{thirty-three}

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Dylan looked through the window. He finally had his chance with Hansen. This was For Elena Lopez. Carissa Gladstone. Sarah Vincent. Marina Stanford. Claire Zensenbacher. Kelly Aronson. Charla Wilson. Veronica Garcia. Brielle Clanton. For all the other women out there. And even for Angela Brooks and Alessa. No, he couldn't bring all of them back. But he'd spent his whole career finding justice for the victims.

An initial plea hearing was scheduled for three weeks from now, but Hansen wanted all the fanfare of a trial. Dylan looked at Baines and they walked into the room together.

"What do you have for us today?" Dylan asked. "More bullshit?" He sat down.

Hansen smiled. "What do you want?" He tapped his fingers on the table.

Dylan slapped down the dog-eared copy of Dante's Inferno on the table. "We found this in the Mercedes. It was your guide. All that highlighting in one area." Dylan opened the book. "The eighth circle of Hell was for frauds."

"There's only ten bolgias, but that wasn't enough for you was it?" Baines asked.

Hansen shrugged. "You got a point to all this?"

"Born October 12, 1992, eighth circle, ten bolgias. You have a thing for even numbers. You were even born in an even numbered month on an even numbered day," Dylan said.

"Where are the other two bodies?" Baines asked.

"I thought Lessa would lead you to them?" He pointed to his nose. "She's good with that."

Dylan laughed. "You would know."

"What the hell's so funny?" Hansen growled trying to stand, but the shackles kept him off balance.

"You go on about being fake when you were doing the exact same thing. Which bolgia would that put you in?" Dylan rubbed his chin. "I would say number ten. That's where the impostors go, isn't it?"

His face went red, and Dylan couldn't help his smile. Mentioning Hansen's failures had been part of the plan. The thinking was that getting a rise out of him could get him to go on a tirade. Dylan was a firm believer that most people's truths came out when they were drunk or angry. Even if nothing came of it, he would still be satisfied with knowing he'd pissed Hansen off.

Hansen cleared his throat. "I know what you're trying to do. But it won't work. At the end of the day, I got all of them but two. That puts the odds in my favor." He sat back in the seat. "Guards! I'm ready to go now."

"Guess we're done here," Baines said.

Baines and Dylan stood up as two guards entered. Dylan tried to go without saying anything, but he turned around.

"Why did you get caught?"

Hansen shook his head and smiled. "Why not?"

Yeah. He hadn't expected an answer, but it was still worth a shot. Hansen would have them believe it was part of his plan but only two things made sense. One was for him to protect his brother Adam. The other was to take one last shot at Annabelle. Having a son in prison for committing multiple murders wouldn't be good for business and might force them to deal with some tough questions.

But Dylan had read the Philadelphia Inquirer. The Swensons were already putting distance between themselves and their "perpetually troubled" son. Since no one knew David, the general public stood behind them. For all they knew the claims of abuse were untrue. They very well could be. That would be for the Oklahoma City PD to handle since that was where he'd been living.

For now, he would focus on another matter. It was the day after Thanksgiving and Alessandra was set to be released from the hospital. He'd asked her about DC, but she'd said she still wasn't sure if she wanted to return to work. She'd stay with her brother for now until she got things sorted out.

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