“I can fully understand your reasoning.” George nodded at Andi. “Making Holway the scapegoat would benefit us in more ways than one, giving us a break we definitely need. Especially you.”
“But—”
“But it just feels wrong. And—I don’t even have a word for it. Messy? Unfinished? Loose? Like a tiny little pebble in your shoe, one that is lodged in the seam where you can’t get it, but with every step you take, you can feel it, and it’s rubbing your skin, creating a blister.” George raised his hands. “Damn, now I can understand your frustration when I don’t get something you want to explain to me.”
“You’re not doing too bad. Keep going, as you would tell me.” Andi grinned and George relaxed a bit.
“Fine. It’s not even that I necessarily believe pinning the murder on Holway is wrong from a moral viewpoint. He certainly has done enough shady stuff to deserve it. I also know not making Holway the scapegoat just means exchanging him with another killer or killers. And his client—well, he did hire a contract killer to get rid of his enemies, which makes him guilty enough. He was willing to kill, and for that alone he deserves what the law has in store for him. And given what the victims have done to others—I know we had an argument about it, but I’m starting to see your point. Whoever did this to them must have had good reason.”
“So if it’s not your moral compass telling you to keep going, what is it, then?”
“Don’t get me wrong. My moral compass, as you call it, does play a role. It’s just not the only motivator.” All of a sudden, George smiled. It was a bit wicked, and Andi felt a pleasant shiver running down his spine, one he ruthlessly stopped. No need to gotherewhen it was already clear George wouldn’t be staying.
“Then what else motivates you?”
“The mystery itself. I want to know who did it. If only for myself. What can I say? I’m terribly nosy.” George shrugged.
“Not the worst trait in a detective.” Andi emptied his tea. It was a good blend, peppermint with an undertone of something sweet and spicy. He had to get it again the next time they were here. “And not a bad reason. In fact, it’s one of the few reasons I can accept without question. I’m always suspicious of people who do things for the greater good. In my experience there’s always a catch somewhere.”
George eyed him with an intensity that had Andi squirming inwardly. “You do things for the greater good,” he said with absolute conviction. “And you risk your own sanity for it.”
Andi closed his eyes. “I think you have a higher opinion of me than I deserve, George.” He looked his partner straight in the eyes. “What I’m doing at the Charleston PD, that’s not because I want all those victims to get justice. It’s my way to stave off the inevitable, namely me going completely mad. It gives me something to focus on besides the world of arthropods. A reason to come back. If I didn’t have that, I’d be long gone by now.”
George looked at him for so long, Andi was wondering if he was going to say anything at all or if they would be sitting here until the café closed. When George finally spoke, his tone was gentle, soft. “And I think your own opinion of yourself isn’t high enough. I know you keep the pictures of the victims you investigate on your cell. I have seen you working hard to find killers. Hell, I was right there when you brought down Castain and his human trafficking ring. You are compassionate and empathic, and you don’t suffer injustice. So what you do helps you stay sane? Who cares? It’s the outcome that counts.”
“It’s never enough.” Andi had to avert his gaze. It was never enough. No matter how many cases he solved, how many victims and their loved ones found peace because of what he did, there were always others waiting who were truly forgotten, and the only way of coping was to put the focus off them and onto his own life reality, which was a constant struggle he would be losing some day. Then all justice would be gone because the other world he was linked to, the one he was sinking into each day a bit more, did not know justice or peace. It only knew survival, and the basic instincts, reproduction and death. It was a simpler world on many levels and yet so complicated, with layers no human would ever be able to comprehend, not even one with ageschenk, because how could you hope to understand what you couldn’t even fully grasp, not the waytheydid, because he didn’t see the world through pheromones or the tremors rising up through his legs or the sonic waves in the air or the atmospheric pressure. He didn’t breathe through holes in his sides, even though his brain had given him an image of what it thought it would feel like. He didn’t share his mind with other humans, though he had an impression of what it entailed. Nothing in his world was real and stable, everything constantly shifting, the only fixed points the corpses whose lives he dissected in order to find their killers, and they, too, were floating by, of no real consequence, at least not to him, not when he thought like them, just saw them as food, no, he needed an anchor. George would be perfect, so reliable, but he would leave, and he would be alone to drown in a sea of information with no end and no sense.
“Andi, hey.” George lightly stroked his arm, the touch welcome and soothing, something real inhisbody, not theirs. His partner smiled at him. “There’s always more that could be done. It’s the reason why there’s not just the two of us on this planet. It’s not your burden alone or mine. It’s a group effort, and you are carrying more than your weight.”
The words made sense to Andi, which he found amusing because he had thought he had it all nailed down. George really was a good partner.
