“Oh, how did you know it was a trailer?” Madigan demanded triumphantly.

“That’s right, you called it a ‘house’ earlier. I thought that was odd. I know where he lived because of Kayleigh’s song two years ago. ‘Bobby’s Double-Wide.’ All about the history of country music. Sort of like Don McLean’s ‘American Pie.’ Surprised you don’t know it. Being all gung-ho for Kayleigh, I mean.”

Madigan’s smile deflated and he seemed to be wrestling down his anger. “Just confess, Edwin. You want to, I know you do.”

A textbook line from blunt-force interrogation. This is the moment when the perp might start to cry and, indeed, confess.

But Edwin said, “Can I collect my things now? Where are they? In the Crime Scene Unit? That’s in the building south of here, right?”

The detective blinked. Then he said, “Look, let’s be realistic here. Work with me. I’ll talk to the prosecutor. I’m sure he’ll cut a deal. Maybe you were arguing with Bobby. You know, that chest bumping that started at the Cowboy Saloon that afternoon? It escalated. These things happen. We could be talking reduced counts. And maybe he’ll cut out the stalking charge altogether.”

“Stalking?” Edwin seemed perplexed. “I’m not a stalker. Kayleigh’s a friend. I know it and she knows it.”

“Friend? That’s not the story according to her lawyers.”

“Oh, she’s afraid of them. They’re controlled by her father. They’ve all been telling her lies about me.”

“That’s not the way it is,” Madigan said. “You’re in town to stalk her. And you killed her friend because he threw you out of the Cowboy Saloon yesterday.”

Edwin remained completely placid. “No, Detective. I came to Fresno to get out of the Seattle rain for a time, to come to a public concert … and to pay respect to a performer I like, a woman who’s been nice and frankly shown some interest in me. One of the best musicians of our era, by the way. You accuse me of stalking but I’m sorry, I’m the victim here. You never did anything about my call.”

Madigan’s face revealed confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I thought that was why your deputy Fuentes asked me here. My complaint.”

“Complaint?”

“You don’t know? I have to say that doesn’t surprise me. Saturday night, I called nine-one-one and reported a Peeping Tom, a trespasser, behind my house. But nobody did anything about it. You’ve got, what? Twelve hundred deputies? I just needed one to come out and see where this guy was standing, talk to the neighbors. But did they? No. Not for an out-of-towner.”

With a grim laugh, Madigan responded, “We have four hundred deputies in Fresno and sixty in Madera. They cover over six thousand square miles of territory from the Valley all the way up to the mountains. I’m afraid a Peeping Tom, if there really was one, isn’t going to be all-hands-on-deck.”

Dance noted that if the stalker was on a fishing expedition to get information about the limitations of the sheriff’s office, he’d certainly succeeded.