Amanda sat back in her chair, arms crossed. She had been facing down bad guys longer than this man had been alive. Ragnersen thought his silence was keeping him in control when he was actually following the same script as every stupid perp before him.

Amanda said, “I’m glad you’re choosing to remain silent for now, Captain Ragnersen. I need you to listen to me very carefully because, when I’m finished, you’re going to have an important decision to make. I think, actually, that you’re going to be begging me to accept whatever help you can offer.”

She had given Hurley roughly the same speech in the hospital, but Ragnersen was no Robert Hurley.

He said, “What if I ask for a lawyer?”

“That’s certainly your right.”

“Damn straight it is.” The chain clicked against the edge of the table as Beau slowly leaned back in the chair. He sniffed the way perps sniff when they can’t be bothered to tell you to go fuck yourself.

But he didn’t ask for a lawyer.

He told Amanda, “Make your gorilla sit down.”

Will waited for Amanda to nod. The aspirin hadn’t kicked in yet. He had to tighten every muscle in his body to leverage himself into the chair without wincing.

Beau asked Will, “What do you bench, bro?”

Will kept his expression neutral, like he hadn’t been asked a douche question.

Amanda said, “Tell us about Dash.”

One of Beau’s shoulders went up in a defiant shrug. “We do business sometimes.”

“Which of your businesses? Pharmaceuticals? Emergency surgery? Black tar heroin?”

“Tar is the negro’s drug. I don’t sell that shit to white people.”

“We all have standards.”

“Damn straight I do.” Beau leaned forward. “I’m helping people, lady. The government has failed us. Left sick people to die in the street. Abandoned our soldiers. Closed our factories. Stolen food from our mouths. Somebody’s gotta step up.”

Amanda ignored the speech the same way she’d ignored the racism. “The 2019 GMC Yukon Denali you drive starts at $71,000 for the base model. That’s some pretty high stepping for a good Samaritan.”

“Shit.” Beau shrugged her off again. “What do you want from me, bitch? You’d have my ass in jail right now if you were finished with me. What’s the trade?”

“You’ll know when the time comes,” Amanda promised. “First, let’s establish whether or not you’re worth this conversation. Captain Ragnersen, please describe for me the events that took place with Dash yesterday between the hours of four and five p.m. at the King Fisher Camping Lodge.”

Beau went silent. He was clearly trying to craft an answer that would be his quickest way out of this room. The man wasn’t stupid, but being trapped had narrowed his focus to the point of a pin. Otherwise, he would’ve worried more over the question, which assumed that both he and Dash had been at the motel yesterday during the same time period that Sara had sent the text to Will.

“Okay,” Beau said. “The truth, all right? I got there after the shit went down. Dudes were both dead. Blood was everywhere. The blonde, I don’t know her name. She was in the room next door. There was another lady with red hair sitting on the floor.”

Will bit the inside of his cheek so hard that the skin broke open.

Amanda asked, “List for me everyone who was there.”

“Dash, couple’a three of his guys. I don’t know names. Two were at the door, one was around the back. Guarding these two women, all right? Only one of them went fucking psycho with a knife. The other dude on the bed, he was already shot in the chest. He was dead when I got there. Dash wanted me to clean that shit up, but I said no fucking way. Do it yourself. I was in that room less than sixty seconds before my ass was back in my truck. Drove it across the street, had myself a beer, tried to forget what I’d seen.”

“You wiped down the table in the motel room,” Amanda said.

Beau hesitated. “That wasn’t me. Musta been one of the women.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow, but she seemed content to let him play out the story.

“Look, I’m telling you the truth,” Beau nervously rubbed at his wrists under the handcuffs. “Dash said they’d leave. I went to the bar. It’s right across the street. I wasn’t waiting around, all right? None of my business. Next thing I know, it’s dark and I’m hearing sirens. I look out the window and there’s cops crawling all over the place. I jumped in my truck and went home. Got nothing to do with me.” His shoulder gave an eat-shit shrug. “That’s all I know.”

