Confession by Carey Baldwin

interrogated.”
    â€œInterviewed.”
    â€œWhatever. But I won’t withhold information. I want the truth to come out as badly as you. So maybe we can just get down to it.”
    â€œGot places to go?”
    Her only patient was in jail. She hadn’t a single friend in town, and Johnson likely knew both of those facts.
    â€œI’ve got an important conference later today, and I need time to prepare for it.” Not a complete lie. She hoped she had an important conference. On Saturday, she’d e-­mailed Dr. Caitlin Cassidy, requesting a consultation.
    Dr. Cassidy was the foremost expert in the country on false confessions, and she had recently been involved in the release of a man on death row—­a man who’d been clearly exonerated by DNA evidence after new witnesses came forward. It was absolutely possible Dr. Cassidy would respond to her today.
    â€œAn important conference.” He made a harrumphing sound. “Well then, down we’ll get.” Johnson slapped a photograph of a young woman in front of her.
    Faith immediately recognized Nancy Aberdeen. In this photograph, which had been plastered all over the news, Nancy posed with a cherry pie, a big blue ribbon, and a hometown-­sweetheart smile. Nancy wore a gingham dress and had her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her skin shimmered with a rich, inviting sheen, like a bowl of cream waiting for a cat. Her wide eyes sparkled with happiness, perhaps because of that big blue ribbon she’d won, or perhaps because happiness was simply in her nature. Nancy Aberdeen was both a breath of fresh air and a blast from the past. The perfect picture of more innocent times. An unexpected teenager. Why had the Saint chosen this particular girl?
    â€œThat picture was taken at the state fair.” Johnson’s face contorted, covering whatever emotion the photograph called up in him. Not good for his tough-­cop image to show he cared.
    â€œAnd this.” He slapped a second photo down beside the first. “This is Nancy Aberdeen after the Saint got done with her.”
    All Faith had in her stomach was water, and she had to fight to keep that down. Tears welled behind her eyes, and she blinked those back, too. She forced herself to keep her gaze on the picture. The girl had been hog-­tied, her skull blown apart by a shotgun blast. What was left of her face was shrouded in blood, unrecognizable. In her hand, she clasped a rosary. “You’re a real jerk, Howie, you know that, right?”
    â€œI could give a rat’s asshole if I am.”
    â€œWhat the hell do you want from me?” She refused to allow her voice to quiver.
    â€œI wanna know every single goddamn thing you know about Dante Jericho, the bastard who killed this sweet sixteen-­year-­old girl.” She could practically hear his teeth grinding.
    â€œI’m afraid you’re going to have to narrow that down a bit. Tell me everything you know covers a lot of ground. What’s your question?”
    â€œYou call this cooperating?”
    â€œYou call this an interview?” She leapt to her feet.
    Raising one hand, Johnson’s expression turned coaxing. “Sit down . . . please.”
    He pulled out her chair, politely.
    She sat back down—­her legs were shaking anyway.
    â€œI wanted you to see his evil with your own eyes. I apologize for not preparing you first. I may have been out of line.”
    Swallowing hard, she met his eyes. “Apology accepted.”
    His shoulders relaxed, and a bit of the fight seemed to go out of him, as if he’d finally realized she might not be the enemy after all—­or maybe that was her remembering he was one of the good guys.
    â€œDid Jericho ever mention the name Nancy Aberdeen or the names of any of the other victims to you before last Saturday?” he asked.
    She shook her head.
    â€œFor the record, please.”
    â€œNo, he never mentioned the