Adam didn't have the power to do that, but he could convince Jack if necessary.
Steven called him out of the room:
"Man, we shouldn't do this. Mack is a redneck—a racist who exploits women. He's been a pimp since he was eighteen, learned it from his stepfather. We can't just let him go; Jack would kill us."
"Steven, doesn't this case remind you of something?" Abrax asked.
Steven tried hard, but he really didn't know what Adam was talking about.
"A year ago, we spoke with a Chicago detective who was giving a lecture, remember? I think his name was Mars, or something like that. He investigated a series of related crimes—he was looking for a serial killer of women. And this serial killer had a very specific profile: women of average height, brunettes, between 25 and 30 years old, with green eyes… always green," Abrax explained.
Steven thought for a moment, and for a second Adam worried he wouldn't remember—but then his face lit up. Yes, he did recall:
"Yes, and the victims were found just like Dahlia—always left in gardens, and sometimes at churches. Some weren't prostitutes—I think the first three weren't, but the others were," Steven said.
"Why does nobody care about these girls? It's horrible, but that's the reality—the crime becomes so easy. What's shocking is that he managed to roam the entire country without being caught," Abrax continued.
"But Detective Mars caught him, didn't he? He stormed the place where he lived, and one of the officers even put a bullet in his head. The case was closed—there's no way it can be him again," Steven said.
"Oh, you're mistaken. I spoke with Mars. He said he never believed that that was the real serial killer, but rather a scapegoat. He even thought that the killer himself had orchestrated the whole thing," Abrax replied.
Steven's expression grew tense.
"And you think Mack knows something, is that it?"
"Steven, that's your job—Jack got you interested in her, so it's up to you. I've always thought that Mars's serial killer must have had some kind of help; he wouldn't have been able to stay active for so long without support. Mack must know something—did you see the money? His cellphone is a Motorola DynaTAC 8000x. Not even the mayor carries one of those—it's brand new and very expensive. And then there's his gun, which is a luxury item. Pimping makes money, but not THAT much," Abrax explained.
Steven was convinced; he didn't need any more evidence to know his friend was right.
Back in the interrogation room, Abrax began:
"Mack Del Rio, why don't you start by telling me how you met the late Miss Dahlia, please."
Steven just watched.
"Dahlia worked with me for a while, but we drifted apart in recent years. I met her at a circus, east of Pennsylvania—I helped her escape an arranged marriage with her cousin."
"Pennsylvania? That's far from here… You helped her by exploiting that?" Steven's tone was more aggressive than Adam's, but Mack remained calm and aware.
"No! We were friends, okay? You might not believe it, but we were friends. Dahlia wasn't an ordinary woman," Mack insisted.
"And why did you come here, Mr. Mack? Such a small town—so far from the resources needed for, well… your line of work," Adam asked.
Mack laughed.
"Far from the resources of my business? Obviously you don't understand the trade. The poorer and more redneck they are, the easier they are to manipulate and make earn money for you. There's nothing more malleable than a woman who doesn't recognize her own beauty—the power she has."
Steven made a look of disgust, but Mack continued:
"I'm not like the others, okay? I started out that way, I admit, but I had a dream—to be a film and television producer. I was born here, in this town; I've lived in several other states, and when I met Dahlia, I decided to come back. I tried to take care of some girls, but I had a little drug problem—and by some miracle, I recovered. I had contacts in Los Angeles and Miami, powerful people, so I realized that many of these girls had a dream: to be famous, or rich, or both. So I created a specialized service—I put together a catalog of girls from various states, of different colors and types. Then they travel and meet gentlemen—for DINNERS. I emphasize that because I know prostitution is a crime. Look, all I can say is that I don't have to work with those street bitches—I don't need to beat them, nor take the meager money they earn."
Steven and Abrax found that amusing.
"So why do you dress like that? And why do you have the 'Hammer Brothers' as your security?"
"I dress like this because I have my own style, and I have two 'mountains' as security—because I work with high-value clients. They've tried to rob me several times, and as you may have noticed, I'm not very good at self-defense." Mack made a delicate gesture with his hands, and both Abrax and Steven noticed something.
They both left the room again.
"Did you see those on his hands?" Abrax asked.
"Yeah, he's a faggot! Obviously he's gay," Steven said, convinced.
