THE TRAUTMANN Electric Company sat on Autumn Ridge’s southern edge on a quiet street lined with trees so old their stumps could have been used as dinner tables. On the phone, Bill Trautmann explained that he and his wife lived behind the company headquarters and to come right on in if Bobby wanted to chat.

Bobby passed a parking lot filled with more work vans as well as a squat, brown building with a sign jutting from the grass proclaiming “Trautmann Electric Company. Always Reliable. Always On Time.” The driveway Bill indicated on the phone appeared on the right just past the office, and Bobby turned.

The side of the blacktopped lane not facing the office was lined with tall evergreens that had dumped needles all over the pavement. An old-fashioned two-story house with indigo siding and cream-colored trim appeared on the right behind the office. Bobby pulled up beside a silver Lexus that had a vanity plate reading “FISHMAN” and got out.

He eyed the house with trepidation. Bill sounded friendly enough over the phone, but Graham had been friendly to him, too.

White wicker furniture with indigo cushions matching the siding sat on the wide porch. Pink flowers of a variety Bobby didn’t recognize waved their heads at him from a ceramic pot perched on the porch railing. Not exactly the kind of place he’d expected an electrician to call home.

For some reason, the tidy appearance of the dwelling put him even more on edge. Bobby strode up to the door anyway and pushed the doorbell. He’s going to have a demon, he thought. He’s going to have a demon, and he’ll kill me.

The door swung open. A trim black man with patches of gray hair around his ears stood in the opening.

“Bill?” Bobby ventured.

“That’s me!” the man said, holding out a hand, which Bobby shook. Bill was in his early seventies and wore an orange Izod polo tucked neatly into his slacks.

He didn’t have an aura.

But apparently neither had Graham.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m intruding,” Bobby said. “I just didn’t know who else to talk to.”

“Oh, don’t you go apologizing to me. Your reason for coming is perfectly understandable. Now come on in.”

Is it understandable? Bobby wondered as Bill led him through an entryway into a spacious study that looked out onto a flower garden in full bloom. When Bobby had called the electric company, the woman who’d answered patched him through to Bill, and Bobby had to come up with a decent reason for calling. At Bobby’s first mention of Graham, Bill had invited him right on over.

“Nice place you’ve got,” Bobby said when Bill seated himself behind a giant polished desk and Bobby sat in a chair facing him.

Bill beamed at him. “What you see here is the result of decades of hard work. When I was a boy in Tennessee all I ever heard was how a black man could never amount to anything, and it made me so mad I vowed to make something decent of myself if it was the last thing I did. I moved here, learned the electrician’s trade, saved every dime I could, and eventually started this company.” He laughed. “Regina and I were so poor those first few years we were in business, we had to sell our furniture to pay the bills and ate off the ironing board instead; and now I have forty employees and a fleet of twelve vans, and life’s never been better. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to an old man tell you his life story.”

Bobby tried to figure out how he could steer the conversation to the missing work van without being too obvious about it but decided he would just go with the flow. “I don’t mind. It’s cool that your business got so big.”

“It’s all about how you treat other people. All my men and women know they have to be polite with our clients and do the best job possible. I get one complaint about an employee, they get a warning; two and they’re fired. I have a very low tolerance for poor conduct.”

But do you have a low tolerance for abduction, too? “No offense, but I think I might be afraid to work for you.”

Bill threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “I’ve only had to can two people in the last ten years, and I can’t say I enjoyed it either time. But if you want your company to keep a decent reputation, you have to cut off any part that deviates from it.”

Bobby found himself nodding. “So I was wondering about Graham.”

Some of the cheer evaporated from Bill’s expression. “Right. I’m sorry you ended up as one of his tenants. If I’d known where he was…” He stared past Bobby’s shoulder, and a shadow crossed over his face. “If someone had told me what he’d end up becoming, I’d have said they were crazy. Graham was one of my best buddies for years.”

It was interesting hearing about Graham from someone who hadn’t previously been a Servant. “How did you meet him?”

Bill took a moment to clear his throat. “We had booths next to each other in the commercial building at the county fair about thirty-five, forty years ago. He was promoting his drug store and I was promoting my company, and we got to talking about how we both got started, and first thing you know we were going out for drinks every so often and then our wives met each other and would go out shopping, and then we’d invite each other over for parties and things, and the rest is history.”

“He seemed like a nice guy to me. You know, when he was my landlord.”

“He was nice, on the outside at least. When I heard he’d shot that boy he took in like a grandson, I was sure it had been a mistake. You might say I was in denial. But then I thought, what did I really know about Graham, after all? I don’t know what sort of things were festering deep inside that head of his.” Bill’s mouth formed an unhappy line. “For all I know, each and every one of us has a little crazy inside. It’s just a matter of making sure nobody lets it out.”

Bobby thought about what Phil learned from Graham’s notebook. “Apparently the crazy didn’t start until about six years ago.”

Bill’s eyebrows rose. “Six years, huh?”

“Did something happen to him six years ago aside from Randy moving into his house?”

Bill shifted his weight and set his chin on his hand. “Let me think.” His forehead creased. “That would have been 2009. Hmm.”

When Bill lapsed into silence, Bobby pondered what he’d learned so far. It seemed unlikely that Bill had been the one to pluck Adrian off the side of the street. But who, then? Who had taken the van and spirited Adrian away?

Bill snapped his fingers. “Nate,” he said.

Bobby whipped his head back to face the man. “What?”

“That’s the year Graham met somebody named Nate. He wouldn’t stop talking about him, like Nate was the best thing to ever come into his life. We used to tease him and ask if Nate was his new boyfriend.”

Bobby had no idea where this conversation would lead. “So, who was Nate?”

“Somebody Graham befriended. He had one of those funny Armenian last names, but I can’t remember what it was. Bag something. Bagdalasian? No, but it was something like that. I never met the guy. Graham was so fixated on him that it kind of felt like I did know him, which is strange because I don’t know what Nate looks like or even how old he is. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“What I mean is he kept talking about things Nate said to him. Like, ‘Nate told me the funniest joke the other day’ and ‘You know what Nate said about the President?’ Things like that.”

“So what did Nate say?”

“I don’t remember. I guess I didn’t care enough to remember since Nate was nothing to me. Graham stopped mentioning him after a few months. We’d ask what Nate was up to and Graham would just shrug.”

“Didn’t you think that was strange?”

“Of course I did! But life went on and I didn’t think much of it.”

Bobby wondered if Nate was Graham’s first victim. He shivered.

“Do you believe in demons?” Bill asked.

Goosebumps rose on Bobby’s arms. “Why do you ask?”

Bill sighed. “It’s just something I wonder now and again. I know that God Almighty put us on this earth and that forces are out there trying to screw everything up, which brings me back to Graham. Yes, it’s possible he went crazy from a tumor or dementia or something. But sometimes when I lie awake at night I can’t help but wonder if his murder attempt on that boy was caused by something else.”

“Graham wasn’t possessed,” Bobby said. “I’m pretty sure of that.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Are you, now?”

The faces of Trish, the woman who’d died in Randy’s basement last week; and the nameless demoniac at The Pink Rooster flitted through Bobby’s mind. “Let’s just say I’ve run into some people who are, well, you know.”

A look of understanding dawned on Bill’s face. “Ah. You’re one of them.”

Bobby’s pulse quickened. “One of who?”

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about Graham’s old crowd. Not much, mind you, because what I learned was by mistake and it wasn’t my place to pry any deeper into it than I had to.” He gave Bobby a piercing stare. “You best be careful. If you are one of them, you know what’s out there.”