“Too late. You already started talking. Now it’s in your own best interest to give us enough to help.”

“Girls don’t talk! They just…disappear.” Ginny suddenly looked up. “How come the police don’t know? How can you not figure out what’s going on out there? Every month, another girl vanishes. And no one says boo! It’s like we really are nothing but insects, and he can devour as many of us as he wants, and no one gives a damn. A million flies die, and a million more are born the next day. You should know these things. You should care about us!”

“How many girls?” Sal pressed.

“A lot!”

“Can you give me names? Dates? I need specifics.”

“Then ask around! I’m not doing your fucking job for you. I’m already risking my neck!”

“What happens to the girls?” Kimberly quizzed, voice rising from the other side, keeping Ginny off balance.

“I don’t know.”

“He picks them up in his SUV?”

“I would guess.”

“Takes them home?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to his house. All our transactions take place in his FourRunner. I already know too much as it is.”

“But the bodies, Ginny,” Kimberly kept on her. “If all these girls are being picked off by one man as you claim, what happens to their remains?”

“I don’t know!” Ginny cried again, but her gaze was sliding away. “Isn’t that your job? Why am I supposed to know everything?”

“Forget it,” Kimberly declared, sitting back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re right. You don’t know squat. Let’s send her back, Sal. She’s worthless. We’ll drive her back to the club, drop her off in front. Maybe if she’s lucky, no one will notice.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I mean, she’s not even that good a liar.”

“Hey!” Now Ginny’s eyes were red-hot. “I’m plenty good enough. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Kimberly suddenly jerked forward into the girl’s face, forcing her to fall back. “Is that what this is, Ginny? A con? In your own words, you’re nothing but a player, looking for a way out. Why should we believe you? Missing girls? Spiders? Please, this is more Stephen King than true crime. What’s with you, anyway? You keep calling me and calling me, and yet you refuse to tell me anything useful.”

“Calling you?” Ginny shook her head again. “I already told you. I haven’t seen Dinchara since we last spoke. I haven’t had any reason to call you.”

“Come on, dialing me up, making me listen to that audio recording of your mother-”

“You heard the tape?” The girl seemed genuinely surprised, then perked up. “So you know, then! You know I’m not making this up! He really is killing people. You heard the tape, you can arrest him!”

“Who’d you give my number to, Ginny?”

“I didn’t, I swear! I’d be killed for just having a fed’s business card on me. Like hell I’m broadcasting the info.”

“Then who called me?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I fucking don’t!”

“Yes, you fucking do!”

Kimberly sat back. Both she and Ginny were breathing hard. She slanted a frustrated glance at Sal. He took over the reins.

“Ginny,” he said, “what happened to Tommy?”

The girl folded. Her shoulders slumped, her tough veneer collapsed.

“I happened to Tommy,” she said wearily. “Everyone has to give a name. He demands it. It has to be the name of someone you love. He’d already got my mom, remember? Tommy was all I had left.”

“Did you see Dinchara shoot Tommy?”

“No. But I know he did it. Minute I saw the story on the news. What else could’ve happened?”

“Tommy into drugs?” Sal asked it evenly.

Ginny scowled at him. “Tommy? No way. He was Mr. Squeaky Clean. Hell, he even thought he loved me. Dumb stupid jerk.” Her hand was fiddling at her neck, where once upon a time, she might have worn a ring, dangling on a chain.

“Is that why you gave me the class ring?” Kimberly spoke up. “To lead me to Tommy?”

“You said you needed evidence. Well, there you have it. Tommy’s murder is unsolved. Plus you heard my mother’s tape. Now, throw Dinchara’s ass in jail.”

“Nothing would make us happier,” Sal said. “All we need is his name.”

Ginny gave him a look. “You think I know his name? Why the hell would he be so stupid as to tell me something like that? You’re not getting it. He has the control. He has the power. I’m just a bug he hasn’t gotten around to killin’ yet.”

Kimberly sat back, pursed her lips. She regarded Ginny for a long moment, wondering if just by staring she could catch a glimpse of what was really going on under the surface. On the one hand, Ginny had made the first contact with the police, and claimed to want justice. On the other hand, she never really told them much. By her own admission, she was brave enough to let a black widow waltz up her arm, but not courageous enough to bolt the minute Dinchara let her go. She was savvy enough to have survived a serial killer for the past two years, but she’d never managed to notice his license plate or any identifying characteristics.

She was more hostile than helpful. A bigger liar than an informant. A manipulator more than an ally.

And yet, as the saying went, she was the best they had.

“So,” Kimberly stated. “Guy killed your mother, your boyfriend, and maybe a couple of your friends. Seems like you’d want to get even. Have a little justice, set yourself free.”

“Of course I do-”

“Unless, of course, you plan on paying him half your income forever. How’s that gonna work once the baby is born, anyway? Think he’ll babysit? Volunteer to watch the kid so you can go out and hustle?”

“Hey, I am never letting him near my child!”

“And he’ll quietly accept that?”

Ginny looked like she might finally cry.

“Seems to me,” Kimberly continued, “best option is definitely to throw his sorry ass in jail.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“But you know, without a name, license plate, personal information…”

She let her voice drift. Ginny didn’t rush to fill in the blanks. So Kimberly went with plan B. She shrugged. “Well, there is one last option. I mean, if you’re serious about catching this guy.”

Ginny perked up. “What? How? Just tell me what I gotta do.”

“We’ll wire you up. You arrange a meeting with Dinchara, and we’ll use his own statements to nail him to the wall.”

I SAW MY BROTHER TODAY.

He was at the movie theater, three rows ahead of me, arm around a pretty girl with straight blond hair that hung like a silk curtain down her back. I was eating popcorn, but the minute I spotted him, I started to cough, then had to duck down quickly when he looked back in annoyance at whoever was making such a racket.

I stayed for a while on my hands and knees on the sticky theater floor. I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t figure out how to react.

So after a bit, I decided to do what I did best-nothing at all.

I returned to my seat. I put my popcorn on my lap. And I watched the slasher film, one chainsaw after another. They didn’t get any of the details right. Hollywood doesn’t know jackshit about real blood.

The blond girl liked my brother. Every time the movie soundtrack grew ominous, she’d snuggle against him, her head tucked against his shoulder. Except soon she didn’t bother to lift her head anymore. Just kept it there, against his chest, while his hand curled tighter around her and they both giggled at something that had nothing to do with the bloodbath on the screen.

She had a nice giggle, bubbly fresh, like a summer’s day.

In my mind, I gave her that name. My older brother was dating a girl named Summer. I bet they walked under moonlit skies, went necking in the back of my parents’ borrowed car, attended the prom with her perky little breasts covered in a giant corsage.