The Love Killings by Robert Ellis Page A

table in the Holloways’ library. A bright desk lamp had been pushed into his face. On the other side of the table, he could make out Doyle’s figure in the shadows, along with Special Agent Rogers and Dr. Stanley Westbrook. Agent Brown was listening from a chair by the window.
    “You’re sure it was Baylor?” Rogers asked in a loud voice. “You’re sure it was him?”
    Matt remained quiet, taking a deep breath and exhaling. He could see Doyle uncapping a bottle of water and taking a quick sip. After he set the bottle down, the federal prosecutor leaned over the table.
    “Let’s start from the beginning,” he said. “Let’s go through it one more time, Jones. You said that he left five fingerprints at the Strattons’ mansion. That he wanted us to find them because he thought it might bring you to Philadelphia. Where are they? Where are the fingerprints?”
    Matt winced. The bright light hurt his eyes.
    “Why is this light in my face?”
    “Where did Baylor leave the fingerprints?” Doyle repeated.
    Matt shrugged. “I didn’t believe him when he said it.”
    “Of course you didn’t, Jones. Where did he say he left them?”
    “There’s a page from a newspaper that Stratton had framed. Baylor said it’s hanging in the library. He said he touched the glass and the frame itself. He left a third print on the kitchen faucet when he washed his hands.”
    Matt could see Rogers leafing through the sections in a three-ring binder and realized that they had pulled the murder book from the passenger seat of Matt’s car. It felt like another violation. He watched Rogers find the page he was looking for, his indignation rising. He watched the man skim through the copy and look up at Doyle.
    “All three were located,” he said finally. “They were smudged. There was no probative value. They could have been anyone’s fingerprints. They could have been there for weeks.”
    Rogers had become defensive the moment Matt told them that Baylor had found a way to send him a text message using the special agent’s name and phone number. Matt gave the man another hard look. The gunshot wounds had begun burning in his gut, and he could feel a headache coming on from the bright light in his eyes. It was time for this one-way conversation to end. He grabbed the desk lamp, got to his feet, and turned the bright light on his interrogators.
    “Hey, hey, hey,” Rogers said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Matt glared back at him. “You want to talk about what happened, Rogers, then I’m more than happy to do that. But this is bullshit, and I don’t like you.”
    Matt smashed the lamp on the floor, then started around the desk toward the special agent. When Rogers took a step back, Doyle grabbed Matt by the shoulders.
    “It’s been a long night. Why don’t we all calm down? You, too, Rogers.”
    “I’m in charge here,” Rogers said under his breath. “He’s not qualified to be here. Nobody talks to me that way.”
    Doyle smiled. “Yes, he is, and he just did. Now find a seat and sit down. Both of you.”
    Matt glanced at Kate Brown as he took the chair beside her and turned back to Doyle. The federal prosecutor had started pacing up and down the long room and appeared to be thinking something over. After another quick sip of water, he finally spoke.
    “This is exactly what we thought would happen. Jones is here, and tonight Dr. Baylor made contact. It’s a step forward. A huge step forward. Tell us again, Jones. What did the doctor say?”
    Matt leaned forward in the chair. “He claims that he didn’t kill these people. And he didn’t murder the Strattons. He wanted to, he’d done his research, but someone got to them first. Someone who’s picking his victims from the same group.”
    Doyle glanced his way, then lowered his eyes back to the floor. “That’s what the guilty always say. He didn’t expect you to believe him, did he?”
    “I think he did. He was disappointed when I didn’t.”
    The