The fire had cost him more time in the hunt for Rebecca: working the scene, talking to Mrs. Piltzecker and other neighbors, processing. He thought about the delay. If this were a cop movie, that’s what the fire would be—the murderer trying to distract them, tie them up while something else was happening. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like someone had gone after Erin. And the fact that Hannah was in the way… Jesus. Bishop met him at the office. “Geez, Sheriff. Is everyone okay?” Nick gave him a Reader’s Digest version of the fire, then said, “I want you to talk to Margaret Calloway. I wanna know where she was when Rebecca Engel disappeared, between five-fifteen and five-forty-five this morning.” Bishop looked at his watch. “You mean yesterday morning.” “Yeah,” Nick said, with the razor edge of guilt cutting in. Wednesday morning now. Justin’s execution was scheduled for midnight Thursday. “Push her. Scare her if you need to.” He thought about the Molotov cocktail.
