“Yeah, I do. It’s the family business and I’m a foreman. I’ve worked with my dad and my uncles since high school, and summers during college.�...�� “I’m impressed.” “Don’t be, it’s a good living, that’s all. Now tell me what’s bothering you.” “Promise you’ll believe what I tell you.” “Uh-oh. Why wouldn’t I believe you?” “You’ll understand. Promise?” “Sure.” “I used to date a tattoo artist,” she said. “I asked him to do a tattoo, a nice green vine with little white flowers. I thought it was real. It was a lovely morning as I heard a commotion in the village and went outside to see who had arrived. There were horsemen galloping through the village at breakneck speed; before I had time to take in anything of what was going on, a rider had leant dangerously out of the saddle and swept me up on to his horse. As I caught my breath we were out of the village and into the forest which covered the land right across to the river.Lifting me up from the horse's neck the rider turned me to face him. He did it all and gloried in the fact that none of them knew.And then he listened to that fat ass of a Sheriff speak for all of five minutes. Some kind of blah, blah, blah about how they were doing everything in their power to make their county safe from this degenerate. How he personally was setting up a task force and had brought in a FBI profiler. Five fucking minutes. Even that profiler hadn't said much and he thought the feds always wanted to get the spot light.Even when cornered by the. Hardy had cancelled his upcoming session, saying he would be out of the country and couldn't make it. Maybe now it was time to talk to someone else. He had discussed talking to the wife, Hardy was reluctant but agreed that if it was necessary he could do so."Mrs. Wilkes? Good morning. You don't know me, my name is Ben Stein, actually Major Stein. I don't know if you know it but I'm doing some sessions with Hardy, strictly followup from his military past, through the local VA. I want, and let me.