“So next is the report?”
“You got it.” Andi sounded a bit frustrated. “Let’s hope there’s something interesting in it.”
They went back to their desks and pulled up the report on their PCs. George’s was apparently a bit slower than Andi’s, because before he could open the file, Andi let out an aggressive “Yes!”
George looked around his screen to his partner. “I gather there’s something good?”
“You can bet your ass on it. They got a partial fingerprint and were able to link it to one Ronald Wallace. He’s twenty-five, a small-time dealer for all kinds of drugs, though mainly cocaine, as well as a pimp. Charming young man, I have to say.”
“Aren’t they always?” George came over to look at Andi’s screen. The man in the mug shot had a haunted expression in his big, expressive eyes. Had he not been the suspect in a triple murder, George might have even called him attractive. Knowing what he had been convicted for and what he was suspected of having done erased all notions of acknowledgment George might have had. All he could see now were the blackness of his soul and the ugly stain of his deeds. “He lives in Sangaree, Marion Road.”
“One of the less desirable parts in this city.” Andi got up. “Let’s see if Mr. Wallace is home.”
With the heat of the hunt awakening in his veins, George grabbed his keys.
Chapter 10—The Bugs Don’t Err
ANDI STAREDat the old house. In his line of work, he was used to seeing the darker sides of not only people but also the city, but this case was quickly becoming one of the most gruesome he’d ever had. The ants living in the house, as well as the mosquitoes in the garden, had already confirmed Ronald Wallace was indeed their murderer.
Blood tainted by drugs, the taste despicable but unique like a fingerprint, giving the only blob from the storage unit to walk away that night a distinct shape made of scent and color and the feel of his blood, all twirled into something no human eye—or brain, for that matter—would ever recognize as human, but then again, being human was a point of perception, nothing else, really, just matter taking on a certain shape for different kinds of senses. Sometimes Andi wondered if his dislike for humanity stemmed—at least in part—from the way he was able to see his fellow crowns of creation.
Deep down in his gut, Andi also knew that this case didn’t end with Ronald Wallace. He would be convicted for killing the girls, thus giving their families and friends some kind of closure—should they ever be able to identify the two Jane Does—but this was only the beginning. Ronald Wallace was not the kind of man who could drive into another city, abduct a girl in broad daylight, and have the very white police cover his tracks. Somebody else was pulling the strings, and Andi was determined to get the bastard.
“Shall we?” He looked at George, who seemed to be having some grim thoughts of his own.
“You know this isn’t over should he be our murderer, don’t you?”
Andi almost smiled. Chief Norris might have forced George on him, and the man’s presence might be a nuisance most of the time, but he was a good cop, a good man. If he had to endure a partner, George Donovan was one of the better choices.
“I know. This is bigger than Ronald Wallace. I hope he’s going to be the thread that helps us unravel the entire fabric.”
“Such a way with words. You think he’s going to cooperate?” An evil gleam appeared in George’s eyes, one Andi was sure he was mirroring.
“He won’t have a choice.”
They left the car and walked up the narrow path to the front porch. A car without wheels stood in the thigh-high grass to their right, a palace for woodlice, mosquitoes, and countless beetles. Andi had to concentrate to keep the images all the arthropods were pushing on him out of his mind.
The scratching of hundreds of tiny chitinous legs on rusting steel, mandibles chewing through fresh green, the soft plop of tiny eggs being opened from the inside as larvae entered this world that was, in truth, theirs, miniscule kings and queens of an environment shaped by the blobs but ruled by them.
He shook his head. Their murderer was here; nothing else was of interest at the moment.
And apparently their murderer was trying to make a run for it. Andi caught the distinct vibration signature termites used to “see” their surroundings. The ones living under the back porch of the house were sensing heavy pounding approaching them. Andi didn’t take the time to think; he simply darted around the house, drawing his gun while jumping over old tires and what looked suspiciously like a bathtub.
“Andi! What are you doing?” George’s voice followed him around the house.
“He’s trying to escape through the back door!”
“Fuck!”
Andi heard—and sensed—George bolting after him, the steady thumping of his footsteps strangely reassuring after Andi had worked so long without a partner. Ronald Wallace was already on the lawn, scrambling to get to the half-rotten fence dividing this property from the neighbor. Andi put on some more speed, felt his legs working overtime, his heart pumping his blood through his veins. When he gave chase, all his protective barriers went down because of the adrenaline flooding his system. So he had the dubious joy of seeing himself through the insects around him, a highly attractive bag of blood to some, a nuisance to others. He also saw Ronald and George, the former a less desirable source of nourishment than Andi himself, the latter a prize to be taken. If he weren’t chasing after a killer, he might have found it amusing.
Ronald had almost reached the fence, and Andi tensed his muscles, bent his knees, and jumped forward. He crashed into Ronald’s back, taking him down like the worthless piece of shit he was.
“Ronald Wallace, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” While reading Ronald his Miranda rights, Andi pulled out his handcuffs. George was there, his gun pointed at Ronald’s head.
“Hey, man, what the fuck? I didn’t do nothing!”
“Yeah, and Santa Claus is just an evil vampire,” George huffed. Andi looked up at him, raising a brow in question.
