From where he stood at the foot of the bed, Hudson saw beads of sweat swell on Muntz’s forehead. When Muntz didn’t move, Kole flicked his ear. He nodded fervently, prompting Kole to continue with his lesson.

“They used something called a pear of anguish. It was this metal contraption that looked like a pear—thus the name—and they’d shove it in your mouth, busting up your teeth on its way in.”

The lump in Muntz’s throat bobbed. He squeezed his eyes shut and started to groan. Kole flicked his ear again. “Hey, listen up. I might have a pop quiz for you, later. Now this pear, right? It had a screw, and when you turned it, these sharp petals unfurled that would rip your mouth apart. You follow?”

Muntz nodded emphatically. His eyes widened then, darting around, searching for the device.

“Relax,” said Kole. “We didn’t bring one. We brought something else. Which, if you tell us why you planted a Desert Eagle in Tobias Shannon’s place—who you might know better as Hades—we won’t have to use. Okay?”

Muntz nodded again.

Kole and Hudson made eye contact. When Hudson gave the command, Kole yanked the shirt out of Muntz’s mouth. The man gasped like he’d just spent the last several seconds underwater.

“What do you want with me?” he yelled. The metal bed frame protested as he tried to wrench his wrists free. The bed would collapse before that happened.

Kole cocked his gun and pointed it between Muntz’s eyes. “How ‘bout you chill the fuck out for a second. We’re gonna try this interview thing again, and this time, Investigator Hudson’s gonna ask you some questions.”

“I don’t know shit about Hades—”

“Bullshit.” The word was sharp off Hudson’s tongue. He felt suddenly hot, his blood carbonated as it pumped through his veins. “You lied in the interview room. Why?”

Muntz spat, and Hudson heard the wet discharge slap against Kole’s cheek. Kole pushed the barrel of the gun to Muntz’s forehead. Muntz laughed, showing a mouthful of cracked, tar-stained teeth. “How’s your friend? Still deader than a doornail? Killing me won’t bring him back, you know.”

“Why did you lie, Ronald?” Kole pushed through.

Hudson was shaking. He was glad it was dark, that Muntz wouldn’t see the trail of sweat sliding down his jawline. The muscles in his arms burned. The duffel bag had to weigh thirty or more pounds. And she was starting to get restless.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The asshole who shot Garrison spray-painted his shoes,” said Kole. “We saw the black under your fingernails when you were washing your hands.”

Muntz’s laugh sounded like a cat being strangled. “You think it was me?”

“Congratulations on putting two and two together,” said Kole.