"What? No, not that—I mean, yes, he seems to have a tendency toward homosexuality, but did you notice the marks on his hands? They aren't recent, but I'm sure he beat someone with them," Abrax clarified.
Back in the interrogation room:
"So then, will you tell us what happened to Dahlia?" Abrax prompted.
Mack swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said:
"Dahlia and I did have an argument, and I ended up going too far—I did assault her, okay—but it was a client who killed her. A guy I no longer work for—I used to supply girls to him; it's all in my ledger. He's not from around here, but he always asked for girls like her, and unfortunately, this time he ended one of them. I found her at a motel by the side of the road and placed her in the church's flowerbed. She was devoted to Saint Junípero—I know it wasn't ideal, but it was the least I could do for her."
Steven found the story convincing, but Adam didn't; he knew Mack was still hiding something.
"You're not telling us the whole truth—you know it. It'd be better to tell the truth, or you won't get any freedom," Abrax warned.
"I don't have much more to say—that's the truth. I keep my clients' confidentiality; it's a way to ensure they always come back. But look at my ledger, and you'll see the payments received from Mr. Morgan. Of course, that isn't his real name, but there's some information there," Mack explained.
"Okay, and how did Mr. Morgan kill Dahlia? Since it wasn't you, Steven."
"I don't know. I think he liked sadomasochism, and he strangled her too hard—it happens," Mack replied.
"No, there weren't any marks around her neck. And it's strange you talk like that—since you claim she was your friend. If someone did that to a friend of mine, I'd be sure to send them off to a nice deep hole in the desert," Abrax said.
"You can be sure, detective—if I could, I would have killed him," Mack answered coldly.
Later, Steven and Adam took a break for lunch and decided to keep Mack in his cell for a while. The officers who arrested the Hammer brothers handed Adam another box containing other belongings confiscated from the office—among them, a photo in which Mack Del Rio appeared much younger, alongside a beautiful gypsy woman who was Dahlia.
"So, they were really friends," Abrax thought.
Meanwhile, Jack had spent the last few days watching over Penelope with a .44 caliber rifle. He hid in the garden while Kowalski performed extra examinations on the girl. He called it a "repair mission." He had instructed his friend to make himself visible in the window whenever possible, so that Penelope was always in his sights.
The excuse the two gave the mayor was that they thought the murderer might show up at his house and try another attack. Little did the mayor know that his old friend was actually waiting for the first sign of Penélope's transformation—so he could stick a nice, big silver bullet in her head.
The problem was that it didn't happen. According to Kowalski, the girl seemed fine when they met to discuss the matter:
"Several days have passed—maybe he didn't poison her," Kowalski said.
"So you think she's not going to, you know, turn into one of those creatures?" Jack asked.
"No, the final step was to bring her into the sunlight, and she does that regularly. She's not one of those things, and despite all the obscurity of the case, I think Hermans is right—it's just trauma," Kowalski replied.
"That's good. I've put the guys on other cases so we can find out where that nutjob is—if it was indeed him," Jack added.
"If it is him, you can be sure we'll see at least one of those things loose out there. Penelope was lucky, but other poor souls won't be," Kowalski warned.
"Many days have already passed; if she hasn't turned into one of those creatures, I doubt she will now," Jack concluded.
Back at the station, after eating pork chops and roasted potatoes, Adam felt a tremendous urge to rest. But he couldn't stop—he needed to go to Geraldine, Stacy's mother. The case was about to reach its conclusion, so he needed to interrogate her again. As Jack had said, it was just a formality that needed to be done.
"I saw Geraldine's address. She's going to meet you at the mansion, is that it?" Steven asked.
"Yes—in what's left of the mansion… I find it a bit morbid, but we need to keep Mack in custody, and I need to fill out some paperwork, so we have to go there," Abrax replied.
"Does the idea bother you? Because of your surname?" Steven prodded.
"Abrax was the surname of Stacy's father—her adoptive father, Geraldine's first husband. That's not what bothers me, but they could have used a different name in this case. We're dealing with something serious here, and I don't want to waste time investigating a case from twenty years ago," Adam said, frustrated.
"It's also a punishment because of our fight. But let's go—nothing that a few minutes of conversation can't resolve." Steven