{"product_id":"every-crooked-path-isbn-9780451467355","title":"Every Crooked Path","description":"\u003cb\u003eWho is the Piper? . . .\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSpecial Agent Patrick Bowers returns in an electrifying prequel to the Bowers Chess series from critically acclaimed, national bestselling novelist Steven James. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e  \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A mysterious suicide and a series of abductions draw Patrick into a web of intrigue involving an international conspiracy where no one is who they appear to be and the stakes have never been higher.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Soon, Patrick discovers that the secret to stopping the Piper’s current crime spree lies in unlocking answers from an eight-year-old cold case—and the only way to do that is by entering the terrifying world of the conspirators himself.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Dark, probing, and chilling,\u003ci\u003e Every Crooked Path\u003c\/i\u003e takes an unflinching look at the world of today’s cybercrimes and delves into a parent’s worst nightmare as it launches a new chapter of Patrick Bowers thrillers. | \u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eEvery Crooked Path\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“True to James’ style, the plot is full of secrets and mind games that are entertaining and thought-provoking.”—\u003ci\u003eRT Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (4 ½ stars)\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for Checkmate\u003cbr\u003e  \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “High tension all the way. The author writes with precision and incisiveness. Fast, sharp, and believable. Put it at the top of your list.” —John Lutz, Edgar-award winning author of \u003ci\u003eSingle White Female \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Steven James pens another fast-paced thriller chocked full of great characters, head-snapping plot twists, impeccable research, and a truly fun ride...Not to be missed.”—DP Lyle, award-winning author of the Dub Walker and Samantha Cody thriller series | \u003cb\u003eSteven James \u003c\/b\u003eis the national bestselling author of nine novels including the critically acclaimed thrillers \u003ci\u003eCheckmate\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe King\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eOpening Moves\u003c\/i\u003e, and\u003ci\u003e The Queen\u003c\/i\u003e. He has won three Christy Awards for best suspense and was a finalist for an International Thriller Award. His thriller The Bishop was named \u003ci\u003eSuspense Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e’s book of the year. \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e calls him ”[a] master storyteller at the peak of his game.” He has a master's degree in storytelling and has taught writing and creative communication around the world. When he's not writing or speaking, you'll find him trail running, rock climbing, or drinking a dark roast coffee near his home in eastern Tennessee. | \u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003ePraise\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Bowers Files\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCopyright\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDedication\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eEpigraph\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAuthor’s Note\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePART I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 4\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 5\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 6\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 7\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 8\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 9\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 10\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 11\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 12\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 13\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 14\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 15\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 16\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 17\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 18\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 19\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 20\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 21\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePART II\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 22\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 23\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 24\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 25\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 26\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 27\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 28\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 29\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 30\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 31\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 32\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 33\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 34\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 35\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 36\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 37\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 38\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 39\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 40\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 41\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 42\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 43\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 44\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePART III\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 45\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 46\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 47\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 48\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 49\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 50\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 51\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 52\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 53\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 54\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 55\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 56\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 57\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 58\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 59\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 60\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 61\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 62\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 63\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 64\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 65\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 66\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 67\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 68\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 69\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 