“Oh yeah, and what a plot twist it is. It started two years ago as far as I can see. DeCapristo was known for taking on cases where not much evidence could be found. She has a knack for sniffing out clues. Not as good as Andi, but she’s better than average. Anyway, her cases went from difficult but doable and carefully selected to downright flimsy and impossible. Not to mention random. The case she’s currently on, and you as well, as I assume, shouldn’t even be on the FBI’s list.”
George shared a meaningful look with Andi. Shireen had been right.
“Here comes the kicker. Since I knew you wouldn’t be calling me without good cause and because I’m a suspicious and nosy gal, I started looking at her cases a little closer. The ones from the difficult but doable list were all chosen by her with the help of a new algorithm the FBI has been testing. The ones falling into the cuckoo column starting two years ago all came from somebody else. Somebody who’s very careful not to be found.”
“You mean somebody is trying to set her up?” George inquired. As unpleasant as Agent DeCapristo was, nobody deserved that kind of treatment.
“It sure looks like it.” George could practically see Geena rolling her eyes. “It also doesn’t look like she’s doing anything to stop it. My guess is she either majorly stepped on someone’s toes or she found something she shouldn’t have, and for some reason, simply killing her isn’t a solution.”
“I love your optimistic outlook on your own employer.”
“Hey, it’s my job to be suspicious and sarcastic.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve been both of these things before you joined the FBI. Hell, before you started kindergarten.”
“I’m offended now.”
George laughed. “No, you’re not. It’s a compliment.”
“Coming from Andi, I would believe it. Not from you, Mr. Plays-Nicely.”
“Why does this sound like an insult?”
“Because it is.” Geena paused for a moment. “My advice for you? Tread carefully. Whatever is going on with DeCapristo, I’m sure she’s been backed into a corner. And you know, wild animals are the most dangerous when there’s no means of escape. Not to mention that whoever is toying with her probably now knows about you as well.”
“Thank you, Geena. We appreciate your help. I can’t say I like how the plot thickens, but your help was most welcome.”
“Always, George. Andi, keep him safe. Bye.”
Geena ended the call before they could say their goodbyes. And people say men are bad at talking.
“Back to the hotel?” Andi was done with the energy balls and looked a little more alert.
“Back to the hotel. Tomorrow, we have to report to Chief Savalle and Agent DeCapristo.”
A conversation George was looking forward to as much as getting his toenails yanked out with pliers.
CHAPTER 20
PUZZLE PIECES FALLING INTO PLACE
The night had been restless for Andi. Where other people might have enjoyed a gorgeous, warm summer night with a soft breeze and cicadas serenading the waxing moon, he had tried not to get sucked into the mating frenzy of the mayflies creating the next generation above one of the many rivers surrounding Spartanburg. They had been far enough away for him to manage without George, but now, at seven in the morning, he was as cranky as a badger with a sore nose and not looking forward to meeting the chief and the agent. He and George had briefly entertained the idea of driving home to Charleston for the weekend and thus postponing the—sadly—inevitable meeting to the beginning or maybe, if they were lucky, the end of the following week, which would have given them at least three more days to solidify their findings, if not five, but a short and pointed text from Luke had put an end to this brilliant idea. Now they would be meeting Kaustrowitz at nine and Savalle and DeCapristo at eleven. It was shaping up to be a wonderful Saturday morning.
It only got marginally better when a text message from Shireen confirmed that, yes, Tony Carter, Tamika’s husband, was indeed the man Judge Dunhill and Trevor had beaten up so badly he lost the use of his left hand. The one thread that connected the judge and his buddy with Paradise Home for the Elderly. And that was all they had—threads, wispy thin, floating around like a spider entrusting itself to the wind to find a new place to hunt, the only thing anchoring it to the ground the spider’s thread. Then again, threads tended to form some kind of net sooner or later, even if at the beginning they didn’t seem to be more than a haphazard collection of nothing much.
George came out of the bathroom, looking all healthy and glowing from his shower. He glanced at Andi. “What happened last night?”
Andi decided to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
George rolled his eyes, marched around the bed to Andi’s side, and sat down beside him. He took Andi’s hands in his, rubbing them gently. “You haven’t moved since I got up to shower, the bags under your eyes are big enough to have a slumber party in them, your mood is pricklier than usual, and your hands are ice cold. There are some other tells I won’t elaborate on right now, but I repeat the question. What happened last night?”
Andi briefly closed his eyes. “It wasn’t too bad. Mayflies were mating about a mile from here. There were a lot. Breeding and dying, life and death, so close together.”
Andi felt his partner’s lips on his forehead. It was a brief touch, conveying a love and care Andi had never received before. It scared him more than the geschenk.
“Andi, we’ve talked about this. If it’s bad enough to keep you awake all night, I need to know.”
“You needed your sleep.”
