“Such as.”

“He caught up with Kara Rider’s roommate in New York. Ms. Rider met a fellow actor in a class three months ago. He said he was from Long Island, only made it into Manhattan once a week for this class.” He looked at me. “Guess.”

“The guy had a goatee.”

He nodded. “Went by the name Evan Hardiman. Like that? Ms. Rider’s roommate also said, and I’m quoting here, ‘He was the most sensual man who ever walked the earth.’”

“Sensual,” I said.

He grimaced. “She’s, you know, dramatic.”

“What else did she say?”

“She said Kara said he was the best fuck she’d ever had. ‘The be-all and end-all’ was how she described it.”

“She got the end-all right.”

“I want a psych profile immediately,” Bolton said as we rode up in the elevator. “I want to know everything about Arujo from the moment they snipped his umbilical to now.”

“Got it,” Fields said.

He wiped his face with his sleeve. “I want the same list we ran on Hardiman, cross-refeRenee everyone who ever came in contact with Arujo while he was in prison and have an agent at every one of their doorsteps by tomorrow morning.”

“Got it.” Fields scribbled furiously in his pad.

“Agents sitting on his parents’ house if they’re still alive,” Bolton said, taking off his coat and breathing heavily. “Shit, even if they’re not. Agents on the homes of every girlfriend or boyfriend he ever had, on any friends he’s had, any girls or boys who ever spurned his advances.”

“That’s a lot of manpower,” Erdham said.

Bolton shrugged. “Minuscule compared to what Waco cost this government and we might actually win here. I want recanvasses of all crime scenes, fresh interviews of every BPD slug who touched them before we came on the scene. I want all principals on Kenzie’s list”—he ticked off on his fingers—“Hurlihy, Rouse, Constantine, Pine, Timpson, Diandra Warren, Glynn, Gault—reinterviewed and extensive, no, exhaustive checks run on their backgrounds to see if they ever crossed paths with Arujo.” He reached into his breast pocket for his inhaler as the elevator came to a stop. “Got it? Get to it.”

The doors opened and he charged out, sucking audibly on the inhaler.

Behind me, Field asked Erdham, “’Exhaustive’—is that spelled with one dick or two?”

“Two,” Erdham said. “But they’re both pretty small.”

Bolton loosened his tie until the knot hung at his sternum and dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk.

“Close the door behind you,” he said.

I did. His face was deep pink, his breathing ragged.

“You okay?”

“Never better. Tell me about your father.”

I took a seat. “Nothing to tell. I think Hardiman was reaching, trying to rattle me with bullshit.”

“I don’t,” he said and took a small hit off his inhaler. “You three had your back to him when he said it, but I was watching him on film. He looked like he blew a load when he said your father was a yellow jacket, like he’d been saving it for maximum impact.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You had a cowlick when you were younger, didn’t you?”