'But that's my point: there was never any question as to whether he was bent or straight—at least not for us.' Mia paused, then shrugged sympathetically. 'He could be some kind of super-stealth homo, I suppose…' He trailed, looked at Thomas with dawning scrutiny. 'But what does any of this have to do with dropping off Rip? Why not just call Sam and tell her you have a new motive?'

Thomas swallowed, summoned what seemed the last of his breath. 'I think I know, Mia. I think I know where he is.'

Mia grabbed the antique back of one of his chairs, as though to steady himself. 'Have you told anybody?'

Something about this question itched.

'No. Not yet.'

'Jeezus, Tommy. Jeezus-jeezus. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. How the hell does Neil having a hard-on for you translate into knowing where he is?'

Thomas braced his forehead in his right hand. He told Mia about realizing his connection to Neil's victims, about discovering that Cynthia Powski had been his student. 'All of them, Mia… Neil's not simply hunting half-famous people, he's hunting half-famous people that I've had accidental contact with.'

'But that just doesn't make sense.'

'Not unless it's me he's been after all along.'

Mia nodded, but whether in understanding or simply to humor him, Thomas couldn't tell. His eyes remained skeptical. 'So how come you think you know where he is?'

'Because after I realized all this, I thought about the web address he'd written on my office lamp. Then I thought about my map—you know, the satellite photograph of North America in my office?—about how Neil had always loved the thing. Neil's playing these games, I thought, laughing at me, dancing in the darkness where I can't see him, wouldn't it be like him to simply mark his location, under my nose, under the noses of the FBI? So I look at the poster and what do I see? A small 'x' along the Hudson, in the same color pen he used to write the web address.' Fear flushed through him. 'Un-fucking-believable.'

Mia visibly shuddered. 'I got goose pimples. This is too fucked up, Tommy.'

Thomas stared off into space for a stunned moment.

'Yeah,' he finally said.

They both sat silently.

'This is crazy,' Thomas finally exclaimed, patting his shirt and pant pockets as though looking for keys. 'I gotta call Sam.'

Mia looked at him sharply. 'Hold on, Tommy. Think about this.'

'What's there to think about?'

'You need Neil, right… For Frankie. You said Neil's the only one who can fix him.'

Thomas rubbed his chest. He thought about what Gyges had said the previous day—about hygiene.