The cold gray walls of the interrogation room lent a chill to the air as Cole paced the white and black tiled flooring. James Mathers sat calmly at the tabl e, tapping the eraser of his pencil on its surface. The slight buzz of the ope rating video recorder filled any lulls in conversation.

Cole turned to look at Dragonslayer's drummer again as the man sat nervousl y tapping his knuckles on the table to a tune Cole was sure he had heard be fore.

"There really is no reason to be nervous, Cary. We're not here to arrest you , only question you," Cole attempted to a.s.sure the fidgety young man, but on e glance in the agent's direction told Cole why Cary could not sit still.

Jim glared accusingly at the poor man as though one wrong word would se nd him pouncing on the thin drummer. h.e.l.l, a good wind would blow the g uy away.

"We're only here to determine if you knew Tori Stanton and how well," Cole said.

"I knew her," Cary said. "But I didn't kill her," he added quickly.

"No one is saying you did."

Jim leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "How about Shana Darby? Did you kno w her? Or maybe Mary Stine?" Cary's gaze darted nervously from the FBI agent to Cole. "I don't know wha t he's talking about, man."

Cole shot a look of warning at Jim, then said, "Look, Cary, we have a murd er investigation going here. You've been informed of your rights to seek c ounsel if you wish. But at this point, we are only attempting to find out who knew the victims. You're not being accused of murder. We already estab lished that you knew Victoria, but did you know either of the other women?"

"No, never heard of them."

"Then back to Tori." Cole glanced at the FBI who had settled back in his c hair. "How well did you know her?"

"She came to the club to see us play several times." Cary said, obviously no t about to offer more than asked.

"Did you ever date the woman?"

"No."

"Did you sleep with her?" Cole continued to prod.

Cary looked like he was about to deny the fact he had, then changed his mind . He glanced from the agent back to Cole, then down to the table. "I slept w ith her a few times."

Jim sat up straighter and once again leaned in. "I thought you said you didn'

t date her," the agent growled in a threatening voice.

Cole thought it amazing that the FBI ever got any information at all from p otential suspects, if the entire agency used this man's tactics at intervie wing. They had talked to several people who had been there on Sat.u.r.day nigh t, and Jim had managed to make each and every one of them squirm in their s eats.

"I didn't date her," clarified Cary. "I banged her. That's it."

"Did you... bang her last Sat.u.r.day night?" Cole swore Jim's lips curled back like a rabid dog's.

"No. I didn't."

"I think you're lying," Jim said, standing up, walking around the table. Cary flinched.

Cole had seen enough. No more good cop, bad cop routine. "For crissake, Jim , sit down before you have our guest peeing his pants. He isn't being accus ed of a crime."

Jim glared at Cole, obviously furious with a lowly cop interfering with the way he did his job. Not that this tactic didn't work, just not on everyone . And Cary was not going to be one of them. He would more than likely bolt from the room, seeing as how he was not under arrest for anything.

Undaunted by Jim's obvious unspoken reprimand, Cole continued. "Did you see anyone leave with Tori last Sat.u.r.day night?"

"She left by herself," he replied.

"You're sure?" "Yeah, I saw her hanging around like she might be waiting for someone." Ca ry chuckled. "We all made jokes as to which one of us she had targeted. I left the back room and when I neared the entrance, I saw her leave."

The hairs on the back of Cole's neck rose. Someone else had seen Victoria leave also. "Were you alone?"

"No, the rest of the band was still there...oh, and the manager of the club, t oo. Phil Rieser was behind the registers counting the night's take. I'm sure h e saw Tori leave. Then, we all left and Phil locked up after us."

"Did you see anyone in the parking lot with Tori?"

"No, man, we left out the back door. Tori walked out the front."

"And Phil?"

Cary shrugged his bony shoulders. "I don't know, man. He didn't follow us out the back door. I don't know where he went. We all went our separate wa ys."

" We as in the band?"

"Yeah."

Moments later, Cole found himself in the same position all over again as J im Mathers attempted to intimidate yet another suspect. This time with a d ifferent member of Damien's band. Sandy Brown. Cole had met the man a few times in the past and knew by Sandy's actions, he was no more comfortable than Cary had been, though he sat still. The only thing moving was his eye s as he glanced back and forth at the only other occupants of the room. He , too, after being read the Miranda, waved his right to seek council. Afte r all, he hadn't killed anyone.

"Did you know Tori Stanton?"

"I knew of her," Sandy replied.

"Ever date her?" Jim jumped in. Cole's agitation grew. After all, this was his case.

Sandy glanced at Jim. "No."

Of course, they had already been down this road and Cole knew the question before Jim even asked it. "Ever bang her?"

Sandy grinned, one side of his lips curling higher than the other. "No."

