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“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Charlie said.
Regan and Charlie were in the small conference room in the US Marshals office, where a large screen on the wall currently showed them Peter Grey, convicted murderer, in prison orange. Grey sat at a metal table in a drab room, a microphone in front of him.
Grey, fifty-eight, was a large man with a short military-style haircut—mostly silver—and sharp, cold blue eyes. His hands weren’t cuffed, and rested on the table in front of him. The short sleeves of his prison orange shirt revealed two complete tattoo sleeves. Some of the tats were elaborate and well drawn, some cheap and faded, the blue ink bleeding into his skin.
“You put three hundred in my account, I’m yours for the next fifteen minutes.”
Regan hadn’t known Charlie paid to talk to Grey. They couldn’t give money directly to the prisoner, but people were allowed to put money into individual commissary accounts to be used for extras, like toiletries, snacks, MP3 players, shoes, aspirin, and more.
“Then we’ll get right to the point,” Charlie said. “You pled guilty to the murder of Adam Hannigan, who you killed while in holding last year.”
“I didn’t so much plead guilty as not argue about it,” Grey said, leaning back in the chair. There was a sparkle in his eyes, as if he now realized exactly why they had called him and he was looking forward to the conversation.
“A half dozen people saw me, and it wasn’t like I could take care of all witnesses,” Grey continued. “Four murders? Five?” He shrugged. “I was already in for life, what’s another lifetime for whacking a scumbag child killer?” He laughed, then abruptly stopped. “You should be giving me a medal, Ms. Merritt. Justice has been served. You’re welcome.” He winked at her.
She forced herself not to react.
Charlie said, “Three weeks ago when you were housed in Cumberland, Deputy US Marshal Thomas Granger talked to you. Tell us what you told him.”
The truth dawned immediately on Grey. “I told him he was a dead man.”
Regan kept her face impassive. She said, “Why?” Her voice was as tight as her hands clasped in her lap.
“Do you have a death wish?”
Charlie said, “Mr. Grey, what did you tell Deputy Granger?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Regan said. Losing her temper was not going to get them answers, but she was angry. When he killed Hannigan he stole answers from her—he would damn well give her answers now. “Tommy went to you, you gave him information that he pursued. Did you lie? Is that why he was killed, because you sent him down the wrong path?”
Grey half smiled. “If he’s dead, it wasn’t the wrong path.”
Charlie said, very calmly, “Mr. Grey, no games. When Deputy Granger met with you, he was on a leave of absence and had been investigating the Potomac Bank robbery from two years ago. Nothing was taken, but a victim and the suspect were both killed.”
“Michael Hannigan,” Grey said with a grin. “Adam’s idiot brother.”
“You’re familiar with the case, even though you were in prison at the time?”
“I know a lot of things,” Grey said.
“Then what did you tell Deputy Granger?” Charlie pushed.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you,” Regan said.Be calm. Don’t react. He wants you to react.
Grey shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Mr. Grey, you must have said something that led Deputy Granger down this path.”
“I didn’t tell him anything. He had a theory—I played the game.”
“What does that mean?” Charlie demanded.
“I wasn’t going to give him anything. He knew that. Shit, I don’t have a death wish. Tommy was an interesting guy. Real smart. He’d been doing his research, came to me, and we played twenty questions. It was fun. Yes, no, yes, no. Anything can be learned if you ask the right questions.”
Regan said, “So you only answer yes-no questions?”
