“Yeah. Though well enough to plot murder?”
Andi had a valid point. A lot of things weren’t adding up in this case. George only hoped things would get clearer once they started digging deeper. The drive to Wando Road was blessedly short despite traffic thickening at this hour, and finding Lester Miller’s office didn’t pose any problems. It was a bit like déjà vu, walking into a building that had been around for some time, trudging through a corridor that had once been inviting, knocking on a door with bold letters telling the world this was the office of Lester Miller Marketing. There was no buzzer, the door was open, and when they entered, they were greeted by the kind of chaos some people thought of as creative. George simply found it annoying. In his opinion, everything in an office had its place and no business straying anywhere else. Lester Miller was standing in front of a whiteboard filled with the name of some brand in the middle and countless colored lines leading away from it. The man was about six feet, with a lean build that was already starting to show signs of a developing paunch around his middle. The artfully ripped black jeans and the band T-shirt gave the impression of a man desperately trying to appear young and hip. It was sad, really.
“Who are you?” The tone, on the other hand, was downright rude.
George flipped his badge, doing the same song and dance he had with David Hector III, this time getting a furrowed brow for his troubles.
“And what do two detectives want from me? Has my father finally done something that will get him into trouble?”
George felt Andi tensing next to him.
“What makes you think we’re here because of your father?” George tried to sound bored. Perhaps Lester Miller was a little less guarded than David Hector III.
The man shrugged. “Simple deduction.” He sounded so patronizing, George felt his fists twitching. “I haven’t done anything, nor have my customers. I’m pretty sure of that. The only person I know who is likely to have trouble with law enforcement is my father.”
“Well, you are right, insofar as we’re here because of Mr. Lawrence Miller. I regret to inform you that your father was found dead yesterday. We’re sorry for your loss.”
While the phrases dripped from his lips, George kept a close eye on Lester. His eyes went wide, and then a small smile appeared on his lips.
“The old man has finally croaked.”
“You don’t seem to be very upset about this.” George kept his voice even.
Lester Miller closed the cap on the whiteboard pen he’d been holding the entire time. “I’m not. My father and I haven’t spoken in years, and the last time we did, we yelled things at each other no father and son should ever say. I’m not proud of how our relationship ended, but I’ve been free of my father ever since. His death means as much to me as if you told me a stranger had died.”
The barely detectable trembling in Lester’s voice told George he was a little more affected than he wanted to admit. The man was rattled, which was good for questioning.
“You really had no contact with him whatsoever? Not even with your mother?”
“If you mean Theodora, she’s my stepmother, and no, we don’t have any contact either. She’s okay, but we had no reason to stay close. My mother, Angelica, returned to Haiti, to her family, after she divorced my father. We skype now and then.”
“Did you know your father was on a hunting trip this week?”
“No. I mean, he always goes hunting this time of year, with his two best friends, but as I said, I haven’t kept track of my father’s affairs for a long time.”
George shared a look with Andi. His partner shook his head. They were on the same page. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Miller. If you can think of anything that might be helpful, please don’t hesitate to contact us.” He gave the man his card and they left.
Back in the car, George looked at Andi. His partner drummed his fingers on the console of the car. “I don’t like this. Lester Miller wasn’t nearly as stressed as he should have been after hearing of his father’s death. There was some sadness, but mainly anticipation.”
George lifted a brow. “Can you read emotions now?” He’d meant it as a tease, but Andi was very serious.
“Only to a certain extent and when moths are close. They see the world mainly through pheromones, and emotions produce different combinations I can sometimes distinguish. It’s not very exact, but combined with the visual input Lester Miller provided I’m pretty confident. Besides, anticipation has a very distinctive….” Andi started waving his hands in the air, clearly looking for the right word. Another problem with Andi’s connection to the world of arthropods was how to convey what he experienced with words George not only knew butunderstoodexactly in the way Andi needed him to.
“A very distinctive flavor, no, feeling, or better, the mixture of a flavor and a feeling, like when your leg has fallen asleep and starts prickling all over, only to me it’s like a taste and a sensation…. I hate this!” Frustrated, Andi banged his fists on the console. George put his hand on Andi’s shoulder. It was a light, brief gesture, stopping his partner’s anger from building further. Even though he didn’t talk much, at least not to random people, Andi was always very to the point and concise with his words. Not being able to explain something that was natural to him grated on his nerves. They had started with building their own vocabulary in coherence with what Andi got from the arthropods, but it was slow going because of moments like this one.
“It’s okay, Andi, I think I get it. Anticipation is distinct, and there were moths in the room. That’s why you could pick up on it.”
Andi’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. There’s a crack between one of the window frames and the wall that leads into a cavity, and there were at least a dozen ash-tip borer moths in it.”
“And they identified anticipation.” George refrained from making it sound like a question, which would have upset Andi even more. His partner was slowly slipping into explanation mode, a much safer state of mind than the anger from a few moments before.
“Yes, yes. They were more or less asleep, they are nocturnal, after all, but their senses are always alert. Actually, it’s easier for me when they rest, because then I just get the information without their interpretation of it.”
The last sentence woke George’s curiosity, but he didn’t dig deeper. They had another suspect to question.
“Do you think we should try Dominic McHill’s place of work or his home? It’s getting late.”
Andi glanced at the clock on the middle console. “I guess we better go to his home. He’s a stockbroker and should be done with work by now. Let me find the address.” Andi fumbled for his cell, that always seemed to be where he couldn’t reach it easily. “Ah, here it is. He lives close to Summerville, which is about forty minutes from where we are. Let me put it in.”
