Without Warning by David Rosenfelt

in the interrogation room when I arrived. He had some of Rachel’s blood on his shirt, and appeared badly shaken by the experience. Anyone would have been badly shaken by that experience.
    “She’s dead, isn’t she,” he said, not as a question.
    “Yes. Why was she on the scene?”
    “She was impressed by me,” he said, shaking his head. “How’d that work out for her?”
    “This is not your fault, Matt.”
    “Of course it is.”
    I needed to be his interrogator, and not his shrink, so I repeated, “Why was she on the scene?”
    “We met at the Dugout, had a few drinks, and I invited her back to my house. Unfortunately, she accepted.”
    “How long were you out of the house today?”
    “All day. He could have come in at any time and set things up.” Then, “You know, I’m sitting here talking to you, and I can’t remember her name. She died because she wanted to be with someone who doesn’t even remember her name.”
    “Rachel Castro.”
    “Rachel Castro,” he repeated. “Rachel Castro.”
    I took him through the days since the capsule was opened, to see if anything had happened that might give him an inkling who the killer might be, or why he was a target.
    He didn’t have a clue, which put us on equal footing.
    “Do you have any idea what the killer was talking about when he accused you of lying?”
    “No, and I’ve reread all of the articles. Except for the … the murder of your wife … there was nothing having anything to do with violence. I was fairly new to the job, so I was covering mostly everyday, small-town stuff.”
    We talked for another hour, and I told him he would have to dictate and sign a statement. He agreed readily; the evening’s events had removed much of his combative tone. At least for the moment he was a citizen looking to the police for help, not a journalist fighting the system.
    “You have to assume you’re still a target,” I said.
    “I know; I’ll be careful.”
    “We’ll watch your house as much as we can, but we don’t have the manpower to do it full time.”
    He nodded his understanding. “I’ll put in an alarm system.” Then he shook his head again. “A little late for Rachel Castro.”

 
     
    I was not trying to clear Roger Hagel. That was not the purpose of my investigation. My goal was to find the person who murdered Jenny, and in order to do so I was assuming Roger’s innocence. In light of what we found in the capsule, it had the additional benefit of being a logical assumption.
    But there had been conclusive evidence against Roger, and that was a factor I did have to consider. Because if he didn’t do it, then someone planted that evidence, someone who probably wanted to deflect attention from himself.
    The fact that Roger was himself killed in prison was an interesting aspect of the case. I was not aware of anyone being convicted of that crime, and I had assumed it was a prison fight, or grudge killing. I always considered it a form of justice that he suffered the same fate as Jenny, and it had never entered my mind that his murder had any other significance.
    Neither I nor our department investigated Roger’s death; it happened in a state prison and was out of our jurisdiction. But now I needed to know a lot more about it. When I called the state police, they told me that the investigating officer was Sergeant Ryan Tillman, who had retired a year after Roger’s murder.
    Tillman was still living in Maine, in Lewiston, and I called him. After I introduced myself, I said, “I’d like to come talk to you about a murder.”
    He laughed. “My favorite subject. Has it happened yet, or are you hiring me to do it?”
    “It’s happened. Guy by the name of Roger Hagel, murdered in his cell at Warren.” Warren was and is the location of the Maine State Prison.
    “Hagel,” he said.
    “Right. You remember it?”
    “You know how many murders I investigated in thirty-seven years?”
    “Nope.”
    He laughed again. “Me neither. But I sure