be a dumb-ass. They keep most of the mess to their assigned bedrooms.” And the kitchen and the living room and the dock out by the lake and the bathrooms. Good God, the bathrooms. Still, it’s odd how much I honestly don’t mind. Really odd. I shook the baffling state of my contentment away, because I wasn’t yet ready to talk about it. “Myrtle is happier than a carnivore at a meat market. She’s already figured out their routine. She waddles right over and plunks her ass in front of the door at a quarter to three every weekday and waits for them to get back from school.”
He smiled at that, because he loved my dog almost as much as I did. “She is one boy-loving bulldog.” Then he opened the file again.
“Rouse said the hacksaw in the back of his pickup wasn’t his.” He flipped a few pages. “No fingerprints on it. Looked like it had been wiped.”
I nodded. “They searched his house, too, though, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They find anything related to the detonator?”
His eyes raced over pages, his lips tightening. “Nope.”
“So all we’ve got is the hacksaw?”
“His fingerprints were found inside the wife’s house,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but his kids lived there. I’m sure he was in and out a lot.”
“There was a silver Chevy Cruze seen parked a couple of blocks away at the time of the fire. The neighbors say it didn’t belong there,” Mason said. “Another neighbor said Rouse’s truck was seen in the area that night.” Then he shrugged. “But Rosie says it was there every weeknight. He drove the kids home from school. And this neighbor’s sighting was several hours before the fire.” He looked at me—waiting, I knew, for my feedback. He counted on me for it. And since I was an official police consultant now, I was happy to give it.
“Sounds like they must’ve been getting along, then. She’d have picked up the kids herself if she thought he was dangerous, right?”
“Women seldom think their spouses are dangerous until it’s too late. But when a woman is murdered, it’s almost always the spouse,” he pointed out.
“Says a lot for the state of marriage, doesn’t it?”
He peered up at me, but when I looked back he turned back to the report and flipped a page. “He admitted during questioning that he didn’t want the divorce. He didn’t want to lose custody of his kids.”
“So why try to burn the place with them inside?”
He met my eyes again, and his were brighter than they’d been since the fire. He loved his work, and this was the first chance he’d had to really sink his teeth into a case since nearly getting his gorgeous ass killed.
“Lots of men would rather see the kids dead than lose custody.”
“I refuse to believe it’s ‘lots of men.’ Granted, we see it in the news, but it has to be rare or it wouldn’t be news.”
“That sounded dangerously positive, Rache.”
“I know, right? Having the boys around, I just can’t imagine how a parent could hurt their own kid.” I heaved a sigh. “I suppose it’s possible he did it. But still, all we really have is the hacksaw.” I finished my doughnut, sipped my coffee, leaned back in my chair.
“You have an idea, don’t you?” he asked.
“How can you tell?”
“If I look deep into your eyes I can see a bunch of gears turning in your brain.”
I nodded. “Get me in to see him. I mean, he’s still in custody, isn’t he?”
“No. He made bail. Probably because our evidence is so freaking weak.”
I shrugged. “Even better. I can talk to him more easily that way.”
“Uh-uh. No way. That’s a very bad idea.”
“Oh, come on, Mason.” He hadn’t touched his breakfast sandwich, so I picked it up and took a bite, then put it back. After some yummy caffeine, I went on. “You know I can tell if he’s the guy with a single conversation.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“So am I.”
“This guy probably killed his own wife, almost killed his two kids and damn near took me out with them. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“You’re worried he’ll turn his focus to me?”
“That too. Mainly I was thinking about your temper.”
I smiled sweetly and batted my eyes. “What temper?” But he was right. If this man was guilty, he had almost killed my detective. It might not be safe for me to be in the same room with him surrounded by armed guards, much less all alone.
Mason sent me a look that spoke louder than words, but it changed to one of worry when he returned to the file. “We need more or this guy’s gonna walk. A decent defense attorney could find a dozen experts who’d testify that pipe shavings aren’t unique. It’s not like DNA. And his pickup was parked outside in the open. Anyone could’ve thrown the saw into it.”
“That would be a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”
“Not if they knew who he was. Besides, it only takes reasonable doubt to get him off.”
I shrugged. “All the more reason I should talk to him.”
Mason said, “Your ESP isn’t admissible in court, Rache.”
“NFP. And it should be.”
“Whether it should be is irrelevant.”
“But if I talk to him, maybe I can get more. A clue that will lead us to better evidence or—”
“Rachel, stay away from this guy.”
He pointed at me with a forefinger, something I didn’t remember him ever doing before. Like he was telling Josh to eat his vegetables. I did not like it. I sent him a look, my eyebrows arching, my gaze on that finger, and he lowered it and shook his head.
“He’s dangerous, Rache.”
The door opened, and Dr. Earl came in. I thought his photo was probably next to the word stately in the dictionary. Tall, lean, silver-white hair so neat it looked plastic, and the face of an aging GQ model. He looked up from the chart in his hands and flashed us a cheerful white smile. “Good morning, you two. You beat me here again, Rachel. I must be slowing down in my old age.”
“Well, you know, I couldn’t have a doughnut until I got here, so I was highly motivated.”
He laughed softly, turned his attention to Mason. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I don’t need to be here. Like I need to be home and back on the
