“And Jack?”

“Oh, he’s not normal.” He laughed again. But this time it didn’t sound genuine or joyful. It sounded nervous and forced.

“So what makes him kill?”

He shrugged with both shoulders, practically bringing them up to his huge earlobes, an exaggerated gesture. Gwen realized Otis knew much more than he was willing to share.

“I suppose you’d have to ask Jack. But he does seem to enjoy it quite a bit.”

“He told you that?”

Another shrug. “I guess he likes the challenge or what have you. He likes to study them.”

“By killing them?”

He was watching her. His tongue darted out the corner of his mouth. Gwen was starting to recognize the mannerism as a tell, a nervous twitch when he was trying to decide if he should confide or reveal what was evidently on the tip of his tongue.

“Well, it’s not just the killing.” His voice was so quiet and soft, Gwen found herself leaning over the table between them so she could hear him.

Otis hesitated, either struggling to find words or measuring them. Gwen wasn’t sure which.

“He said he enjoys seeing what they’re made of, you know. What they’re willing to do, what kinds of things they’ll say just to stay alive. What they’ll tell him and what not, just so he won’t kill them.”

He paused. Eyes darted up to the ceiling, again, for a moment. Back to Gwen.

“And he said he likes to … oh, I don’t know … he likes to feel what they’re made of, too. Their skin and their blood, what have you. He really enjoys cutting them. Cutting up a person isn’t really any different from butchering a hog.” Another pause, but now he was watching Gwen to see her reaction. “At least that’s what he said.”

The room felt hot. Gwen’s blouse stuck to her back. She resisted the urge to wipe her forehead. She didn’t want Otis to see that she was uncomfortable. That she was sweating. She had forgotten her mission. Somehow they had verged way off the path. She didn’t need to know all this. She needed to focus. She needed to get what she came for.

“It’s been over a year since you talked to Jack. You think you’d still be able to recognize him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty ordinary looking.”

“Did he tell you where he lived or worked?”

Otis’s smile grew wider but he twisted up his face, then shook his head. He knew exactly what she was doing and he wasn’t playing.

“You found one of his dumping grounds.” He said it like the discovery should mean something more.

“Does he live close by?”

Still shaking his head. Gwen wasn’t sure it meant “no,” or if he just couldn’t believe she was asking.

“I can’t give you Jack.”

She stifled a sigh and shifted in her chair. This was a big waste of time.

“But I can give you another one of his dumping grounds.”

“There really is another one?”

“Oh yeah. Several.”

Gwen reminded herself that everything he had told her so far had been true.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“But this time there’s something I want. I want to go along and show you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not gonna tell anything more unless I get to go along.”

And sure enough he pushed his chair away and stood up as best he could with the limitations of the shackles. He was finished with her.

“Otis, I don’t know that I can arrange that.”

The guard came in and Otis lifted his hands to him.

“You let me know. I’ll be waiting. I’m not going anywhere.”

CHAPTER 38

MANHATTAN, KANSAS

“He’s afraid,” Maggie told Detective Lopez and Tully.

“That this so-called madman will come back and get him?” Lopez wasn’t buying it. “Then why not give us a description? Why not tell us where we can find his friend?”

“This killer is not just confident and efficient, he’s …” Tully paused to search for the right word. “To put it mildly, he’s brutal.”

Lopez shook his head.

They were waiting at the rest area for Ryder Creed and Grace. Lopez had brought two of his uniformed officers to assist, but he’d already explained how he had a crew of a dozen men search the woods for ten straight hours the day before. They hadn’t found anything valuable for their efforts.

“And it’s mushroom season,” Lopez said.

“Mushroom season?” Maggie asked, glancing at Tully to see if he had any idea what that meant.

“As soon as the redbuds bloom, wild mushrooms sprout up,” Lopez explained. “They’re a delicacy. People hunt for them. Which means there’s been a bunch of people traipsing around these hills and bluffs and nobody’s reported finding a lost teenager. Or a body.

“You want to know what I think,” Lopez continued. “I think Noah Waters is afraid, all right. I think he’s afraid I’ll arrest his ass. You say this killer you two are looking for is confident and efficient? Pretty sloppy to let one of his victims go. This case obviously doesn’t have anything to do with your guy.”

“You still think Noah did something to Ethan?”

“Hell yes. Why else would that kid be throwing up every time we want to discuss the details? Maybe he can’t even believe what he did. I’ve seen how a guilty person acts and Noah Waters is guilty.”

“So what did he do with Ethan?” Tully asked.

The detective shrugged. “I’ve checked hospitals in a hundred-mile radius. Just in case someone found him and picked him up. His parents have called all of his friends. I put out an APB. If he’s injured he could be delirious. Maybe a trucker picked him up. He could be in another state by now.”

Maggie took a good look at Lopez. Mid to late forties, military buzz cut, a short but compact body, eyebrows that were perpetually knitted with worry. He projected a serious, experienced, and tough demeanor, yet he still didn’t appear to believe her or Tully that this case could possibly be related to their hunt for a serial killer. She couldn’t decide if he really did believe that Ethan was still alive or if he simply wanted to believe it.

“But your men didn’t find the knife?” Tully again, playing the skeptic.

“What knife?”

“You have a severed finger,” Tully said. “You haven’t looked for the weapon that may have cut it off?”

For the first time Lopez looked like he had been caught off guard.

Just as Creed’s Jeep appeared on the interstate ramp coming down to the rest area, Maggie noticed the garbage truck, its hydraulic brakes hissing. It was finished collecting at the far end of the other parking lot and was heading for the ramp to get on the interstate.

She turned to Lopez and asked, “Your men didn’t check the trash receptacles?”

“My men were busy doing a search and rescue.” He seemed annoyed and defensive.

“How often is garbage collected here?”

“What? Once a week maybe. I have no idea.”

Maggie motioned to Tully to give her their rental’s keys.

“We have to stop that truck.”

“I’ve got it,” Tully said as he took off running for their SUV.

It was parked clear on the other side of the winding road in the cars’ parking lot.

Maggie gauged the distance. The garbage truck hiccupped and belched diesel. Tully would never make it in time. She sprinted over the lawn and sidewalk, dodging travelers. Through the trees she could see the road that wound around the rest area. The truck would need to follow it to get to the interstate’s entrance ramp. It was shorter for her to race through the trees that surrounded the small brick building. She ran at a diagonal, pumping, pushing, willing her legs to go faster. The truck had started up the road. She’d need to intercept it before it got to the ramp.

She didn’t, however, give it much thought as to how she’d stop it.

As she ran toward the road she pulled out her badge and waved it, but she was on the wrong side and too close for the driver to see her running alongside him on the passenger side. The truck started to accelerate and so did Maggie.