“Then how do you catch a killer who thinks he’s a surgeon?”

Sampson sets the coffee down. A long pause. The rain amplifies.

“Fanboy didn’t just kill them, Sampson. He collected them. Like errors in a manuscript he couldn’t stop editing. That means we’re not looking for a rage-killer. We’re looking for someone who thinks he’s fixing people.”

“You been standing there for four minutes straight, man. That’s not thinking. That’s a mannequin audition.”