“A lot of kids did.”

“A lot of kids didn’t grow up to have their presence requested by a serial killer.”

I held up a hand, nodded. “I had a cowlick, Agent Bolton. Usually only noticeable if I’d been sweating a lot.”

“Why?”

“Because I was vain, I guess. I put shit in my hair to keep it down usually.”

He nodded. “He knew you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Bolton. I’ve never seen the guy before.”

Another nod. “Tell me about your father. You know I’ve already got people researching him.”

“I assumed as much.”

“What was he like?”

“He was an asshole who enjoyed inflicting pain, Bolton. And I don’t like talking about him.”

“And I’m sorry,” he said, “but your personal qualms mean nothing to me right now. I’m trying to bring Arujo down and stop the bloodshed—”

“And get a nifty promotion out of the deal.”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Bank on it. I don’t know any of these victims, Mr. Kenzie, and in a general sense, I don’t want any human beings to die. Ever. But in a particular sense, I feel nothing for these individuals. And I’m not paid to. I’m paid to bring down guys like this Arujo, and that’s what I’m doing. And if by doing so, I advance my career, then isn’t it a perfect world?” His tiny eyes dilated. “Tell me about your father.”

“He was a lieutenant with the Boston Fire Department most of his life. Later, he switched to local politics, became a city councilor. Not long after that, he got lung cancer and died.”

“You two didn’t get along.”

“No. He was a bully. Everyone who knew him feared him, and most hated him. He had no friends.”

“Yet you seem to be his opposite.”

“How so?”

“Well, people like you. Sergeants Amronklin and Lee are very fond of you, Lief took an instant liking to you, and from what I’ve learned of you since I took this case over, you’ve formed very strong bonds with people who are such polar opposites as a liberal newspaper columnist and a psychotic weapons supplier. Your father had no friends, yet you are very rich with friends. Your father was a violent man, yet you don’t seem to have an uncontrollable propensity for it.”

Tell that to Marion Socia, I thought.

“What I’m trying to figure out here, Mr. Kenzie, is if Alec Hardiman made Jason Warren pay for the sins of his mother, maybe you’re being set up to pay for the sins of your father.”

“Which is fine, Agent Bolton. But Diandra had a direct effect on Hardiman’s incarceration. So far, though, there’s no link between my father and Hardiman.”

“Not one we’ve uncovered.” He leaned back. “Look at this from my perspective. This all started when Kara Rider, an actress, contacted Diandra Warren using the alias Moira Kenzie. That wasn’t a mistake. That was a message. We can assume, I think, that Arujo put her up to it. She then points fingers at Kevin Hurlihy and by implication, Jack Rouse. You make contact with Gerry Glynn, who worked with Alec Hardiman’s father. He points you toward Hardiman himself. Hardiman killed Charles Rugglestone in your neighborhood. We also assume that he killed Cal Morrison. Also in your neighborhood. Back then, you and Kevin Hurlihy were kids, but Jack Rouse ran a grocery store, Stan Timpson and Diandra Warren lived a few blocks away, Kevin Hurlihy’s mother, Emma, was a housewife, Gerry Glynn was a cop, and your father, Mr. Kenzie, was a fireman.”