“Oh. I was almost sure Agent DeCapristo would beat him to it.”
“Great minds think alike. My money was on her too. She’s pathologically driven.”
“Savalle beat her though.”
“He was furious. Accused her of dragging upstanding police officers through the mud. He actually used the word besmirch.”
“How—sophisticated.”
They both chuckled because there were too many adjectives one could link to the chief but sophisticated didn’t make it in the Top 100. George’s cell vibrated, announcing an incoming text. He checked over Andi’s head, who was still snuggled against him. For somebody who abhorred physical contact only half a year ago—still did it with people who weren’t George, which made a wave of pride swell his chest—Andi sure loved cuddling now.
“It’s from Kaustrowitz. He says Rosalie will be at home in half an hour and is willing to meet us then.”
“That’s good. Better than tomorrow.” Andi still hadn’t moved. “Depending on how fast we are, we could drive out to the lake afterward.”
George checked the time. It was half past five. The days were long now at the height of summer. “Won’t the hornets be sleeping?”
“Hmm, no, probably not. And that’s assuming I find the nest. And if we get there roughly at the time when the judge and his friend were killed, I can tap into the arthropods that were actually there.”
That would be immensely helpful. George had learned that there were always echoes of what happened, especially when something big, like a human, died. The closer Andi got to the source of the echo, so to speak, the easier it was for him to get the information he needed. Easy was at the very top of George’s list when it came to using the geschenk. It was the ruling mantra to avoid Andi burning out.
“Then we try to get there in time.” George stroked Andi’s back for some time until his partner stepped away from him with the air of a cat that had decided the quota for daily scratches was fulfilled. Trying to hold him back would result in the loss of skin.
They both made a trip to the bathroom, and then they were off to the late Jagger Thomasin’s apartment to meet with his girlfriend.
CHAPTER 6
ECHOES OF STRANGENESS
While George drove, Andi went through some breathing exercises to prepare himself for the deep dive he would soon be doing. He was already on edge, with too many impressions raining down on him. Changing places was always difficult, not because the barrage of information he got suddenly increased, but because in places he frequently visited, he was familiar with the shape the overall information took on which lessened the strain on his brain to constantly translate what the arthropods were telling him. He knew the way the PD was set up, so all information in relation to it was simply a way to make the picture sharper. Like using a magnifying glass. What you saw didn’t change, it just got clearer. Also, he was used to the shape of things, which meant his brain didn’t have to interpret, just absorb. In a strange city, though, all information was new. There were no pictures in his head to readily explain what he was—seeing, for lack of a better word—and linking it to something he already knew. Constantly translating on top of dealing with what his human senses were telling him about his new surroundings was tiresome. This, in turn, made him more receptive because keeping his barriers up required focus and led to more information that had to be translated, which then lowered his barriers even more. It was a vicious cycle. One he hated from the depths of his heart.
“We’re there.” George was parking his Escalade on a sidewalk in Southern Shops, one of the poorer neighborhoods in Spartanburg. They were on Westfall Street, where several apartment blocks lined the street on both sides. They weren’t completely rundown but not up to the latest standards either. It was the kind of neighborhood people settled on until they could afford better housing in a more secure part of town. Crime was up here, but the heavy rollers hadn’t yet taken over, keeping to the even poorer parts of the city. George checked the address before they left the car, making sure it was locked.
Apartment 4C was two stories up. The concrete stairway was still preferable to the lift with its aging cables. It wasn’t dangerous yet, but Andi hated lifts with a passion and knowing the state of disrepair they were in helped him give them a wide berth. George didn’t complain because taking the stairs was exercise, and in his man’s world, physical fitness was akin to religion. Andi was an atheist through and through, which to him made the climb upstairs just tedious without any benefits.
As soon as they reached the door, Andi opened his senses a bit to get a feel for the inside.
