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“It’s not like I had anything to gain by killing John. How was that going to prove my case?”

“By most people’s estimate, the provisions for your mother in Dr. Perry’s will supply a pretty decent motive.”

“For her. Not for me.”

“Maybe not.” Beau didn’t sound too interested. “I’m curious about why you continued to think Dr. Perry was your father when the DNA indicated he was not.”

“I just explained to you why.”

“Right. Do you think that Dr. Perry didn’t really submit his DNA or—?”

“He’s a doctor. Was. What do you think?”

“He’s asking you,” Swenson said.

“I don’t know how he cheated the test, but he did. I know what I know. He cheated the test and he cheated me out of my inheritance.”

That was a lot. Archie had to stand up and take a couple of calming breaths. He squeezed the back of his neck, reminded himself that, in itself, obsession was not motive. Nor was gut instinct proof. So far, the case against Jon Monig was entirely circumstantial. Barely that. But Archie’s—in Swenson’s words—special agent instinct told him he was looking at John’s killer.

Did Beau see it the same way?

The rest of the interview focused on Monig’s alibi. He stuck to his original story, with one additional piece of information. He now claimed that his mother had phoned him during the Ghost Walk at about eight-thirty to verify whether he was still coming over for Sunday dinner the following day.

It was such a stupid lie.

Monig couldn’t seriously think he was doing anything but further implicating himself. But then again, this was someone who believed, sincerely believed, a host of ridiculous things—starting with the idea that John would fake a paternity test.

He was putting a lot of faith in Mila supporting his story of falling on the steps Sunday morning. Hell, he seemed confident that Mila would confirm the preposterous story that she had called him in the middle of the Ghost Walk to make sure he planned on coming over for pot roast or what-the-fuck-ever the next day. Presumably he knew his mother well enough to be confident that she’d back him up.

But it would take more than Mila’s word. A parent’s alibi held less weight with, well, everyone than an objective observer’s might. That was just a fact. Plus, phone records either confirmed a story or they didn’t. But okay. There was plenty to be deduced from the attempt to create an alibi, but in fairness, sometimes innocent people also panicked and tried to build firewalls out of thin air when they thought the attention of law enforcement was focused on them.

Beau’s cell phone buzzed. He checked it, apologized, and left the interview room, leaving Swenson to finish up.

The door to the observation room opened a moment later, and Beau slipped inside. He joined Archie at the window.

“What do you think?”

Archie said grimly, “I think he’s your guy.”

Beau’s nod seemed impartial. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t disagree.” Beau’s eyes gleamed in the gloom. “But we don’t have enough to charge him with. Yet. We’ll subpoena his cell phone records, but we’re still waiting for John’s phone records to find out who he called on the afternoon of the Ghost Walk. So it could be a while.”

Archie stared at Monig through the glass. “That was a stupid lie.”

“Which one?”

“The one where Mila phones him in the middle of the party to see if he’s on for Sunday dinner. Even without the phone records, I don’t believe Mila would lie for him.”

“Don’t be so sure. There’s not much you won’t do for your kids.”

Archie remembered Beau’s situation and was quiet.

Beau said, “Anyway, we’ll get the phone records. The real problem is going to be attaching motive. Everyone we’ve talked to so far indicates this guy has possible mental health issues, but coworkers thinking you’re crazy or odd isn’t an actual diagnosis. So far, we haven’t learned of any troubling medical history we can point at. And a good lawyer could make his delusions regarding John sound like wishful thinking, something a jury could sympathize with.”

“There’ a lot of room for reasonable doubt. I know.”