Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Alexandru
I sit in the library, distracting myself with a favorite book, the pages soft with age. Gregor watches from his usual corner, his nervousness strung tight.
He says nothing—he wouldn’t dare. It is not his place to tell me to feed.
Still, I feel the weight of his silence.
The truth is, I’ve forgotten what real hunger feels like. I haven’t gone a full month without feeding since 1345.
I set aside the book, and once again, I pick up Gregor’s tablet to study the picture of the exploding sparkler wedding.
Somebody went to some trouble to conceal this photo, impersonating Whitney in a message, and then scrubbing it from the internet, as Ms. Renfield termed it.
I finger-swipe to make the glowing screen display the champagne tower photographs. So many of them, so similar.
The front doorbell chimes.
“It is Ms. Renfield,” I say to Gregor. I sense her excitement blazing through the door from where I sit.
Not a minute later, Ms. Renfield rushes in, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed.
“Take a look!” She goes to the long table and sets down a series of photographs.
“We were looking at the content of the photographs when we should have been looking at the quality, the technique. Luckily, Serena is a photography geek.”
Breathlessly, she explains what her boss told her: the way Bo and Manny took the pictures proves that they had to have foreknowledge of the accidents.
I straighten, relishing this new clue as I once relished the first bite of warm bread after three days riding through snow.
“That’s why Bo didn’t show us the really good champagne tower collapse shots,” she says. “I bet those were for his personal pleasure only. But somehow, the insurance company got hold of the full set before he could split them up.”
I nod. “And Bo could not help but show Kip one of his very best ones. It is one of these that Kip saw. His report about their quality was correct.”
“Yes!” Ms. Renfield says excitedly. “And that’s why you picked up on all of that annoyance from Bo! Because he wanted Kip to shut his biker-nacho hole.”
“So... both of them knew the accidents would happen before they happened,” I observe.
Ms. Renfield shows me her electronic ledger. “According to this, every single one of the accident weddings was photographed by either Bo or Manny. Maybe they are a duo.”
A smile touches my lips. “As luck would have it, my dungeon is big enough for both of them. I’ll drain one and keep the other alive for a while. Let’s go.”
“Hold on, though,” she says, ignoring my order, and I experience a startling frisson of delight in spite of my hunger.
“What?” I growl.
“Do you think it was Bo who came at us with the gun? Or Manny?”
“It was neither.”
“Are you sure? It was dark, and maybe your scenting ability was scrambled by your hatred of smelly dryer sheets.”
“The one who came after us was shorter in stature than those two. He weighed a bit more. Perhaps Bo and Manny hired somebody to take the electronic ledger.”
“Why would they want it?” she asks. “What’s the point? Even if they somehow hacked into it, what does it get them?”
“I’ll get it out of one of them easily enough.”
“Right,” she says, hesitant.
“What now?”
“It’s just a big step to kill people or throw them in a murder dungeon.
And aren’t you curious about which one is the ringleader and which is the follower?
I know it seems logical that Bo would be the leader, but Manny is such a cipher in a way, it really could be him.
If you spend any time around the true crime world, you know that it’s the one who keeps to himself and is very quiet that turns out to be the maniac. ”
“What does it matter? Bo and Manny knew the accidents would happen before they happened.” I stand, hunger gnawing at me. “It is time.”
“But what if one is coercing the other? What if Manny has Bo’s beloved dog in a camper van somewhere, and he’s threatening him? And how does Harlan fit into this thing? Maybe Harlan’s compelling them both.”
I close my eyes. “We will put them both in the dungeon. We would get our answers then.”
Ms. Renfield exhales, frustrated. “I’m so sorry. I know this is a liability of mine, but I would love a confession. Or just some certainty.”
I pluck the photos from the table, one after the other. “Let us pay a visit to Bo’s studio. I’ll see that you have your certainty.”