“I already told the other detectives, but yeah, if you insist.” She waited a moment until George nodded, that yes, they insisted. Rosalie sighed. “I came home after my last shift. That day I’d been working from five in the morning till nine in the evening. It was around ten o’clock when I came home. Tammy had been with my neighbor because the center was closed that day, and she never liked spending time with Jagger. Mrs. Tanaka is always home, and she doesn’t mind looking after Tammy when I’m late.” Rosalie started kneading her fingers. The knuckles cracked ominously. “I’d like to say I immediately knew there was something off, but that’s not true. I took off my jacket and my shoes and then went into the kitchen. I saw him on the floor, all still and unmoving. His face had a strange color, grayish. I won’t ever forget that color.” She shuddered. “I ran to him, but I already knew he was dead. Nobody can lie that still and not be dead, you know?” The kneading motions got more intense as did the cracking of the joints. Rosalie was working herself up. “I checked for a pulse, didn’t find one, then I started looking for my phone. I usually take it out when I go to the kitchen, and I thought I had put it down on the counter. I called 911, and they asked what had happened. I saw the open drawer, looked inside, and there was a spider, crawling further back. I described it to the lady, and she said she would inform the first responders. They arrived shortly after, said he was dead as can be, and put him on the gurney. One of them found the bite wounds on his left hand and said they looked like a black widow. The spider was gone by then. They couldn’t find it anywhere. Later, the police came by, saying that was what killed him, and if I could tell them what had happened, so I did, the same as I’m telling you.”
The kneading motions of her hands stopped abruptly. Rosalie heaved a sigh as if remembering that day had taken her last energy reserves.
“Thank you, Miss Byrnes.” George smiled at her like a teacher would at a pupil who’d gotten a difficult question right. “Could you show us the drawer, please?”
“Uhm, of course.” She got up and showed them the few steps into the kitchen where she opened the left drawer under the counter.
Andi stepped closer to look inside while George distracted Rosalie with questions about Jagger and what he had been up to in the weeks before his death. Andi opened his senses wider, searching for the spider, not really expecting to find it, not in the drawer because that was just a bad hunting ground, but perhaps nearby, there were spiders, the first one harmless, sitting in a net outside close to the upper left corner of the window, too small, missing the sharp taste Andi knew to attribute to a venomous arthropod.
And then he found it, no longer in the apartment, outside under the neighbor’s balcony, from where she had ventured into the apartment, why, he couldn’t say, the memories of spiders were extra hazy when it came to time, all the female remembered was hunger, the thirst for prey, prey that didn’t fit in the net under the balcony, he was crawling on the wall, over to the sliding door of the balcony, there was a gap, he knew it before he found it, strange, where did that knowledge come from, not from her, Andi saw the world through her legs, the vibrations in the ground, all was peaceful when he entered the apartment, running on his eight legs to the kitchen, it wasn’t far, there was a dark place, he was drawn to it, hiding, he could hide there, among the knives and forks and spoons, and how did he know what knives and spoons were, hiding and waiting, then there was noise, the blobs were always so loud, didn’t they know how to move properly and why was he thinking that, the spider was waiting, he sensed a man, the man, the prey, he wanted to kill that man, he was evil, not the blaring evil you saw on TV, no, an even worse evil, hidden in the dark, striking like a snake out of nowhere, hurting, hurting, hurting, he had to go, evil, evil, evil, in the dark, sneaky, sliding around like slime seeping into everything, dirty, dirty, nothing was pure anymore, the days were dark, hurt, pain, he had to die, die die?—
Andi reared back mentally, he knew this wasn’t the spider, spiders had no concept of evil, this was something or someone else, not an echo of his own thoughts, too many layers, like an onion, and, like an onion, it had no real core, just layer upon layer, thinning, there was the spider, the drawer was dark, a hiding spot, not good for a net—evil, evil, evil, in the dark—waiting in the corner, unmoving—has to die, has to die—darkness, lurking—who was the spider or the evil—another layer.
He could feel his own thoughts dissipating in this madness, the spider, the other, him, all convoluted, no threads to follow, the drawer opened—evil! evil!—he struck, the spider struck, the other struck—death, die, the evil was gone and what now, where was he, who was he, the layers falling away, almost there, he could almost grasp it, please, no, evil, evil, darkness, no prey, the biggest prey, who or what, Andi needed out, needed to come back, warm hands on his back, thump, thump, thump, not his own heart, yet familiar, George guiding him, showing him the way, Andi clung to the rhythm, thump, thump, thump, evil, evil, evil, NO, he needed to get back, thump, thump, thump?—
And then there was George, holding him, murmuring soothing nonsense, no words, Andi wouldn’t understand anyway, it was the intent that mattered, and Andi was back.
