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“What?” Jo asked.
“Love it when Wolverine Jo makes an appearance. It’s been too long.”
“If I have to be a mustelid, I prefer honey badger, thank you very much. Some people just need a little jolt to remind them why it’s worth being a decent human being.”
He made a chef’s kiss gesture. “Couldn’t agree more.”
“Next up, Kiernan Wendiss. We need to know where he was yesterday.”
When he answered the phone, Jo gave him the news about Madison as gently as she was able. He broke down, his tears quiet but insistent, with an undercurrent of hopelessness that ripped at Jo’s heart. When they tapered off, she repeated her condolences, then forced herself to ask the question. “For the record, we need to know where you were yesterday.”
He sniffled, and blew his nose. “I understand. I was studying at Dickenson Library at OakhurstU from about nine in the morning until about four-thirty for my midterm tomorrow. I took a break for food around, I think, twelve-thirty-ish? But I grabbed a sandwich and a Coke at the library’s café, and I’m pretty sure they have cameras everywhere. Then I went home to watch some TV before my shift at Gino’s. You showed up right before I headed out for work.”
A possibility popped into Jo’s head. “Are you a member of Lucifer Lost?”
“Lucifer Lost? What’s that?”
“Never mind.” If he was a member, he wasn’t planning on admitting it. “Thank you for answering our questions. I know how hard this must be.”
He made an odd sound, something between a grunt and a choke. “What’s important is finding out who did this to Madison. Anything you need from me to get that done, I’m down. Phone records, access to my social media, whatever—just tell me where to sign.”
Jo jumped on the opening. “Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample so we can exclude you as the baby’s father?”
“Just tell me when and where.”
Jo gave him the information, again expressed her condolences, then ended the call. “Well,” she said to Arnett. “That alibi should be easy enough to check. And it’s a good sign that he’s willing to give a DNA sample.”
“Let’s see if he shows up before we order his medal,” Arnett said. “He wouldn’t be the first to pull out when push comes to shove.”
Jo wagged her head in acknowledgment and clasped on to her necklace.
* * *
When the GPS announced they’d arrived at Brad Pratt’s house, Arnett pulled up in front of a large rectangular cream-clapboard colonial subdivided into four apartments.
“How much are we gonna tell the kid?” he asked. “I say we go for full shock, see how he responds.”
“What do we hold back, then? The figurine?” Jo asked.
Arnett nodded. “It’s all we need to verify a confession.”
They identified which of the apartments belonged to Pratt and rang the bell. The door opened, sending a nor’easter of marijuana smoke past them and revealing a skinny young white man, probably not more than a few days over twenty-one, with shaggy brown hair and a graphic tee with a pentagram on it.
He gave them a once-over. “Where’s the burritos?”
Jo shifted her blazer to reveal her badge. “I’m Detective Josette Fournier of the Oakhurst County SPDU, and this is Detective Bob Arnett. We’re—”
His eyes sprung wide open, or at least, wider open. “Marijuana’s legal and I’m not a dealer and you can’t come in without a warrant.”
Jo held off on explaining to him that the tidal wave of olfactory evidence gave them more than enough probable cause to check whether he was over the legal possession limit. “We’re investigating a murder and we need to ask you a few questions.”
His eyes turned eager. “Murder? Who died?”
Jo hid her surprise at the unusual reaction as she pulled up Madison’s picture on her phone. “Do you know a woman named Madison Coelho?”
He stared at it, fascinated. “Maybe. She kinda looks like a lot of people, if you know what I mean.”
Jo reminded herself to be patient. “The circumstances of her murder suggest it was part of a Satanic ritual.”
