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exact response he clearly wants from guests to his office.
    “Reticulated pythons can grow to be as much as thirty feet long. Genghis is a twenty-two-footer, a rescue,” he explains. “He was about to be euthanized after strangling a toddler.”
    Miriam and Craig exchange horrified looks. The story rings a bell to Miriam. It made national news a few years back. The family awoke in the morning to find its pet python had slithered out of its cage, down the hall, up into the crib and around the small, sleeping girl. It hadn’t eaten her when the father discovered them, but the little girl’s head was covered in rows of bite marks where the snake had bitten her with its numerous small teeth to keep her in place while it constricted her.
    “Not the snake’s fault, of course,” Bender says, looking fondly at the massive python. “It wasn’t bred to be vicious, just following its nature. To kill it for that seemed like a sin.” He looks like he expects to be lauded for this act of mercy. Miriam pictures this beast gliding through the house in the middle of the night, peering into the various bedrooms before choosing the small crib and the child sleeping there. She eyes the gleaming muscular coils and tries to imagine what twenty-two feet of snake looks like coming into your bed.
    “Didn’t it happen in Florida?” Miriam asks, feeling nauseated. “How did you end up withit?”
    “It did take place in Florida.” He nods, pleased that she’d heard of the story. “I happen to be good friends with the judge in the hearing. I asked him what would happen to the snake. The state wildlife and game commission were planning to put it down after the trial. Didn’t seem right to me. The father was an unfit parent, he’d lost a child, but there was no need for another life to end.”
    It’s so wrong, so twisted, to keep the snake as a pet even if Bender is right and the snake isn’t vicious. Her gaze keeps sliding off Bender to rest on the snake, which revolts and fascinates her at the same time.
    With a steadying breath, she turns to her prepared questions. She expects it will take some time before they relax enough in each other’s presence for a good conversation. But Bender seems unfazed by her reaction to the snake, the stiflingly warm office (can’t have an uncomfortable snake), or Craig’s presence. She hardly needs to prompt him. Some interviewees are like that.
    “I moved here back in 1982,” he begins easily when she asks how long he’s lived in Hamilton. “Different time then, different place altogether. There were untouched woods down Route 31—none of these endless shopping malls and fancy stores. It was good Christian folks living a good wholesome life.” Bender sits back in his chair, ankle on knee. “I made it my mission in life to protect this community. Are you getting this down?”
    Miriam nods, pen racing on her notepad.
    “I’ve seen some awful things from the bench; the worst dregs of humanity come before me, begging for mercy.” He looks at Craig. “I have no mercy for the wicked.”
    “Tell me about your ties to the community,” Miriam quickly says. “I understand thatyou’re deeply involved with many civic organizations.”
    Annoyed at the interruption, Bender uncrosses his legs and leans forward, both feet on the ground, with his gut resting in the space between his spread legs. “I have been a member in good standing of the Kiwanis Club for over twenty years. During that time, we have participated in many worthy projects. My dear friend, Bob Morth, he’s now the mayor of this fine town, he began his Kiwanis membership the same time as I did.”
    The closer Bender leans forward, the farther into the couch Miriam presses herself, lifting her pad like a small shield. He tells her about his deep friendship with the mayor and the chief of police, his pride in Hamilton and his hopes for its continued prosperity. She quickly writes his quotes in shorthand, nodding to keep him