'Some of us just aren't sociable,' Westcott said, making JD want to hit him. Or wish Lucy would. That would be entertaining. Westcott turned back to JD. 'I'm sorry for your rash of murders, son, but they're out of my jurisdiction. As you are out of yours.'

'This is a courtesy call,' JD said. 'We're going to be talking to various folks around town and we wanted you to know we were here.' He caught Lucy's eye and gave her a tiny nod.

Like a pro, she smiled and extended her hand to Westcott. 'It's been a pleasure to see you again, Sonny.' Westcott took her hand and she shook firmly, making the bracelet jangle. 'I guess sometimes you can go home again,' she added softly.

Westcott stiffened, his eyes dropping to her wrist. He looked back up, his cheeks a dark, unattractive red. 'Do you have an alibi for Bennett's murder, Lucy?'

'I do,' she said, not breaking eye contact with him. 'Do you?'

Westcott's jaw tightened and he carefully dropped her hand before taking a step back. 'I have business to attend to, if you'll excuse me.'

'Not yet,' Lucy said quietly. 'Something happened here, in this town, Sonny. Something that involved Bennett, Edwards, Agar, quite possibly you, quite possibly my brother, and somehow, most definitely, me. What happened?'

Westcott's eyes glittered with undisguised malice. 'I could sue you for slander.'

'I have a good lawyer,' she said. 'Go right ahead. But first answer my question.'

'I'm sure I don't know,' he said and headed to his office.

'I'd be careful, were I you, Sheriff Westcott,' she called softly after him. 'Or you might end up on my table too.'

He shot her one last very threatening look, then slammed his office door.

Lucy led them out, not exhaling until she was at the foot of the stairs. The look she shot JD was miserable and now that it was over, she was trembling. 'I hate this place,' she whispered fiercely.

He took her hands in his, unsurprised to find them freezing cold. 'I know,' he said gently. 'But you did great, Lucy. Really, really great.'

'Indeed,' Berman said, puffing a little from the stairs. 'Well played, my dear. We got a reaction. He definitely knows something.'

'But he's not going to say. Yet anyway,' Stevie said. 'What next, Lucy?'

She straightened her spine. 'We talk to the old sheriff. Come with me.'

Tuesday, May 4, 2.20 P.M.

They followed Lucy down Main Street. Quickly buildings became farther apart, revealing the Bay. With Stevie, Berman and JD behind her, Lucy turned into a marina with a dozen docks. The smallest boat was at the end of the boardwalk. A man stood on the deck, hands on his hips. Watching them.

A very bad feeling skittered down JD's spine. A glance at Berman and Stevie showed that they too felt the tension in the air.

No, JD thought. Just . . . no. Don't let it be what I think this is.

JD followed her until she stopped, halfway down the dock. She slid the duffle bag to the dock and waited, her hands at her sides. The man stared at her for a very long minute before mounting the steps from his boat to the dock which rumbled under his feet as he approached.

He was a big man, with broad shoulders and ice-blue eyes that could have drilled through steel. He said nothing as he and Lucy locked gazes and then JD knew for sure.

Oh, Lucy. Honey.

'These people are from the city,' she said to the man, bypassing any greeting. 'They want to talk to you. They are Detectives Fitzpatrick and Mazzetti and Dr Berman, their profiler.' Her tone became lightly mocking. 'Everyone, meet Anderson Ferry's retired sheriff, Ron Trask.'

JD thought of the story she'd told him. Mrs Westcott had called the police. And my father gave me a stern talking-to. Her father was the police. JD felt the fury surge and shoved it away. She didn't need his anger. She had plenty of her own. It was coming off her in palpable waves.

'Your father,' JD murmured. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

But Lucy said nothing, keeping her gaze fixed on her father's face.

'Why are you here?' Trask asked harshly.

'We're investigating a homicide,' Stevie said. 'We'd like your cooperation.'

Ron Trask didn't look away from Lucy. 'Russ Bennett?' he asked.

Lucy nodded.

Trask's jaw hardened. 'Are you involved?'

She nodded again and said not a word in her own defense.

JD stepped to her side, put his hand lightly at the small of her back. 'Bennett is dead along with Malcolm Edwards. Ryan Agar has been abducted.'

Something flickered in Trask's cold eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. 'Of course I knew Bennett and I remember Edwards and Agar. They played ball with my son.' He said my son in an exclusionary way that pissed JD off.

'Whoever's doing the killing is leaving the bodies for your daughter to find,' JD said. 'He's killed two other people that we know of.'

Trask's eyes narrowed as he stared at his daughter. 'What have you done now?'

