On Monday morning Klay looked up to see Eady standing in his doorway. He checked his watch. “I was on my way up in ten.”

Eady shut Klay’s door. He navigated the stacks of unfiled documents littering Klay’s floor and placed a thin red folder on Klay’s desk.

Klay opened the folder and scanned the top document, a two-page file summary printed on pale blue paper. A priest. The Philippines. Unholy.

“You said it was going to be Botha.”

“He’s Botha’s Asia connection,” Eady explained. “Ivory on its way to China. We may have to slay this Hydra one head at a time.”

Klay shook his head as he turned the file’s pages. “This priest’s a pedophile, Vance.”

“A chance to do some extra good,” Eady said.

Klay closed the file. “I don’t know what your source is on this, but I’ve studied Botha. He wouldn’t partner with a pedophile.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“My gut says,” Klay said.

“Fortunately, your gut doesn’t work for me.”

Klay pushed back from his desk. Eady rarely visited the third floor. His colleagues would be at the edges of their cubbyhole offices straining to hear their discussion. Fox’s office was next door. If Klay struck the wall with his fist, he was sure he’d hear Fox yelp.

“Look, Vance. Botha had . . . Botha has a younger brother, Dirk. They say when he was a boy, Dirk showed extraordinary promise as a swimmer. He was so good that his swim coach, the local priest, would drive out to the Botha farm and pick Dirk up to make sure he didn’t miss practice. The priest took the boy for drives sometimes, because if he was going to be a world champion, he needed to see the world. Then one day Dirk told his brother what happened on those drives. They found the priest with his throat cut, hanging from a tree. His car was parked nearby. Ras had written ‘I did it’ on the windshield with a bar of soap, and signed his name and address. He was thirteen.”

Eady cleared his throat. “Not a perfect fit. I’ll grant you. That’s fine. No criminal network is consistent all the way through. I am a bit surprised, though. I assumed you’d take every opportunity to go after Botha.”

Klay punched the wall. There was a commotion from Fox’s office. It sounded like a chair falling over.

“You know I would,” Klay said. “I’m on it.”

“Good,” Eady said, and tapped the file with his fingertip. “‘There’s always a who,’ isn’t that what you like to say? Well, this is one of them.” He turned as he was opening the door. “And just so we’re clear, Tom. This is an assignment. It’s not a democracy. The public—”

“—has an interest,” Klay said. “Yeah. I know. I have an interest, too.”

ON THE HUNT