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record their browsing history.”
    “We’ll need a list of that,” Jack said.
    “Of course.”
    “What about Twitter, Facebook, and other social networking sites?” I asked.
    “He did have a regular habit of logging onto Twitter.”
    “Do you know what his log-on information was?”
    Moore’s face contorted. “I thought it was in the file there. Uh, if I remember right he used the name The Redeemer.”

     
    We were in with Warden Moore for about thirty minutes, but of everything that was said, the last two words he spoke stuck, The Redeemer. “This guy took it upon himself to exact vengeance and hold sinners accountable for their actions. Maybe he was a former priest?”
    The SUV’s lights flashed as Jack pressed the key fob to unlock it. “What have we got in the file?”
    I looked over at Jack from the passenger seat. “It tells us where Bingham was born, also when he moved to Salt Lick.”
    “Things we knew already.”
    “Sarasota, Florida.” I knew before that Bingham sprung from my hometown, but now to have witnessed his crimes, a chill ran through me.
    “So he didn’t move here for the warmer weather?”
    “And I find it strange there aren’t more addresses on file. Don’t most serial killers move around a lot?”
    “Just because more places aren’t mentioned in a file doesn’t mean Bingham was stationary.”
    “Guess that’s true. But those tunnels wouldn’t have made themselves, and even though we know he had help, I think it’s safe to say he was in Salt Lick as long as the record says.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Both parents were dead by the time he was twenty. His sister Lori would have been sixteen. Four years between them.” I read more from the file, still deriving facts we already knew. “Bingham worked as a farm hand. He was strong, used to manual labor.” I paused and connected eyes with Jack. “It explains how he’d have the strength for all that digging and how he could have overpowered his victims.”
    “I don’t think he needed physical strength when it came to them.”
    “You’re thinking he drugged them.”
    “Possibly, but I also believe the guy is a master manipulator. Once we know more about the victims, we’ll have a better idea.”
    I flipped a page in the report. “Bingham works out in the prison gym every day. It would explain why he’s in good shape.”
    “We also know the guy is an obsessive compulsive, and he likes things a certain way. What does the file say about Bingham attending religious services?”
    I shuffled through the sheets. “Every Sunday.”
    “So he is religious. He also has narcissistic qualities. He convinced himself he was in control of our meeting by requesting that I leave.”
    “I witnessed pride when I brought up the other killer. He loved the thought of controlling someone else.”
    “But there’s still a lot more to fill in. We need to know what he’s twitted—”
    “You mean tweeted.” My statement earned a glare.
    “Find out who he’s in contact with.”
    “Who follows him,” I corrected Jack. For some reason, those three words brought back Bingham’s threat. Jack must have sensed it.
    “He’s behind bars, Slingshot.”
    I took a deep breath, doing my best to make it undetectable to Jack. Maybe it wasn’t so much Bingham that I worried about as much as the killer who wasn’t behind bars.

 
     
    CHAPTER 7

     
    Jack and I were making our way back to Salt Lick. Jack had his window cracked, but it did little for easing the second-hand smoke billowing from his mouth. By the end of the probationary period maybe I’d have lung cancer. Life could be unfair like that. While Jack would live to see a hundred, I’d be dead by thirty.
    “How are you coming with the twit thing?”
    “Twitter.” I corrected him again. Here is where the generational gap drew a darkened line of distinguishing those from the dark ages and those who were hitched to technology. “We know he goes by The Redeemer, but just for the heck of it I