Will flexed his hands under the table. Even with his brain on fire, he could spot the gaping holes, like—How did Dash get into the motel room in the first place? The lock on the door wasn’t broken. Beau claimed to have been in the room for less than a minute. How did he know that Vale was shot in the chest without examining him? How did he know that Michelle was in another room? How did he know that Dash had placed another guard at the rear of the property?

And, most importantly—How did this fucker end up with Will’s knife in his pocket?

Amanda said, “Tell me about the hostages. How many were there?”

“Two women. I already told you.” Beau shrugged again. The only thing that kept Will from driving a spike into the man’s shoulder was the knowledge that Beau was on tape admitting that he knew both Sara and Michelle Spivey were being held hostage.

Amanda asked, “How were they acting?”

“Normal,” Beau said. “I mean, the redhead, she was trying to help. Dash told me she was a doctor.” He seemed to spot an opportunity. “Which is why they didn’t need me. They already had a doctor.”

Then why were you there, asshole?

Amanda asked, “Did Dash tell you the doctor’s name?”

He pretended to think. “Earnest? Early?”

Earnshaw.

Amanda asked, “And the other hostage?”

“Fake blonde, small tits, older. She was quiet, like, dead quiet. Never said a word, but—” His mouth snapped closed. His tongue went into his cheek. He had realized another mistake. “They were taking her out of the room when I went in. I saw them go next door. That’s how I knew she was in the other room.”

Amanda said, “They must’ve broken the lock.”

“The doors were unlocked. All of them.”

“That seems very irresponsible for a caretaker to leave all of the doors open.” Amanda paused. “I spoke to Mr. Hopkins’ daughters in Michigan and California. They told me that the estate pays you to watch the property for them. Is that why you were at the motel, to check on the property?”

Beau had the wisdom to understand he was already deep into the hole and needed to stop digging.

“Let me sum up your statement.” Amanda looked at her watch as she spoke. “You were at the motel, but not for any particular reason. None of the doors were locked, so Dash and his men didn’t need to break in. In the sixty or so seconds that you were in the motel room, you saw two dead men on the beds—one stabbed, one shot in the chest. Two women were being held hostage, one of whom you were told was a doctor, the other you saw being taken into an adjacent room. There were two members of the IPA guarding the front door, another you could magically see guarding the back. For some reason, you grabbed the under-edge of the table, leaving your fingerprint in fresh blood. Then, you turned on your heel and left the room, got into your truck, drove across the street, closed the blinds and poured yourself a beer.” She looked up from her watch. “That description alone took thirty-eight seconds. Are you sure you only spent sixty seconds in the room?”

Beau licked his lips. He homed in on the fingerprint under the table. “I don’t remember what I touched. I was freaked out. I told you they were already dead. I had to get out of there. I don’t know what I touched. There could be more prints.”

“That’s understandable,” Amanda allowed. “Is my forensic team going to identify Adam Humphrey Carter’s blood in the zippers of the medical field kit we found hidden behind your bedroom bookcase?”

Beau’s tongue froze mid-lick.

“One of the Halo Chest Seals is missing, but, coincidentally, Vale had one stuck over the hole in his chest. He was shot three times, by the way. Once before he was at the motel, and two killshots while he lay on the bed.” Amanda leaned forward again. “It’s very hard to get blood off of metal, Captain Ragnersen. You wouldn’t think so, but it’s true. The teeth of a zipper, for instance. The handle of a folding knife, for another. It has a spring inside, gears, a button to flick it open, crevices where microscopic flecks of blood can dry.”

Beau’s sweat had a chemical odor. Will could smell it from three feet away.

Amanda said, “Captain Ragnersen, do you remember me telling you at the beginning of our conversation that lying to the GBI is a crime? And that you’d be looking at a life sentence if you were found to abet felonies such as kidnapping and murder while in possession of a sawed-off shotgun?”

“It was in my truck.”

“Which was parked in a wildlife management area of the Chattahoochee Forest, where it’s illegal to keep a loaded firearm uncased inside your vehicle.”

Desperation turned him hostile. “You’re a fucking bitch. You know that?”