Detective Ray Hoover looked inquisitively at the young man in front of him as if he could pierce this innocent, light-colored shell somehow and reveal the dark secrets hiding inside. "I'm waiting for your answer, Mr. Gant."

Mikael sighed barely audible and said: "I was in Hilo, to fetch some items I had ordered there in the artist supply store. I drove by night and arrived early in the morning."

"I assume you had some hours left until the shop opened? Did you spend them alone?"

"I went into a little coffee shop to get something to drink."

"And there you met Miss Finley, an appealing young prostitute on her way home?"

"There were quite a lot of people in the shop. It is possible she was there as well."

"Did you talk to her?" Hoover thought himself to be on the winner's path now.

Mikael stared at him. "I don't remember having seen her. I have told you that, Detective!"

Hoover hissed through clenched teeth and tried a different approach to catch the fox.

"At which time your supply shop opens?"

"At 10. I was some minutes earlier that day, and had to wait."

Hoover's eyes were again at the frozen image of the woman on the screen of the video cutting table. He remembered the ugly crime scene photos. Would this woman be the next one they would find sliced up in a back alley? What could he do to save her? He turned back to Mikael: "And you were at the coffee shop early in the morning? Five A.M.? Six? What did you do in the remaining hours?"

Mikael raised his hands and shook his head. "I slept in my car! I was very tired, because I had worked the night before, and then hit the road after midnight."

"You slept? Alone? Or with Miss Finley?"

"Ray…" The hand of one of the other police officers sank down on Hoover's shoulder. "You're going too far!"

The detective snorted and inhaled deeply. He knew his colleague was absolutely right. "Mr. Gant, I want to see your car!" he said instead.

Entering the garage, Hoover raised his eyebrows, discerning a brand-new Mercedes Sport. Art seemed to pay off… or some of its byproducts?! He could not get the photographs of the 12 dead women out of his head. Now even less, after the visit to that creepy studio. He was sure that smart blonde bastard in front of him was guilty and the most shameless liar he had met in his career so far. He walked around the car and scrutinized every detail with experienced eyes.

"You have been in a car wash lately, as it looks?"

"This is not forbidden by law I think." Mikael opened the front door and took a step back.

Skipping any answer, Ray Hoover and his colleague set to work. Through the windshield, he stared at his opponent again. You're clever – but not clever enough, believe me. You had an alibi all along your way, but you made a mistake in killing that girl in Hilo while your alibi is unfortunately dead for some months!

The car was really clean, too clean in the Detective's opinion. Nonetheless, his partner eventually found something: a little dry spot, half-hidden under the floor mat, where the cleaning staff had overlooked it. "This could be blood…"

As cautious as possible, the police officer made the test with the Luminol-dilution and had the result only a moment later. "Positive, Ray!"

Hoover had already mentally prepared himself to bring the suspect down. However, Mikael just stood there and glanced at him. "It is probably my own. I had a cut on my left hand some days ago. You can still see the scar if you want."

"I'm afraid I have to take you with us, though."

"I can't leave. I'm waiting for someone. She will be worried, and I—"

"Well, better worried than dead." Hoover stepped towards him and Mikael receded.

"I want to talk to my lawyer."

"You can do that from the precinct." The detective stretched his hand to grab his opponent's arm.

Mikael blocked him, now getting angry. "Don't touch me!"

"Well if you insist any further, I'll arrest you because of resisting arrest." He glanced to his colleague, who loosened handcuffs from his belt.

"You can't arrest me just like that!"

"Shall I read you the regulations what I'm entitled to do under the circumstances?" The handcuffs clicked. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. - Let's move!"

Mikael's gaze wandered again through the tiny rectangular room with the metal-grilled window, a dull place hurting his senses with its bleakness. Had it been a space of pure white with clear shaped lines, he would have found it stimulating, perhaps. However, the color of the walls was a shabby mixture of dirty brown near the concrete floor and tarnished beige further up, additionally decorated with scribbles and the signs of frustrated violence, and wounds of fallen plaster. The plastic chair had a crack, too, the table's metal surface felt as if it badly needed a cleaning. One of the neon lamps was gone, and the remaining one fought a hopeless struggle to illuminate the room, from which daylight had receded hours ago.

When Detective Hoover had arrived with him in the afternoon, it turned out that the guy from the lab already had quit and so they had to wait until tomorrow for any tests. Mikael assumed Hoover sensed quite a satisfaction to have him locked up for a night at least. He had phoned his lawyers - unfortunately, the one in Honolulu would be only able to arrive in the morning, and the other was in New York. He tried to get permission for another call to Crystal, but all the bored officer did was handing him a bunch of paperwork, mumbling 'fill out everything in a readable manner; my superior will look at it tomorrow'. Mikael sat at the bunk, arms folded tightly around him as if he could shield himself somehow from these ugly surroundings and the painful circumstances. He was angry and anxious the same. He did not want Crystal to worry, but what if she tried to reach him and could not find him? And these ignorant numbskulls here just did not care!

