“All the victims have been cross-refeReneed for similarities?”

“Yes,” Bolton said.

“And?”

“Two,” Bolton said. “Both Kara Rider’s mother and Jason Warren’s father grew up in Dorchester.”

“The other?”

“Both Kara Rider and Pam Stokes wore the same perfume.”

“What kind?”

“Lab analysis says it was Halston for Women.”

“Lab analysis,” I said as I looked at photos of Jack Rouse, Stan Timpson, Freddy Constantine, Diandra Warren, Diedre Rider. There were two of each. One from the present, the other at least twenty years old.

“No clues whatsoever as to motive?” I looked at Oscar and he looked away and then over at Devin and Devin passed the ball to Bolton.

“Agent Bolton?” I said. “What do you have?”

“Jason Warren’s mother,” he said eventually.

“What about her?”

“She’s occasionally been consulted as a psychological expert in criminal trials.”

“So?”

“So,” he said, “she provided a psychological profile of Hardiman during his trial that effectively crushed his insanity defense. Diandra Warren, Mr. Kenzie, put Alec Hardiman away.”

Bolton’s mobile command post was a black RV with tinted windows. It was waiting for us, idling, when we came out onto New Sudbury Street.

Inside, two agents, Erdham and Fields, sat at a black-and-gray computer station that took up the right wall. On the tabletop was a serpent’s nest of cable, two computers, two fax machines, two laser-jet printers. Above the hutch was a bank of six monitors with a matching bank of six across from them on the left wall. Down at the end of the work center I could see digital receivers and recorders, a dual-deck VCR, audio- and videocasettes, diskettes, and CDs.

The left wall supported a small table and three captain’s chairs bolted to the wall. As the RV lurched into traffic, I fell into one and rested my hand on a small fridge.

“You take this thing on camping trips?” I said.

Bolton ignored me. “Agent Erdham, you have that writ?”

Erdham handed him a piece of paper and Bolton slipped it into his inside pocket.

He sat beside me. “You’ll be going into the meeting with Warden Lief and the chief prison psychologist, Doctor Dolquist. They’ll brief you on Hardiman, so there’s very little I can bother adding except to say that Hardiman is not to be taken lightly, no matter how pleasant he may seem. He’s suspected in three murders behind bars, but no one in the entire population of a maximum-security pen will come forward with evidence. These are multiple murderers and arsonists and serial rapists, and they’re all afraid of Alec Hardiman. You understand?”

I nodded.

“The cell in which the meeting will be held is completely wired. We’ll have both audio and video access from this control booth. We’ll be watching you every step of the way. Hardiman will have both legs manacled and at least one wrist. Even still, tread lightly with him.”

“Hardiman gave you consent for the audio and video?”

“The video isn’t up to him. Only the audio infringes upon his rights.”