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“We want to do everything we can to catch this animal,” Michelle said. She held her husband’s hand.

  For the next three hours, they labored over Johnnie’s life, their lives. Minute details. Where was he born? Who was his doctor? Where did he go to preschool? Do you remember any of his teachers? Have you ever lived anywhere else? Did Johnnie spend time with aunts, uncles or grandparents who lived somewhere else? Where did he get his hair cut? What grocery store do you shop in? Where do you get your car fixed?

  “I hope this has been helpful,” Tom Whitmore said when it appeared they were finally finished.

  “Yes. Thank you,” Robert said. He stood up and discreetly stretched his back. “Nice piano,” he said. “I saw in one of the reports that you teach lessons out of your home, Michelle.”

  She nodded. “I started doing that shortly after Johnnie was born. I wanted a way to be able to be at home with my kids more. Our daughter is very good for her age. Johnnie never took to it as well but at least when he started playing the clarinet, he already knew how to read music. He said that helped.”

  “What’s that song you were playing when we arrived?” Sawyer asked.

  “Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy.’ I hire out for weddings. That’s how I met Tom. I played at his brother’s wedding. It was great extra money after I was divorced, and there’s something about a wedding that just makes me happy.” She licked her lips. “I need a little happiness right now,” she said.

  Of course she did. She’d lost her son to a maniac.

  Robert and Sawyer pulled on their coats and left. Once they were back in the car, they sat there for a minute, letting the engine warm up.

  “What are you thinking, Robert?” Sawyer asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m thinking that I’m going to rip this guy apart when we find him.”

  Sawyer nodded.

  “On a more practical level,” Robert continued, “based on what I’ve seen in the other files, I didn’t hear anything that rang a bell. But maybe once we talk to a few more people.”

  Sawyer pulled away from the curb. “First we get coffee.”

  * * *

  TINA JOHANSON, the mother of Ben Johanson, the second boy killed, was too thin, and she chain-smoked. They met with her at her apartment right after lunch and she still had on the waitressing uniform from the overnight shift she pulled at Dill’s Diner. There was no husband. Had never been a husband, according to the notes Blaze had taken. Ben was an only child. Fifteen. Freshman in high school. He qualified for free lunches.

  Halfway through their questions, she pulled out her scrapbooks, slowly flipping pages, walking them through her son’s short life. Robert was surprised to see the album. Most people kept their pictures on their computers and rarely printed them. But she had dutifully printed and labeled each one.

  First day of kindergarten. Broken leg in second grade. Science project in fourth grade. Youth camp when he was ten. Playing the tuba in the eighth-grade band concert.

  The instrument had been almost as big as the kid.

  It made Robert think about the trombone case that had been propped up against Carmen’s counter.

  Tina had already flipped the page before Robert held up a finger. “How long had your son played the tuba?” he asked.

  “Started in sixth grade,” she said, wiping away a tear. “I wanted him to play the violin but no, he insisted upon the tuba.” She gave them a shaky smile. “And he was really good at it. I picked up a couple extra shifts every week so that he could take lessons from the Gottart Studio.”

  Robert added a line to the pages of notes he and Sawyer had already collected. Band. Tuba. Gottart Studio.

  “I’m not familiar with the Gottart Studio,” Robert said.

  “On Peach Street. It’s one of the best,” she said proudly, as if that still brought her some satisfaction that she’d been able to provide that small luxury for her son.

  They talked for another hour before finishing up. Then it was back to the cold car. Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Her son was her life,” he said.

  Robert had been thinking the same thing. Now Tina Johanson was truly alone. “It’s Friday,” he said, stating the obvious. If something didn’t break soon, they’d have another mother grieving over her son.

  Robert’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and realized it was one he’d called earlier. “I need to get this,” he said.

  “No problem. There’s a deli on the corner calling my name,” Sawyer said. He got out fast, but still cold air came in and Robert turned the heater dial to the max.

  “This is Robert Hanson.”

  “It’s Horton Davis. I had a message from you, Detective.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for calling back. I’m working with a family who has a teenage son at Mahoney High School,” Robert explained. “I wanted to see if you recognized his name. Raoul Jimenez. Dark hair, slight build. He’s a freshman. No sports. Plays in the school band.”

  “Not ringing a bell,” the man said. “But then again, there are fifteen hundred kids at this school. I can do some checking.”

  “Thanks. I don’t want the kid to know that I’m asking about him,” Robert said.

  “No problem. I’ll call you in a couple days,” Horton Davis said.

  Robert thanked the man and hung up. Then he took a deep breath and dialed Carmen.

  She answered on the third ring. “This is Carmen.”

  “Hi. It’s Robert. Robert Hanson. Are you busy?”

  She seemed to hesitate. “I have a few minutes,” she said finally.

  “I...uh...wanted to thank you for dinner last night,” he said. “It was really good.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. She paused. “Was there something else, Detective?”

  Yeah. I’d like to kiss you again. “Uh...I talked to the officer who has primary duty at Mahoney High School. He didn’t recognize Raoul’s name.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Robert said. “They know the kids who are in trouble or who are trouble.”

