“Name?”

“Lee Fielding.”

Mason’s brain was working at full speed. There was something here…he could feel it. But the guy had been locked up the whole time? “I still want to talk to him. And would you run a search for the registered sex offenders who were living around the residence…aww crap! That’s before they had to register with the state, isn’t it?”

“The roommate’s murder occurred a few years before state law had sex offenders registering. And they only had to register for five years at first, but I’ll see what history I can find for that area.”

“Our tattooed man is plainly a sex offender. Something tells me he’s got to be in the system somewhere. And I still haven’t heard back from the gang unit about his tattoos.” Mason filed a mental note to follow up. “I’ll call and tell the state pen I need to talk to Lee Fielding. Maybe I can get in this afternoon or tomorrow morning.” Mason paused. “I’ve got a good feeling on this one, Ray.”

“Damn it! Don’t say that! You’ll jinx it, Mason!”

Mason smiled into his phone as he strode back to his car.

Mason paced the small interview room at the state prison. The room was so stereotypical; he’d nearly rolled his eyes when he walked in. Painted cinderblocks, small window with bars, and a metal table fastened to the floor with two fastened stools. Impossible to budge. Or use to hit someone over the head. Mason hadn’t had time to review the Sandra Edge murder case. Ray was digging through the files and would get him the highlights as soon as he could.

Didn’t matter. He just needed to see Fielding. Get a feel for him. The right questions would come when he saw the murderer’s face.

Two guards appeared with Lee Fielding between them. Fielding had handcuffs attached to his leg irons and shuffled as he walked. The prisoner looked about sixty years old, but Mason knew he was closer to fifty. He was soft everywhere. Soft face, soft hands, soft belly. It looked like the man hadn’t attempted physical exercise since he’d been imprisoned. Mason instinctively sucked in his gut. This guy was too close to his own age, and Mason couldn’t help but compare. He knew he looked decent for his age. The damned graying hair and lines on Mason’s face announced his age, but he made sure his body stayed fit. A home gym and runs through the neighborhood kept away the middle-aged spread. He exercised more out of stress relief than anything else.

Fielding glanced curiously at Mason as he shuffled by and then plopped himself down on one of the stools with a sigh. His hair had grayed to completely white but had left his eyebrows black. The puffiness of his face kept away most of the lines men get on their face in their fifties, but his demeanor added invisible lines, aging him. He radiated old. He gave off the emotional waves of an old man who’d been beaten down. The guard attached a link to the big silver loop on the table and Fielding was fastened into place. A flash of anger crossed Fielding’s face as he studied the fastener and then vanished, and his face took on the doldrums look again. Mason noted the anger.

Can’t fool me, buddy. You just try to look lazy.

There was a pissed-off man inside that soft body.

“Mason Callahan, I’m with OSP.”

Fielding raised his gaze to meet Mason’s. And shrugged.

Silence.

Mason internally rolled his eyes. You’d think the asshole would appreciate the opportunity to see and talk with someone new. A break in his boring routine.

“Sandra Edge. It’s been a while,” Mason stated.

Fielding’s puffy face didn’t flinch.

“Why her?” Mason asked.

Mason saw a touch of surprise behind the lazy eyes. The directness of the question had caught Fielding off guard.

“Why not?” Fielding’s voice was surprisingly high pitched for an older man. He sounded like a thirteen-year-old. A thirteen-year-old girl.

It was Mason’s turn to be surprised, and he wondered if Fielding was gay. Dumbass. Like a voice indicates sexual preference.

“Did you know her before?”

Annoyance crossed Fielding’s face. “Why are you asking questions that you already know the answers to?”

“Humor me. I didn’t have time to read your case.”

Fielding’s gaze narrowed. “In a hurry? What’s the rush?”

Again, Mason was treated to a glimpse of the person hiding inside the soft figure. Fielding wasn’t dumb.

Of course he’s dumb. He’s sitting in prison for murder.

“Sandra’s roommate disappeared nine years after she was killed. Dawn Henderson. Her body just turned up, and we’re looking into it.”

“Can’t help you there. I’ve been inside.”

“Again. Why Sandra?”

Fielding shrugged and looked away. “A lack of planning on your part does not necessitate urgency on my part,” he stated as if reading from a rule book.

Mason’s anger tightened his throat. He’s fucking with me. He’s bored.

“I saw that on a sign in a public health office once,” Fielding said. “Seemed typical of public employee attitudes. Roles are reversed here, aren’t they?”

Mason leaned forward, his hands on the metal table.

“Why Sandra? Where’d you meet? And don’t give me shit about wasting your time with information that’s already in your file. You’ve got plenty of time to waste. Why don’t you just enjoy talking to my pretty face and see it as a break in your boring-assed routine. All the other prisoners should be so lucky.”