"Not many," she said with a sigh. "He was a lonely boy, studious, paid his own way through college. Always gentle. And then he volunteered for Iraq. He didn't discuss it with us. When he came back, he had changed. He wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man, a man with great dignity and pain. He didn't smile anymore."
"Yes, ma'am," Mac said.
"Kyle's friends in New York," she said. "Well, if there were girls, he never said. In college he roomed with a nice boy, Scott Shuman. They were good friends. I think Scott's still in New York."
The information confirmed what Mac had already learned from the university. Kyle Shelton had roomed with Scott Shuman all through college, first two years in a dorm, last two in an apartment.
Danny had moved to the computer. On the screen was information on Shuman, including his address, phone number and place of employment.
"You'll call or have Kyle call?" the woman said.
"I will," said Mac. "Thank you."
He pushed a button, turning off the phone.
"You've got something?" Mac said.
While the information on Shuman was being printed, Danny handed the file he had brought to Mac, who read slowly and carefully.
Howard Vorhees had an arrest record, not in New York, but in Seattle, Minneapolis and Nashville. All of the arrests, which took place in the last five years, were for sexual advances to underage girls. All of the girls had been frightened, but hadn't been touched. The police had questioned Vorhees and then let him go with a warning. Soon after each reported sexual advance, the Vorhees family had moved to another city. They had only been in New York for two years.
"Probably more that didn't report him," said Danny.
Mac nodded.
"Want me to check?"
"No," said Mac.
"Wife also has two DUIs," Danny said. "Nothing on the daughter or the boy."
Mac nodded.
Danny knew better than to ask what this information meant, if anything, for their case. Mac would turn the question back on Danny.
Mac got up to go to Sheldon Hawkes' lab. Over his shoulder, he said to Danny, "Let's go get some answers."
Aiden drank green tea. The antioxidants were good for you. Problem was she didn't much like green tea, or any tea for that matter.
Flack was eating a fried egg sandwich with a slice of tomato and Stella had a large orange juice.
"Here it is," Aiden said, handing the file in her hand to Stella. "Want a summary?
"Item," Aiden said. "Asher Glick and Arvin Bloom were in grade school together. May mean nothing.
"Item," she went on, "Arvin Bloom died of brain cancer when he was ten years old. Death records show it."
"Different Arvin Bloom?" asked Flack.
"No," said Aiden. "Childhood address Bloom gave us in Hartford is the same as the one on the death certificate."
"We've got to prove it," said Stella," and even if we do, it doesn't prove he killed anyone. Just stole their identity."
"Look at the photocopy of the birth information," said Aiden.
Stella found it. There were two tiny clear footprints.
"So we get prints of the bottom of Bloom's feet and compare them," said Stella.
"Keep going through the folder," said Aiden.
Stella turned over pages as Flack looked over his shoulder. They came to a photograph of a footprint.
"Life size," said Aiden. "Ten and a half. I lifted the print from Bloom's bathroom floor. He was barefoot the last time we searched the shop."
"They don't match," said Stella, "even taking into account the fifty year difference in the ages of these two people." She knew Aiden had examined both prints under a microscope.
"He's going to claim the prints you found in the bathroom aren't his," said Aiden.
"Then we'll ask him nicely for new prints," said Aiden. "And if nicely doesn't work, we get another warrant."
"What else?" asked Stella.
"Had the small splinters of wood on Glick's jacket compared with the sawdust I got from Bloom's shop. Both bloodwood. Tannic acid levels are exact. Magnesium levels are the same. Even the arsenic levels are the same."
"He can talk his way around that," said Flack. "Claim he hugged Glick or something."
Aiden smiled and said, "Then we have the tote bag Joshua got behind the statue of Jesus in the church. Small specks of wood along the bag's inner lining."
"Bloodwood," said Stella.
"And it matches the other two samples. That bag was in Bloom's shop."
"Motive?" asked Flack.
Aiden nodded toward the folder on the table. Stella flipped through it to five sheets clipped together.
"Summary," said Aiden. "If this guy's our killer it wasn't because of the $40,000 he owed Glick. He has more than eighty thousand in his personal account, about the same amount in his business account and an investment portfolio worth at least $2 million."
"Who the hell is this guy?" said Flack.
"And did he murder two people?" said Stella. "And why?"
Kyle Shelton had been sitting at the window of Scott Shuman's apartment, watching the street. People were moving quickly in spite of the late-morning heat, the New York march.
He drank a can of ginger ale and ate some peanut butter and cheese crackers, deciding when to make his move and where to make it.
The phone on Scott's kitchen counter rang. Kyle didn't pick it up but Scott's answering machine did: "This is Scott Shuman, please leave a message."
When the message clicked off, Scott's voice came on, anxious, concerned: "Kyle, a cop named Taylor just left my office. He asked me if I'd seen you. I told him no. I think he believed me, but you might want to get out of the apartment for a while. Oh, erase this message as soon as you get it, buddy."
As Kyle erased the message, there was a knock at the door. He wondered if whoever was on the other side could hear the machine whirring as it erased. Kyle stood silently.
"Kyle," came a voice he recognized. "We can hear you in there. Open the door, keep your hands in front of you and back up."
It was time. It wasn't the way he had wanted it to come down, but it was one of the ways he had anticipated. He moved to the door, opened it and found himself facing Mac and Danny, both of whom had guns in their hands.
Kyle backed away, his hands showing palms up. Mac and Danny entered and closed the door.
"Your friend Scott is a terrible liar," said Mac.
"He's a good friend," answered Kyle. " 'The most I can do for my friend is to simply be his friend.' "
Kyle paused and said, "Thoreau."
Danny patted Kyle down and told him to sit. As he did, Mac and Danny holstered their weapons.
"He has a vein in his forehead," said Mac. "When he lies it expands."
"Never noticed," said Kyle. "What now?"
"We talk," said Mac.
"You found Jacob?"
"You left me good directions," said Mac.
"Is he okay?" asked Kyle, hand to his cheek.
His face was rough. He hadn't showered or shaved. He had meant to, but had found himself riveted to the chair near the window.
"He'll be fine," said Mac.
"Okay," said Kyle. "I killed them all. Becky, her mother, her father."
"No, you didn't," said Danny.
"What did Jacob tell you?"
"Lies," said Mac. "Lies you taught him."
"Evidence doesn't lie," said Danny.
"You want a lawyer?" asked Mac.
Kyle shook his head "no."
"Let's go over the evidence," said Mac.
The words came silently to Kyle before he could stop or control them. It was happening more often recently, in the last three days, though it had happened for years before.
This time it was the words of La Fontaine: "A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."
Sak Pyon was sitting in the CSI lobby when Flack came out of his meeting with Stella and Aiden. Pyon looked anxious, guilty. He held a small brown paper bag and an envelope in his left hand.
Pyon rose as Flack approached him.