“I have to admit, I’m intrigued by this new side of you.”

“Yeah, I’m full of surprises,” said Erin. “I should be the poster child for Girls Gone Wild,” she added wryly.

Erin waited for the laughter to subside on the other end of the phone. “How does this sound?” she continued. “We’ll definitely get together on Tuesday, whenever you can. And I’ll plan on spending the night at your apartment Tuesday night, if that’s all right with you.”

“Absolutely,” said Courtney. “And I think I can switch some things around at work and take the day off Tuesday, so we can hang out the entire day.”

“Fantastic,” said Erin happily.

“And if your … friend … isn’t in, or if things don’t work out, we can have dinner Monday night and you can stay at my place then as well.”

“I really appreciate it, Court. And sorry for putting top priority on this guy for Monday.”

“Are you kidding?” said Courtney. “I’m psyched for you. I can hardly wait to hear all about it when you wander in Tuesday morning,” she finished in amusement.

7

ERIN LEFT THE airport rental car lot in a white Ford subcompact. Soon she was accelerating onto the I-5, which would lead her to her destination in La Jolla, Asclepius Pharmaceuticals, in only fifteen or twenty minutes.

Hugh Raborn had been an executive at Asclepius for a number of years, but claimed not to have been there when the company’s unfortunate name had been chosen, one that didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Asclepius, Raborn had explained to her, was the Greek god of medicine and healing. Somehow, he had never become a household name in the real world, even though he was the son of Apollo and the father of two famous daughters, Hygeia, goddess of health, cleanliness, and sanitation, and Panacea, the goddess of universal remedy.

Erin couldn’t shake the ever-increasing certainty that she was making a fool of herself. You couldn’t just barge in on a busy man’s life unannounced and expect him to drop everything and wine and dine you like it was the night of the high school prom. He might not be in at all, or he could be in high-level meetings that he couldn’t get out of.

On the other hand, this was news he’d been waiting for much of his adult life. She knew how much it meant to him. This should be one of the rare occasions when even the busiest executive could allow himself the luxury of canceling his schedule for the day and celebrating in style. He owed at least this much to her. He had recruited her, after all, and it was she who had taken the lion’s share of the risk while he remained insulated from it.

Erin reflected on her seemingly innocent interview with a local paper three years earlier. It was incredible how dramatically this seemingly minor event had changed the course of her life, and was still changing it. There were moments in time at which a seemingly small, unimportant event could be amplified in unforeseeable ways, creating ripples that grew into tidal waves, affecting lives, and even the world, in profound ways.

A chance contamination of a single one of Fleming’s Staphylococci culture dishes had led to the world’s first antibiotic, penicillin, marking a revolution in medicine, and saving countless lives. Or, on the more mundane side, how often had Erin heard stories of people meeting their future spouses because of one-in-a-million chance occurrences—like a blown tire on a highway or a random restaurant choice.

Erin’s interview with this small Tucson paper had certainly become one of a few pivotal tipping points in her own personal history, of that there could be no doubt. Not only had it led to her recent removal from her project and difficulty with the dean, but two years earlier it had been the reason Hugh Raborn had first contacted her, changing the course of her research, and the course of her life, in ways she could not have foreseen.

He had called her and introduced himself, and told her he was considering sponsoring her research. She had suggested talking to Apgar, but Raborn had said he wanted to speak with her first.

“What can I do for you?” she had said.

“I’m vice president of Neuroscience Research for Asclepius Pharmaceuticals. We’re a small biotech company in San Diego with about three hundred employees. We do research on cardiovascular and central nervous system diseases like epilepsy.”

As he was speaking, she Googled the company on her laptop, getting the spelling of Asclepius close enough that Google suggested the correct one, which she accepted. The company’s Web page was impressive—very sleek and high end.

She hit the Executive Management link and ten thumbnails came up immediately. Raborn’s picture was the third one down. He was thirty-six. Erin knew this was young for someone so accomplished, but from his picture she would have guessed he was even younger. He had a full head of jet-black hair and appeared to be trim and in excellent shape.

“I came across an online article last week in which you were quoted,” continued Raborn, while she studied his picture.

Erin winced. The interview she had given the year before to the Tucson Neighborhood Journal had been placed online, along with considerable other historical content from the publication. The great thing about the Internet, or the worst thing, depending on your perspective, was that an article never died. Forty years from now, the occasional searcher might still stumble over this piece, long after the Tucson Neighborhood Journal wasn’t even a memory. Apgar had also seen this interview online ten months earlier and had chewed her out good for speaking publically about such a project, or even considering it. He made it clear that this was not something on which she would be working, now or ever.

“Anyway,” said her caller, “I was intrigued by your goal of a psychopath early warning device.”

“Um … thanks,” said Erin uncertainly.

“I had an … unpleasant … run-in with a psychopath about fifteen years ago. I’d prefer not to go into details, but it opened my eyes to the monsters among us. If I would have had one of the gadgets you spoke of, it could have saved…” He paused. “It would have been very good.”

Silence came over the line, and Erin had a sense that this Hugh Raborn was collecting himself.

“Since then,” he continued, “I’ve made myself an expert in the field. I was already a neuroscientist, so I was well equipped to study the problem of psychopathy from a number of angles.”

Erin was intrigued. She had no intention of showing any of her cards, but perhaps Hugh Raborn was a kindred spirit. Each had been the victim of this human plague. Maybe this man would share her dedication and commitment, but with a larger wallet and greater access to key people and resources.

“Go on,” she said evenly.

“While I would, personally, strongly support the development of a device like the one you propose, I think you’ll find you’ll get a huge amount of resistance to the idea.”

Erin suppressed a groan. Now you tell me, she thought in amusement. Where had he been when she had agreed to speak with that amateur reporter in the first place? He could have saved her from a very irate thesis advisor.

“While a detector would be very useful,” he continued, “I suspect it would create so many legal and ethical controversies that it would never be used. And my research suggests there aren’t enough differences in the electrical patterns between psychopaths and normals anyway. When they are thinking certain thoughts, perhaps, but you’d miss them ninety-nine percent of the time.” He paused. “So a few years ago, I came up with an even better idea. One with a greater chance for success than the one you’re working on, even though this may seem counterintuitive.”

Erin’s mind jumped ahead and tried to guess where he was going with this, but she drew a blank. Raborn remained silent for several seconds, probably to build the suspense. If so, it was certainly working.