Nick came out of his office just in time to see a crowd gathered around the watercooler. He saw Christine slumped on the floor. Lucy fanned her with a file folder, while Hal held her up against his shoulder. Nick’s father looked on with the rest, his hands deep in his pockets. Nick heard the irritation in his father’s jingling pocket change. He recognized the taut jaw and rigid stance. Nick knew what he was thinking. How dare Christine show such weakness in front of his colleagues.

“What happened?” Nick asked Eddie Gillick at the copy machine.

“Don’t know. Didn’t see it happen,” Eddie said as he pressed the copier’s buttons, his back turned to the commotion.

It occurred to Nick that Eddie was the only one on this side of the room. He glanced down at the copies spitting out into the tray and watched pieces of Matthew Tanner cover Timmy’s smiling face. Maybe asking Christine to make copies of her missing son’s face was too much.

“You have the autopsy photos,” he said, keeping his eyes on Christine.

“Yeah, just picked them up from the hospital morgue. I knew you’d be wanting copies.”

“Great. Put the originals on my desk when you’re finished.”

At least Christine looked conscious now. Adam Preston handed her a paper cup, and she gulped water as if they had pulled her out of the desert. Nick watched from across the room, paralyzed, helpless. The ticking in his chest drummed harder than ever. He glanced at Eddie. Could he hear the ticking?

“Okay, everybody,” his father announced. “Show’s over. Let’s get back to work.”

Without hesitation they followed his orders. When he saw Nick, he waved him over. Nick stood firm, a last-ditch effort to gain back a shred of authority. His father signed something for Lloyd, then wandered over, completely oblivious to Nick’s defiance.

“Lloyd’s found Rydell. We’re bringing him in for questioning.”

“You have no authority to do that.” Nick concentrated. He needed to sound calm, cool, in-charge.

His bushy eyebrows raised as he stared at Nick. “Excuse me?”

His father had heard perfectly well. It was part of his intimidation. It had always worked…in the past.

“You no longer have the authority to bring anyone in for questioning.” He met his father’s narrowed eyes.

“I’m trying to help you, boy, so you don’t look like a fucking idiot to the whole goddamn community.”

“Mark Rydell had nothing to do with any of this.”

“Right. You’re placing your money on some gimpy church janitor.”

“I have evidence that implicates Ray Howard. What do you have on Rydell?”

By now the office had come to a standstill again. Only this time no one dared gather around them. Instead, they quietly watched from doorways and behind desks, pretending to go about their work.

“Rydell’s a known fag. Has a rap sheet as long as my arm for beating up other fags. He was Jeffreys’ fag for a while. I was never convinced that he wasn’t in on the whole thing with Jeffreys. I’d bet the farm that he’s your copycat killer. Only you can’t see it 'cause you can’t see beyond Agent Maggie’s cute little ass.”

The heat crawled up Nick’s neck. His father turned away from him, finished, dismissing him in his usual manner. Nick glanced around at the eyes pretending to work. Then he saw Maggie in the doorway to the conference room. His eyes met hers. In an instant, he knew she had heard.

“This isn’t a copycat killer,” he said to his father’s back.

“What the fuck are you talking about now?”

He only glanced at Nick over his shoulder. He took the set of autopsy photos from Eddie, who willingly handed over the originals without even looking in Nick’s direction.

“Jeffreys was only responsible for Bobby Wilson’s death.” His father didn’t look up from the photos. “He didn’t kill all three boys. But then, you already knew that.” Nick waited for the implication to sink in, for it to register as the accusation he meant it to be.

Finally, his father looked at him with the scowl usually powerful enough to transform him into a sniveling teenager. Nick stood straight, keeping his hands from hiding in his pockets. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. He was ready.

“What the fuck are you implying?”

“I’ve read Jeffreys’ arrest file. I’ve seen all the autopsy reports. There’s no way in hell Jeffrey committed all three murders. Even Jeffreys told you that, over and over again.”

“Oh, so now you believe a goddamn murdering fag over your own father?”

“Your own reports prove Jeffreys didn’t kill the other two boys. Only you were too blind. No, you wanted to be a hero. So you ignored the truth and let a killer get away. Or maybe you even helped plant the evidence. Now your own grandson’s going to pay the price for your mistakes and your fucking pride.”

The fist took Nick completely off guard. It slammed into his jaw and knocked him back into the copy machine. He caught his balance, but his vision was still blurred when the second fist slammed into his face. He looked up to see his father in the same place, same stance, photos still in his hands, a look of surprise on his face. Nick didn’t even realize it wasn’t his father’s fists that had hit him until he saw Hal restraining Eddie Gillick.