DeCapristo grimaced. “You mean the murders had nothing to do with what the judge and his buddy did? Or Jagger Thomasin?”
“Oh, on the contrary, I think it had to do with very specific things they did, and they paid the price for their wrongdoings. We just didn’t see this from the right perspective. We looked at this from a blob point of view when really, we should have been looking at this from another angle altogether.”
“Blob?” DeCapristo looked at George.
“That’s Andi’s description of humans seen through the senses of arthropods. We’re just blobs. Or a source of nourishment.”
“Thank you, I didn’t need to hear that.” The agent shuddered.
“That different angle—it has to do with how they died, am I right?” George was almost sure he had it.
“Yes. They died because they were a nuisance. Like a landscaper disturbing a beehive. Or a group of contractors demolishing a house with a nest of hornets. The point is, it doesn’t matter what the nuisance is, if it’s big or small, if it’s justifiable or just perceived—the outcome is the same.”
“Somebody dies.” DeCapristo nodded. “You’re saying Judge Dunhill and Trevor Asten didn’t necessarily die because of something they did in the past?”
“Not necessarily, but still highly likely. We’re looking for somebody who, metaphorically speaking, reacts to the slightest disturbance of the nest, be it from a car driving by or from children throwing stones at it, but probably not always immediately, given how they kill. Whoever is doing this does put some thought into it and is not limited to the imminent stimulus. It also takes time to rouse arthropods, and from what I’ve gathered, the murders were premeditated. We went through everything Albert and Trevor did during their vacation, looked at every interaction they had, and there’s nothing tying them to the other murders, except Tamika’s husband, who they assaulted many years ago.”
“Which brings us back to Paradise Home,” George concluded. “The connection we established before.” He had a look of concern because things made sense but didn’t add up.
“And also, as much as I hate to say this, to Rosalie. She’s the daughter of the man they crippled.” DeCapristo didn’t look as if she particularly hated maybe being right.
Andi shook his head. “Not Rosalie.”
“Why are you so sure it wasn’t Rosalie avenging her father and ridding herself of a man who abused her?” DeCapristo challenged.
“First of all, she’s not the type. Just look at her life. She’s the daughter of a once-successful lawyer, and yet she works two jobs and doesn’t have a higher education as far as we could find out. Not that she’d need a degree to kill these people but still. This is a woman who has been beaten down one time too many to get back up. Second, she’s still sane and not just a soulless husk. She was at work when Thomasin was killed and at home when the judge and Asten met their end. That’s too far away to direct the arthropods to kill.”
“What if she handles it better than you?” George was thinking fast. “We know that women have fewer gene mutations because of the two X genes. Perhaps that helps with control and mental resilience?”
“Could be. Though my oma never seemed to have the geschenk under such tight control.”
“Wait, your grandmother was like you?” she asked.
“You understand German?” Andi’s surprise was obvious.
“I wouldn’t say I understand it. I learned it for four years in school and single words like oma stuck. Back to the topic, your oma was like that?” The agent gestured at Andi.
“Yeah. It runs in my family.”
“And you can’t sense when somebody else has it?”
George had to give it to DeCapristo. She certainly knew how to ask the right questions.
Andi put the towel down. The washcloth slowly slid down his left side and landed on the blue duvet. “No. I don’t think so. Back when I lived with my oma, I was still young, so it could be that I simply didn’t realize it because I already knew she was like me. Plus, she was the nastiest, meanest human being I’ve ever met. I tried to stay away from her as much as possible.” He closed his eyes. “No. There was nothing. I’d say the geschenk is not something that can be detected in others.”
“Damn.” DeCapristo sighed. “That would have been so neat.” She glanced over the flip chart sheets on the work bed.
“Well, it can’t be Tamika. She has Alzheimer’s.”
“She also doesn’t ride the bus.” George tapped the side of his nose. “It has to be somebody at Paradise Home.” He sighed. “We’ve been at this point.”
His partner sighed and put the towel back over his face. “Yes, and I wish we’d focused more on it.”
“Uhm, could you please let me in on your thought process here? Since you’re denying me my suspect—again.” DeCapristo had now gotten up from her side of the bed. George scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Andi is implying that the murderer doesn’t necessarily have to have a traceable connection to each victim. Perhaps Jagger didn’t die for his many crimes but because he skipped somebody in line at a coffee shop. And if Andi’s right, then Paradise Home could be the slim connection it is, or it could just be a coincidence. Somebody who visits there, perhaps a person who has nothing to do with the entire case.”
“A complete unknown? Coincidence?” DeCapristo scoffed. “Please, you know that’s…” She hesitated, clearly looking for a polite way of phrasing things before she lifted her hands and said, “That’s unlikely.”
