“No. Nothing unusual. A few people around, don’t remember how many. Two runners with their dogs.” Tabitha was apparently intent on being as uncooperative as possible while still speaking to them. George demonstrated once again that he was a saint.
“I see. Now why did you go back there Thursday night?”
A pause, the spiders inside the house telling Andi the stress levels were rising again.
“Josephine lost her bottle. It was a new one, quite expensive. We decided to look for it but couldn’t make it before it got dark.”
The stress levels were sinking; she had gotten her footing back.
“You were looking for a bottle in the dark? Did you find it?” There was now a hint of disbelief in George’s voice. Andi wondered if his partner was annoyed by the plausibility of everything Tabitha had said until now or if he was trying to push her a bit.
“It’s a large bottle with metallic painting. We figured it would even be easier to find it with the flashlights because we would immediately see it, even from a distance.”
Which actually made sense. Andi shook his head at George. They wouldn’t be getting anything out of Tabitha Clemént, not today and not with the little information they had.
Still, George tried one more time. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you looked for the bottle?”
“No. It was dark, and we were concentrating on finding the bottle.”
George gave up. “Thank you, Mrs. Clemént, for your help. We appreciate it.”
All they got was a clucking sound before the intercom crackled out.
“Seems like this case is going to fill our quota for meetings with hostile women.” George winked at Andi on their way back to the car. They climbed in, and Andi got out the second water bottle from the glove department. He offered it to George, who took a generous gulp before returning it to Andi. They drove back to the precinct in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Back at their desks, they saw they had no new messages from either Shireen or Evangeline, just a short note from CSI that the needle they had found had indeed been used to inject the ketamine through the beer caps and that they had found a partial fingerprint they couldn’t match, though they kept searching.
George stared at the whiteboard. “Two more suspects.” He wrote the names of Tabitha and Josephine down. “With no connections whatsoever.”
“No connections we know of,” Andi corrected. “But you’re right, this is strange.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know we have to go back to the lake, don’t you?”
George pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it.”
The worry in his partner’s tone warmed Andi’s heart. “Me neither. But we need to get some sort of order established, and we can’t do that without having all the facts. At the moment we’re like chickens with their heads cut off.”
“Are you sure you’re going to get any facts? So far we have too much input, and the one that’s standing out you can’t place.” George’s voice was soft, taking the edge off his words. Andi wasn’t offended. George was right after all. So far, his tiny informants had added to the chaos instead of thinning it out. He only hoped what he would find out at the lake was worth the migraine he would get. “I’d say we drive up there tomorrow. Too late today.”
George closed the cap on his whiteboard pen. “I really don’t like it.”
TWO FRUITLESShours of staring at the whiteboard and discussing possible theories later, George was ready to call it a day. After they swung by a deli to get dinner for Andi—George wanted him to have something substantial in his belly for the task the next day—he drove his partner home.
George told Andi to get as much rest as possible, which his partner acknowledged with an eye roll and a “Yes, Daddy.” The gentle tone, though, told George how much Andi appreciated his worry. And worry he did. Was it really necessary for Andi to do this, to risk his sanity just so they could solve the case more quickly? Would they be able to solve the case without Andi’sgeschenk? George was honest with himself. The chances were twenty to thirty percent of them solving it without help. There were too many variables, too many suspects, and they had just started scratching the surface! From experience George knew things got uglier the longer one kept digging, and with the victims being so ripe in years and so powerful? Nobody got that far and stayed ahead without stepping on toes. And there were so many things not adding up, like the wives who didn’t even try to pretend they were grieving or the sons who openly admitted to not having much or any contact with their fathers, the way they lived so humbly compared to the mansions and lifestyles their fathers had. Then there were Tabitha and Josephine, two unknown players with seemingly no connection to the victims. George felt his head spin from all the possibilities stretching out in front of him. And they hadn’t even started on the contract killer theory, which was plausible enough to not be dismissed. No, Andi needed to do it, because the victims deserved justice. He just had to be there for his partner when the inevitable breakdown followed.
On his way home he stopped at a small clothes boutique with aSalesign in the window he spotted while waiting on a red light. They had beautiful cotton sweaters in different colors, ideal for the upcoming fall. George didn’t know if his gesture would be appreciated, but he had the burning desire to do something nice for his partner, something that showed his appreciation without him saying all those words Andi never seemed comfortable hearing.
Deciding which sweater to get Andi proved difficult, because George was the first to admit that fashion wasn’t his strong suit. He had long ago learned what looked good on him and stuck to his color palette. Knowing Andi wouldn’t care if the color and style of the sweater suited him or not made it somehow even more important to choose something good. Luckily for him, the sales assistant seemed to receive his vibes of sheer desperation and came over to him.
“Sir, can I perhaps help you now?” she asked with a polite smile. When George had entered, he had said he was just taking a look, which she had accepted with a nod.
“Yes, please. I’m looking for a sweater for my partner and am a bit lost as to what I should get him.”
“Ooh, that’s sweet! Is it an anniversary?” Her smile was so broad now, it almost reached her ears. While George appreciated that she was neither racist nor homophobic, he couldn’t let her believe that he and Andi were a couple.
“Uh, no. He’s my partner in the police force. We’re both detectives, and his clothing style is—questionable.”
“Pardon me. I shouldn’t have made assumptions.” She seemed flustered, and George hated the dejected look on her young freckled face. He also realized he had kind of liked her thinking he and Andi were an item. No, no, no. He couldn’t go there. Shouldn’t. Bad idea.
“It’s okay. I could have been clearer, and besides, I think it’s wonderful that you are supportive.”
Those words perked her up again. “Your partner, what does he look like? Do you happen to know his size?”
