She gave the spiel, telling the group what she could without going into detail, including why the task force thought they were dealing with a vet. From the stony faces and crossed arms, she could tell that idea didn’t go over real well. When her eyes drifted to Quinn, he actually winked, as if she was doing great. She wished. ‘‘I understand that’s an unpopular idea,’’ she pressed on, ‘‘because it means that every man and woman who has worn or is wearing the uniform gets painted with that same wide brush. Which is unfair. But, as I suspect you all know all too well firsthand, life isn’t always fair. ‘‘So, the best way to change the perception that everyone who’s experiencing PTSD is a potential mass murderer is to stop this guy. Now.’’ She took a stack of cards from her suit jacket pocket and placed them on the corner of the table beside the podium. ‘‘The task force is, unsurprisingly, being inundated with phone calls. Some tips may prove helpful. Most probably won’t.’’ She couldn’t quite hold back a faint smile at the thought of Angetti, who’d landed in the FBI doghouse after that impromptu television interview, currently being stuck on phone duty.
