“Hmm.” George was drumming his fingers on Andi’s thigh, a gesture that would have been unthinkable only a year ago. Now it soothed him in a way he never would have thought possible. “I don’t like this, Andi. We have nine deaths by arthropod in total to check, and the first three are already suspicious?”
“I know. Technically, Thomasin’s death isn’t a confirmed death by arthropod yet. I hope Evangeline can clear that up. But yes, three deaths, all of them suspicious.”
“Do I even want to look at the rest?” George groaned while already reaching for the next report. “A woman named Suzie Monahan died of anaphylactic shock in May after being bitten by red fire ants.” George looked confused. “I didn’t know we had fire ants here in the US.”
“We do, but red fire ants aren’t indigenous. They come from Brazil, and the living conditions here allow them to survive.” Andi scanned the report. In this case, the coroner, not the same one who had done Jagger’s report, had gone to the trouble of doing an extensive blood test. The results were clear. “It says here she was found in her garden. The ants’ mound was close by. This looks pretty clear-cut. The bites from red fire ants aren’t lethal unless you are highly allergic, which seems to have been the case with Suzie Monahan. Also, she wasn’t wearing proper shoes and was only in shorts. The ants swarmed her legs and bit her all over.” The pictures of the victim’s legs were a gruesome reminder to always wear long clothing when gardening.
“And that is something that happens naturally?” George shuddered a bit when he pointed at the swollen, red skin with blisters all over.
“Yes, red fire ants aren’t super aggressive, but they aren’t exactly calm either. If she got too close to the nest, it’s entirely plausible they attacked her. The vibrations from her steps would have put them on alert, and when she was close enough to be considered a threat, the ants would have started fighting. The bites sting, so she starts hopping around, swatting at her legs, creating more vibrations, which, in turn, makes the ants more aggressive. Then they attack more viciously, she swats more, and now she’s fighting for her life because the anaphylactic shock sets in. She thrashes around, falls, and the huge impact sends the ants into overdrive, finishing her off.”
A gentle touch on his arm brought Andi back from a memory he hadn’t thought of in a long time.
“Unsolved case?” George’s voice was soothing, keeping the flood of images at bay.
“Not a case per se. A homeless person in an abandoned property. My guess is he wanted to rest for a bit, probably because of the deformation of his legs, which was also the reason his steps were heavier than those of a healthy person. He’d been there for over a year. Nobody had known. I had to get creative as to why I had been snooping around on a property that had nothing to do with any of my cases at the time.”
“Oh, Andi. It hurts me knowing what you went through, and I know you don’t want my pity, but damn. How many bodies are out there that never got reported?”
With a sigh, Andi snuggled against George’s broad chest. This was new as well, comfort coming from contact instead of not at all. “Too many. I try not to think about it too often.”
“I hate this for you, my dear. Hate it so much.”
“And that alone makes it better.” Andi allowed himself to enjoy George’s warmth for a moment longer before he sat up again, reaching for the next report.
CHAPTER 5
BUT IS IT A CASE?
George let his lover go, watching as Andi opened yet another report they had gotten at the PD. Two out of two was worse than he anticipated, and George dreaded what else would come. He leaned closer to Andi to read the thin findings about Isabelle Hopper’s death, which occurred only two weeks before Suzie Monahan met an early end. Her death read like something George would expect in that horror movie everybody had been talking about—what was the name? He couldn’t remember, just that a bunch of people somehow evaded death only to end in the most freakish of freak accidents. It didn’t matter. Isabelle died from a broken neck when her back porch had given out under her weight after termites had practically pulverized the wooden beams on which it had rested.
“Why is this even on the list? I mean, she died of a broken neck, not of arthropods directly?” George poked at the piece of paper, knowing he was being cranky and owning it. The impending call to his mother aside, this entire trip to Spartanburg was shaping up to be one big mess, what with Savalle and DeCapristo being on the warpath and Luke watching their every move without being of much help.
Andi looked up at him, his bluish-green eyes far too knowing for George’s liking. “It’s difficult, but you’ve got this. It’s what you’re good at.”
Andi didn’t have to elaborate for George to know what he meant. His partner and boyfriend not only had more information to draw from than any other human in the world, but he was also eerily good at interpreting it, especially when it came to George.
“Who ratted me out?”
Andi shrugged. “Tons of silverfish everywhere. This is a good place for them, clean and at the same time damp enough. They love it here.”
“I don’t like it.” And with it, George didn’t mean the tiny spies unveiling his secrets to his man.
“Me neither. DeCapristo and Savalle are an explosion just waiting to happen, and the mere idea of working with either of the two makes my skin crawl.” Andi sighed deeply. “But this is still better than nobody knowing what I’m capable of and always having to hide it, always being one step from collapsing because it’s all too much. Yes, this is a clusterfuck, but it’s a clusterfuck we can face together.” He leaned his head on George’s shoulder for a moment, the height of vulnerability Andi was willing to show under normal circumstances. George took it for the gesture of trust it was and pressed a kiss on Andi’s hair.
“I know. Still, why is she on this list?”
“Because damage caused by arthropods is usually a different statistic, and I’ll bet the porch is listed there as well, but a human life was a casualty of that damage and has to be somehow accounted for. Bureaucracy at its finest. Anyway, that’s my guess.”
“Which is as good as any.” George sighed. “Anything stands out to you?”
“No. Not from what I can read here. Termites are a problem, especially for wooden structures. If she were negligent in her caretaking, this is an entirely plausible scenario. And a broken neck is tragic when it could have just been a broken leg or arm, but not unusual when people fall.”
“Finally, one for the not suspicious pile.” George closed the report and put it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. “Next.”
Matthew Blank and David Tennet, two construction workers, disturbed a nest of bees when they took down a house in April. They died from anaphylactic shock because help hadn’t arrived in time. It was another tragic case. David managed to call 911 before losing consciousness but finding the two men had taken too long. The year before, Jensen Simonis, a landscaper, was also stung by hornets when taking down a hollowed-out tree in a garden. The man hadn’t known he was highly allergic, and the coroner’s report stated that even one sting would have been life-threatening for the man, not to mention the over thirty he had gotten.
George looked between the two piles. “If we look at all the deaths, even counting Isabelle Hopper, we’re well inside the statistical probabilities, aren’t we?”
