"You ran into another car," Casey pointed out.

Lipton shrugged. "Most people are mindless. For someone to have the perspicacity to see my license plate was an unusual coincidence. Otherwise, I would have taken my leave without arousing suspicion."

"Her father thinks you did it," Casey said.

"The father is mad," Lipton said, flaring up for the first time. "He was behind the attack on me, if it wasn't him who actually shot me." Lipton's hand instinctively sought out and caressed the healing wound not three inches above his heart. "It happened so fast, I don't know.

"He was the one who killed her, you know," he continued, narrowing his eyes malevolently. "He was jealous of what I had with his daughter."

"Did you tell this to anyone?" Casey said, incredulous. She vaguely recalled the father from the newspaper accounts, but nowhere had she heard or read of him as a suspect.

"Of course not!" Lipton scoffed. "I was their suspect. Once the police machine sets its sights on a person, that's it. They're like dumb animals. Beyond a very brief initial interview, I've said nothing to the police. I know better than that. But all this is in the files. You're wasting my time."

Casey thought about asking what other important things he had to do, but didn't.

"What about the underwear?" she asked, averting her eyes from his cold gaze.

"A sexual proclivity," he told her. His voice was quiet, almost syrupy. "A trophy of sorts."

"And the blood?" she asked.

"Old," he said. "Marcia liked to be tied up. She was what I call a dominant woman. Young, but still dominant. She was smart and headstrong and ambitious as well as very beautiful. I find that dominant women often like to be tied up… to restore the natural order if you will…"

Casey looked up. Lipton's eyes were gleaming now. He was playing with her, staying just barely within the bounds of decency.