  “Thanks for checking,” she said. She sounded disappointed, and Robert knew it wasn’t because she wanted Raoul to be a known troublemaker. She just wanted some explanation for why he was pulling away.

  “I wanted a chance to pay back your hospitality. How about I treat for dinner tonight?”

  “Dinner?” she repeated.

  Her tone suggested that she was figuring out a way to say no.

  “Now, I know you’re familiar with the concept. I can’t promise, however, that the food will be as good as last night.” He kept his tone light, which was a damn miracle of the human body, because he was literally holding his breath. “We did talk about the need to spend time together. Of course, I’d want Raoul to come, too.”

  There was absolute silence on the other end. He covered his phone and gulped in some air.

  It was his nature to push, to force the solution he wanted, but he backed off to give her some space. He counted to ten.

  “I guess dinner would be okay,” she said finally.

  Robert smiled. If he always needed an enthusiastic welcome, he wouldn’t have become a cop. “Good. I’ll see you about seven.” That would give him time to swing by his mom’s house first. He hung up before Carmen could think of a reason to change her mind.

  He was still staring at his phone when Sawyer opened the door. He reached out and accepted the large coffee and the plastic container. Blueberry pie. And it felt warm.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “News?” Sawyer said, looking at Robert’s phone.

  “No. It was...personal.”

  “I should have figured a woman. It’s so cold that there are parts on my body that I’m not even sure Liz can heat and yet, you’re sitting here, grinning like a fool. Mandy or Janine
?” he asked, proving that Tasha didn’t keep secrets well.

  “Neither,” Robert said, brushing off the question. “The pie looks good.” He opened his container and dug in.

  Sawyer stared at him, then very deliberately reached over and flipped the lid shut on the plastic container. “Damn. Please, please, tell me that you are not smiling over Carmen Jimenez. I know we all had some good pizza together and that you were helpful at the coffee shop and that she made you dinner as a thank-you. But Robert, it does not have to go beyond that. Really, it doesn’t.”

  It was the longest spiel that he’d heard come out of Sawyer Montgomery’s mouth.

  And he would not lie to his friend. Was not above evading the truth, but would not lie.

  “I’m taking Carmen and Raoul out to dinner tonight.”

  Sawyer pointed a finger in his face. “I swear to God, Robert Hanson. If you screw up and hurt Carmen and that makes Liz even just a little bit sad, you and I are taking it outside.”

  Robert smiled. “It’s too cold outside for a Southern boy like you to want to fight. You’ll get snow down your pants.”

  “I mean it, Robert.” Sawyer leaned close. “Carmen is a very nice person.”

  And while his own smile didn’t fade, it hurt just a little. “And I’m Jack the Ripper?”

  “Of course not,” Sawyer said. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my daughter’s godfather. I’d trust you with her life. But I don’t know if you and Carmen want the same thing.”

  “I think we both want to have dinner,” Robert said. “It’s no big deal. She’s worried about Raoul.”

  Sawyer nodded. “Liz told me something about that. I’ve met him. Quiet but polite. He likes video games and one time I saw him eat about half a chocolate cake. That was after he’d wolfed down four tacos. I think he’s just a normal adolescent boy.”

  “I agree. But Carmen is concerned. I said I’d make a few inquiries with the cop at Mahoney High. And I said that I’d try to get to know Raoul a little better. You’re worrying about nothing, Sawyer. Now get your ugly hands off my pie.”

  Chapter Six

  Raoul walked down the empty hallway, his trombone case bumping his leg with each step. Man, he’d be glad when the winter concert was over. His band teacher might just blow a gasket before that happened. Tonight, he’d actually taken a set of drums away from the kid who stood next to Jacob.

  He was starving. Lunch had been seven hours earlier. Most of the time, he got some food out of the vending machines before practice started. Today, he’d been pulling his money out of his pocket when trouble had stepped around the corner.

  He’d looked around but it was only him and JJ and Beau. He wasn’t sure what JJ’s real name was because everybody just called him JJ. He and Beau were both juniors and Raoul hated them. They’d been pretty much making his life difficult since football had ended in November and they’d suddenly had too much free time.

  Beau had held out his hand and Raoul had dropped the dollar bills into it. It wasn’t the first time they’d ripped him off. He’d thought about telling somebody but they’d already told him that they’d beat the crap out of him if he did that.

  He believed them. They could probably bench-press his weight without breaking a sweat. He hadn’t even told Jacob and he usually told Jacob everything.

  It was just too embarrassing.

  He’d gone to band practice hungry and been so angry that he hadn’t even been able to stay with the music. He was looking forward to the brownies left from dinner the night before.

  Raoul turned the corner and almost bumped into JJ and Beau. He veered to the left, hoping to get around them. Twice in one day was too much.

  Beau stepped directly in front of him. “Where you going, band boy?”

  Raoul didn’t answer. He took a side step. “I don’t have any more money,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

  “That’s not band boy, that’s Limpy.” JJ lounged against the locker and laughed at his own joke. “That’s your name, right?”

