Fielding’s mouth twitched at one corner. “Okay, Detective. I’ll play. I met Sandra at a local bar. She was selling it. I was interested. I was stoned. Things got out of hand. The end.”

“Local bar? You both lived close by?”

Fielding shrugged. “My buddy lived close by. I was in town and camped out on his couch for a few days.”

“Where did you live?”

“Nowhere.”

“Transient?”

“Sometimes.”

“So you had no money to pay her. No money for a roof over your head and no money for the hooker. But you had money for the dope and beer. Fucking typical.”

The anger flashed through Fielding’s eyes, and Mason knew he’d perfectly nailed Fielding’s life at the time.

“You must be loving prison. Three squares a day, a roof, cable. And it doesn’t cost you a dime. In fact, as Joe Taxpayer, I’m paying for your stay at the Ritz.” Mason paused. “And you’re very welcome. Anything to keep shit like you off the street.

“Your buddy must have been thrilled when you went to prison and got off his couch. I bet you weren’t there for just a few days, you were probably sponging off of him for weeks.”

“Fuck you. He went in, too.”

“Went in? Prison?”

“Yeah, he was there. You really should read the fucking file so you don’t sound like an idiot. Gary and I both went away for Sandra’s murder. He got off easy because they lost half the damn evidence.”

“And because you were the one who actually killed her. He was probably just there to party,” Mason prodded. “You fucked up his life, too. What was his name?”

“Who, Gary? You’re coming off as a dumbshit because you haven’t reviewed the case.” Fielding’s face reddened. “You’re like a high school newspaper reporter who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“Gary what?”

“Gary Busey.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Grow up.”

“Gary Hinkes.”

Mason wrote the name in his mental notebook. “Was that so hard?”

“Are you really a cop? ’Cause you don’t seem to know shit.”

Mason smiled, showing all his teeth. “I’m all cop. Now pretend I’m your best friend and tell me everything you know about Hinkes.”

Fielding shifted on the metal stool, his black brows coming together. “Fucker fell off the face of the earth. He went to Shutter Creek for his time.”

“In Eastern Oregon?” Mason had never been to the medium-security prison.

“Yeah. I’d get a letter now and then. Then mine started coming back to me. I tried to find out if he’d been released or transferred. He was only supposed to be in for nine months, I think.”

“That’s it? Accessory to murder and he got nine months?”

“Naw, it was for breaking probation and something else. I don’t remember. I’ve searched for him online but can’t figure out where he went.”

“Online?” These guys get Internet access? “I bet you were looking at dating sites, right?”

Fielding didn’t even blink. He kept rambling, his eyes focused on a spot on the table as he thought about Hinkes. “He’s probably dead somewhere or locked up somewhere else. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“What does that mean?”

Now Fielding looked up. And grinned. “He liked it. He liked getting it from anyone. The rougher, the better. A lotta pain involved, all the better. Men, women, didn’t matter.”

Mason froze. Every neuron in his brain firing at once. Bingo.

“Where is Hinkes?” This is our guy.

“I just told you that I don’t know. I’ve looked. Nothing else to do in here. I figure he served his sentence and got out. Who knows what the fuck he’s up to, but asses like that don’t change. It’s in his blood. I’ve never seen anyone who likes the pain along with the sex so much.”

“Fucking pervert.”

Fielding just nodded. “Gary fit most pervert descriptions.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Gary? Oh, he was a freak. One of those white-skinned guys. You know, the genetic shit? Albinos? But he dyed his hair. Used the cheap crap…it always looked like shit. He wanted colored contacts but couldn’t afford them. Had some pretty amazing tattoo work done. Don’t know how he paid for that…I can guess, though. His back looked like a piece of oriental artwork. Fucking amazing.”

Blood was pounding in Mason’s head. He strained to hear past the noise. “Did he have tattoos on his wrists?”

“No, his upper arms were tattooed. Not his wrists. That could have changed. He had a serious addiction to tattooing. Loved them. I never understood. That shit fucking hurts.” Fielding pulled up his sleeve to show a small phoenix on his upper arm. “I did one. That was enough.”

Mason stared at the small figure. “Why a phoenix?”

Fielding looked away and pulled down the sleeve, rubbing at the fabric over the tattoo like he could wash it off. “Stands for new beginnings. Change.”

Mason snorted. “Maybe someday, eh?”

“How can he just vanish?” Mason asked. He was seriously frustrated. His best lead, the name from Lee Fielding, was hitting a stone wall. After his prison interview, Mason had called Ray, pointed him in the direction of searching for Gary Hinkes, and sped back to the office, hoping Ray would have fantastic news by the time he’d arrived.