“Dr. Michaels, if you’ll just sit down with us for ten minutes…”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“I came here in good faith—”

“You’re here because I agreed to meet with you, which is a courtesy I never extend to people in your profession. Ask around.”

“I have.”

“Then you know I’ve already given you something that I never expected to give. Now, what do you have for us?”

Lily’s lips tightened. “I do hope you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Okay, a deal is a deal.” She was silent, trying to decide where to begin. “In addition to victims’ families and law-enforcement officers, we’ve also conducted several interviews with people who have corresponded with Colby and even visited him in prison. Over the weekend, we interviewed an attractive young woman who actually proposed marriage to him.”

Kendra didn’t even try to hide her revulsion. “What’s most disgusting is that she’s probably not the only one.”

“She isn’t. The ironic thing is, even Colby thinks these people are nuts. We’ve spoken to several journalists, a movie producer, and a true-crime author who seem quite captivated by him.”

“So?” Griffen said impatiently.

“It’s no secret you’re investigating the serial murders here in San Diego, and suddenly you all have cause to visit Eric Colby just days before he is to be executed. You obviously believe there is some link between Colby and this killer. We don’t know if you’ve received a credible tip or found some evidence, but it’s clearly a path you’re exploring.”

“We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” Griffin said.

“Of course not. But it occurred to us that we still may be able to help each other. We’ve spoken to many of the people who represent Colby’s most likely allies in the outside world.”

“We already have all of his visitor’s logs,” Griffin said.

“I’m sure you do. But what you don’t have”—Lily pulled three DVDs from her binder and placed them on the table—“are these.”

Kendra picked up a DVD. “And these are?”

“Raw interview footage of the people I was just talking about. I’m sure you may have already begun interviewing them yourselves, but this could prove helpful to you. They’re an odd bunch.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Kendra dropped the DVD back onto the table. “So this is what you wanted to give us in exchange for an interview with me?”

“That was my boss’s idea. He’ll be angry that I didn’t hold out for that on-camera interview with you, Dr. Michaels. Somehow, I think this is more important than that interview. But this actually isn’t all. Contrary to our reputation, we actually take our research very seriously. We check our sources very carefully.”

Lynch’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued. “What did you find out?”

“It’s more like what we didn’t find out. There’s a crime author named Lance Kagan. He’s written a few articles for the pulp true-crime magazines. He wrote Colby and said he wanted to write a book about him. Colby agreed to see him a few times.”

“And?”

“The man who came to see Colby, the man we later interviewed … wasn’t Lance Kagan.”

Kendra tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that true-crime writer Lance Kagan exists, but he has no special interest in Eric Colby. He lives in New Mexico, and he had no idea someone was using his identity to visit a death-row prisoner.”

Kendra looked back at Griffin. “You have to undergo an application process before you’re allowed to visit a prisoner. Don’t they verify the identity?”

“Yes.” Lily answered for him. “They do, but evidently he had some excellent fake credentials. Plus, on his first visit, they would have fingerprinted him. Whoever he is, a complete set of his fingerprints are on file at San Quentin State Penitentiary. I’m assuming that if they run them at all, it’s just to see that they don’t match a convicted felon’s.”

“Exciting.” Reade suddenly entered the conversation, her expression eager. “Did Colby know he wasn’t really talking to Kagan?”

“We brought up the subject at yesterday’s interview with Colby. He acted as if he had no idea what we were talking about.”

“That means nothing,” Kendra said. “He’s a stone-cold psychopath.”

“We’re of the same opinion,” Lily said. “So the answer to your question is that we have no idea if he knew. But you can look at Colby’s interview footage yourself. It’s on the third disk, the same one as the phony Lance Kagan.”

Kendra glanced at Lynch, then at Griffin. She knew they were all thinking the same thing that she was: Was Kagan their Myatt? But there was no way they’d put that thought into words before a tabloid TV journalist.

Lily looked at the projector on the other side of the room. “Go ahead and pop in the DVD. I’ll go through it with you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Griffin said. “We’ll call you if we have any questions.”

“I really think it would be best if I’m here when you—”

“We’ll watch it later,” Lynch said. “But thank you for coming in. This could be very helpful.”

Lily glanced hopefully at Kendra. “Worth at least a ten-minute interview, don’t you think?”

As annoying as Lily was, Kendra had to admire her persistence. And she had kept her word when she could have backpedaled on that promise. “I’ll consider it.”

“I can have a crew here tomorrow, anywhere you choose.”

Kendra stood up in dismissal. “Give me your card. I’ll let you know.”

*   *   *

LILY HAD NO SOONER BEEN ESCORTED from the conference room when Reade grabbed the third DVD, popped it into the player, and fired up the projector.

Metcalf picked up the remote and smiled. “I don’t think I’ve been this excited about a show since the last episode of Breaking Bad. Who wants to make the popcorn?”

Griffin crossed his arms. “Just get this guy on-screen. I want Kendra to take a good long look at him.”

Metcalf scanned through the interview footage, playing a few seconds each time a new subject appeared on screen. Each segment featured a header card that gave the name and a brief description of each interviewee.

It opened with a long shot of Bobby Chatsworth himself, walking and talking among the dozens of protestors they had just seen at the San Quentin East Gate the day before. After a few seconds, Metcalf scanned to the first interviewee. He appeared to be transfixed by the demure prospective bride discussing the simple yet tasteful wedding she envisioned in the prison chapel.

“Man,” Metcalf said. “If we don’t arrest her as a serial killer, she’s just nutty enough to be a reality-TV star.”

“Skip it,” Griffin snapped. “Get to Kagan.”

“Sorry.” Metcalf advanced to the next interviewee. “Here we go,” he said, reading the header card. “Lance Kagan, true-crime author. Okay, Kendra, you’re on.”

She eagerly stepped front and center. The on-screen image faded in, and—

Her hopes plummeted. “It’s not him.”

“Are you sure?” Lynch asked.

“Positive. Damn. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Griffin frowned. “Well, he still goes to the top of our list of Colby’s suspicious prison visitors. I’ll get in touch with the warden and have them transmit those fingerprints to us. We need to find out who this guy really is.”

Reade stood up with her laptop. “Well, I have another one we should look at.”

“What do you have?” Kendra asked.

“I finally got all of Colby’s prison visitor logs in my database. I just now cross-referenced them with the names we gathered from online discussions about you, Kendra. I got a hit. He’s a local.”

“What’s his name?”

She glanced at her laptop screen. “David Warren. He has a Little Italy address, probably one of those funky lofts. On his visitor application, he listed his occupation as ‘artist and dreamer.’”

Lynch rolled his eyes. “Great.”