When the light was switched off, he was grateful that he had not to see these insulting walls anymore. He lay back on the bunk – a cold hard metal pallet and thus the natural enemy of sleep. Only because he had been awake for over 30 hours now, Mikael dozed off eventually.

Some miles away, Crystal sat at dinner with Norman's new comrade and boss Pelletier. After the protest against the planned airport, he had invited some of his fellow activists, and so several people ended up discussing and celebrating amidst a huge barbecue in the garden. Norman was in his personal heaven. So many great ideas, new connections, plans - and people sharing his enthusiasm and fire. Crystal, however, felt very uncomfortable. The events had left her absolutely no occasion to talk about the urgent problems. In her nervousness, she spilled her coffee, let the sausage fall on her dress, and got irritated, when the other guests' children danced around. She was simply not herself.

It was already dark and the hosts had switched on some colorful lights when Norman came looking for her and she finally decided to speak because she simply could not hold it anymore inside her without breaking under the pressure.

"Norman, we have to talk," she started.

"Yes, Darling?" He already had some beer and was in a completely happy mood. It didn't make it any easier that he put his arms around her. "I hope your worries are a bit calmed now! I have a job, and we will be able to pay the next mortgage rate! Everything will turn out well! Didn't I promise you?"

Crystal suppressed a sigh. How should she possibly begin, where should she begin, for heaven's sake?! "It's not about the house. It's about… us," she made a half-heartedly second attempt. "I've thought a lot about life…. About my life lately. I want… What I want to say is…" Maybe this wasn't a very good moment! A frustrated huff escaped her.

Norman embraced her tighter and kissed her. She didn't like it, but he didn't notice. "I know the last months have been difficult for you, Honey. But now, everything has changed! Jordan and I are going to pull off a great campaign, one that will achieve a great deal! He has connections in the House of Representatives. We will win this battle!"

You will win this battle if at all. It was more an emotional reaction than conscious thought. She felt very exhausted as if she had been running like hell and suddenly realized that she was only moving in circles. It would never end. Norman would never change. He might think to love her – but in the end, id did not matter anymore. She did not love him. She would always come second after whatsoever in his fight for whatsoever. Never before, she had grasped the truth that clearly.

She would tell him exactly this right now! With this resolution, she opened her mouth, when Jordan Pelletier showed up, ruining it. Crystal found herself shaking hands with another one of his friends who had just arrived; found herself answering propositions about projects. And then - she stood alone again in the garden, while Norman walked off with Jordan, busy with forging a better future. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be with Mikael; working on a common piece of art, talking, laughing, dancing, loving… Freezing, she dragged her jacket tighter around her body and wished there could be some sort of fairy tale transportation away from this place and right into his arms.

Head Detective Shea, a bulky round man with Irish-Chinese heritage, glanced upon Hoover, who stood in front of his desk with an anticipating look.

"Well, you've been right; the blood we've found was not Mr. Gant's," Shea said.

Hoover's figure straightened in preparation for a victorious expression when his boss continued: "But it wasn't from the murdered girl either."

"So we have -"

"We have to behave very carefully now, Ray. I just had a nice chat with Mr. Gant's lawyer. Dr. Louis LaMotte from Harvard. He's sitting over there filing a complaint about harassment and damage to reputation."

"You're not suggesting we let this bastard walk away, are you?!"

"We have nothing! At least not enough to keep him here! – Ray, you don't like this guy's art, and I don't like it either. Off the record – he's a crazy weirdo. But we can't pin a murder – or multiple murders, in that case – on him based on that."

Hoover felt drained. "I don't want my wife or any other woman or girl out there alone, while a crazy psycho killer roams around!"

"It's what also will happen if we set our jaws into the wrong guy. We have to be objective."

Ray Hoover rolled his eyes to the ceiling and barely suppressed another curse. He was as objective and sure as someone could be in that case! He placed his hands on Shea's desk and repeated insistently: "Let me grill the guy and I'll have the proof we need!"

"I can't. You know that damned well, too. We'd need an arrest warrant, and we'll never get it with that!" Shea patted on the paperwork in front of him.

"Fine," Hoover managed with a hiss and straightened himself. "I'll suggest keeping Gant under observation, though."

"You want me to lose my job, Ray, don't you?! The Chief will be pissed off anyway hearing about this and moreover READING about it in some tabloid. Please, Ray, don't make this difficult for all of us. I would hate to dismiss you from office."

Now, Detective Hoover's dam of restraint broke and anger flooded him. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm as serious as Dr. LaMotte over there. – Now get the hell out of here, and pack Mr. Gant very, very nicely into a taxi to his home!"