“Fuck.”
He heard a soft gasp and saw Rosalie taking a few steps away from them. “I’m sorry, Miss Byrnes. I—” Andi didn’t know what to say. How should he explain?
“My partner sometimes gets caught up in his thoughts. Makes him a great detective and a bad conversationalist,” George smoothly interjected with a wink. The furrows on Miss Byrne’s forehead vanished immediately. She accepted the explanation without hesitation. That was how the human mind worked. Disturbances of any kind were explained away to protect the brain from overload. Sometimes, Andi wished he had that luxury. Most of the time, though, he had learned to prefer clarity over the bliss of ignorance even if it came with a heap of problems.
George was about to say his goodbyes—his body already angling back toward the entrance—when Andi suddenly heard music he would never have expected in a place like this. Smooth like old wine flowing from the bottle, clear like the stars in the sky on a cloudless night, they carried memories he thought he had forgotten. Of his mother talking to his oma, the two arguing over Andi, the sharp voice of his maternal grandmother, cutting through the air like knives—der Junge muss lernen damit zu leben, du hast ja keine Ahnung, the boy has to learn to live with it, you’re so clueless—and above the noise of their argument, the melody of Bach’s Komm, o Tod, du Schlafes Bruder.
CHAPTER 7
GERMAN MUSIC AND SAMOAN CORONERS
George listened to the music wafting through the small apartment, an eerie melody with German lyrics. Since meeting Andi, he had picked up enough of the language to recognize it, but the words were so drawn out, he couldn’t understand them. Andi seemed to not only understand it. Something about the way his partner held himself, the almost imperceptible twitching of his right eyebrow, how he angled his body toward George in an instinctual search for help, told him this was more than just hearing his mother’s native tongue.
Rosalie squeezed past them. Her face was twisted with worry. “I’m so sorry. Ever since she heard it at the library, Tammy’s been listening to that music all the time. Celeste, a friend of mine who works there, let her go through the CDs, and she’s fascinated by it.”
“It’s okay.” George sent her a reassuring smile. “I just think my partner has heard this music before.”
“Komm, o Tod, du Schlafes Bruder,” Andi whispered. “It’s a choral from Johann Sebastian Bach. My oma used to listen to it.”
George groaned inwardly. Andi’s relationship to his deceased German grandmother—his oma—was a source of constant stress on a good day. At the moment, he could have done without her lurking in the shadows of Andi’s mind.
“You know it?” Rosalie stared at Andi. “What does it mean? I’ve always wanted to know, but the leaflet of the CD is gone.” She shrugged, making it clear that despite always wanting to know, the need hadn’t been pressing enough to seriously pursue enlightenment.
“The person talking is basically inviting Death to come and get him because he wants to enter Paradise and be with Jesus. He’s saying Death is the brother of sleep, very much like Hypnos, the Greek god of sleep, and his twin brother, Thanatos, who is Death.” When he saw Rosalie’s horrified expression, Andi shrugged. “The Baroque was a wild time.” He was walking toward the door that was closest to the entrance. The music was clearly coming from there. Rosalie somehow managed to overtake them again and knocked loudly on the grimy door. “Tammy? We have guests. Can you open the door?” She looked at them with an apologetic smile. “Tammy can be—special, detectives.”
Now George was curious while Andi still seemed mesmerized by the music that stopped abruptly. They heard hesitant steps coming closer, then the door opened slowly. The face it revealed was a younger version of Rosalie, with the same dark, glossy black hair, skin a few shades lighter, and deep hazel eyes. Her smile was shy but open. George estimated her to be in her late teens, early twenties. He thought he recalled having read something about a daughter of Rosalie, but she had been only a side note since she wasn’t directly involved with Jagger’s death.
“Who are you?” Tammy cocked her head. Her tone and voice were those of a child, not of a young woman.
Before George could introduce himself, Andi beat him to it, which was—unusual. His partner hated interacting with strangers and children, and young adults were at the top of the list of people he’d rather never meet.
“I’m Detective Andi Hayes, and this is my partner, Detective George Donovan. You can call me Andi. We’re here because of Mr. Thomasin’s death, and we heard your music.”
“It’s good that he’s gone. I didn’t like him.” Tammy smiled.
“Tammy!” Her mother wrung her hands. “Please don’t listen to her, detectives. She’s not right in the head. When she was born, she didn’t get enough oxygen, and that has made her slow.”
The way Rosalie said the words made it clear that she didn’t mean them in a demeaning way, even though it sounded like it. It seemed to be more that she didn’t know how else to describe her daughter’s condition. George thought he detected a hint of panic and was sure he knew the reason for it.
“Miss Byrnes, we can assure you, we don’t have any illusions as to who and what exactly your partner has been.”