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” He got up, winked at George. “Then let’s go behind the chief’s back.”
George made a face. “Yeah. Let’s.”
20. Gaining Time
GEORGE STILLwondered how he had ended up being insubordinate again. When he had first gotten to Charleston, everything had been so easy, so clear-cut. Work his year and a half, help the chief with a problem, get glowing recommendations, move on and up the ladder toward his goal of becoming chief himself. Now, about half a year into his stint in Charleston, he was not only seriously contemplating staying longer, perhaps permanently, he had also made an enemy of the chief, had himself attached to a partner who was as proud, ferocious, and wildly independent as a street cat while at the same time needed George’s protection and help, and he was about to ignore a direct order from his superior—again—to solve a case where he wasn’t sure who was worse, the victims or the potential suspects.
His usual morning run had not helped to quiet the swirling thoughts in his head, had only made it worse because once he fell in his runner’s trance, they were free to line up, his worry about Andi’s mental state front and center, closely followed by Chief Norris’s behavior, with the case coming in third. When it was this bad, there was only one thing that helped, writing it all down. George was sitting at his kitchen counter, a glass with his favorite smoothie—apple, banana, pineapple, and spinach—next to the three sheets of paper representing the three most pressing problems in his life. The one titled “Andi” was full in the “problem” column, while the one with solutions was pathetically empty. He had started researching meditation techniques that may help Andi to keep hisgeschenkunder control a little longer, but in the light of the last few weeks, George was sure it would only prolong the inevitable, namely Andi losing himself one way or another. By now he was even contemplating suggesting Andi should smoke weed to dampen the effects of thegeschenk. He had been terrified when he found out about all the potential side effects of seemingly harmless painkillers like ibuprofen and aspirin. The only drug that was safe—up to a certain degree—to take regularly being paracetamol. As much as it galled George, he was still woefully clueless as to how he could help his partner.
He looked at the next sheet, with Chief Norris’s name written on it. It presented a different, more positive picture, because George knew how to deal with somebody like her. What would happen once the shit actually hit the fan was by no means certain, but he had done everything in his power to shield himself and Andi as much as possible. With a little luck, this could even be good for his career, make him look determined and capable.If you still want that career, the tiny voice at the back of his head chimed in, reminding him of the shift in priorities he was currently experiencing.
The sheet with the case was a mess, with too many question marks at crucial points, and the lure to just accept Daniel Holway as the scapegoat and leave all the chaos, pain, hatred, and sorrow of this murder behind was almost irresistible. George decided not to look too closely at his main reason for pursuing the matter further, which had nothing to do with what he had told Andi. No, George simply didn’t want to drop the case after his partner had risked his mental health to get to the bottom of things. He also knew himself well enough to realize how his feelings for Andi were getting more and more muddled, the respect and need to protect his partner interweaving with more personal emotions, some of them healthy and normal, others leading up avenues George wasn’t sure he wanted or should pursue. Charleston had been meant to be a stepping-stone, one that was quickly turning into the foundation for a house, to stay with the building metaphor.
George emptied his smoothie, stacked the papers, and got ready to head out. He wanted to go grocery shopping with Andi before they went to the precinct. Both because his partner desperately needed to stock up on necessities and because doing mundane things together helped them clear their heads. The way the case was looking, they needed clarity more than anything.
ANDI WASstill sleeping when George arrived at his house. After he had let himself in, George went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, only to be hampered by the lack of food. In the end he had to settle for the usual tea and coffee plus two lonely slices of toast he managed to make edible by smearing them with the remains of the butter he had bought more than three weeks ago and roasting them in a pan. The strawberry jam would provide the sugar Andi needed to brave the grocery store until George could get something more substantial into his partner. In the car the plain bagel was waiting to be consumed as well. Andi always ate the bagel either in the car or at the precinct. Bringing it into the house didn’t work, as George had learned by now. Andi was very peculiar about his eating, and so far, this quirk was the only one George hadn’t managed to somehow tie back to thegeschenk. It seemed to be an independent character trait, one George valued because everything else about Andi was so tangled up in hisgeschenk, it was impossible to tell where the lines between Andi’s coping mechanisms and his true personality ran.
Andi shuffled into the kitchen with a yawn, his dirty-blond hair hanging around his face, making him look extremely hungover. George held out the cup of tea.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Andi took the tea, smelled it with closed eyes. “Mmm. Good morning to you too. I slept well, thank you. Housemates were fairly quiet. They love it when you come, by the way.”
“They do?”
“Yeah, associate you with food. Me too.” Andi took a sip of the tea while George tried to determine if his partner was making fun of him or if he was serious.