70\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 71\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 72\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 73\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePART IV\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 74\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 75\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 76\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 77\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 78\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 79\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 80\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 81\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 82\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 83\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 84\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 85\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 86\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 87\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 88\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 89\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 90\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 91\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 92\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 93\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 94\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 95\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 96\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 97\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 98\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 99\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 100\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAcknowledgments\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDear readers,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is a work of fiction, and yet, in a very real sense, it also tells the truth about our world today. While the characters and situations in this story are made up, the nature of the crimes is not.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnline predators are real.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs a parent, I found this book particularly difficult to write, since it involved research into crimes against children. However, because of the impact of this issue on modern culture, I felt it was an important story for me to tell—perhaps my most important one so far.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFinding out what’s really out there lurking online was a wake-up call to me. Rather than describe any exploitative images in this book, I chose to show the reactions of the characters to seeing them. I’ll trust your imagination to fill in the rest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDuring my research, I came across an organization called the National Center for Missing \u0026amp; Exploited Children. It’s dedicated to rescuing children and catching those who target them. NCMEC is a nonprofit organization that depends on private donations, so please consider supporting their work. For more information, go to www.missingkids.com.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTogether we can make a difference in protecting the next generation from those who would steal their innocence from them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Steven James\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAutumn 2015\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePART I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMasks\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWednesday, June 13\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNew York City\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e9:37 p.m.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI clicked on my Mini Maglite as I slit the police tape crisscrossing the apartment’s front door, swung it open, and stepped into the darkened living room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJodie and I would reseal the door after I was done in here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pocketed my automatic knife.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe NYPD’s Crime Scene Unit had finished up this morning so the scene had been processed, but I put on a pair of latex gloves just in case I did find anything.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt thirty-four years old, I’d been with the Bureau for eight years, after leaving the Milwaukee Police Department, and I’d worked with evidence recovery teams and analysts from all around the country. The CSU here in New York City was sharp, so I wasn’t necessarily looking for forensic evidence they might have missed; I doubted I would find any of that. I was here to look at context.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough this would normally have been an NYPD case, because of my work with the joint task force, the Bureau was involved. Assistant Director-in-Charge DeYoung had asked me to take a look around.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d been consulting on another investigation earlier today, so this was my first time at the actual scene, which worked out well since it was the same time of day as when the crime occurred. Similarity brings perspective. I’d taught that at the FBI Academy. Now was my chance to put it into practice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlmost exactly twenty-four hours ago, the man who rented this apartment was stabbed to death in the room just past the kitchen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOrienting myself to the lighting, the sounds, in this location at the time of day of the crime was crucial. It’s always about the intersection of an offender being in a specific place at a specific time. Start there. Motives you can try to decipher later—if you venture in that direction at all. Most investigators go about things completely backward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy partner, Special Agent Jodie Fleming, would be up in a few minutes. She was on the phone down by the car talking over a personal matter with Dell, the woman she was living with. Their relationship had hit a rough spot lately—actually, things had been going downhill for a while and I wasn’t sure they were going to weather this storm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe lights had been off in the apartment when the responding officers arrived, so, to get a better understanding of how the room had looked at the time of the crime, I kept them off as I closed the door, swept the flashlight beam before me, and studied the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWell-worn, mismatched furniture. A couch. An easy chair. Two floor lamps. The glass end table was still overturned from the struggle. A wide-screen television looked out across the room from its mount on a swiveling arm on the wall. From studying the files, I knew that the windows on the south side of the room overlooked a park—even though it wasn’t visible from where I stood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe television was angled so that the screen was visible from the reclining chair, rather than the couch that lay perpendicular to it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwo remote controls sat on the arm of the recliner. I checked them—one matched the VCR player, one the DVD player. A wireless keyboard for surfing on the TV’s Internet browser rested nearby on the footstool. The television remote lay tossed haphazardly out of reach on the couch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClicking off my flashlight, I noted how the residual light from the city found its way into the room through the windows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe struggle that started in here had ended in the master bedroom.