She waved tiredly from her perch on the ‘work’ bed. “Detective Donovan and I weren’t sure if it’s safe for me to leave, so we decided to work on the case.”
“Oh. So, hell did freeze over. Never thought I’d see the day.”
DeCapristo grimaced. “I apologize for being a bitch. Are you happy now?”
Andi blinked slowly. “You apologize for being a bitch. Not for having been a bitch?”
The agent grinned. “You caught that, hmm? Maybe you are as good as my boss claimed.”
“I can assure you I’m better. When my head isn’t killing me.” Andi winced and closed his eyes for a moment. George checked his watch.
“You can take another dose if you want.”
“Yeah, please. That was intense.”
George dug out another bottle of Tylenol, which Andi immediately swallowed, followed by some huge gulps from the water bottle.
“Better?” George took the towel from Andi’s head.
“Marginally. Give me another fifteen minutes. Now, what were you two up to?”
“We were going over the case, comparing notes.”
“Like team players?” Andi questioned.
“Like good little team players,” DeCapristo affirmed.
“And did your team playing yield any new insights?”
“Unfortunately not.” George sighed. “The only thing we can definitely say is that after the attack earlier today, we’re heading somewhere. I don’t know where, but the killer obviously thinks we’re getting closer.”
Andi leaned back against the headrest of the bed, taking the towel from George’s hands and draping it over his head again. This told George his lover was far from better and also that he wouldn’t get back to resting.
“The wasps were there for DeCapristo.” The statement sounded a bit muffled through the fabric of the towel.
“For me? Why? Before Detective Donovan and I started comparing notes today, I was nowhere near as close to solving this case as you, and don’t take this personally, but it doesn’t seem you’re that far into it either. Farther than me, admittedly, but not far enough.”
“You’re right.” Andi made a wincing sound. “Damn, my head hurts.” George put his hand on the back of his lover’s neck and started massaging it softly. Andi groaned. “They were there for you—of which I’m as reasonably sure as is possible under the circumstances—because I think that maybe we’ve been looking at this case wrong.”
“What do you mean, wrong?” George had found a particularly hard knot on the left side of Andi’s spine and was slowly working it.
“Think about it. DeCapristo was sent here because of the judge.”
“Yeah, because he and his charming buddy were the only reason I could be sent.”
“Exactly. And that’s why we were fixating on them, weren’t we? And then George and I found out about Suzie and Isabelle, and then we were fixated on finding the connection between all the victims, which, under most circumstances, would have led us on the right path, because a connection means a possible motive and a motive means getting an inkling who the killer might be.”
“Yeees.” DeCapristo was eyeing Andi wearily.
George had a vague feeling he knew where Andi was going but was content to let his partner work through it because it kept slipping through his fingers.
“You found out that all of the victims were somehow connected to Paradise Home, which was great work, by the way.” DeCapristo sounded genuine, which surprised George more than he thought it should.
“Yes. And then we kind of hit a wall because we were trying to find said motive, and while there were plenty of motives for killing Dunhill and Asten, we initially couldn’t find any for Isabelle and Suzie, and the ones we found for Jagger didn’t really fit with those for the judge.”
“That’s true. What are you hinting at, Detective Hayes?”
Andi lifted the towel. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was pale enough to become one with the wall behind him. “That we were looking for the wrong motive. Or, more precisely, the wrong connection.”
