Sam took a breath and told the story.

“Sam, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” he’d told her. What else could he say?

He’d taken the long way back to his hotel, past the old factories and through the narrow streets where the workers of those boarded-up factories had once lived. Some of them probably still did, he reminded himself. He drove up the hill leading to the nicest part of Conroy, the gracious homes the factory owners had built for themselves and their families. This part of town seemed to be experiencing a rebirth, evident in the number of homes that sported fresh coats of paint and new roofs, porches with colorful potted plants on the newly repaired stairs. For some reason, it raised his spirits to know that here, at least, someone was looking to the future with some optimism. For the past several hours, Sam had felt an anxiety he’d never experienced before.

Was he somehow responsible for the deaths of those three men? Were there others?

He drove to a park on the outskirts of town and left his car in the lot. He began to walk, first to the pond, but there were children there and he merely walked around it. There was a hiking path that led into the woods and he followed it without thinking. He walked the full 10.7 miles around the park-which signs identified as the Merriweather Arboretum-but even the exertion required to walk that distance in clothes better suited to a professional meeting than a hike in ninety-three degree heat did nothing to calm him. He returned to his car and drove back to the hotel, where he changed into shorts, a tank, and his running shoes, and took off somewhat mindlessly.

Sam ran for the better part of an hour before he stopped, his breathing labored and his clothes stuck to his sweating body. He pulled a five-dollar bill from one of his socks and went into a convenience store and purchased a bottle of water, which he drank even as he paid for it. He left the change on the counter and stuck the remaining bills back into his sock. He pitched the empty plastic bottle into the trash bin just outside the door. He walked the first half mile on his way back to his room, then picked up the pace and ran the rest of the way. With every footfall he asked himself the same question. What had he done that had cost those men their lives?

Sam emerged from his shower to hear the phone ringing. He caught it just as voice mail was kicking in. He glanced at the number of the missed call and redialed. Fiona answered on the second ring.

“Hi,” she said. “I was just leaving you a message. What’s up?”

“Have you by any chance called anyone at the Bureau about running a list of my old cases?”

“Actually, yes, I called Will. He’s the best I know when it comes to the computers. He can wring information out of even the most reluctant program.” She paused. “Was there someone else you had in mind?”

“No, no. I was thinking Will would be the person to get on this. He is the best, I agree.”

“And he never whines if you call him on a Sunday, which I just did. He said he’d get back to us as soon as he could but it might take a few days to narrow down the field.”

“Narrow down the field?”

“He said it was unlikely that everyone on the list would have a reason to be gunning for you. He gave me a few examples, like wives who were just as happy to see their husbands behind bars, kids who’d shed no tears when they were removed from abusive homes, that sort of thing. Most of the actors you had involvement with are still in prison or dead, so that would eliminate a lot of potentials right there. So we’ll see what he comes back to us with.” Fiona added, “He said he was going to have Annie McCall look over the list to see if anyone stood out to her.”

“I can do that,” he protested. “Annie’s busy enough these days.”

“Well, the new guy does appear to be a bit of a dud, between you and me, but maybe he’ll do better once he gets his feet on the ground. But I think John thinks that maybe you’re too close to the…”

“Wait a minute. You went to John with this?”

“I had to, Sam. He’s my boss. Regardless of your relationship with him, I still answer to him. If something relevant comes up on one of my cases, he needs to know about it.”

Sam stewed in silence. It was annoying enough that she’d discussed this with his former boss, but even more annoying to know that she was absolutely right. His long history with John aside, he was now potentially a player in a case the Bureau was handling.

“Sam? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t avoid talking to him about this. Especially if there’s a killer lurking in one of our files, someone out to seek revenge on one of our agents because of something said agent may or may not have done while working a case.” She corrected herself. “Former agent, that is. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah. I understand.”

“So did something occur to you after I left? Any flashes of brilliance that will lead us to the killer?”

“The only flash of brilliance came from Trula Comfort. She reminded me that there were seven acts of mercy.” He let that sink in for a moment.

“Shit.”

“That was pretty much my reaction, too.”

“So what’s that mean? Either there are four more we haven’t caught up with yet…”

“Or four more to come. Either way, it isn’t pretty.”

“I’m going to have to go back to VICAP and see if I missed anything. Maybe there were others and I was too focused on the strangulation followed by postmortem stab wounds. Let me see what else I can come up with.”

“Will you get back to me?”

“Absolutely. I promise. I’ll be tied up all tomorrow morning and possibly the afternoon as well, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He was about to hang up when Fiona said, “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“I don’t think I’m in any danger. This guy’s going after random victims, right? If this has something to do with me, I wouldn’t be random, would I?”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe these random victims are substitutes for you?” she said softly. “That maybe this is a revenge thing intended to get your attention, drag you into it, so he can play with you a little before he comes after you?”

Sam thought it through.

“If that’s his goal, wouldn’t it have occurred to him by now that I’m not on the case? Well, I am, but not the way he may have intended. If he means to take me on, play with my head, wouldn’t you think he’d have noticed that I haven’t noticed?”

“Maybe he has, Sam. Maybe he’s got something else in mind. Who the hell knows?” Fiona was beginning to sound a little annoyed. “God, sometimes I hate people, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “I know what you mean…”

You’re awfully quiet today.” Mallory poked her head through the doorway into Sam’s office. “I wasn’t even sure you were here.”

“I’m here.” He looked up from the file notes he was making on the Joseph Maynard case. He could have admitted that he’d been deliberately quiet coming in that morning because he hadn’t really wanted to engage anyone in conversation. He’d been up most of the night trying to decide how best to handle the dilemma he found himself in.

“Trula said you had a meeting with the FBI over the weekend.” Mallory took a sip of coffee. Sam craned his neck to see if he could read the mug but she was too far away. “How’d that go for you?”

“Fine.” He debated how much to tell her. He decided to keep it simple for now. “There are two cases-one in Nebraska, another in Illinois-where the crime scenes are very similar. The special agent handling those two-Fiona Summers is the agent-was kind enough to bring her files along so I could take a look at them and copy some reports and things that might be useful to us.”