  Raoul wanted to pound their stupid faces into the wall. But he knew if he tried, they’d kill him first. So he didn’t say a word. He just stood there and took it.

  “I saw you get dropped off for school this morning,” Beau said. “Somebody told me that’s your sister. She is hot, sizzling hot.” He touched the gray lockers with his index finger and made a sizzling noise. “I’d like to do her.”

  “Shut up,” Raoul said.

  “Maybe we could both do her,” JJ said, “at the same time.”

  The two of them laughed like they were the funniest things on earth. “Stay away from my sister,” Raoul said.

  “Oooh,” Beau said, pretending to be frightened. “Like we care what you tell us to do.” He grabbed Raoul’s trombone case and threw it, sending it end-over-end down the hallway. It banged against the metal lockers. “Go get it.”

  He took a step, trying to walk around Beau. JJ stepped away from the lockers, reached out, put his hand on Raoul’s shoulder and pushed down.

  “Crawl.”

  Beau laughed. “Yeah, on your hands and knees. Like a dog. A scrawny pup from the pound.”

  Raoul thought about running in the other direction. But what would he tell Carmen about his trombone? She wasn’t going to believe that he’d forgotten it somewhere. And if she knew these kids were hassling him, she’d be in the office, demanding that something be done.

  Then it would get worse.

  Raoul dropped to his knees. Then like a stupid baby, he started crawling. His backpack felt heavy and awkward and the floor hurt his knees. He could hear Beau and JJ laughing. He didn’t look back until he reached his case. When he did, they were gone.

  He couldn’t breathe. He freakin’ couldn’t breathe.

  He tried to stand up but he couldn’t. With his back against the lockers, he slid down to the floor.

  And then he started to cry.

  And he hated more than he’d ever hated before.

  He finally picked himself up off the floor and left the school. He got on his regular bus, rode for thirty minutes, and got off at his stop, which was three blocks from his house. He hadn’t walked more than fifteen feet when the man claiming to be Hector’s friend approached from behind and started walking next to him. “You’re late today,” the man said. It was so cold that his words came out in a puff of steam.

  Raoul didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like talking to anybody. He walked faster.

  The man kept pace. “I’ve got something of Hector’s that he wanted you to have,” he said.

  That got Raoul’s attention. There was nothing of Hector’s at their apartment, except for a couple of pictures that had Hector in them. “What?”

  “I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” the man said. “Give me your number and I’ll text you later and let you know where you can meet me.”

  Raoul considered the suggestion. It wouldn’t hurt to give the man his number. If he decided he didn’t want to go, he’d just ignore it. He rattled it off and the man entered it into his own cell phone.

  “I still don’t know your name,” Raoul said.

  “Apollo,” he said. “Just call me Apollo. I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  AT TEN MINUTES after six, Robert pulled up in front of his mom’s pale yellow house. It was a nice two-bedroom, two-bath Cape Cod in a neighborhood that had been predominantly Polish at one time.

  She wasn’t Polish. But she’d fallen in love with the house four years ago after her fifth marriage ended and she’d needed a place to live. Robert had bought it for her.

  At least this time she wouldn’t have to move. Norman had moved in with her.

  His mom greeted him with a kiss on his cheek and pulled him into the house. It smelled like vanilla
and he could see candles burning on the mantel of the fake fireplace.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Normie has a girlfriend, someone he met at last year’s Flower and Garden Show. They’re moving to Florida. I’m being dumped for a longer growing season,” she added.

  He smiled, knowing that’s what she expected. Wanted. Humor, even at her own expense, had always been his mother’s fallback position.

  “You going to be okay?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. At sixty-seven, her face was showing the signs of age.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” he asked. He hated the idea of canceling on Carmen, but he couldn’t leave his mom crying at her kitchen table.

  “Bingo at the church,” she said. “I’m going with my friend Margie.”

  “You don’t play bingo,” he said.

  She sucked in a big breath. “I do now. Margie says there’s a group of retired gentlemen there, most of them widowers.”

  “Good Lord, Mom. Has Norman even moved his things out?”

  “This afternoon. I helped him pack his truck.” With the palm of her hands, she smoothed down her shirt. “At my age, you can’t wait around forever. And they only play bingo twice a month.”

  Rebound bingo. At least he didn’t have to give her the lecture about practicing safe bingo.

  He stood up, pushed his chair in and kissed his mother’s cheek. Ten years ago, he’d have tried to convince her that it wasn’t wise to jump from the frying pan into the fire. That was two husbands ago. “Call me if you need anything,” he said.

  It only took him fifteen minutes to get to Carmen’s apartment. At twenty minutes before seven, he parked down the block. He left his car running, knowing that the temperature inside would drop in minutes if he killed the engine.

  He closed his eyes and tried to block out the last half hour. It didn’t work.

  He had a bad gene pool. Maybe Sawyer was right to be worried about Carmen. What was it that he’d said? Not sure Carmen and you want the same thing.

  What did he want from Carmen?

  He wanted to kiss her again. That was a given. He’d managed to keep from blurting that out, thankfully.