Sean and Brad stood in an interrogation room as Stuart Crowell took a seat. The mud covering him was now dry and flaking all over the table, chair, and floor. Sean stifled a laugh as he watched the suspect try, unsuccessfully, to clean the dirt from under his fingernails. Under the circumstances, Crowell’s actions were comical, since nothing short of a waterfall would get the man clean. The two lawmen waited in silence until the human mud pie finally looked up at them. “What?”

Neither man responded but continued to stare until the suspect started to squirm under the dark scrutiny. Lynch finally moved from where he’d been leaning against a wall, to standing opposite Crowell. “Where were you this past Saturday night and Sunday morning?”

The suspect shrugged his shoulders as if he was bored. “I don’t know.”

Lynch leaned forward and slammed his hands on the table causing Crowell to jump back, almost falling off the chair. “You better know,” the detective growled in a low voice. “Cause I’ve got a dead body that you’re looking good for.”

“Wh . . . what?” Crowell’s eyes became as wide as saucers. He began to panic, rapidly looking back and forth from one face to the other. “I didn’t kill no one! No fucking way, man! You got the wrong guy! I never killed anyone!”

“Well, then, help us clear you,” Sean said in a sympathetic tone of voice. He took the role of good cop to the detective’s bad cop. “Tell us where you were Saturday and Sunday.”

“I . . . I don’t remember.”

Lynch smacked the table again.

Crowell flinched. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Um, Sunday . . . Sunday I was working most of the day. Yeah, that’s where I was.” A look of relief came over his face as he realized he had an alibi.

“Working where?”

“The Auto Zone in the Caldwell Shopping Center. I was there from ten in the morning ’til five.”

Leaning on his hands, Lynch scowled at the suspect. “What about the rest of the day and late Saturday night between eleven and one thirty?”

“Before and after work I was home. My mom can vouch for me. She saw me. And Saturday . . . um. . . where was I?” Crowell tapped the table with his fingers in frustration before his face lit up. “Oh yeah!” His relieved expression immediately fell. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Lynch raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck does uh-oh mean?”

“If I tell you, I’m screwed.”

The detective raised his voice again. “And if you don’t tell us, you’re screwed. Now where the fuck were you?”

“Shit, man, this is so messed up,” the suspect mumbled, his eyes downcast. “I was . . . I was over in Wanchese with a buddy of mine.”

“And . . .?”

The reason for Crowell reluctance to talk suddenly became clear to Sean. “And you were burglarizing someone’s house, weren’t you?”

Crowell nodded reluctantly. Because the suspect had just admitted to committing a crime, the interview turned into an official interrogation and Lynch read him his Miranda rights. “Do you understand these rights?”

The suspect rolled his eyes “Yeah. I’ve fucking heard them before.”

“Are you willing to speak to us without your lawyer?”

“Whatever. If I don’t, you’ll pin the murder on me.”

Sliding a Miranda waiver across the table for Crowell to sign, Brad tossed a pen on top of it and waited until the signature was in its proper place. “What’s the address of the house you hit?”

The thief glanced up at him with a defeated look on his face. “I don’t remember the number, but it was on Pond Road. White with red trim.”

Lynch left the pen on the table and replaced the waiver with a yellow legal pad. “Write down everything you took. If it matches the police report of what the homeowner said was taken and when, we can probably clear you of the homicide.”

“But now I’m on the hook for the burglary, right?”

“Five to seven is better than twenty-five to life.”

Crowell sighed and picked up the pen again.

* * *

At ten after five Sheriff Griffin and the task force members sat in the conference room with frustrated looks on their faces. After bringing Stuart Crowell back to the booking cell, Sean and Lynch went out to substantiate his alibi. His boss verified Stuart had been there from ten to five on Sunday, and his mother said he was home before and after work. Two of his neighbors also confirmed they saw Crowell’s car in his driveway at the times he was supposedly home and they didn’t see him leave in another car or on foot. Lynch pulled the burglary report from 31 Pond Road and the stolen inventory matched Crowell’s list of what he and his buddy had taken from the residence. The only issue they still had was Crowell refused to say who his partner in crime had been. But all the evidence cleared him for Daphne Jones’s homicide, so Sean didn’t care if the guy wanted to take full responsibility for the burglary. The case had been transferred to the property crimes detectives; it was their problem now.

Brian Malone and Rafe Montoya reported they’d had little success with their interviews. While several of the nightclub’s employees remembered seeing Daphne in her tight, red dress, no one recalled seeing her with anyone in particular and they didn’t see her leave the bar.

Lynch stated he had no luck with the surveillance tape from the club. While Daphne was spotted several times, he couldn’t get a clear picture of anyone she was talking to or dancing with. “The vic must have left through the back door of the place because I didn’t see her on the front door video. Unfortunately, the video for the back is worse than the rest of them. It was too fucking distorted to distinguish anyone and since it was in black and white, I couldn’t even look for a red dress.”

“Did our UNSUB know the video equipment sucked, tamper with it himself, or did he just get lucky?” Sean wondered aloud as he leaned back in his chair.

Brad rubbed his tired, dry eyes. “Lucky would be my guess. For a popular place they have a shit surveillance setup. It looks like the lenses are dirty from smoke and grime. Probably haven’t been cleaned since they were installed. There’s no sign of tampering with the cameras or digital system. So we’re back at square one—no suspects and no leads.”

“And no idea who his next victim is,” Brian Malone added wryly.

“Shit.” The detective’s gaze zipped to Sean’s. “Anything on similar homicides in N-DEx?”

He shook his head. “No. There’s a glitch in the system and the program’s temporarily down—what else is fucking new? The HQ techs are working on it and I’m told they should have it running again in the morning. As soon as it’s up I’ll re-enter the parameters.”