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy specialty wasn’t blood spatter analysis, but I’d looked over the initial reports, and now, Maglite on again, I could picture the struggle playing out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt a crime scene, blood can tell the story.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe progression of the attack, the location and responses of the individuals involved—did they duck? Try to run? Fight back? If there was a struggle, the blood spatter could show who struck first, where he was standing, where and how quickly he moved while he was trying to escape. It was a study in microcosm of geospatial interactions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e was my specialty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI watched the tale unfold.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAccording to what we’d been able to piece together, the offender had accessed the apartment through the front door, apparently, based on the tool marks, picking the lock. The victim, a forty-two-year-old African-American man named Jamaal Stewart, had been seated in the recliner facing the television.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt some point the intruder must have startled him, because the blood spatter indicated that Jamaal was most likely rising from the chair when his arm was sliced.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLow-energy stains are created simply by the force of gravity and are circular. Impact spatter is more distinctive and happens when blood forcefully impacts a surface, so perhaps, from someone swinging his cut arm. The void patterns, that is, the absence of blood spatter where you would expect it, showed where the offender was standing during the struggle.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen studying blood spatter that’s not just a gravity drop, you analyze the length and width, and take into account the concentration of the blood in the different parts of the spatter to identify the point of origin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor an unknown reason, Jamaal fled to the master bedroom rather than the front door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI studied the droplets, following them down the hall. Based on the size, shape, and directionality of the spatter, he was moving rapidly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSince he had defensive wounds, we knew he’d struggled with his attacker. The orientation of the capillary and arterial bleeding showed that the fatal stab wound was to the right side of the neck, which might have indicated a left-handed assailant, or a right-handed one, depending on how he—or she—held the knife.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJamaal bled out sprawled facedown on the covers of his neatly made bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOften, evidence isn’t so much finding what is present, but what isn’t present that should be—like the voids in the blood spatter. Emptiness where you wouldn’t expect it speaks to you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe CSU found a computer cord in the apartment, but no laptop. There was a cell phone charger here, but no cell phone. Also there were two Xbox controllers but no console and a VHS player and a DVD player, but no videocassettes or DVDs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBy all appearances, someone had taken all of Jamaal’s computers and recorded media storage devices. When we followed up to see if the computer, phone, or gaming system had remote location services turned on, none of them showed up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf our premise was correct that the intruder was looking for something, I wondered if he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd of course, what it was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA neighbor had heard the struggle, called 911, and two NYPD officers responded, only to find that Mr. Stewart was already deceased. There was no sign of his attacker.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI checked the bedroom, under the bed, in the closet, but didn’t find anything noteworthy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe French doors opened to a balcony four meters long and two meters wide that overlooked Manhattan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI snapped the flashlight off, pocketed it, and then stepped outside. Twelve stories up. Directly below me, at the entrance to a dance club, twenty-two people stood on the sidewalk, waiting to be admitted inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA storm earlier in the evening had left the smell of damp concrete lingering in the air, a musty scent of summer rain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA few horns honked in the distance. Someone flagged down a taxi at the end of the block. Nothing out of the ordinary.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was thinking of the missing electronics and recorded media, the location of the remotes, the television screen’s angle, the fact that the unit was off when the responding officers got here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOff.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI heard footsteps behind me in the bedroom.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, Jodie, I’m out here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo, the television was off. So—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJodie didn’t respond. The footsteps came closer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd it wasn’t her gait.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBecause it wasn’t Jodie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man came at me lightning fast, swiping the blade across my left forearm. My shirtsleeve offered little protection and the knife left a streak of red behind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI threw my other hand up to grab his wrist and disarm him, but he knew how to block the move and easily knocked my hand away. I pivoted backward to keep him from driving the blade into my chest. When I turned, it drew him with me, onto the balcony.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFour inches taller than me, six foot seven. A beast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere wasn’t much room out here for a fight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe held the Bowie knife military-style, with the blade angled back parallel to his wrist. A lot harder to disarm. This man knew what he was doing. He’d been trained.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was not going to fare well.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt didn’t scare me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMotivated me, though.