If we don’t eat, we die.

He wanted to be back in Michigan, hanging out with his sister, having dinner with her, watching TV. But his sister wasn’t here, she was miles and miles away, maybe thinking of him right now—but that didn’t give him any comfort. . . . The hunger was too intense. Nothing was working out! He felt like screaming. Vincent had better luck cruising strip malls in New Jersey or waiting for a college coed or receptionist jogging through a deserted park. What was the point of—

In his quiet voice Duncan said, “I’m sorry.”

“You . . . ?”

“I’m sorry.”

Vincent was disarmed. His anger diminished and he wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’ve been helping me, working hard. And look what’s happened. I’ve let you down.”

Here was Vincent’s mother, explaining to him, when he was ten, that she’d let him down with Gus, then with her second husband, then with Bart, then with Rachel the experiment, then with her third husband.

And every time, young Vincent had said just what he said now. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not . . . I talk about the great scheme of things. But that doesn’t minimize our disappointments. I owe you. And I’ll make it up to you.”

Which is something his mother never said, much less did, leaving Vincent to find what comfort he could in food, TV shows, spying on girls and having his heart-to-hearts.

No, it was clear that his friend, Duncan, meant what he was saying. He was genuinely remorseful that Vincent hadn’t been able to have Lucy. Vincent still felt the urge to cry but now for a different reason. Not from the hunger, not from frustration. He felt filled with an odd sensation. People hardly ever said nice things to him like this. People hardly ever worried about him.

“Look,” Duncan said, “the one I’m going to do next. You’re not going to want her.”

“Is she ugly?”

“Not really. It’s just the way she’s going to die . . . I’m going to burn her.”

“Oh.”

“In the book, remember the alcohol torture?”

“Not really.”

The pictures in the book were of men being tortured; they hadn’t interested Vincent.

“You pour alcohol on the lower half of someone’s body and set fire to it. You can put out an alcohol fire quickly if they confess. Of course, I’m not going to be putting it out.”

True, Vincent agreed, he wouldn’t want her after that.

“But I have another idea.”

Duncan then explained what he had in mind, Vincent’s spirits improving with every word. Duncan asked, “Don’t you think it’ll work out for everybody?”

Well, not quite everybody, thought Clever Vincent, who was back and in a pretty good mood, all things considered.

Sitting in front of the evidence charts, Rhyme heard Sachs come back on the line.

“Okay, Rhyme. We’ve found he was hiding in the closet.”

“Which one?”