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up. As I thought about the rental car more, I realized it could be promising. I wouldn’t get anything on it until the morning, though—the guy still had to drive it back and drop it off before we could get the mileage. I put my computer to sleep and locked up my office.
    I walked into the forensics department on the first floor. Past the stainless tables, I found Pax in one of the labs toward the back. I rapped my knuckles on the glass door and entered. Pax was sitting at a computer. The knives from the homicide lay in evidence bags on a table at the center of the room.
    Pax pushed himself away from the computer on his rolling chair. “Hey, Lieutenant.”
    “Getting anything?” I asked.
    “Well, we got two different sets of prints from the house. I ran both sets in IAFIS—no hits on either. Ed is sending me over the deceased woman’s prints any second here. The one set of prints I have are significantly smaller than the other. My guess is that they belong to her. No hits on the other, but they were everywhere, so I would say it’s pretty safe to assume they belong to the husband.”
    “His prints aren’t on record?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “Anything else on the knives?” I asked.
    “Nope. Clean as could be.”
    “How late are you staying?”
    “Just until I get the prints from Ed,” Pax said.
    “Okay. The husband is supposed to come in tomorrow. We’ll print him if and when he shows.”
    Pax scratched his thin peach-fuzz beard. “Think he’s the guy?”
    “He could be. We’ll get our answer soon enough.”
    Pax nodded.
    “Did Rick already take off?”
    “I think he left about twenty minutes ago.”
    My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. The screen showed I had a text message. I clicked the button to see a photo of Callie pointing to her stomach. The text read, “We’re hungry.”
    I smiled. “Okay. I’m out of here. I’ve got places to be. Send me a text after you get those prints from Ed and let me know.”
    “Will do.”

Chapter 4 - Viktor
    Viktor lay on his two-inch-thick mattress pad, staring at the ceiling. He waited. He’d been in the ten-foot-by-six-foot white rectangular room for forty-six of the last forty-eight hours. He had been trying to sleep away the time, but his body could rest no more. The last few hours were spent staring at the ceiling or the scratches on the walls, from previous inmates. To his left sat the toilet and sink, both stainless steel. He could smell the toilet from where he lay. Above the sink, a shiny piece of metal that served as a mirror was bolted to the otherwise bare, flat walls.
    Three times a day, the one-foot-by-four-inch flap in the door would be unlocked and opened, and a tray of food would be slid through. The slop they served him on the tray was almost unrecognizable. He had figured the last meal to be some kind of turkey and gravy. The only truly identifiable item of food was the stale slice of bread. Viktor would receive none of his commissary in the SHU. He’d worked a deal with one of the guards delivering food, to let him meet with his attorney. The guard agreed for a price. Viktor gave the guard the attorney’s name and number and had him set the meeting up.
    With the delivery of the last meal, the guard had confirmed that Viktor’s attorney was on his way in. However, that was three hours before. Viktor continued to stare at the ceiling for another half hour. Finally, he heard the key turn the lock in the small rectangular door.
    “Hands in the slot!”
    Viktor stood and placed his hands through the opening.
    The guard clicked cuffs around Viktor’s wrists. “Back away from the door.”
    Viktor obeyed. He heard the small slot close and lock. A key turned in the main door’s lock. It swung open.
    “You got about ten minutes. I already sat your lawyer in a room.”
    “Is the room monitored?” Viktor asked.
    “No.”
    The guard walked Viktor out of the cell, and down the hall of the SHU. There was no other staff in