“Did you get my letters?”

Griffin shut up. He should've done this sooner. For David to play his game, he had to have input. Take away your participation, and there was nothing left for him to manipulate. No more happy reindeer games. No more jolly schoolboy fun.

“It's not so bad in here, you know,” David said, switching strategies. “Food's actually pretty good. I gather the fuckers in charge have figured out it's best to make sure the animals in the zoo are well fed. Keeps us from sharpening our fangs on one another-or maybe on them. I'm learning inner peace through quality time in a lotus position, and wouldn't you know it, I have a natural gift for carpentry. I know, I'll make you a table, Griff. Carve your initials in the base. For old times' sake. Come on, any size.”

Fitz opened his mouth. Griffin shot him a look, and the detective frowned but fell silent.

“Ooooh, just like a trained seal,” David said. He was smiling joyfully, all smooth round cheeks and big brown eyes. Back with his favorite kind of audience, he was happy. He was horrible. Jesus Christ, he looked like he was barely sixteen.

“Who raped and murdered Sylvia Blaire?” Griffin said quietly.

“Eddie Como.”

“How did you meet?”

“Griff, buddy, I never met Eddie. That's what I keep saying. It's his roommate, Jimmy Woods. We've spent some time together here in good ol' Max.”

“I'm not interested in your patsy, David. I want to know about the real College Hill Rapist. Tell me, which one of you thought of the douche?”

For the first time, Price faltered. He disguised it well, recovering swiftly and smiling again. On his lap, however, his fingers were beginning to fidget with his shackles. “You like this case, don't you, Griffin? It's complicated. Clever. You always appreciated that. Which one of the three women do you think hired Eddie Como's assassin? Or was it a member of their families? Personally, I got my money on the cold one. What's her name? Oh yeah, Jillian Hayes.”

“David, you have ten seconds to say something useful, or we're all walking out that door. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six-”

“I know who the real College Hill Rapist is.”

Griffin shrugged. “I don't believe you. Five, four, three-”

“Hey, hey, hey, don't be too hasty, man. Haven't all those months of therapy taught you anything? Slow it down. Take it easy. It wasn't my idea to yank your chain. He came to me.”

Griffin finally paused. “The College Hill Rapist came to you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Griffin already knew he was lying. “Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe he heard about my rep. Maybe he just desired a decent conversationalist. I can't read some guy's fucking mind. But he came to me, and we, uh, we talked about a few things.”

“How to commit a crime?”

“We both had an interest.”

“How to fuck with the police.”

David Price smiled. “Oh yeah. We both had an interest.”

“Congratulations, Price,” Fitz spoke up. “You just became an accessory to multiple rapes and murders. Now you're going to have to keep talking just to save your dumb-ass hide.”

David shot the detective a look of disdain. “Save my ass from what? The life in prison I'm already serving? Hey, buddy, haven't you heard about me? I'm the guy who befriends little kids on the playground. I hand them some candy, I push them on the swings. And then I take them home, down into my soundproofed basement, where I strip off their cute little clothes and-”

“You still haven't said anything new yet,” Griffin said. “Three, two, one-”

“He puts Como's little swimmers into each douche.”

“Fuck it, David. I told you that.”

“It was my idea,” David said seriously. “That DNA is troubling stuff. Hell, that's why I had to bury my pretty treats. Let decomposition do its nasty work. And then it occurred to me. DNA so likes to be up there in those deep, dark places… Why not let it have its way, man? Why not go with the flow? Don't hide DNA, own it. Man, bring it to the fucking game.”

Griffin stood up. “Thanks for repeating my own theory back to me. You're a shithead, David. Always have been. Always will be.”

Griffin headed for the door. And behind him, David Price said, “He knew Eddie Como. Eddie probably didn't know him. But he met the great Eddie Como. Met him one afternoon, probably for no more than ten minutes, just enough time for poor dumb Eddie to mention that he worked for the blood center. After that, my friend, his fate was sealed. The College Hill Rapist had his man.”

Griffin turned slowly. “He stalked Eddie Como?”

“He did his homework.”

“And what, stole old condoms out of Eddie's trash can?”

David had that sly look back on his face. “I won't answer that. But it is the key question, isn't it? How do you steal a man's mambo jambo? It's not like we lose track of it.”

“I don't believe you.”

“What's so hard to believe, Griff? That I'd help someone attack young college coeds? Or that you still can't do a thing to stop us? You got a serial rapist on the loose, Detective Sergeant Roan Griffin. Someone who looks like Eddie Como, sounds like Eddie Como and tests as Eddie Como. In other words, you have absolutely no fucking idea who he really is. So you sit down. And you listen up. Because I do know his goddamn name, and you're going to give me something for it. You're going to give me whatever I want, or you'll get to see my face on the five o'clock news, telling the frightened public how some overpumped, overranked state trooper is willfully disregarding critical evidence which could stop the bastard murdering their precious daughters. Now how do you like that?”

Griffin came forward. Then he took another step, and another step. Breathe deep, part of his mind said. The rest of him didn't give a flying fuck. His hands were fisted, his muscles were tensed and his face was mean. He should've killed David that day. He should've pounded his own friends into the ground, just so he could've gotten to David and ripped off his too-cute, too-smart, lying head.

“You're not getting out,” he said harshly. “No matter what you say, you're not getting out.”

“College coeds are dying-”

“Ten kids are dead!”

“I can guarantee you a new body by tonight. Count on it.”

“And I can guarantee you a transfer to Super Max. No more carpentry classes, yoga or cafeteria hours. Just the rest of your life, rotting alone in a six-by-eight cell.”

“Do you want to punish me, Detective Sergeant, or do you want to stop the man preying on pretty brunettes? Think carefully before you answer. The parents of all the College Hill Rapist's future victims breathlessly await your reply.”

“You little fucker-” Fitz snarled.

Impatiently, David cut him off. “Six o'clock,” he said crisply, eyes on Griffin's face. “Standard hardship leave for three hours. I get to have street clothes, you get to put me in shackles. I get to go into the outside world, you get to supervise. That's the deal.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. Or I go straight to the press and tell them that the same detective who tried to break my face eighteen months ago, now won't protect their precious little girls out of spite. Think about it, man. You don't deal with me, and another girl dies. You don't deal with me, and the public will eat you for dinner.” David glanced at the overhead clock. “It's ten A.M. now. You have until noon to decide.”

“We don't make deals with pedophiles.”

“Sure you do. You make deals with whoever has the fucking information. Now ask the question, Griff. Come on, man. Ask me what you really need to know.” David leaned forward. He stared up at Griffin with that wide beaming smile, that round choirboy face.

“You didn't hurt her,” Griffin said abruptly.

David Price blinked.

“You like to think you did. But you didn't. Cindy was better than you, David. Let's face it. She was better than me.”