Curran's phone rang as soon as he reached the office the next morning. He swallowed the gulp of orange juice and grabbed the receiver.
“Curran.”
“So? Was she any good?”
He grinned. “'Morning Kwon.”
“Man, don't ‘good morning’ me. I told you, I want details.”
“No details to give.”
“Liar.”
“I'm not.”
Kwon’s sigh came through the phone. “I don't believe this. I spend my time humping dead bodies all over town, doing extensive reports for you, busting my balls to make sure you’ve got what you need, and you can't even be bothered to spill a little dirt about what happened between you and that lovely lady. Thanks a lot.”
“You want details?” Curran grinned.
“Absolutely.”
“She's getting ready to become a nun.”
“So, you can be a cowboy. I've done the dress-up thing, man. It's kind of cool.”
“I mean it, Kwon. She's going to become a nun.” Curran didn’t feel good saying it, either. Last night had been the first almost date he’d had in a long time and it had felt really nice sitting across from a good-looking woman.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well…”
“Yeah.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. I’m kind of fond of her.”
“’Fond of her?’ Curran, anyone ever told you that you got some weird old fashioned ways about you?”
“Yeah, I heard that before.” He bit into the muffin and chewed, but somehow the muffin didn’t taste as good today. “I like old fashioned.”
“She have any thoughts on why her brother's brain turned green?”
“I mentioned it but we didn’t stay on that topic for very long.”
“What'd you talk about, then?”
“The case. Her life.”
“Anything interesting?”
Plenty, thought Curran. But he wouldn’t share that with Kwon just yet. Part of him was still amazed Lauren had given up as much as she had last night. “She's running some stuff down for me.”
There was a pause. “I knew it.”
“What?”
“You aren't done trying yet. I can hear it in your voice. You old Devil. You're going to corrupt that poor woman, aren't you?”
“I'm not going to corrupt anyone, Kwon.”
“You know what kind of hard time you'll do for that, Curran? The man upstairs will bust your ass big time for messing with one of his ladies.”
“And I suppose that foul mouth of yours will get you a pair of wings?”
“Hey, I'm not freaking a nun.”
“I'm not freaking a nun!” He glanced around, but fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention. He turned back to the phone. “Jesus, Kwon, lay off, would you?”
“Yeah, whatever. I'll be waiting for the full report when you do, you dog. Call me if you find out why this dude's brain turned green.”
Curran hung up the and hauled out the pile of old case reports. Photographs, files, maps and assorted evidence came out in a jumble.
So did the memories.
Years of busting his hump to make heads or tails of this serial killer. Years of trying his damnedest to figure out the connection. The pain, the late nights, the unyielding complexity. Everything all at once came pouring out of him.
And the frustration, the final frustration at being heaved out on his ass when things didn't pan out.
That took the cake, he thought.
He sighed, God I need a smoke. But he wasn’t allowing himself a cigarette every time he felt the craving. He had to wean himself off those things. He wasn’t going to smoke for at least — he checked the wall clock — another ninety minutes.
Instead, he took another swig of juice and then began sorting things into piles. Maybe a fresh look at it would jar something lose. Some small piece that would connect everything.
Curran sure hoped so.
But he secretly doubted it.
After all, how long had he spent searching through this material when he was back in the Bureau? And at what cost?
His mind jumped back to the image of his ex-wife. Back to when they both seemed so young and carefree. And so in love. Evenings back then were spent in pursuit of whatever sexual antics ruled the day. Nights of passion and of whispered words of devotion and tender caring.
And then the case arrived.
Suddenly, the bizarre nature of the deaths absorbed Curran like a black hole suckling the light out of every nearby living thing. The names of the victims, the dates, the backgrounds, the abject surprise etched — frozen — into their dead visages.
Everything.
Curran became the case. He lost interest in anything else.
He shook his head like a dog trying to shed water after playing in a lake. That was the past, he thought. Surely, I paid for my overzealous enthusiasm enough.
Now, what hadn't he looked at yet?
What was the clue he needed?
He glanced at Gary Fields' picture again. The grim mug radiated a calm defiance and a cold confidence Curran found unsettling. The picture of pure evil, he thought. He smirked; for the first time, it's a bad guy getting killed and not some innocent bystander.
He stopped.
Miami.
Dallas.
The names. The rap sheets.
My god, he thought, they’re all like Fields.
They’re all evil.
He dug into the piles and began yanking out the backgrounds of all the previous victims. Within minutes, he knew he’d found a connection. He almost hit himself for not finding it before. He’d heard that happened sometimes. You got too close to a case and couldn’t see the most obvious thing of all.
But it raised a question.
Was the killer just a simple vigilante? Was he out to right the wrongs of society by killing off its dregs?
Curran frowned. Was killing justified if the victims were all evil?
Not for a civilian. He felt pretty convinced about that.
But what about for him — an officer of the law?
He didn’t know.
He’d killed before.
Each time in self-defense. Each time he’d been exonerated. But that didn’t necessarily make it feel all right when he lay awake at night reliving the scenarios over and over again.
Especially when he woke up bathed in a pool of sweat sucking in lungfuls of oxygen as if he was suffocating.
He looked back down at the piles before them. It was all there. Each of the victims had all been bad seeds. The worst men and women in their respective cities.
And each and every one of them had died at the hands of the man Curran knew must now be lurking around Boston.
But how was Curran going to protect the evil people in this city?
He frowned. Cripes, did he even want to?
Instinctively, he reached for the phone. Before he realized it, he had pressed out the numbers and heard the ringing. When the soft voice on the other end of the phone spoke, Curran cleared his throat.
“I may need your help after all.”