“So what? You think we’re different?” As he said it, Mahler realized he didn’t believe his own words. He knew he wouldn’t kill Partridge, never wait in the dark with his gun, never see the fear in Partridge’s eyes. The failure of his plan brought a new sadness. He saw, too, the shame of talking it out in front of Woodhouse. Whatever happened, this would be between them. Down the street, the man gazing at the stars was gone.

“You need to quit this job, Eddie. Retire. Get out. Leave it all to someone else.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mahler was too tired to think. He looked at Woodhouse in the dark. He wished he could see his face. “You going to give evidence against me for this?”

“No.” Woodhouse opened the door. “Far as I’m concerned, our little confab here never happened. This whole deal is about your destiny, Eddie, not mine. Read your Thomas Hardy.”

Woodhouse climbed out of the car, then leaned back inside. “Besides, if you’re really as smart as you think you are, you’ll find Partridge when he’s got his own gun, in public, in front of witnesses. Then, Mr. Clint Eastwood, you put two in the SOB’s head.”

(ii)

(WEDNESDAY, 10:42 P.M.)

Eden looked up as Mahler appeared in the interview-room doorway. “Okay if I work here?” she asked. “I needed to spread out.” She opened her arms to indicate her stacks of papers that covered the tabletop.

Mahler entered the room. “Just don’t leave things here if you go out.” He sat on the edge of the table. “Tell me about Partridge.”

“We know he lived in Vallejo from 2004 to 2006. Worked at a company called Mare Island Rigging as a rigger, tying loads for long-distance haulers.”

“How do we know that?”

“Detective Jermany of the Vallejo PD found the apartment complex where he lived.” Eden shuffled through the papers. “The apartment manager confirmed the dates of Partridge’s rental, and the rigging company faxed over an employment history. Beth Hunter was killed March 11, 2005. Coroner puts the time of death at about 5:30 p.m. I talked to the Mare Island foreman, who checked timecards and confirmed Partridge was working that day. The shift was from seven to four. Partridge would’ve been in the yard until at least four.”

“How far away’s the park where Beth Hunter was found?”

Eden ran a finger down the page. “Six miles, freeway and surface streets. Fifteen minutes in traffic.”

“So he had enough time.” Mahler nodded. He was still shaky from his meeting with Woodhouse. He forced himself to focus on Eden’s words.

“The other thing is, the rope the company uses for rigging might be a match for the width and pattern of the marks on Beth Hunter and the two girls killed later here in Santa Rosa.”

“Might be?”