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI would have gone for my gun, but I needed both hands to stop him from slicing me open. I tried to sweep his leg, but it was like trying to knock a tree trunk out of the way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNormally, I could hold my own in a fight, but this guy was better than I was and I wasn’t going to be able to keep him at bay for long.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGet some distance. Shoot him if you need to.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI head-butted him, slamming my forehead brutally against his nose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt took him by surprise and he staggered back two paces. Before he could come at me again, I whipped out my gun and leveled it at his chest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Federal agent. Drop the knife.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eImmediately, he stopped. He stood his ground but didn’t come at me. “You’re a federal agent?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“FBI. Now get rid of the knife or I will put you down.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe took a step backward and tossed the blade over the railing of the balcony. I just hoped it wouldn’t hit anyone on the sidewalk below us.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hands up,” I said. “Get on your knees.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t comply. “Do you have the file?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You said you’re with the Bureau. Did you find it? Do you have the file?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wasn’t thrilled about the idea of trying to cuff this guy by myself. I had a feeling that he would be able to get my gun from me and overpower me before I could stop him even if he was lying facedown when I approached him. But now that he’d gotten rid of his knife, I wasn’t about to shoot him either.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJodie was on her way. Once she got here we could take him down. Until then we were in a bit of a standoff.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What file?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aurora’s birthday.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was aware that my sleeve was soaked with blood from my injured arm, but I didn’t feel any pain—adrenaline will do that to you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the adrenaline would go away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe pain would come.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t kneel, didn’t look afraid, and I didn’t know if he had another weapon. Seemed likely to me that he would be packing, though.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKeeping my gun on him, I tugged out my phone, speed-dialed Jodie, and told her to call NYPD for backup and to get up here ASAP. Then I slid my phone into my pocket. “If you make a move, if you come at me, I’m going to put you down.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I understand.” Then, “It wasn’t on the computer or the phone.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What wasn’t?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The file.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aurora’s birthday.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Were you here last night?” I asked. “Did you kill Jamaal Stewart?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“They won’t let this happen.” He eased back half a step.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Stay where you are. Who? Who won’t let this happen?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe took another step. He was at the railing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do not move!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“They know things. They can find out things. It’ll never stop.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced down at the street, then looked in my direction again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t even think about it,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere are people down there.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe’s not the only one in danger here. They are too.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You can’t stop me,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect those people down there. Now get on your knees.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSlowly, he turned away from me, perhaps guessing that I wasn’t going to shoot him in the back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou can’t let him jump, Pat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Step away from the railing!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThoughts raced through my mind, thoughts of the people outside the club twelve stories below us, of what might happen if this man did throw himself over the edge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouted again for him to stop, but he just lifted one leg to the railing to climb over it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI considered his state of mind, the danger he posed to those people—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe tossed the knife. He might not be armed.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou can’t kill him.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBut he’s posing an immediate threat to innocent life.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stared down the barrel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMade my decision.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAvoid the femur.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFired.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe leg that was supporting his weight buckled and he collapsed onto the balcony.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do not move.” I took a step forward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re not sending me to prison.” In obvious pain, he grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’m not going to prison. I’m dead already.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We can protect you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe scoffed. “Like you protected Ted?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had no idea who he was talking about. “That wasn’t our fault.” I was making this up as I went along. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of that. You can help us. Now just—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJodie called my name from the other room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Out here!” I hollered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have no idea how far this goes,” he said to me, “what they’re going to do if . . .” His voice trailed off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut instead of replying, he made the sign of the cross in front of his chest and then, in one swift and desperate motion, grabbed the railing and heaved himself over it and disappeared from sight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI rushed forward and got there while he was still in the air on his way down.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t cry out. He didn’t scream. He just fell silently toward the sidewalk, where he collided with the ground within a meter of one of the women waiting outside the club.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe sound of impact followed, rising through the night, a thick, sickening thud.