“That’s the way it turned out. But if Max had gotten lucky and one of those shots had brought the Shepherd down, if no innocent parties had been injured, or if the injuries had been less serious, if his blood-alcohol level hadn’t been three times the legal limit … maybe the lunacy of firing fifteen shots in eight seconds from a moving vehicle at a poorly defined target on a dark road, occupant or occupants unknown, while proceeding at a recklessly endangering speed … maybe all that could have been softened or reexpressed in a way that wouldn’t have completely fucked him. But that isn’t what happened. What happened was that everything went south at once. As the Camaro fishtailed into the oncoming lane, a motorcyclist came over a blind rise with too little space to get out of the way. The bike went down, rider was thrown. Max’s car did a one-eighty at ninety miles an hour, skidding backward on the tarmac and up an embankment into a jutting rock ledge. The impact fractured Max’s back in two places, broke the young woman’s neck and both her arms, and blasted the windshield into their faces. The Shepherd escaped. Maxie did not escape. That night cost him his career, his marriage, his home, his relationship with his children, his reputation, and, according to some people, his mental and emotional balance. But that’s a whole other issue.”

“That was a hell of a memory feat, Jack. You ought to donate your brain to science.”

“Question is, what are you going to do with the information?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you called to waste my time?”

“Not exactly. I just have a funny feeling.”

“About what?”

“The whole Good Shepherd thing. I feel like I’m missing something. On the one hand, it’s all so simple. Shoot the rich guys, make the world a better place. Classic mission-driven nutcase. On the other hand …”

“On the other hand, what?”

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong. Can’t put my finger on it.”

“Davey boy, I am in awe of you, absolutely in awe.” Hardwick was in his snide mode.

“Why is that, Jack?”

“You are aware, no doubt, that what you refer to as ‘the whole Good Shepherd thing’ has been pondered and repondered, analyzed and reanalyzed by the best and the brightest. Shit, even your hot little psychologist friend had her say.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Shit, now I really am in awe. Exactly how many Ph.D. hotties are you involved with?”

“Jack, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I think Dr. Holdenfield would be hurt by your attitude.”