“It’s only been two days, Captain, and we’ve laid a lot of groundwork. Cops all over the city are watching for him. Everyone Thorburn knows has been alerted and warned. Whether or not they take the warning seriously, I can’t tell, but we’ve done all we can.”

Diego’s head bobbed up and down knowingly. “Okay, go home, Hank.” Diego dismissed him with a wave. “We’ll get him tomorrow.”

Hank picked up his briefcase, stood, and moved toward the doorway. “I hope so, Captain. Goodnight.”

“Oh, Hank.”

Hank turned back.

“How’s it working out between you and King?” Diego asked, stroking his mustache. “I realize he’s a little rough around the edges.”

Hank shrugged. “He has his uses. He lacks finesse, that’s for sure, and I have to prod him from time to time, but I’ve pretty much learned how to handle him. He’s still a slob, but I think he’s gotten over some of his arrogance. Gets along with the Lincolns better now. Not sure what he had against them at first. Maybe he saw them as some kind of threat. I don’t know.”

Diego grunted and observed Hank closely.

“He’s not such a bad cop when he gets his butt in gear. Good on the streets.” Hank chuckled. “But if you’re thinking of transferring him, it won’t break my heart in the least.”

Diego gave a short laugh. “I’m sure it wouldn’t.” He waved Hank out again, then leaned forward at his desk and picked up his paperwork.

Hank left the precinct, rounded the building, and got into his car. He hoped Diego was right about finding Thorburn tomorrow.

He drove from the lot, heading home. He was concerned about the third victim Thorburn claimed to have killed. Hank was keeping an eye out for any incoming reports, but no bodies had been discovered. If Thorburn was telling the truth, that made three victims in three days, and Hank dreaded what might happen tomorrow. Perhaps a fourth?

His cell phone rang; it was Teddy White again. Hank filled him in on their latest findings and assured him they were making good headway and he would catch his wife’s killer soon.

He parked in his usual spot behind his apartment building, made his way inside, and laid his briefcase on the kitchen table. After a quick snack, he would browse through the evidence again in the hopes something would jump out.

Then he would retire early. Perhaps he would be awakened in the night with the good news that Thorburn had been apprehended. If not, he would get a fresh start in the morning and do his best to stop the killings and bring the murderer to justice.

Chapter 33

DAY 4 - Thursday, 8:45 a.m.

ADAM THORBURN had been wide awake since the sun had come up over the tops of the thick bushes and stalwart trees surrounding his hut in the swamp. He sat outside enjoying nature, lounging on the rich, spongy grass near his rosebush. It’d been another fitful night’s sleep, with only the quiet sounds of the bog to lull him into the peace he yearned for.

As much as he loved the calm tranquility of the swamp, he couldn’t picture himself staying here forever. He wasn’t much for social interaction, but he looked forward to a visit with his mother. Since his father died, she was the only one he could talk to—the only one he cared to talk to. Nobody else understood him like she did.

Sure, his shrink understood him, but only in a clinical way, not on a personal level. Adam suspected Dr. Zalora cared more about collecting his fees than anything else—fees his mother couldn’t afford. He wasn’t sure how they got by with only his occasional paycheck and her meager earnings from the bar.

He looked at his watch. It neared nine o’clock and his mother would be waiting. It would take him a few extra minutes to get there, especially now that the streets were littered with cops sure to be on the lookout for him.

He hoped that Lincoln guy wasn’t around. He was big, and Adam wouldn’t stand much chance against the guy’s long legs. And God forbid he ever got into a physical altercation with him. He’d be toast, that’s for sure. He would need to be doubly vigilant from now on.

Rising to his feet, he started off. He was deep in the swamp, but he’d been in and out of there so many times he knew exactly the best route to take. He walked across spongy ground, eased across fallen trees, and hopped over muddy areas, finally making it to the edge of the wetland.

He faced a wide open and unused field, and the steel mill beyond it. His destination was the corner house of the next street—the same street his mother’s house was on. Hardly a safe zone to be venturing into, but he was confident and determined.

Crossing the field to the back of the mill’s property, he strode along the fence line to the corner, then turned and headed toward the street. A car drove by as he drew closer, and he ducked down into the long weeds, waited until it was clear, and then proceeded to the sidewalk.

He was at the intersection, a block away now, with no more weeds to hide behind. He could make out the Cochran house at the end of the block. Glancing around, he studied the area and chose his path carefully. There were lots of trees to duck behind, but that’s all that offered any hiding places should one be necessary during his long walk up the short block.

A police car nosed around the corner by the Cochran house and Adam dove backwards, dropped to the ground, and wormed his way into the tall weeds. He watched the car come toward him, then turn and head down the street. It was a close call, but if the cruiser rounded the block continually, Adam should have enough time before the vehicle made its next round.

Stepping back to the sidewalk, he looked in both directions. The coast was clear, at least for now. He darted across the street, kept a close eye ahead of him, and raced up the block. He jumped a hedge and landed on the grass at the rear of the Cochran house.

He crouched down to catch his breath, out of view from anyone on the street, and then looked toward the side door of the house. His mother had said it would be unlocked. He glanced at his watch; it was just past nine o’clock.

He looked toward the neighbor’s house. The windows were darkened and he couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. More than likely not. They probably worked at the mill, and anyone at home would be lounging in the living room.

Crossing the lawn carefully, he climbed onto the small wooden porch and pulled on the screen door. It was unlocked. He eased it open and turned the knob on the inner door. It turned, clicked, and then squeaked as he pushed it open.

He stepped into the bare kitchen and smiled at his mother, sitting at the kitchen table, a look of relief on her face as she glanced toward him.

“Sit down, Adam,” she said, motioning toward a chair.

He looked at the chair, wondering if it would hold him. Two of the others were broken, and the table was chipped and worn. It was no wonder it had been left behind when the Cochrans moved out. He dropped carefully into the only remaining solid chair and laid his arms on the table. “It’s good to see you.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” she said, laying a hand on his. “How have you been?”

Adam shrugged. He was mentally exhausted, afraid, and uneasy about the future. “Given the circumstances, I’m doing okay,” he said, forcing another smile.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

He nodded.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t get my note,” she said. “I assumed you’d take the roast chicken. I left it for you.”

“I got it,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. Newspapers littered the countertop. A green garbage bag, half full, was tossed in a corner. The room smelled musty, dirty, and long overdue for a scrubbing. “How safe is this place to meet?”