Callaway to Hubbard to MacMillon to Menzini. How many turns, decisions, mistakes made in that chain? she wondered. All of them leading to this. And how long had Callaway simmered, stewed, planned? How long had some suit whose purpose was to sell products—half of which people didn’t need in the first place—dreamed of murder? And how long had he known murder was his legacy?She thought of her recent dreams. Murder and misery could have been her legacy, if she’d reached for it, if she’d opened that door instead of another. So now she stood here, studying murder—the victims, the killer, the whys, the hows. Another path, another choice, she might have been up on a board like this, with someone else doing the studying, the wondering. Mira was right, she determined, in reality and dreams. It always came down to choices.She heard Peabody’s clumping footsteps, then caught the scent of coffee.“Long night,” Peabody said. “I worked with McNab, and we’ve got everything there is to know on Macie Snyder and Jeni Curve, plus we have deep data on five of the abductees who settled in New York.”
