Logan felt a firm hand of restraint on his shoulder. It tugged, weak but insistent. He turned his head to see Maggie pleading with her eyes. She shot a look at the man on the ground, then lowered her voice in an attempt to reach him.
“That’s enough,” she said.
“He knows something about Jenny,” Logan told her, pulling his arm away. He knelt beside the man and showed him his knuckles. “See this? This is what happens when you get a bunch of women murdered.”
The man stared at it wide-eyed, blood dripping into his grayish-yellow beard. It looked like a bloody cloud. “Do your worst, you son of a bitch. I’m not afraid of you.”
Logan rocketed a punch right at his nose, aiming to draw tears. The old man’s head snapped back like he was a rag doll. Logan felt a sprinkle of guilt for his actions, but whenever he tried to calm himself, he was reminded of Jenny.
“Stop,” Maggie said in his ear. “You’re hurting him.”
“He knows something,” Logan told her.
“Don’t you think he would have told you by now?”
Logan shook his head. People didn’t get handed bags of money from a serial killer without knowing something worthwhile. He laid eyes on the knife hanging from the old man’s hip in a leather sheath. He reached for it and held it to the man’s throat.
The enlarging crowd gasped nearby.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” Logan said. “What does he have you do?”
“Just… small stuff.” The old man stared at the knife.
“Stuff like what?”
“Nothing really.”
“Please, stop,” Maggie screamed behind him.
But Logan had come too far to turn back now. He pressed the knife harder, drawing a spot of blood onto the previously untouched areas of his beard. “Stuff like what?” he repeated.
The old man closed his eyes, his lip quivering. He went quiet, his breathing fast and heavy. Logan pulled back on his hair and once more pushed harder on the knife. He made his intentions clear, but the problem was, he wasn’t sure it was just an act.
“Okay, okay,” the man said. “Every now and then, he asks me to find people.”
“What kind of people?”
“I don’t know. He has certain requests.”
“What are you talking about?”
His voice was quivering. “Stuff like… ah… blonde hair. People with certain tattoos. He makes his requests, and I go around looking for those things. When I find them, I follow them for a bit and find out their routines, then I tell him. That’s all.”
“Did he ever ask you to find a girl in a wheelchair?” Logan tried.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“N-no. Never.”
Logan looked at Maggie. She had given up trying to make him stop, and now she was listening intently. Her eyes met his, and they showed her full interest, but that didn’t seem to stop her from knowing where to draw the line. “That’s enough,” she said calmly.
He nodded and looked down at the man. Logan let go and stood up straight, taking a deep breath to calm down. It terrified him that he’d almost crossed the line there, but whatever else had to be said could be done in an official statement.
Because Logan couldn’t trust himself any longer.