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen the screams of the people in front of the club began.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd they didn’t stop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Jodie, I’m heading down.” I was back in the bedroom and she had turned on the light. “I want you to stay up here, make sure no one else comes in, and get the CSU over here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“First of all.” She indicated my bloody sleeve. “Are you okay?” Though her father was Caucasian, her mother was Persian and Jodie shared her dark hair and rich-toned skin. Small-framed but tough. I’d seen her take down guys my size.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s fine.” Using my left sock, I wrapped the wound and tied it off to create a rudimentary dressing to quiet the bleeding. “Listen, the TV was off when the officers arrived. The chair was angled toward it, the DVD remote next to it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So, he was watching TV,” she surmised.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But the remote for that was out of reach.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe caught on. “Who turned off the television?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right.” We walked into the living room. “Also”—I pointed—“that wireless keyboard is for surfing through the TV’s cable Internet connection.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Prints?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Possibly.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI went to the television. “The jumper told me the file wasn’t on the computer or the phone. All the DVDs and videocassettes were taken. So there might be . . .” The television was directed toward the chair. I angled the arm it was attached to over to the other side so I could access the back of it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh yes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right there.” I directed her attention to two USB input devices inserted into the data ports on the back of the unit. “One has the same insignia as the keyboard. That’s probably its wireless input. But the other one—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is a flash drive.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It sure looks like it. We need to find out if there’s a file on it called ‘Aurora’s birthday.’ It might hold the key to figuring out who murdered Stewart, and why this guy tonight just killed himself. He warned me about the people who are behind this. Whoever they are, it sounds like they do not play nicely with others, so tell the computer forensics guys to be careful.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the way to the elevator I texted Christie Ellis, the woman I was seeing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEarlier, I’d canceled dinner with her tonight, then later, canceled drinks afterward as well, all because of my work. I’d told her I would swing by her place on my way home, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen now either.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe texted back almost immediately that she was still open to me coming by, just to let her know.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI replied that I would be in touch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e++++\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBy the time I arrived at the front of the building, nearly everyone in the crowd had their cell phones out and was filming the rather grisly scene. I wondered how many times it’d already been uploaded to YouTube or tweeted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI drew out my creds and held them up as I approached the body. “FBI. Everybody stand back.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man had landed on his back and the posterior of his skull was crushed. One of his legs was bent profusely to the side. The end of a fractured bone punctured his pants leg.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI heard sirens.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNYPD.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBased on the extent of this man’s injuries, I didn’t think there was any chance that he was still alive, but perhaps for my sake, perhaps for the crowd’s, I gently placed two fingers on his throat to check for a pulse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe woman who’d been closest to the jumper when he hit the sidewalk was sitting on the curb nearby. Blood, along with gray matter from the dead man’s brain, had splattered onto the hem of her skirt. She wasn’t shaking. Wasn’t crying. She just sat staring blankly across the street. Shock.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ma’am?” I said. “Are you injured?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t move.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI knelt beside her. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis time she shook her head. “No.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI visually assessed her but saw no injuries. “You’re going to be alright,” I said, though I wasn’t sure that was going to be the case, not after having this happen to her. A body crashing to the pavement within arm’s reach of you? That’s the stuff of nightmares. Not everybody would be able to shake off something that traumatic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRising, I returned to the body and inspected his pockets.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo phone. No wallet. No ID.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut there was a folded-up envelope labeled OPEN ONLY IN THE CASE OF MY DEATH.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhether he’d been planning to take his life or afraid someone might take it from him, I didn’t know.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUsing my knife as a letter opener, I cut along the edge of the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDear Billy,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m sorry it came to this, but it’s the only thing I know to do. Whatever you want to believe about me, whatever anyone says, you need to know that I never did the things she’s claiming I did. I’m sorry I let you down.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Randy\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkay, a clue, but also another mystery—who was Billy?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt least the names in the note might help us identify the jumper.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn his pockets I found some loose change, a subway MetroCard, and a single key. Earlier, I’d seen the key to the apartment we’d just been in, and this one didn’t match it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWell, we would run his prints and DNA. If he was in the system, we would identify him. At least we had a first name to work with. The rather crudely drawn tattoo of a shamrock on the back of his right hand might help if we could find a studio that had done it for someone named “Randy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stood and eyed the crowd, took note of posture, stance, body language, but no one was acting in a suspicious or aggressive manner. They were still filming and now a number of them directed their phones at me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAssistant Director DeYoung had told us not to instruct people to put their phones away when we’re at a scene, since it ended up manifesting resentment toward the Bureau, especially after the people invariably wouldn’t listen and would eventually post those videos of us telling them to turn off their phones anyway. “People will wonder, ‘What are they trying to hide?’” DeYoung had explained. “Or, ‘What don’t they want me to see?’”