“What happened?”
Lauren looked away from the food. “At first it was the silly kind of stuff a brother and sister might do. Peek-a-boo here and there, you know? We were both young. It could be forgiven by even the most uptight therapist as completely natural.”
“But it didn’t stay there.”
“No.” Lauren sighed. “When it became too much for him — when his hormones became too much for him to control — he forced himself on me. Countless times.”
“You couldn’t tell anyone?”
“It’s funny that everyone who hears about sexual abuse thinks it’s the easiest thing in the world to just tell someone.”
“I wasn’t saying that-“
“But it’s not, you know? It’s the scariest moment in your life when it happens. And when it keeps happening. How could I tell anyone? I thought I’d been the reason why he did what he did. I thought I was to blame.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But in some way it felt like it was. I don’t expect you to understand that. I doubt very much anyone who hasn’t gone through what victims of those crimes go through would ever understand it. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world. I didn’t feel safe anywhere. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t run away. All I could do was wait for the next time. And pray every time would go faster than the last. That he’d…finish quicker than before and leave me alone to cry into my pillow again.”
She saw him lower his eyes again. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
“Don’t try.” She sighed. “It happened throughout most of my junior and senior year in high school. Thankfully, he left soon after to live on his own. He found…other playmates.”
“Victims, more likely.”
“That's probably true.” She sighed. “My brother, he was probably one of the most evil people I ever met. Him being my brother didn't make that fact any easier to take. I heard about his atrocities. He used to even brag sometimes about things he’d done.”
“He used to visit you?”
“He tried to. I moved around a lot but somehow he used to find a way to run into me. He never touched me after he moved out, but I could still see the desire in his eyes. There was that gleam. But there was something more — something vile about him. In so many ways, he seemed to bleed lechery like it was the plague.”
“You know if he used to prey on anyone else?”
“He used to brag about his sexual conquests all the time. Whether they were true or not, I don’t know.” She felt her stomach lurch again. “The odd thing is, I can't figure out who would want to kill him. I mean, sure he had enemies, but the kind of enemies he had wouldn't have killed him in such a nondescript way.”
“Your brother had ties to organized crime. If they’d wanted him dead, it would have been a showy execution.”
“Bullets flying everywhere, yes.” She frowned. “But instead…”
“I know,” said Curran. “It doesn't make sense.”
“Something else that doesn’t make sense.” She peered into his eyes. “You.”
Curran grinned. “Me?”
“You don't seem nearly as fazed by this as the medical examiner did.”
“Yeah, well, I see a lot more garbage than Kwon does.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it. I get the feeling this case almost seems…familiar to you.”
She stared at him. Curran looked away and toyed with his chopsticks. “I might have heard about some cases sort of similar to this.”
Lauren frowned and stabbed her own chopsticks into the bowl of rice. “You’re lying.”
Curran removed her chopsticks. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
He pointed. “Never leave them pointing straight up in a bowl of rice.”
“You’re schooling me on etiquette now? That’s going quite a ways to change the subject.”
Curran shook his head. “Leaving your chopsticks like that means death in most Asian cultures. They look at it as an omen of sorts.”
“How’d you get so acquainted with Asian culture?”
“Military.”
“Before you joined the police?”
“Before I joined the FBI.”
Curran was a G Man? That surprised her.. “You were with the Bureau?”
He smirked. “Impressed? Don’t be.”
She smiled. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was. And I still think you’re lying.”
“Maybe I can’t talk about it in front of you.”
She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. I just sat here and spilled out a host of ugly skeletons that most folks would try to bury. And you can’t even discuss your experiences with unexplained deaths?” Lauren rested her elbows on the tabletop. “Any time you want to talk will be fine.”
He sighed. “You don’t give up easily.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Curran sighed. “When I worked in the FBI, I came across a series of murders that happened in Miami. Unexplained deaths, all of them.”
“How many were there?”
“That we knew of? Five in Miami. Privately, I suspected there were many more.”
“So what happened?”
“I got assigned the cases. I was a young hotshot eager for a tough case. I guess I wanted to prove myself as capable. I tried my damnedest to do just that.”
“But?”
Curran frowned and Lauren watched his eyes go dark again. But they didn’t stare at her any longer. Curran was a million miles away. She watched what must have been awful memories pour across his face in rapid succession. Dark shadows that creased his forehead and made the crows feet at the edges of his eyes seem more pronounced. What has he gone through, she wondered.
“It didn’t work out,” he said.
Lauren never blinked. “I just watched a dozen nightmares play across your face. That was some ‘but.’”
“Probably better if we don’t discuss that right now. I may not be as strong as you.”
“All right.”
He sighed and reached for his water. “They stopped eventually — the murders I mean.”
“In Miami?”
“Yeah. Thing is, for a serial killer, which is what we pigeonholed this guy as, it didn't quite make sense. The experts figured he'd start up again somewhere else. Once the fury got too much for him to handle.”
“You keep saying 'him.' Do you know for sure it was a man?”
Curran shrugged. “Statistically, most serial killers are white males in their mid-thirties. And I guess for some reason, right at the beginning, I felt the killer was a man.”
“So, were the experts right?”
“Yeah. They were right. Six months later. Dallas. Another bunch of bodies with no discernible marks on them start showing up. Each one during the post mortem had characteristics that fit with how your brother died.”
“Like what?”
“Like blood work showing an abnormally high level of glucose spikes just prior to death.”
“Glucose?”
“It’s a side effect of a sudden adrenaline rushes. Like what might happen if the victim knew they were in trouble. It’s that fight or flight instinct response programmed in us all.”
“But they didn’t fight, did they?”
“And they couldn’t flee, either. So this massive dump of adrenaline floods their system. On the outside, it almost looked like they’d been scared to death.”
“There was nothing else that would help unravel the case?”
“Each victim did have a peculiar oddity to them.”
“What’s that?”
“During the post-mortem examination, the prosector — that’s the guy who does the autopsy — discovered the victims — all of them — had green brains.”
Lauren leaned back. “Are you joking?”
“I don't have an explanation for it. I'm just relating what I found out.”
“Did my brother-?”
“Yeah,” said Curran. “Kwon and I did the PM last night — this morning really — and confirmed what I thought I might find.”
“You had a suspicion you’d find it?”
Curran shrugged. “I’m a cop, Lauren. I see scores of dead bodies. Most of them have gunshots, stab wounds, foamy mouths, something that tells me how they died. I came on the crime scene last night, your brother looked like the picture of perfect health. No reason for him to be dead. It kind of stood out as unusual.”