McCain might have suffered hardships in his life, but what had happened to him had nothing to do with his background or his color; they were convenient excuses now. He had been a psychopath from the start.

He looked from the phone to the unconscious figure of the Salesman. "What did you do to him?" he asked. "He got the wrong number," Alex said.

Sometimes it's the tiniest things that can mean the difference between life and death.

Was it fate? Was it destiny?" "I think it was Alan Blunt.

You weren’t in any real danger. We knew exactly where you were all the time.

The worst time to feel alone is when you're in a crowd.

Alex decided he’d had enough. He put down his knife. “All right,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to work with me. Well, that’s fine. Because I don’t want to work with you either. And for what it’s worth, nobody would ever believe you were my mom because no mom would ever behave like you.” “Alex…,” Carver began. “Forget it! I’m going back to London. And if you’re Mr. Byrne asks why, you can tell him I didn’t like the jelly, so I went home to get some jam.