A schoolteacher who had obviously heard better excuses than Sherlock’s.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sherlock said. “But you’re a heroine, ma’am. You’ve made things safe for math teachers again.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I have,” said Ms. Barton as she fussed over her knee-length nightgown.

Dane appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “You got him, Savich?”

Savich grinned and waved toward Aquine. “No, Ms. Barton here brought him down with her trusty iron skillet.”

“Holy shit, ma’am,” Dane said. He stared from Troy Ward back to her, and gave her a fat smile. “You did a fine job.”

“You watch your mouth, boy.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I guess the shock made me forget my manners.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, I’ve taught nasty-mouthed little high school boys for nearly thirty years now. There isn’t anything I haven’t heard.”

Troy Ward groaned. Aquine kicked him. He shuddered, fell still again. She said, “I see what you had in mind now. You just wanted me standing in a corner, fluttering my hands, all helpless, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Savich said, smiling. “We’re the law. We’re paid to hit people, occasionally. But you know, it doesn’t matter who brought him down in the big equation of life. You got him, and that’s just fine.”

“Agent Savich, I’ll just bet you got yourself smacked when you were in high school.”

“Only a couple of times, ma’am,” Savich said. “I was always really good in math, though.”

“How did you know he was going to come after me?”

“We didn’t know, ma’am. I was never certain that it was really a serial killer, I couldn’t afford to be. I had all three widowers at the press conference with me so everyone watching could get a good look at them. Maybe someone would call the hot line with something on one of them. After the conference, I had both Mr. Ward and Mr. Fowler followed. Then, only Mr. Ward here because I was almost sure he was guilty, but I needed more proof, and would you look at this—he landed right in your dining room. Ms. Barton, this is Agent Dane Carver, he’s the one who’s been keeping a close eye on Mr. Ward tonight. He called us here.”

“Hello, Ms. Barton. Aren’t you cold, ma’am?”

It was in that moment Ms. Aquine Barton realized she was standing in front of three people wearing only her nightgown. She pointed the skillet at Troy Ward. “You don’t let him escape, Agent Savich, and I’ll get a robe on and turn up the heat in here.”

They barely had time to turn Troy Ward onto his back before she was back, belting her long purple chenille bathrobe while somehow keeping a grip on the skillet.

Troy groaned, his eyelashes fluttered and he stared up at Savich. “You bastard. How did you know I was here?”

“I think the more relevant question is what you’re doing here, Troy. It’s kind of late to be paying a social call, don’t you think? And you didn’t even use the front door. Now, coming through a dining room window makes things look a little suspect, don’t you think, Troy?”

“I didn’t want her to hear me.”

Sherlock said, “You landed a little hard, Troy.”

“I’d say so,” Ms. Barton said. “I can hear a boy playing with a paper clip at the back of the classroom. You sounded like a hippo trying to squeeze into a water bottle.”

“Bastard. I want my lawyer.”

“I’m not a bastard, you nasty little man. I’m a teacher.”

“Not you, you stupid woman, him!”

Savich said, “You know, that’s why I didn’t call you in for a chat. You’re too smart, Troy, for me to talk you into confessing, aren’t you? Yeah, I’ll bet you would have kept your mouth shut and demanded a lawyer. And I did wonder if I would have ever gotten enough to send you to prison for three murders and one attempted murder. So we just watched you. Thank you for climbing right in.”

“I’m at the wrong house. I didn’t mean to be here. It’s all a mistake. I want my lawyer.”

“Yep, a big mistake, I’d say. Agent Carver here followed you to the library this afternoon, saw you perusing local yearbooks. He figured you’d spotted your next victim. Fact is, though, even if we hadn’t been doing our good old-fashioned police work, you picked the wrong math teacher.”

“No, that’s a lie. But why did you suspect me? What was there about me that made you suspicious? I can see it on your face. There was something you latched onto, wasn’t there? But what? I’m a professional sports announcer, what could have made you suspect me?”