Jerk.

She flashed her badge. “Detective Kincaid with SDPD. Can we come in?”

She took his barely perceptible nod as a yes and walked through the door. Will and Nick followed.

The apartment was borderline filthy with overflowing ashtrays and dirty clothes tossed around. The fifty-inch flat-screen television took up half of one wall along with a deluxe stereo system that, if turned full-blast, Carina was certain she’d be able to hear down at the station.

The first thought that came to mind was that Masterson couldn’t be Angie’s murderer if Dillon’s analysis of a “tidy, immaculate” killer was accurate.

“Hello, officers of the law,” Masterson said condescendingly. “To what do I owe this pleasure? May I get you coffee? Doughnuts?”

“Cabrón,” Carina mumbled, then asked, “When was the last time you saw Angela Vance?”

He blinked, the question obviously startling him. Or he was a good liar. “Angie? Why?”

“She’s dead,” Carina said flatly.

Masterson sat heavily in a chair and ran both hands through his long hair. He stared at Carina, all flirtatious behavior gone. “Angie? Angie Vance?”

“Yes. Your eighteen-year-old girlfriend, Angie Vance.”

He shook his head, mouth open. “Dead? How?”

“Let’s start with Friday and work our way to today,” Will said. “Where did you go Friday morning?”

“Friday. Um, I just hung out here most of the day. Went out about eight at night. Couple parties. Came back about four.”

“Alone?”

“Alone?” he repeated.

“Did you bring someone home with you?” Carina repeated slowly.

“Friday night?”

“It can’t be too hard to remember,” Will said. “Five days ago.”

“No, I came home alone.”

“When was the last time you saw Angie?”

Whether he seriously couldn’t remember, or he was just trying to come up with a viable lie, Carina didn’t know. “I think,” he began slowly, “it was Thursday night. It might have been Friday. At the Sand Shack. It was toward the end of her shift.”

That should be easy enough to verify, Carina thought.

“I really don’t remember,” he said. “Last time I saw her she gave me the cold shoulder.”

“Did you know she suspected you were seeing another woman?”

This time, the surprise on his face was genuine. “Hell, no! I-I-I’m not seeing anyone else,” he stammered.

“Your neighbor told us you went skiing in the mountains.”

“Big Bear. My folks have a cabin up there.”

“With whom?”

“Is that important?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To establish your alibi. With whom did you go to Big Bear?”

He glared at her. “Ellen.”

“Ellen what?”

“I don’t know her last name.”

“When did you leave?”

“Sunday night.”

“What time?”

“Ten, eleven. It was late.”

“And you don’t know her last name?”

He shrugged. “We met at a party Sunday, hit it off, and split.”

“Why did Angie think you were seeing another woman last week?”

“I don’t know. She’s the jealous type.”

“How so?”

“Look, she has this double standard. She’s been with a lot of guys, but says she’s loyal. I believed her, told her the same goes for me. Then she sees me talking-just talking-to my ex-girlfriend and she goes all frigid on me. So I think, okay, she’s having a bad day. I go down to the Sand Shack when I know she’s going to get off work, say hey, let’s go see a movie or something, and she blows me off. So I went out and partied all weekend. Met up with Ellen, she didn’t have those issues, and we had fun. I don’t need the drama, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Carina said sarcastically, “relationships are hard work.”

“Exactly,” he said, oblivious to her jibe. “I’m sure you don’t have any relationship problems.” He licked his bottom lip and grinned at her.

She glared at him. A biting remark was on the tip of her tongue when Nick took a step forward.

“It’s not very smart to piss off a lady with a gun,” he said simply.

Nick’s hardened expression belied his light words. Once again, Carina suspected there was far more beneath the surface than Nick Thomas showed the world.

“Hey, no offense!” Masterson put up his hands. “Look, what happened to Angie? I mean, I saw her on Friday, okay, but I didn’t see her all weekend. Really, I didn’t see her.”

“Do you know where Ellen lives?” Nick asked.

Masterson rattled off the address where he’d dropped her off earlier.

“Be available for questions,” Will said.

“What happened to Angie?” Masterson repeated.

Carina had no desire to give him any of the details. “Go buy a newspaper,” she said and they left.

In the car, Will said, “I don’t think he has the guts to kill anyone.”

“Huevon,” Carina said. “Too stupid to cover up the crime. Did you see anything in his apartment that looked out of place?”

“I don’t think he could find clean boxers, let alone glue.”

“How far is Big Bear?” Nick asked.

“About two, two-and-a-half-hours.”

“If his parents have a cabin up there, it would be a remote place where he could have kept Angie,” the sheriff suggested.

Carina and Will glanced at each other. “Go on.”

“He dumped the body Sunday night. Could he have dumped the body, then picked up this Ellen and taken her back there? Did anyone see him on Saturday?”

“We have a lot of work to do,” Will said. He glanced at Ellen’s address. “She’s out in Carlsbad. Up for a nice coastal drive?” he asked Nick.

“I have no other plans.”

Ellen Workman was a twenty-five-year-old college dropout who lived with her parents and worked part-time as a cocktail waitress. By the time they arrived in Carlsbad, she had already left for work. They stopped by her business and, while she was irritated at being pulled off the job, she was sharp and credible.

“Doug and I hung out from about three o’clock Sunday afternoon onward. When he suggested we go skiing, I was all for it, especially since he was paying. I work Wednesday through Saturday, so I told him I had to be back by five o’clock today. He brought me home, end of story.”

“What time did you leave for Big Bear?”

“Eleven. I wanted to pick up my stuff, so we drove here.”

Carina was confused. “You left La Jolla at eleven? I thought you said you were with him after three in the afternoon?”

She sighed heavily. “Okay, we met up at three at a friend’s house. Had a few beers. Dinner. Then he wanted to go skiing, so we left La Jolla about ten at night for my place, I packed a bag, and we left for Big Bear at eleven. Okay?”

“Did Doug leave you at any time between three and ten that day?”

“Maybe to take a piss. Look, what’s this about?”

“We’re just verifying information that he told us.”

“Whatever. Can I get back to work?”

Ellen walked away. Carina shook her head. “The time line doesn’t work for Masterson to be the killer.”

“Unless she’s an accomplice,” Nick said.

“Why would she?”

No one had an answer. Their one other lead had dried up. Masterson wasn’t guilty, and Carina looked at Nick. She saw in his eyes what she was thinking.

All eyes would now be on Steve.

With good reason. Police didn’t like it when suspects lied.

Nick knew that as well as she did.

Her heart went out to him. He was going to have a rough time of it tomorrow if his brother incriminated himself. While Carina hoped Steve gave himself up so she could close the case, find justice for Angie’s family, and stop another brutal murder, she couldn’t help but feel for Nick and what he would go through knowing his brother was a murderer.

Rope. Check.

Glue. Check.

Plastic wrap. Check.

Garbage bags. Check.

He went through the supplies in his mind as he watched the webcam he’d set up earlier that day in Jodi’s apartment.