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe problem was getting worse year by year. It bothered me when people treated death like a spectator sport. From what I’d seen in the past, these videos would be watched by tens of thousands of people, especially if the media picked up any of them or, for whatever reason, they went viral. Then you could be talking about hundreds of thousands of views. Or more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll to satisfy the macabre curiosity of the masses.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo, we really haven’t come all that far since the days of the Colosseum.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn NYPD cruiser arrived.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI explained who I was, briefed the officers, and mentioned that, based on the jumper’s comments to me, he was a person of interest for the homicide the night before.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne of the officers went to string up some police tape. The other said to me, “So you really think this is our doer from last night?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDoer, perp, UNSUB, I’m not a fan of any of those terms. “It’s possible, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe noted the shamrock tattoo. “That’s an Aryan Brotherhood symbol. Prison tats? An ex-con?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He might just be Irish. And I’m guessing he’s never been to prison.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why’s that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“On the balcony he said to me, ‘You’re not sending me to prison,’ rather than ‘you’re not sending me \u003ci\u003eback\u003c\/i\u003e to prison.’ I’ve never known anyone who’s been locked up who would have phrased it like he did. You serve time, you don’t want to be sent \u003ci\u003eback\u003c\/i\u003e. It’s how you’d typically put it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Good point.” He was looking at the makeshift bandage on my left forearm. “You alright?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m alright.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stared at the body.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m guessing that most people who take their own life don’t think about what has to happen afterward, about what their choice is going to require other people to do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSomeone will have to clean up the mess, replace the carpet, paint over the bloodstain, remove the empty bottle of pills from your rigid, clinging hand, or, in this case, wash off the sidewalk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was so tragic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCleaning up the dead is a messy business.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd there was no reason this man needed to die tonight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn ambulance rolled to a stop near the edge of the police tape.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI directed one paramedic to assist the woman who was seated on the curb, the one who’d been so close to where the jumper impacted the ground.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe other EMT snipped off the sleeve of my shirt, cleaned the laceration on my arm, and tried to convince me that I needed stitches. I avoid those whenever possible since needles are part of the deal. I’ve never had an affinity for those things.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFacing a psychotic killer on the street, yeah, I’m good with that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFacing a grinning nurse with a needle, not so much.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt took some convincing, but she finally gave in and agreed to just bandage it up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhile she worked on that, I dictated my incident report into my phone. The latest voice-recognition software was accurate enough to cut down almost by half the amount of time we spent on filling out paperwork, and you weren’t going to find me complaining about that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the morning I could review the report, proofread it, and then submit it to DeYoung before heading to the Field Office.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEventually, another ambulance rolled in, loaded up the body, and left for the morgue at Presbyterian Central Hospital. One by one, the people filming things dispersed, busily posting, texting, and tweeting what had just happened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter I was done with my dictation, I called Christie to tell her that I’d see her tomorrow, but she explained that she had chicken Parmesan waiting. “I’ll warm it up when you get here. Come on over, it’d be nice to see you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d missed dinner earlier and it was nearly ten thirty. “You’re sure it’s not too late?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m certain.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Alright, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter the Crime Scene Unit left with the USB drive and remote-control devices along with the items I’d found on the victim’s body, I took off for Christie’s place.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e4\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, you,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stepped into her fourth-story apartment and closed the door behind me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer gaze went immediately to the snipped-off shirtsleeve and my bandaged arm. “How many?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How many?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Stitches.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I just had the paramedic bandage it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is it serious?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How did it happen?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A knife.” I gave her a kiss. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe said nothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe two-bedroom, cramped, and ridiculously overpriced apartment had a typical New York City floor plan: a breakfast nook opened up to the living room, which led to a hallway past the single bathroom to a pair of bedrooms. That was it. Yet, as modest as this place was, her rent devoured nearly forty percent of her monthly salary. Space is definitely at a premium in a city of 8.5 million people.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn order\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48338543411429,"sku":"NP9780451467355","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451467355.jpg?v=1769572617","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/every-crooked-path-isbn-9780451467355","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}