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“I think the library sounds just about fine,” Jalbert says.

“It’s this way.”

Danny sets off down the hall, but not leading them; Jalbert is on his left side, Davis on his right. When they’re seated at one of the library tables, Davis asks if Danny minds having their little talk recorded. Danny says he doesn’t mind. She dips into her purse, brings out her phone, and sets it on the table in front of Danny.

“Just so you know,” she says, “you don’t have to talk to us. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

Jalbert flips two fingers up from the table and she stops at once. “I don’t think we have to give Mr. Coughlin… say, can I call you Danny?”

Danny shrugs. “Either way.”

“I don’t think we have to give him the Miranda as of now. He’s heard it before, haven’t you, Danny?”

“I have.” He wants to add the charge was dismissed, Margie agreed, by then I’d quit drinking and hassling her. But he thinks Jalbert already knows that. He thinks these two may have known who made that tip call for awhile. Long enough to dig into his past, long enough to know about Margie taking out a restraining order on him.

They are waiting for him to say more. When Danny doesn’t, Davis rummages in her almost-a-satchel and brings out her electronic tablet. She shows him a photograph. It’s of a Tracfone in a plastic bag, which has been tagged with the date it was discovered and the name of the officer—G.S. Laing, KBI Forensics—who found it.

“Did you buy this phone at a Dollar General store on the Byfield Road in the town of Thompson?” Davis asks.

There is no point in lying. This pair will have shown the Dollar General clerk his mug shot from when he was arrested for violating the restraining order. He sighs. “Yes. I guess I should have taken out that card thing from the back.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Jalbert says. He’s not looking at Danny. He’s looking out the window at Jesse and at Pat, who is laughing his ass off. He gives Jesse a whack on the shoulder and heads for his car.

“The officer who took your call had the phone’s number on her screen, and the cell tower it pinged on.”

“Ah. I didn’t think it through, did I?”

“No, Danny, you really didn’t.” Davis gives him an earnest look, not smiling but letting him know she could smile, if he gives her more. “Almost like you wanted to be found out. Is that what you wanted?”

Danny considers the question and decides it’s idiotic. “Nope. Just didn’t think it through.”

“But you admit you made the call, right? The one about the location of Yvonne Wicker? That was her name. The dead woman.”

“Yes.”

He’s in for it now and knows it. He doesn’t believe they can arrest him for the murder, the idea is absurd, the worst thing he ever did in his life was to stand outside his soon-to-be ex-wife’s house and yell at her until she called Wichita PD. The first two times they just made him leave. The third time—this was after she’d taken out the restraining order—they arrested him and he spent a night in County.

They are waiting for him to go on. Danny crosses his arms and says nothing. He’ll have to do some ’splainin, no doubt about it, but dreads it.

“So you were at the Texaco in Gunnel?” Jalbert asks.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

Twice, Danny thinks. Once when I was asleep and once when I was awake.

“Once.”

“Did you put a trash barrel over that poor girl’s remains to protect it from animal depredation?” Jalbert’s voice is low and gentle, inviting confidences.

Danny doesn’t know the word depredation, but the context is clear. “Yes. There was a dog. Do you know what happened to it?”

“It was destroyed,” Ella Davis says. “The responding officers couldn’t discourage it, and they didn’t want to wait for Animal Control from Belleville, so—”

Jalbert puts a hand on her arm, a gentle hand, and she stills at once, even coloring a little. You don’t give information to a suspect, Danny thinks. He knows that even if she doesn’t. And he thinks again, watch out for this guy.

Davis swipes her tablet, presumably to another photo. “Do you own a white 2010 Toyota Tundra pickup truck?”