JD's vision went red around the edges. 'She has done nothing,' he snapped. 'What do you know, sir? And I'm not taking "I don't know" for a goddamned answer.'

'Then you'll get no answer at all,' Trask snapped back. 'This has nothing to do with me.' He started to walk away when Lucy surprised them all by springing forward and grabbing handfuls of her father's shirt.

'Tell me,' she growled. 'Tell me what happened or I swear I will make you pay.'

Stunned, Trask's hands came up to push Lucy away, but she held firm. 'I don't know,' he gritted. 'Let go of me or I'll throw your ass in jail where it belongs.'

Lucy gripped his shirt, lifting herself on her toes. 'An innocent young man was murdered last night. His throat was slit ear to ear. He did nothing wrong. He was working a job, that's all, when some asshole with a vendetta slit . . . his . . . throat.' A sob barreled out of her. 'Buck's friends are dying. So tell me now. What. Did. Buck. Do?'

Trask ripped Lucy's hands from his shirt, holding her by her wrists. 'Nothing. Your brother did nothing. You were the bad kid, always the one in trouble. Always the embarrassment.' His hands tightened, his thumbs digging into her wrists as he forced her arms backward. With a flinch and a gasp of pain she rose higher on her toes and from the look in her eyes, JD knew this wasn't the first time her father had hurt her.

JD's fury erupted and he'd twisted a handful of Trask's collar in his fist, digging his knuckles into her father's throat before he even knew he'd planned to do so. 'Let her go,' he said deliberately and quietly. 'Now.'

He had the satisfaction of seeing Trask's eyes flash in fear before he let go. JD shoved Trask away so hard that the man stumbled. From the corner of his eye he saw Lucy rub her arms with a grimace of pain and JD's fury bubbled over again.

He followed Trask step for step, invading his space, satisfied that even though they were the same height Lucy's father had to look up because he was cowering. 'Touch her again,' JD whispered, 'and I'll see your ass in jail where it belongs.'

Trask flashed his daughter a look of hate before stomping away, sending the dock shaking under his feet. He climbed aboard his boat and disappeared below deck.

The dock stopped shaking, but Lucy didn't. JD pulled her against him and to his surprise she didn't fight him. Instead she turned into him, pressing her clenched fists into his chest. Meeting Stevie's sad eyes over Lucy's head, JD wrapped her in his arms and let her tremble. And cry. 'Did he hurt you?' he murmured.

'No. Nothing my mother couldn't patch up anyway,' she said, then stiffened when JD went rigid, his fury bubbling up all over again. She cleared her throat roughly. 'But you meant just now, didn't you? No, he didn't hurt me.'

'You should have told me,' he whispered.

Berman slipped a handkerchief into her clenched fist, reminding them that they were not alone. 'Your father didn't notice your bracelet or he didn't think anything about it if he did. When you're ready, I suggest we go to a place that will delight in spreading gossip our way.'

'The beauty parlor?' Stevie asked, tongue in cheek and Berman's lips twitched.

'My lovely wife says the beauty parlor, although a perfect microcosm of social networking, is off limits for my observation.' He sobered. 'I was talking about the newspaper office.'

Lucy drew a deep breath and released her hold on JD. She used Berman's handkerchief to swipe at her face, shuddering out a sigh. 'I'm okay. This way.'

Tuesday, May 4, 2.35 P.M.

Well. That had been fascinating on several counts. Old man Trask still had some piss and vinegar in him. We'll see how brave he is once he's on my turf.

Had he not known the truth about Lucy Trask, he might have felt sorry for her. But he did know, and even if he'd been one iota unsure, he now knew without a shadow of a doubt. He'd seen it just now with his own eyes. She had it. Wore it.

Like it belonged to her. The bitch.

It had been all he could do not to leap from his hiding place and rip the bracelet off her arm. But he'd restrained himself. Barely. It was only the mental image of what he'd do to her when he finally got her in his hands that kept him calm. Mostly.

He'd planned how he'd take the next names on his list, but that was before she'd brought detectives to Anderson Ferry. Now it would be harder to steal one, then another. People would become suspicious and less easily manipulated.

He could remedy that easily. I'll just take them all. He'd keep them in the plant until he was ready to deal with them. Then he'd be back to his own timeline, unrushed by Lucy Trask's continuing presence.

She was smarter than he'd realized. She came back here, head high, hiding what she'd done in plain sight. She'd led the search, so no one would suspect her now.

Except for me. Because I know what a lying, conniving bitch she really is.

He watched as Lucy led the detectives back to Main Street, then slipped from between the buildings where he'd been waiting. His step light, he made his way aboard Trask's boat, then below, where the sound of cheers came from a small television. It was a video of a football game, made with an old camcorder. The print was lousy, the picture worn, as if it had been viewed a thousand times. It probably had.

