Davy was still up well after Peter had gone to sleep. Nothing was adding up well in Peter's favor as far as Davy was concerned. The more information that came out about the case the more Davy's suspicions grew. He was keyed up and full of adrenaline. Thoughts were rapid firing in his mind and he could find nothing else to focus on. He paced around the bandstand to avoid the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"This can't be true," Davy wondered aloud, "could it?"

Davy couldn't keep his mind straight everything was blurring together; facts, questions, assumptions. He walked over to the kitchen table and sat down and slumped over laying his head on the table with a slight thud. "Ow!" He lifted his head back up and went to massage the sore spot, when he noticed the newspaper stuck to his forehead. He pulled it off and glanced at the front page.

"Person of Interest Sought by Police in Missing Persons' Case," read the headline.

"Is there no end to this mental suffering," Davy sighed as he read on unable to resist the temptation.

As he read over the familiar details of the case that he had been learning over the past few days, Davy couldn't help but notice that his stomach sank lower as if an anchor was attached. He was trying to convince himself that the coincidences were just that, coincidences.

New details emerged that were strengthening the case against Peter. He read on about the dates and times people were last seen talking to the person of interest. Even though Davy had not paid too much attention to Peter's comings and goings before this instance, he did remember that Peter had been consistently MIA from the pad last week just as he had been the past few days.

Davy wracked his brain trying to remember the days in the past few weeks that Peter had been gone. He could swear that those dates matched up with the dates in the newspaper. But was that his mind playing tricks on him? Making him jump to conclusions based on concerns rather than facts.

"I really, really need to think this through with a clearer mind. I feel as though all the media coverage is clouding my perception of everything," Davy reasoned. "I know Peter. What am I thinking?"

Davy trudged up the stairs to sleep off his misconceptions. He was mentally more exhausted than he had realized. As he changed into his pajamas, he noticed that Peter was talking in his sleep. Davy stopped moving so he could hear the conversation more clearly.

"Come with me," Peter mumbled sleepily, "No one has to know." Pause. "Trust me, it's safe."

Davy was frozen in fear in the middle of the bedroom floor. Were the mumblings of a sleeping man confessions? He did not want to stick around to find out. Davy turned to run out of the room and stubbed his toe on something.

"Ooh that's smarts!" he cried out as quietly as he could.

Davy looked down to see what he had run into. It was Peter's storage trunk. Davy stared at the trunk for a few moments while the pain in his toe dulled. He was wondering if a quick peek inside could help exonerate his friend. He bent over and examined the lid. Locked.

A few weeks prior, Peter had locked himself the closet downstairs and no one was able to open it. Peter had coached Davy through the process of picking the lock in order to free him. Now Davy was considering putting that training to good use. He crept over to Peter's dresser, where he knew Peter kept his lock picking tools. As Davy removed the kit, he heard stirring from Peter's bed as his friend rolled over and began snoring lightly.

Davy quickly began working on the lock and had it undone in seconds. He lifted the lid quietly and examined the contents. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary normally, but considering the circumstances, the collection was questionable. There was a map with five spaces marked off with an X, no doubt where the victims were apprehended. A copy of a true crime book with passage underlined. A rope. And most disturbing of all, a jar filled with…teeth!

Davy scrambled to put everything back exactly as he found it. He bolted out of the room and shut the door as quietly as he could manage. Once he was outside the room he leaned against the door chest heaving unable to move further.


"Davy?"

Davy felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eye to see Peter standing over him.

"Why are you sleeping down here on the couch?"

Davy had not returned to the bedroom last night after Peter's sleep talking. He thought there was no way he would be able to fall asleep next to a criminal, if he was able to fall asleep at all. He honestly had no recollection of how he had gotten to the couch and fallen asleep.

"I guess I was more tired than I anticipated and didn't make it to bed," he lied.

"Looks like you made it up there to change into pajamas," Peter pointed out.

"How is he this perceptive?" Davy thought.

"Anyway, if you must keep tabs on my every move," Peter teased, "I need to go to the laundromat. I will be back when the laundry is done. Nothing more."

Davy nodded and with that Peter hefted his laundry bag over his shoulder and was gone.

"It's now or never," Davy declared. He had made up his mind.


Davy was shaking as he picked up the receiver and began to dial the missing persons tip line that was listed in the newspaper article. He was fearful about the idea of Peter being a dangerous criminal under his nose the entirety of their friendship as well as the thought of Peter being arrested. Prison would eat him alive. However, there was no denying the suspicious circumstances all pointed to Peter being the culprit. The long absences, the weird excuses, the muddy and rumpled clothing, the strange sleeping dialogue, the arm injury, the unusual trunk trinkets, and the mysteriously missing Mike and Micky. It all added up.

"L.A. County Sheriff's Department Tip line," the female receptionist answered.

"Hello Miss, I have some urgent information about…Hello?" Davy said as he heard the other line go silent. He continued to press buttons on the phone and realized the line was dead.

He heard a click. The cold press of a gun nudged against his head and an arm snaked quick around his torso before he could whirl and attack. Davy fought off his attacker with all his might but his efforts were futile. In the next instance the handle of the gun hit him on the side of the head and Davy was out cold.