Lynch let out an exasperated breath. “Jeez, can’t catch a fucking break today, can we? Anyone have anything positive to add to this mess?”

Sean stood and stretched his shoulders and neck. He pushed an image of Grace giving him a massage from his mind. “Well, I’ve got one of the best FBI profilers coming to see us tomorrow afternoon. Her name’s Suki Ralston. I’ve worked with her on a few cases and the woman knows her stuff.”

“I know you feds claim profiling has helped in the past, but does it really work or is it just a fucking guessing game? I mean—”

Griffin held up his hand, cutting the other man off mid-sentence. “It could be fucking voodoo for all I care, but if it helps us catch this bastard I’m all for it.” Looking up at Sean, he asked, “What time is she coming?”

“She’s flying into Elizabeth City from Quantico and should be here sometime after two. Knowing her she’ll dig right in and be up half the night going through the files. My guess is she’ll have a preliminary profile ready first thing Thursday morning.” He turned to Brad. “And the answer to your question is yes, it does work, but it won’t hand you your suspect on a silver platter like the general public seems to think; although I wished it did. It’s just another tool to use to narrow down your search.”

The sheriff stood and started for the door. “Sounds good. Lynch, update your file and leave a copy on my desk. Everyone else, I’ll see you in the morning.” He paused at the doorway. “Oh, and I’d like all of you to be with me at tomorrow’s press conference at eleven. The commissioner and mayor want the public to see we’re using every resource available to solve this. You don’t have to be at every one. Maybe every few days until this is over. Politics, politics, gotta love fucking politics.”

Brad grabbed his file and headed for the door. “Smile pretty for the cameras, boys.”

The other men groaned. Dealing with the press and politicians was always a pain in the ass for investigators, but sometimes they were a necessary evil. If you kissed their asses often enough, they might help out somehow when you really needed it.

Montoya and the Malone brothers said goodnight to the chief and detective, and walked out to the station’s parking lot. Montoya gave the others a quick goodbye before hopping into his car and driving off. He’d mentioned earlier, his nephew’s high school baseball team was playing its first game of the season against their biggest rival, and if Rafe hurried he could catch the end of it.

Brian’s navy blue Dodge Ram was parked two spaces away from Sean’s Mustang. When they reached their vehicles, Sean looked at his brother. “I’m starving. What do you say to dinner and a few beers at Sassy’s?” The local restaurant was a few doors down from their uncle’s hardware store and had been a favorite among Whisper’s residents for many years. Before Bonnie had taught Dan how to cook nutritious meals for his three orphaned nephews, the Malone teenagers and their uncle had spent many nights eating at Sassy’s. The restaurant’s namesake had passed away several years ago, but her daughter and son-in-law had taken over the business and kept it thriving.

Tossing his keys in the air, Brian caught them again. “Sorry, bro. I get together with a bunch of the guys from work on Thursday evenings for some three-on-three basketball at the ‘Y’. We usually go out afterward, though, for a few beers. Why don’t you come with us?”

“No, thanks. I just want to sit and relax tonight, maybe catch a game on TV. You go ahead and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You sure?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just stop, pick up a six-pack, and chill on the couch.”

“All right. See you tomorrow.”

“Later.”

* * *

Grace steered her shopping cart up and down the aisles of the Stop and Go grocery store. Two blocks away from her PT office, the store wasn’t as large as most chain supermarkets, yet it still had plenty of name brands, a full buffet of hot food for when you weren’t in the mood to cook, and a wide variety of fresh coffee beans to choose from.

As she strolled through the aisles her thoughts turned to Sean. This was nothing new since she had been thinking of him all day. She’d really had a fun time the evening before and all they had done was sit on the floor and share a pizza. He’d walked into Pro-Care wearing a sports coat over a T-shirt and jeans, which fit him like a glove. He’d looked yummy with the coat on, but when he took it off, and she saw the snug fit of the tee over his sculpted chest and shoulders—Lord, help her, he’d been downright gorgeous. His body was hard and tight. Her hands had ached to touch his shoulders, chest, arms, and back, and feel every contour. A lock of his hair had kept falling down over his forehead and she wished she’d been courageous enough to reach out and stroke it back into place.

She sighed. Oh, well, back to reality.

Aside from daydreaming about the sexy Sean Malone, it had been a long, yet productive, day and although she was hungry, she wasn’t in the mood to fix a big dinner. She’d just picked up a hot, precooked chicken to place in her basket when she heard a tsk tsk behind her. Spinning around, she found herself looking into a pair of teasing, mocha-brown eyes and her heart skipped a beat. She’d been thinking of the man all day—hell, she’d been thinking of him just a few seconds ago—and now here he was, standing in front of her, grinning that adorable grin which made her insides flutter.

“What?” she asked as a smile spread across her face.

“Bonnie would have a fit if she saw you buying any premade food.”

Grace laughed. “Only if it’s frozen and processed. A fresh chicken is okay in her book. Besides, I already grabbed the fixings for a salad and a baking potato to go with it.”

Sean rubbed his growling stomach. “Stop! You’re making me even hungrier. And to tell you the truth, I’m getting one of those chickens for my own dinner, along with a beer or two.”

“Why should we get two chickens, when we can split one?” Grace queried, hoping he would agree. “I’ll get the food, you grab the beer.”

“Sounds good to me.” He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice so it was dramatically sexy. “So, babe, your place or mine?”

She laughed at his antics. “Um, mine if it doesn’t matter to you. I have a few things in here that need to be refrigerated.” She indicated her half full cart. “Besides, you haven’t seen my new place yet.”

“All righty then. You grab another potato, I’ll get us a six-pack and we’ll meet at the checkout line.” He turned, then glanced back over his shoulder. “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever picked up a woman in a grocery store.”