"Hey, Nick, whatcha need?"

"Hi, Lori. I need everything you can search up on a guy named Steven Ferris, pedophile who killed two little girls about four years back."

"I remember that one. You did one of your big Sunday pieces on him, right?"

Nick smiled at her institutional memory. Computers don't make people smart, people make people smart.

"That's the one," he said and then lowered his voice. "He might have just been shot to death over at the jail. Can you send the stuff straight over to my queue? I'm going over to get some confirmation."

Lori was tall and thin, with long feathered blond hair and blue eyes. Nick had always liked her because she was bright and eternally positive. After the accident, when he'd come back to work, he'd been drawn to her. It was that positive force, he told himself. She came over to the counter that fronted her room of computers and bookcases and fact books and jotted down the name.

"It shouldn't take me too long, Nick. You want all the court stuff too, right?"

"Yeah, anything you can find," he said, thanking her and turning to go.

"Good luck," she said, watching him walk away. "On the confirmation, I mean. If it's the guy I'm remembering, nobody's gonna be shedding any tears."

Nick waved over his shoulder and went straight to the elevators. On the ride down he recalled a line that an old-timer homicide detective had delivered to him when he was just starting out: "Even the bad guys got a mom, kid."

Somebody's always going to cry.

Chapter 3

Out on the street, Fort Lauderdale's morning commuter traffic was still heavy. The main county jail was only a few blocks away on the other side of the river. Nick decided it was easier to walk. He'd stopped being in a hurry to crime scenes years ago.