Laurel tilted her head. “When, exactly, did you start working with Dr. Caine?”

“The beginning of January when the semester started,” he said. “I got paid twenty dollars for each meeting with Dr. Caine, and she decided how many were necessary. I saw her six times before she kicked me out. I went from being interesting to her to useless.” There was more than anger in his voice. Hurt?

“Oh, Davie.” Taylor hugged him tighter to her side. “You don’t have to work so hard all the time. I’ll make more money.”

His head hung.

Huck cut Laurel a look.

She opened the top file folder and pushed a picture across the table. “What kind of a flower is this, Davie?” They’d kept that element of the case away from the media so far.

He looked up. “I don’t know. A red one?”

Was he playing dumb?

Huck studied him. “Come on. You work part-time for a landscaping business. You have to know what that is.”

He squinted and angled his head differently. “Dude, I have no clue. It’s a flower.”

“Taylor?” Laurel asked.

The woman looked away from her son to study the photograph. “Um, I don’t know. A gladiolus or something like that?” She frowned.

Laurel left the picture on the table. “Did you want Sharon Lamber dead?”

“No!” he exploded. “I didn’t want Sharon dead at all. I love her. I mean, I loved her. I also didn’t want my shrink dead.” He turned into his mom’s neck. “I’m done talking to you now. Arrest me or not. I don’t care anymore.”

They were losing him.

“One more question, Davie. How did your fingerprint get on a bullet that nearly killed one of us?” Huck asked.

Davie jerked and turned toward Huck, tears in his eyes. “What?”

“Wait.” Taylor held up a hand. “How did you get his prints?”

“He volunteers part-time for a daycare every week,” Laurel said, trying to read Davie’s emotions. They looked genuine, but she’d been wrong about that before. “He was printed as part of a background check, and those prints are in the state database. Let us help you, Davie.”

He gulped. “I never shot at anybody. Ever.”

“Okay.” Huck gentled his voice. “You touched a bullet, which means you loaded a gun.”

Davie scrunched up his face. “Um, yeah. Last summer, I did shoot a gun at a tree. But that was all. I swear.”

The hair on Laurel’s nape stood up. “Whose gun did you shoot, Davie?”

He looked down and then back up. “It was Tommy’s gun. Tommy Bearing.”

* * *