He sat back in his chair and faced Eden. “But you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about tea. I read the files you emailed—your analysis of the victims. You’ve made real progress. What do you need from me?”

“Anything you can tell me about Irwin Partridge. I understand you interviewed him more than anyone else.”

“Yes, that was my sad privilege. He is not a likable man. Uneducated, incurious. But very quick mentally, the sort of intelligence that’s mostly smart-ass. I’m sure he was, or is, capable of anything.”

“You believed he killed Michelle Foss and Susan Hart?”

“No doubt, whatsoever. And from what you told me on the phone, that girl in Vallejo, Beth Hunter.”

Eden looked at the neatly tended beds of white daisies and red mums bordering the yard. Some sense of beauty and order had survived Woodhouse’s career as a homicide cop. “But we don’t have any forensics that connect Partridge to the murders.”

“No. He was careful, which probably means it wasn’t his first time. He chose victims in circumstances where he knew he wouldn’t be seen. I’d also guess he studied the setting and movements of people for days before the murders. Wore gloves, destroyed his clothes afterward. All that good stuff.”

“According to the files, he was a suspect early on, for the first girl, Michelle Foss?”

“Yeah, he was in our records for an assault, where no charges were filed.” Woodhouse drank from his cup. “But it put him on a short list of local guys to look at. At the time of the Foss murder, a woman riding a bike in the park said she saw a man standing on a trail that goes up to the water tanks where Foss was killed. Even ID’d Partridge in a photo array. But the witness was riding past him and didn’t get a good look. And she got scared; I think she found out her ID was all we had, and she didn’t want the responsibility.”

“But you talked to Partridge?”

“I interrogated him.” Woodhouse raised one finger. “What stood out for me was what he didn’t say. Most guys in that situation tell you where they were at the time of the crime and deny their involvement. Partridge did neither until he was asked.”

Eden picked up her cup and sipped the tea. “But you couldn’t put him at the scene?” She hoped Woodhouse wouldn’t interpret her questions as criticism.

“He was a delivery guy for an auto parts store. For some reason, the store didn’t keep logs of his deliveries or where he was. We looked at the mileage on his car, but it was inconclusive.”

“So not enough to hold him?”