She zoomed in until one sign was legible.

“That’s the store where the vic worked,” Dean snapped.

“I know.”

He reached for his phone, wanting Covey picked up now, but she put a hand on his arm. “One more second.”

Covey knocked on a door. A young guy opened it. He and Randy exchanged a few words, both looking around furtively. Cash exchanged hands. Then Covey beckoned the man over to the still-unlocked truck. Pulling a large box from it, he shoved it at the younger man, who dashed toward his store. A minute later, Tim walked out carrying a large fast-food bag. The two of them got into the truck and drove away.

The story the video told was perfectly clear. Randy Covey was stealing from his employer. Skimming off the top, selling electronics to some punk kid looking to pick up a stereo on the cheap. The kid had looked very familiar with the process; it hadn’t been the first time.

“You saw, right? Tim was clueless about any of this. At least, as of then. I’m wondering if Randy tried to drag him into it, and that’s what bothered him enough to come to my door the other night.”

“Could be. And it adds one more piece to the puzzle. Randy could have been doing his side business and staking out his future victims at the same time. Amber might even have bought something off him before she died.” It all made sense, especially with what he’d learned today. “Stokes and Mulrooney were able to get a look at the driving logs Covey has turned over to his employers,” he told her. “He was on overnight runs on many of the nights the murders occurred, including the last one.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Stacey admitted, “but everything you said the other night about the perpetrator, and what we’ve learned since, points to him as the Reaper. His background, his job, his history of abandonment, and his mommy issues. He delivers electronics, for heaven’s sake. How hard would it be for him to swipe the latest computer or video equipment for his own use?”

From the other side of the kitchen, he heard Mr. Rhodes sigh deeply. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. He’s not violent, sure isn’t a genius. I never imagined him doing something like this.”

Dean rubbed his jaw, feeling the rough stubble. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d shaved at his apartment this morning. Thank God this would be over soon.

Unable to take his eyes off the paused surveillance footage, Dean suddenly wondered about something. “He knew about the cameras,” he murmured.

“What?”

“He obviously knew there was a camera positioned to cover that loading dock area and the back door of the store. It was shot out the night Amber was taken.”

She followed. “So why would he conduct his side business in view of it?”

Good question. It made no sense.

Maybe Randy hadn’t thought anybody would pay attention to his poking around near the Dumpsters, especially if no crime had been reported. But anybody would know the video would be examined after the last murder.

It was the only reason he could think of for Randy’s initial carelessness. And he still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced. But it was at least possible. They’d know a lot more when they brought the man in for questioning.

“His house is only two miles away,” Stacey said.

Dean reached for his phone again. “I want backup.” He punched in Mulrooney’s number, gave him the information and Covey’s address, and told him to bring Stokes and meet them there in fifteen minutes.

Stacey, meanwhile, had made a call of her own. “Mitch and two other deputies who will keep their heads will be en route shortly.”

Good. If Randy Covey really was the Reaper, and he realized they were onto him, he could turn ruthlessly violent. With nothing left to lose, he’d have no reason not to.

A few minutes passed, and they both checked their weapons to make sure they were loaded. The tension in the Rhodes house was thick enough to swim in, but Stacey was about as calm and cool as he’d ever seen her. As if now that the end of the nightmare was in sight, she could stop worrying and just take care of business.

Finally, when it was time, they left the house and, by silent agreement, got into Stacey’s squad car. They reached the main road and began to pull out onto it when Stacey’s ancient, wheezing old radio came to life.

“Sheriff, if you’re there, please respond. Over.”

They exchanged a glance. “Mitch,” she explained before answering.

Mitch said only a few words. But they were disappointing ones. “Randy Covey’s not at his house. Over.”

She barked a quick response. “Where is he?”

“Somebody called in a few minutes ago. A neighbor of Randy’s saw a story on the news and wanted to see if we knew anything about it. I just got off the phone with the state police and they confirmed. Randy was involved in a serious wreck just before dawn somewhere down near Richmond. Over.”

Before dawn. Before the Reaper’s latest auction? “He was in surgery for hours, but they think he’s going to make it. Over.”

Good for Randy. Not good for their case.

Stacey had obviously reached the same conclusion. Because as she slowly returned the radio handset to the dash, her hand shook. “I was so sure…”

“Me, too. But it’s not true. Covey’s not the Reaper.”

Really, he was doing the kid a favor.

Watching the unconscious boy as he lay on a cot the Reaper had set up in one of his secret rooms, he started to think that what he was going to do to him was for the best. His life was pure shit, his mother a bitch.

A blond bitch. A screeching, abusive, white-trash blond bitch.

He had heard what she’d said to the boy, Nicky, in the parking lot of the campground. He’d seen her hit him. Yeah, the kid was better off dead than growing up with that woman.

It had been easy to watch for his chance, sitting in his truck up on the ridge above the parking lot close to the family’s campsite. Mothers like that never paid attention to their kids. When the boy had set off through the woods for the public restroom, he had simply looped around to the other side of it, made sure nobody else was in there, then waited for Nicky to skip back out.

He hadn’t meant to hit him so hard-hard enough to draw blood. But he had needed to knock him unconscious. The kid hadn’t been too badly hurt and had come around eventually. Not for long. Forcing Nicky to swallow a Coke with some crushed-up sleeping pills had taken care of that.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for the first half of the money to show up. Then he could finish this. He had plucked the boy from that hard life and, in the morning, would be delivering him from it.

This was merciful compared to what Nicky would experience if he remained with his dirty, filthy mother. So it was all good. What he was going to do was right for everyone.

“And don’t you worry,” he told the unconscious boy. “I’m not some fag child molester.” He wouldn’t do the deviant stuff; that was just sick.

Fortunately, the buyer couldn’t expect him to actually rape the kid, risking his own exposure on the video. He snorted, wondering if somebody had invented dick identification.

Didn’t matter. He wasn’t pulling his out. This Lovesprettyboys scum would have to settle for whatever tools he had lying around that he could use on the kid.

But all of that was for the morning. After he had his cash.

“Maybe it won’t come to that,” he mumbled as he cleaned his rifle, one eye on the cot, watching for any sign of movement. Maybe he could just kill the boy and dump the body, without any of the extra stuff.

There was still the chance he could get Warren Lee. If he didn’t have to pay the blackmail money, he would have no need for all that cash. He could waste the boy, offering a rebate or something to the buyer for not doing all the dirty shit, and everything could go back to normal.