other two motherfuckers.”

“So you’ve been a little angel since they found that girl in your trunk?”

A strange expression crossed Tate’s face. Part shame, part pride, and something else that made Gibson’s skin crawl.

“Yeah, man, I’m on the up and up and up. Learned my lesson. Scared straight, you know?” Tate smiled his off-kilter version of an upstanding citizen’s smile.

“And the kiddie porn on your laptop?”

Tate’s smile faltered. “Man, that’s nothing. Come on. Just pictures, you know? For in my head. Keeps me outta trouble.”

“Just something to take the edge off, huh?”

“Yeah, man, yeah. The edge. You know . . . So my trunk stays empty.” Tate winked.

Gibson choked back the urge to throw up.

“Y’all right there, man?” Tate was grinning now. Messing with him a little.

Gibson forced himself to smile. “I’m good. No, I get that. Keeping the edge off is the responsible thing to do.”

“Responsible. Right. Responsible,” Tate agreed.

“You’re just doing it for them. To protect them.”

Tate nodded vigorously. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I don’t wanna hurt nobody no more.”

In Tate’s mind, he was the good guy. He only looked at child pornography to prevent his bad impulses from taking over. He did it for the children.

Right.