Gavin squinted. “What,now?”
“Saint Laurent, as in Yves,” said Jackson. “The French fashion designer.”
“If you say so.” Gavin wrote that down as Jackson spelled it for him. “How are you certain it’s missing?”
“Each of Park’s things has its place,” Jackson said.
“Don’t mock me for being organized. I like to know where everything is.”
“Hey, I’m glad you’re organized,” said Gavin. “It means you canspot when things are missing quickly.”
In a panic now that more things were missing, Park went through the rest of the room, trying to ignore the smell. Once he felt satisfied nothing else was missing, Gavin had him step into the bathroom.
The smell was more intense here. Park had taken a wide step over the stain on the floor, and now stood in front of the shower. Nearly every surfacehad the dark gray fingerprint powder covering it. The shower door was open, which was not how Park had left it. But his toothbrush still lay on the sink where he’d hastily left it after brushing his teeth before the fund-raiser. The towel he’d used after his shower hung on the rack. His various hair products and lotions were in the medicine cabinet, his shampoo and soap were in the shower. “Nothing’smissing.”
“All right.”
“Why would he have killed her right here, by the bathroom?” Jackson asked.
“That’s a good question. My theory is...”
But Park didn’t hear Gavin’s theory, because his nausea got the better of him then. The edges of his vision went gray. He turned around and looked at the toilet. He got the lid up in time to vomit into it.
Jackson slid beside him in aninstant, rubbing his back and asking if he was okay.
“Sorry,” Park said. “But that smell. I have to get out of here.”
“I got this,” Gavin said. “Wait for me in the living room?”
Jackson got Park back on his feet and helped him back into the living room. Park paced and tried to get his breathing back to normal. Everything overwhelmed him. His need to get out of this apartment, out ofthe whole fucking building, was strong, and he hated that it all felt ruined now.
“He came into my home, Jack. He soiled my home. The scarf, whatever, it was expensive, but it was just a nice scarf. Those cuff links were heirlooms, though, and then he...he killed that girl. She died right there on the floor.”
The panic clobbered Park. He had trouble breathing, suddenly couldn’t pull anyair into his lungs. His body went cold and tingly everywhere. He wavered on his feet, reaching for Jackson for balance, but missing on his first try. He finally managed to snag Jackson’s sleeve, but he felt like he wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. He tried to say Jackson’s name but no sound came out.
“Gavin!” Jackson called.
Gavin ran out of the bedroom.
“Park’s having a panicattack,” Jackson said. “I have to take him out of the apartment. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I think I’ve got it.”
Jackson put an arm around Park and escorted him out of the apartment. Once they were in the hall, he took the latex gloves off Park’s hands. He reached into Park’s pocket and grabbed the keys, which he handed to Gavin. Gavin locked up and put the police tape back.He took the gloves from Jackson.
As they rode the elevator down, Jackson kept petting Park’s back and whispering, “You’re okay. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
Park still had trouble breathing when they got to the lobby, so Jackson backed him over to one of the sofas in the seating area and made him sit. Then he pushed Park’s head down between his legs. He rubbed Park’s back as Park tried tobreathe normally. His lungs slowly came back online, though the cold, tingly sensation seemed determined to stick around for a bit. Still, after a few minutes, he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore, and he sat back up slowly.
“I think you were right the first time, Jack. He might have taken souvenirs,” Gavin said.
Jackson rubbed Park’s back in slow circles. Park needed Jacksonin that moment, needed the comfort of his body and to feel like he wasn’t alone. So he put his head on Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson stiffened and murmured, “We’re in public.”
“I don’t care,” said Park. He pressed his face against Jackson’s neck and inhaled, Jackson’s scent helping to ground him.
Gavin flipped through his notes. “It’s a fine line, because trophies from crimes like this areusually more mundane. A shirt, a scrap of fabric, maybe a photo. A scarf and some cuff links, though?”
“That scarf probably cost several hundred dollars,” Jackson said. “Saint Laurent, silk-cashmere blend?”