Two people, one older, weary, hormones suggesting menopause and not in a good way, the other younger, both female, related, he could sense it in the way their pheromones matched, the silverfish were plenty, pill bugs in every damp corner, moths outside in the window frame, spiders, quite a few and there, a flash of something, like a silver flicker at his periphery, there and gone again, air heavy, so many mites in the mattresses and the upholstery of the couch, on the ground, dust bunnies under the cupboards, behind the oven in the kitchen, a wet patch on the wall, leaking pipe, mold, roaches a plenty in the walls, bustling about, a lose piece of carpet in one of the rooms, silverfish under it, dirt, regular cleaning was not a thing here, everything was quiet, the death of Jagger Thomasin had left an impression, but it was fading, him falling, thrashing around, then more noise, heavy stomping, strangers, strangers, gone again, now peace, it was too quiet, not what he would have expected, the memory fading too fast, there should have been a bigger imprint, death always left an impression, like a black smear on a white canvas, blaring, obvious, ever present, even after years, but here it was just a blur, nothing distinct, no black on white, just shades of ochre and gray, a little green sprinkled in, nothing he could grab and examine, slipping from his grasp before he even knew if it was worth hanging on to, one of the two heartbeats was getting faster, reacting to the bell, probably, he could feel it in his bones, too fast, too hard, no, they shouldn’t frighten them, not yet, they weren’t hunting, just looking for clues, Thomasin had been a hunter, become prey, dead now, not here, here everything was good, no, that was wrong, why was the information so sluggish, he couldn’t?—
“Can I see your badges?” The door opened as far as the door chain allowed it, and a woman that Andi assumed was Miss Byrnes stood on the threshold, squinting at the badge George was showing her. Andi realized he must have missed part of the conversation because he couldn’t imagine Rosalie would have opened the door even for this small gap without checking who was there first. Not in this neighborhood where crime was up. “This looks legit. What do you want?” She hadn’t invited them in, stood against the door, the chain still blocking them off.
“We’re here because we have some follow-up questions regarding Mr. Thomasin’s death. If you could let us in, I promise it won’t take long.” George was his charming self, radiating assurance, telling her with his body language—bending his knees a little, to come closer to her height, shoulders back and lose, non-threatening but making it clear he wouldn’t just leave either—seemed to do the trick. Rosalie lifted her hands to dislodge the chain and opened the door, taking two steps backward and one sideways, letting them in. The narrow, short hall led straight into a kitchen/living room and had two doors on the right, a bathroom and a bedroom, where the second female was, unmoving, just breathing, everything too calm again.
“Who’s with you?”
A little startled, Rosalie turned on the threshold of the kitchen, following Andi’s outstretched finger to the bedroom door. “My daughter, Tammy. She was at the family center today, so she’s tired.”
Andi nodded, sensing there was more but also knowing the female in the bedroom wasn’t a threat, so he let it be. When they reached the living room, Rosalie gestured to the couch. George hesitated only a moment, making eye contact with Andi, who gave a subtle nod. The couch was safe. Mites, even in the numbers present in the upholstery, weren’t a true problem since neither of them was allergic to dust. They both sat down. Rosalie took the single chair, a leather monstrosity that didn’t fit with the rest of the furniture. She didn’t offer them anything to drink, and given the state of her kitchen, Andi wasn’t insulted but grateful.
“What do you want to know?”
Ah, so Rosalie was proactive. She wanted them gone. Andi could tell as much even without the input from his little informants, as her gestures radiated nervousness. She was also tired, done with this day. Something Andi could relate to.
“Miss Byrnes, first I want to offer my condolences. I understand Mr. Thomasin was your partner, and you were the one to find him.”
Rosalie took George’s words with a shrug. “Yes, we were dating, but it wasn’t roses and sunshine. He got caught up in too much shit.”
That was rather blunt and not what Andi would have expected. George neither, it seemed, because he waited a tiny beat too long before he went on with the questions. “I know it must be hard, Miss Byrnes, but can you tell us how you found Mr. Thomasin?”
