The Maze

husband, do you?"

    "Nope, no husband." She was holding her ballpoint pen, lightly tapping it on the tabletop. She said, "You never saw me before I came into the lumber store, did you, Marlin?"

    "Me? See you?" He paused a moment, then smiled at her. "You think maybe that's possible?" Then he shrugged and looked down at his dirty fingernails, ignoring her.

    "I don't think I ever would have dated you, Marlin. You want to know why? Even though you look pretty interesting on the outside, you look dead on the inside, really dead, like you've been dead for a very long time."

    "I'll ask you that question on the witness stand, Agent Sherlock," Big John said as he laced his fingers over his stomach. "Good stuff. To think I nearly refused to let Marlin say anything to you. Do keep talking. No juror will convict this poor fellow. Talk about not responsible-"

    She ignored Big John. She sat forward, laid down the pen, and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. It was Formica, scarred, stained. She wondered briefly when it had last been cleaned. "Have you ever seen me before, Marlin?" He was staring at her. At that moment, she felt she could see his dead eyes looking through her skin down to her bones, looking at the blood pulsing through her veins. For an instant, she saw him dip his hands into her blood. She jumped, then forced herself to stillness again. He was scary with those eyes of his, but she was the one making him into more than he was. He was a monster, but she was making him into the Devil. Just let him stare. There was nothing he could do to her. He'd already tried and she'd won. She had to remember that. "Did you, Marlin? Ever see me before Boston?"

    Slowly, he shook his head. "Nah. Maybe, but who cares? I still don't like you even though you're pretty. You're a real bitch, Marty."

    "I'd like you to tell me something, Marlin." "If I feel like it."

    "Remember when you were in the hospital I asked you to list the women you'd killed in San Francisco?" "I remember."

    "You left out a woman named Belinda Madigan. Why? Why did you leave out her name?" "Did she curse?"

    "No. I've never cursed either, Marlin. Why did you leave out Belinda Madigan's name?"

    He shrugged, his eyes narrowing now, and she saw into him, clearly. He knew he could play her along, he knew he was in control, he knew he could string her along until-until what? Had he ever seen her before? In San Francisco? Did he know who she was? Something was awfully wrong. She knew he was playing mind games with her, but she couldn't stop.

    He grinned, showing all his beautiful straight white teeth. "I got trouble remembering sometimes, you know?"

    "Just maybe my father prosecuted you? He was an assistant D.A. in San Francisco seven years ago. His name is Corman Sherlock. Was that it, Marlin?"

    "I heard about your daddy, heard he was a mean son of a bitch, heard he never cut anybody any slack, but I never met him."

    "Why did you kill Belinda Madigan?"

    Big John roared out of his chair, knocking it over. The sergeant grabbed his arm, his gun out. The door to the interrogation room burst open, and three armed officers rushed into the room.

    Lacey stood up slowly. "It's all right, gentlemen. Mr. Bullock just got a bit riled, didn't you, sir?"

    "You've got no right to ask him questions like that, Agent Sherlock. If you do it again, Marlin won't say another word, the interview will be over, and there'll never be another one. You got that?"

    "I got it." She saw Dillon standing in the doorway, his expression set, his eyes hard. They'd argued about this, but in the end, he'd given in, allowing her to see Marlin alone. She knew he'd seen her desperation. He said nothing now, merely looked at her. She smiled, gave him a slight nod, then sat down again. "I'll be careful with my questions, Mr. Bullock," she said. "Please sit down, sir. If you feel like bounding around like that again, please don't. I'd just as soon not get shot by accident."

    "You just watch yourself, little lady."

    "I'm Special Agent Sherlock," she said mildly, admiring his tactic.

    He wasn't stupid. He merely shrugged and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

    She turned to Marlin, who hadn't moved or spoken throughout the ruckus. "Did I entrap you, Marlin?"

    "I don't know what that means, Marty. I just knew I had to punish you. God sent me to punish his weak vessels, to purify them, to make them whole again."

    "As in to make them dead, Marlin?"

    "Don't