His reply stopped Jim as though he had not expected this response from S andy. Recovering his momentary shock, he said, "Every member of your ban d has admitted to sleeping with Tori Stanton. Why not you?"

"She wasn't my type."

"And who is?" asked Jim in a snotty tone. With the way things were going, C ole might as well take a seat and allow Jim to take over the case.

Sandy shrugged. "Someone a little less promiscuous. And I like blondes. It'

s said they have more fun."

Undaunted, Jim leaned in. "Did you know Mary Stine...Shana Darby?"

Sandy leaned back in his chair. "I read about them in the paper, if that's what you're asking."

"No," Jim stated. "I want to know if you knew them personally."

Sandy shook his head and said, "No."

"Did you see Tori leave the club last Sat.u.r.day night?"

"She went out the front door."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"Did you follow her?" Cole asked, attempting to regain the line of questionin g. Taking the hint, Jim sat back in his chair.

"No."

"Did you see anyone who did?"

"No. I went out the back door and she went out the front. Phil Rieser locked up after us."

"Us, as in, the rest of the band?"

"Yes."

"Did you see Phil Rieser leave?"

"No."

"Was there another way to get to the parking lot in front of the building asi de from the front door?" Cole asked.

"You could walk around the building, I suppose."

"Could someone, hidden from view, have waited for Tori to come out?"

"I suppose." Sandy shrugged again. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Cole said. "You can go, but if you hear anything-"

"I'll call," he finished as he stood and exited the room.

Cole sat across the table from Jim. The day had been a long one. All in all , they interviewed twenty-five people including the three remaining band me mbers, Damien being interviewed the night before. One week had pa.s.sed since Victoria's murder and they still had little to go on.

"Phil Rieser should be brought in for questioning," Jim said, breaking the sil ence.

"I was thinking the same thing," Cole agreed. "After locking up, he could have easily gone out the front door. The only thing that doesn't fit is the long b lack hair. Phil is blonde."

"I wouldn't put much stock in the single hair found," Jim said. "We've had past cases where body bags were improperly cleaned; a hair from one of he r Johns. It could have come from anywhere. Did you note his shoe size?"

"They were large," Cole shrugged, "but at the time, I didn't think to ask."

"Out of all we interviewed today, I'd say at least five of the men would co me close to having size eleven shoes," Jim stated. "The drummer and the bas s player's feet were too small-that counts them both out. Sandy Brown's fee t might fit the size."

"As would Damien Vincent," Cole said. He narrowed his gaze and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Anything else with this Damien? Why wasn't he brought in today?"

"He's my roommate. I questioned him at home."

Jim narrowed his gaze, as though weighing the idea of questioning Cole's j udgment at not bringing Damien in for a formal interview. Instead, he aske d, "What else do you have on him?"

Cole looked the agent in the eye. "He has long black hair...and a possible taste for blood," Cole said as he remembered back to the day Laurie Michael s injured her finger in the bar and Damien licked off the blood welling to the surface. "We could do a DNA fingerprint on the hair sample."

"Then what the h.e.l.l are you waiting on, Kincaid?" Jim rose from the table, h is face reddening, then slapped a palm on the surface. "Bring the son of a b itch in and we'll get him to volunteer a blood sample."

"I don't think he did it," Cole said. He squared his shoulders and looked up at the tall agent.

"Neither did Ted Bundy's girlfriend or the cops who knew Edmund Kemper per sonally. I say we bring the son of a b.i.t.c.h in and see what he has to say f or himself."

"I can bring him in first thing Monday."

"And what happens if another girl winds up dead between now and Monday ?".

Cole rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud, Jim. That's two days away."

"Long enough."

"I'll keep a personal eye on him."

"Another girl dies and I find out Damien Vincent is the murderer-"

"I know, you'll have my job," Cole finished.

"You're d.a.m.ned right, Lieutenant. You're d.a.m.ned right."

Cole sat at his desk about an hour later, looking over his notes, wonderin g if he could be so wrong where Damien Vincent was concerned. Jim Mathers had made a viable point. Edmund Kemper, while during a tirade of kidnappin g, killing, and dismembering coeds-giving him the nickname "Coed Killer" i n Santa Cruz, California, insinuated himself into the investigation by bec oming a friend with the cops on the case and hanging with them at local ba rs.

Damien Vincent had had access to everything going on in Cole's investigati on, via Cole's mouth-not by hanging out with Cole, but by living with him in the very same apartment.

"Jesus," Cole swore aloud. He hoped Jim Mathers intuitions were wrong.

The phone rang on Cole's desk, shortly followed by the buzz of his intercom . Cole tapped the black b.u.t.ton.

"Yes?" "Line two, Lieutenant," Cally's sweet voice rang clear. "Laurie Michaels. She sounds a little frantic."

"Thanks, Cally," Cole said and lifted the receiver. "Laurie?"