She shifts the knife under the light, continuing, “As you can see, Bram baked a delicious, moist chicken for us, and so there is a particular pattern for the juices on the blade. Very similar to what we’re seeing here on Javier’s knife.”
Grabbing a paper towel, she cleans off the carving knife, then hands it to Ant.
“Show me how you added blood to the knife.”
Ant uses one of the napkins on the table to soak up a bit of the chicken juice from the serving platter, then rubs it over the knife. Anja takes it from him, titling it under the lights.
Patting his back, she says, “You were very clever, Ant. I want you to see, however, how this is very different from the pattern we got when I ran the knife through the chicken.”
He bites his lip, nodding along. “That means they’ll know he didn’t kill himself.”
“Probably. Sometimes people miss things, and we get a little lucky, but any medical examiner worth their salt would know the smaller knife you left behind wasn’t the knife used to kill him.”
Georg speaks up. “Additionally, all hotels have cameras on the outside. If they haven’t already checked the recordings, they will the second they determine this is not a suicide. It’s very likely they’re going to see a young man in a white truck with Mexican plates. And they’re going to run those plates.”
Javier wipes his face. “Thank God they’re fake plates.”
Anja lights up and walks over to Javier, kissing his cheek. “Supert.A bit of good news. Ant, when you entered the hotel room, were you wearing anything to cover your face? A baseball cap, a hoodie, anything like that?”
He grimaces and shakes his head.
“Okay. That’s going to be a problem, but I’ll see if Anders and his friends can fix this for us.”
The rest of us are watching this like some sort of dinner theater. Erik, whose jaw is audibly creaking, finally can’t stand it for a second longer.
“So we’re not gonna talk about the fact that he fucking used himself as a decoy, drugged the man, made it look like a suicide—poorly,” he yells, gesturing broadly, “and left himself open to all manner of prosecution? Are we not gonna talk about how fucking dangerous that is? We’re not gonna talk about the fact that he has endangered not only himself but Wild Heart and probably Wimberley as well?”
Ant, who moments ago had been proud of himself, shrinks at Erik’s loud outburst. Bram and I flank him on either side, both of us putting a protective arm around his back. Erik’s not wrong, but he’s not right either.
Before either of us can say anything, however, Mama Bash puts herself directly in front of Erik, their twelve-inch height difference all but erased as she sticks her finger in his face.
“How dare you raise your voice at Ant! We do not raise our voices in the Bash family.”
Erik lets out a sharp bark. “Maybe not for you, but I was raised differently.”
She thins her lips. “I think we can both agree that my brother-in-law is an asshole and his wife is a cunt.”
Ant slaps his hand over his mouth, amusement lighting his eyes. Meanwhile, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever heard Anja cuss. I mean…she didn’t just cuss, she went and dropped the C-bomb. Damn.
Slightly worse, Erik doesn’t deny what she’s saying. Which actually makes me feel pretty sorry for him.
Anja rubs his arm, soothing some of his ire. “I’m sorry you were raised that way, but it does not make it right. We do not yell at our loved ones,” she said, gesturing for Ant to come close.
He complies automatically. Smart, because who the hell knows what would happen if he didn’t.
She puts an arm around him protectively. “Erik, please apologize.”
Erik flinches, scratching his nose, glaring down at Ant. Anja tightens her grip, and Ant stands to his full height, not quite reaching Anja. He and Erik stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like an eternity, and we watch as Ant melts under his hot gaze. Erik looks between Anja and Ant, knowing he’s lost, and lets out a very dramatic sigh as his shoulders drop from around his ears.
“You’re right. I should not have yelled at you. I am genuinely sorry. But…can we have a serious conversation about this? You snuck on an op and killed somebody, and we never fully dealt with it.”
Georg shakes his head. “That’s not true, Erik. He’s been talking to Hedy, and he’s making progress. It’s not going to be perfect, but he’s working hard.”
Erik’s brows rise. “Not going to be perfect? I’m not asking for perfection. I’m asking for our charge to not go after serial rapists. I don’t think that’s too high an expectation.”
He’s gritting out the words to avoid yelling them, but he, like the rest of us, knows better than to go against Mama Bash.
“That’s not true,” Anja says, shaking her head.
