“I’m thinking that it’s one of three guys-Fritz, Mike, or Dustin. I’m thinking maybe you should run a trace on all three of them, see if there are any priors of any sort. But you should see if there are any registered sex offenders in the area. See if there are any other viable suspects.”

“I’ve done all that. I’ve run traces on everyone remotely connected to Jason Eagan, including the chief of police, who, you might be interested in knowing, at one time had a clandestine relationship with Dustin Lafferty’s mother. It ended a few years ago, but I thought I’d pass that on. None of the others have arrests for any sex crimes-not even a peeper among them-but Mike Keeler has had a few assault charges against him. Never convicted, charges were always dropped. Mostly bar fights. Walker also told me Mike had been stopped a few times for driving without a license before he turned sixteen, but it was no big deal. Apparently all the boys around here did that.”

“Dustin said Mike had an aggressive streak.”

Mitch lowered his feet and leaned forward in the chair to face T.J. “Knowing what you know about the players you’ve been talking to, I want your gut reaction, T.J. I need it. You may not trust yourself anymore, but I still do.”

“That’s real nice of you, Mitch,” T.J said drily. “Nice try.”

“Will you knock it off?” Mitch’s jaw tightened. “You gonna carry that cross for the rest of your life? Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Everyone’s mistakes don’t cost innocent people their lives,” T.J. snapped.

“Sometimes they do. Look, I admit, what happened in Georgia, that was horrendous. No getting around it. And I can understand why you would want to walk away, why you’d never want to put yourself in that position again. I might look at things that way myself, for a while. But it wasn’t your fault, what happened. It was Teddy Kershaw’s fault those people died. I think you’ve repented for his sins long enough, don’t you?”

“Ask those kids in Georgia whose mothers Kershaw killed, the husbands who lost their wives. The parents who will never see their daughters again.” T.J.’s eyes clouded. “Ask them if they think I should be let off the hook.”

“You have to let it go, buddy.” Mitch shook his head. “You just have to let it go.”

When T.J. didn’t respond, Mitch said, “So what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Sorry I took so long.” Lorna opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. “I got tied up with emails. I’ve gotten behind in my work this week. I’m afraid I have a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, I’ll be out of your hair for a few days,” T.J. told her. “There are a few things I need to take care of, too.”

“If everyone is bailing on me, you can at least give me your impressions before I leave,” Mitch said.

“I don’t know,” Lorna said. “I’m not the professional here. Ask T.J. He did almost all of the talking, anyway. Which he should have,” she hastened to add, “since I’m not a detective.”

“I don’t have a favorite.” T.J. shook his head, determined to remain uncommitted.

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll start with Fritz and Mike, move on to Dustin. Not that I think they’ll tell me anything they didn’t tell you, but I want it all on the record.”

“Were you able to find a listing for Matt Conrad?”

“No. But I did learn he’s been on the West Coast for the past nine years or so,” Mitch told them.

“I thought he was out near Reading?” Lorna recalled.

“That was apparently very old information. I talked to Chief Walker earlier today, just wanted him to be aware of our thoughts about the local ‘boys,’ and he tracked Matt through a cousin who still lives nearby,” Mitch said. “If we go with our theory, that the killer has remained local to stay near his kills, I think we can cross him off the list, but I’ll have someone in the San Diego office pay him a visit. I don’t expect it to pan out, though. No, I’m sticking with one of the Keelers or Lafferty for now.” He rocked for a moment, then said, “Maybe we want a warrant for that big old house Fritz is living in. Might be some souvenirs there.”

“I don’t see Fritz as your killer.” The words were out of T.J.’s mouth almost before he realized he’d spoken.

“Really. Who do you see?”

“I don’t see anyone in particular. He just doesn’t fit…” T.J. stopped in mid-sentence.

“He doesn’t fit the profile? Why not? He’s gay, like three victims were. He was there both nights. He grew up around here, might very well have frequented the Purple Pheasant. I will definitely ask him about that. And he’s stayed close to home, close to the remains, just like we figured the killer might do.” Mitch finished the thought. “If he doesn’t fit the profile, who does?”

“I’ll see you in a few days, Lorna.” T.J. stood, choosing to ignore Mitch’s question. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll have my cell with me.”

“Thanks.” She watched him walk to his car and get in. He turned the car around and waved as he drove past the porch.

“Was it something I said?” Lorna asked as his taillights disappeared at the end of the drive.

“No, it was something I said.” Mitch sounded regretful. “I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Learn to take no for an answer.”

“What was the question?”

“The Bureau would love to have T.J. back. He doesn’t want to come. I should just shut up and let the man live his life.”

“Why do you make such an issue of it? Why don’t you drop it?”

“That’s exactly what I should do. And I will, I guess. I just remember how good he was, how clever at picking apart people’s stories and their personalities. I hate to see such talent go to waste. Especially when he loved it so much.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll do what’s best for himself. If he loves it that much, he’ll have to decide on his own to go back. If he doesn’t, it means he really doesn’t want the job.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Mitch got out of the chair. “I should be going, too. I’ll have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Can you let me know if anything happens?”

“Sure. Thanks for the loan of the porch.”

“Anytime.”

Lorna watched Mitch drive away, much as she’d watched T.J. leave. She leaned over the porch rail for a few minutes and watched the last of the season’s fireflies dot the growing blackness out near the field. The heavy scent from the orchard reminded her that autumn was closing in. She was about to go inside when headlights turned into the driveway. She watched the police cruiser pull to a stop.

“Lorna,” Chief Walker greeted her curtly as he got out of the car.

“Hello, Chief.” She stood her ground on the porch.

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” He stood at the end of the brick walk, hands on his hips, looking more than a little formidable. “The DA’s dropping the charges against Billie Eagan. While I don’t know that I totally agree, the preliminary hearing was set for Wednesday, and he doesn’t feel he has enough evidence to make it through right now. Doesn’t mean he can’t refile, but for now Billie’s off the hook. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. And Billie knows this?”

“Just stopped out to tell her myself.” He looked like he wanted to say more on that subject but apparently decided against it.

Instead, he asked, “Any idea where the FBI fellow went when he left here? Guess I just missed him, eh?” he said, as if to let Lorna know that he knew she was harboring the enemy.

“I didn’t ask where he was going.”

“Well, I guess I can call his cell phone,” Walker grumbled, clearly unhappy to have to deal with Mitch in any capacity. “I have to tell you, I for one am not happy to have him around. This is my town, my investigation. Nothing would please me more than to see him leave. You can go ’head and tell him that, as you’re so buddy-buddy.”

“He’s a friend of a friend. But maybe in the long run, it will work to your benefit, having the FBI involved.”