By one o'clock they had set up a situation room at the Roundhouse. Every piece of paper found in Nigel Butler's house had been boxed and tagged and was currently being sifted through for an address, a telephone number, or anything else that might provide a lead as to where he might have gone. If there really was a cabin in the Poconos, there was no rental receipt found, no deed located, no pictures taken.
The lab had the photo albums and had reported that the glue used to affix the photographs of movie stars to the face of Angelika Butler was standard white craft glue, but what was surprising was that it was fresh. In some instances, according to the lab, the glue was still wet. Whoever had glued those pictures into the album had done so in the past forty- eight hours. At one ten, the call for which they were both hoping and dreading came in. It was Nick Palladino. Jessica took the call, put him on the speakerphone.
"What's up, Nick?"
"I think we found Nigel Butler."
"Where is he?"
"He's parked in his car. North Philly."
"Where?"
"In the parking lot of an old gas station on Girard."
Jessica glanced at Byrne. It was clear that he didn't need to be told which gas station. He had been there once. He knew.
"Is he in custody?" Byrne asked.
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean?"
Palladino took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. It seemed like a full minute passed before he answered. "He's sitting behind the wheel of his car," Palladino said.
A few more excruciating seconds passed. "Yeah? And?" Byrne asked.
"And the car is on fire."