Ron sat with his back to the stairs. A glass of vodka in one hand, he stared broodingly at the picture on his shelf. Boys in football jerseys stared back, championship grins on their faces.

He knew the picture, remembered the first time he'd seen it. I thought those guys walked on water. If I'd only known, I would have killed them then. But he sure as hell could now, and he would. He withdrew his gun from his pocket and approached, the sounds of the cheers muffling his footsteps. Ironic, that.

The old man sensed his presence and turned in the chair. 'What the hell? Who-'

It was all he got out before slumping to the ground. The butt of a gun was still a damn good way to knock someone out. He hog-tied Ron and shoved a gag in his mouth.

Then he put on one of the old man's shirts and chose a hat from the closet.

'Sheriff' was embroidered on the brim. It would do nicely. When he sailed the boat from the dock, nobody would guess that it wasn't Ron Trask at the wheel.

Tuesday, May 4, 2.50 P.M.

Fitzpatrick and the others had given her space as they walked to the newspaper office, and for that Lucy was grateful. The outburst was embarrassing enough, but she hated crying in front of people. Seeing her father again had been a shock. And then to be accused . . . again. What have you done now? he'd asked. Cold sonofabitch.

She'd snapped. She'd seen Kevin Drummond's lifeless body with that obscene, gaping wound across his throat and she'd snapped. What did Buck do?

She'd lied. Her wrists did hurt. Her father had always known how to cause the most pain the fastest way. But Fitzpatrick had stopped him. He took up for me. Protected me. Then he'd held her, the way she'd always wanted to be held.

He could be good for you. Foolishly, she let herself hope. Just a little. But the hope skittered away as the larger question hit her hard again.

What did Buck do? She'd racked her brain on the drive down, trying to think of anything, anything he could have done. Anything that could have driven a killer to such rage that he'd beaten and mutilated Russ Bennett and Janet Gordon. That he could so callously slit the throats of Kevin Drummond and the still unidentified woman in her morgue.

Her feet slowed to a stop at the corner of Main and Church, a memory pressing her mind. It had cut through the turmoil raging through her as she'd grabbed her father's shirt. As the words had spewed from her mouth. What did Buck do?

And she realized they were not her words.

'Lucy?' Warmth radiated against her back, making her shudder. Fitzpatrick's hands gently covered her shoulders. 'What is it?'

'What did Buck do?' she whispered. 'It's what she said. My mother.'

'When?' he murmured.

'The morning of Buck's funeral. She was sitting on his bed, crying. My father had gone into Buck's room to tell her it was time to leave. For the church. He was so angry. He was always angry, but that day . . . There was something in his voice. I was scared.'

'Of what?'

She closed her eyes. 'I left my room and stood in the hall, just in case.'

'Of what?' he asked again.

'In case he hurt her. He did sometimes. Never where anyone could see. When Buck got old enough . . . and big enough . . . it stopped.' She swallowed. 'I knew Buck had made it stop.'

'Your brother saved you from your father's abuse,' he said softly.

'Yes. But then he was gone. All of a sudden, he was gone.'

'What happened the morning of the funeral?'

'She was crying and my father grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet. Shook her. Hard. He was so angry. I thought he'd hit her then, but she grabbed his shirt and screamed at him, "What did Buck do?" '

There was a moment of tense silence. 'What did he say?' Fitzpatrick asked.

She clenched her closed eyes tighter. 'I don't know. He lifted her off her feet and got in her face. I couldn't hear what he said, but she went white and just nodded. He let her go and I ran back to my room. I wanted to hide when he walked by, but he stopped in the doorway and said, "Two minutes." I knew better than to say a word.'

'What did you think she meant, "What did Buck do?" '

'At the time I guess I thought it was about driving his motorcycle and drinking.'

'He'd been drinking?' Fitzpatrick asked, surprised.

'Yeah. A lot. He was so drunk he shouldn't have been able to walk.' Her voice flattened, went bitter, making her wince at the sound of it.

'How do you know that, Lucy?' Dr Berman asked softly from in front of her and she started, opening her eyes. She hadn't realized that he and Stevie weren't still behind her. They'd been watching her and she shrank away from their scrutiny.

'He'd gone to see his ex-girlfriend that night and she said he was drunk. Then, I looked up the autopsy report,' she admitted, 'after I started with the ME's office. His blood alcohol was three times the legal limit. I'm not sure why I looked. I just needed to know.'

'He left you,' Stevie said. 'He'd been your protector and he left you. You needed to understand why. That's perfectly natural.'