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deserved it.”
    “Who? The girls?”
    “The mothers. Those dirty, filthy whores. They thought they were better than me. They were rotten sluts who were mean to me and made fun of me and called me ugly, just like—”
    Nick finished the confession for him. “Your mother?”
    Edgar nodded so vigorously that Nick was afraid he’d bite off part of his thumb, which was shoved fully between his lips. Then, to Nick’s surprise, Edgar Sewell did what none of the other killers he interviewed had done.
    He cried.
    The tears signaled that the interview was over. Nick knew he’d get no more information out of Edgar. Which meant it was on to the next prison—this one in Centre County—and maybe two more after that, if Nick had the time.
    Before leaving, he stopped by the prison’s public restroom, which was one step above a gas station’s. One toilet. One urinal. Permanent grime coated the sink’s basin. Nick tried not to touch it as he splashed cold water onto his face. In the mirror, a hollow-eyed man stared back at him.
    Christ, he was exhausted. This was the start of his second week interviewing killers, and all that talk and travel had taken its toll. But it would be worth it in the end, he hoped.
    After drying his face, Nick exited the bathroom and then the prison itself, relieved to be free of its walls, its bars, its unrelenting grimness. His mood brightened enough that he could muster a whistle. A little “Folsom Prison Blues” in honor of his location.
    The good mood—and the whistling—lasted only until he reached the parking lot, where an unexpected visitor waited for him.
    Captain Gloria Ambrose, his boss at the Pennsylvania State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation, leaned against the unmarked car that had shuttled her there. She hugged herself for warmth until she caught sight of Nick. Then her arms droppedto her sides. The move was vintage Gloria—always trying to look tougher than she really was.
    “How did you find me?”
    “You made an official request to speak to a prisoner of the state,” Gloria replied. “So finding you was easy. I should be asking you why you’re interviewing prisoners when you’re supposed to be on vacation.”
    Nick
was
on vacation. At least officially. And what he did during his time off was his own business.
    “Just tell me what’s going on,” he said irritably. “I know there’s a reason you’re here.”
    Even more, he knew what that reason was. Gloria didn’t even need to tell him. Her presence alone spoke volumes.
    “He struck again.”
    “Where?”
    “A town called Perry Hollow. It’s about forty-five minutes from here. The rest of your team is already there.”
    “I assume you want me to join them,” Nick said.
    Gloria, who was done with being cold, opened the car’s rear door and slipped inside. “That’s entirely up to you,” she said, sneaking a glance at the gray-walled prison rising behind Nick. “You
are
still on vacation.”
    She closed the door, leaving Nick alone in the frigid wind with one question still unspoken. He was about to rap on the car’s window, but it lowered before he had the chance, revealing Gloria’s stern gaze.
    “And no,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone about your extracurricular activities. But next time you say you’re taking a vacation, do it. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Donnelly. It’s not healthy. You really need to learn how to let go.”
    Nick drove to Perry Hollow in the company of the Rolling Stones. Nothing was better for a road trip than Jagger’s spasticvoice and the band’s relentless sound. Nick propelled himself along the highway to the strains of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” “Gimme Shelter,” and “Brown Sugar.” By the time the band was showing some sympathy for the devil, he had reached Perry Hollow, where a devil of a different stripe had just claimed one of its residents.
    He found the crime scene easily enough. On the outskirts of town, it was the place