Underneath the words, Brian could hear a desperation borne of both panic and pain. But even the plea brought no satisfaction to him. He wanted to leav... the cold apartment and forget that he had ever been there. The ghosts that haunted every day of his life could never be forgotten. ‘No?’ Brian repeated, hearing a coldness harden his voice, an echoing rage that had been waiting for this moment for nearly fifteen years. ‘How many times did I say that? How many times did Kevin say that?’ The gun. I settled into one of the very comfortable leather seats, pulled out the last of the three Swedish detective novels, and picked up reading where I’d left off that morning.September 3, 1994, Naperville, Illinois“Good afternoon, I’m Steve Adams and I’m looking for Yogi Krishnadasa Acharya.”“You’ve found him,” a short, thin, Indian man in black robes answered in a reedy, high-pitched voice. “Anala has told me all about you. Come in; come in!”He led me through the lobby of the building to a room. More

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