CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Sitting in the living room with his wife and the three FBI agents, James Tiller felt a sharp stab of fury at the woman’s question.
The b***h, he thought.
She had a lot of nerve, asking a question like that—about how many children he had.
Her smile exasperated him still further.
Then she said, “And you only had a daughter—no sons. Such a shame. Surely you wanted sons. If you’d only had more children, maybe one would have been a son. But you didn’t. I wonder why.”
James felt his face twitch.
He’d spent his whole life pushing women like this one away.
When he was young he’d even killed two of them—that bossy college student in Brinkley, and that slut in Denison.
As for the third girl …
He still didn’t know quite why he’d done it.
He remembered when they’d walked
