Chapter 22
Frode stared at the discolored rug laid out on the table. When he'd done this over at homicide, Elmore had kept the rug rolled up and mostly wrapped in plastic.
"Eh..." He looked at Hjalmar. "If I throw up, it'll go all over it."
Hjalmar frowned. "Yeah, this won't work." He turned to Dubose. "Could you roll it up and remove it as soon as he's touched it?"
She dipped her head once, snatched a pair of nitrile gloves from a shelf along the wall of the room.
"Have you worked on the rugs?" Frode looked at her, nerves churning in his gut. What if he knocked himself out?
"Saylor did the analysis of them."
"But you've looked at them?"
A small crease formed between her brows. "I wouldn't say I've looked."
"Glanced?"
Her expression softened a fraction. "Sure. I've seen them both here and at the crime scenes."
"Would you say this one is the one in best shape?"
Her gaze dropped to the rug. "Saylor would know best, he looked at fibers and so on."
"Okay, but from your glances, what's your guess?"
"Case number three, but I haven't inspected any of the rugs closely."
Case number three wasn't this one. Frode shot Hjalmar a look. Should he have checked case number three instead?
"Okay." He blew out a breath, patted down his pockets until he found a box of raisins, ate two, and looked around the room. "Something to throw up into?"
Dubose stopped mid-rolling of the rug. "You'll throw up?"
"If I'm lucky. If I'm unlucky, you'll have to call an ambulance and have me shipped off to ICU."
She stared. "Are you sure you should do this?"
"Not at all, but I have to."
Hjalmar found a trashcan and placed it next to Frode, then he moved to stand behind him. He'd done this before.
"Ready?" Frode tilted his head back and looked up at him.
His expression was grim, but he nodded.
Frode bit into the tip of the glove's forefinger and pulled it off. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the edge of the rolled-up rug.
Dubose face took over his vision, then Saylor's, then the dark-haired man who also was part of the forensic team, then Saylor again, Dubose, Saylor, the ME guy, Saylor, then the man--Nathaniel Altman--then the victim.
After her a woman in her fifties, maybe closer to sixties, followed, then a toddler, a girl of about six.
Then face after face followed until he was drowning.
They kept coming. One face, then another, then another.
He struggled to breathe. It didn't stop, and fear grew icicles in his soul.
A roar built in his ears, his head about to explode, nausea grabbing hold of his gut, and yet the faces kept coming.
* * * *
Nikolai was leaning against the door frame. He had to give it to Isaac. He wasn't sure he'd be able to come up with as many questions about trace evidence and DNA gathering from a rug. He did a good job.
Saylor was gritting his teeth, but Isaac kept going as if he didn't notice Saylor being about to explode. Nikolai had a sinking feeling they would be waiting for every single report in the future. Hopefully, Hjalmar was buttering up Dubose, so they had one person in their camp.
A minute later, footsteps came closer, and Nikolai looked out into the corridor. Hjalmar was pale, his face set in harsh lines.
"How is he?"
Isaac's questions came to a stop, and Saylor stood from his chair behind his desk.
"He passed out for a couple of minutes but is awake now."
Nikolai cursed.
"He needs food and sleep."
"Yeah, let's go." He looked back into the room at Saylor. "Thank you for your help."
"But--"
Nikolai walked away before he could say anything else. He kept pace with Hjalmar's hurried steps and walked into a room smelling of vomit and antiseptics. Dubose was there, but the rug was gone.
He met her gaze and nodded. "Thank you."
"Sure. Though I'm not certain I want to be a part of this again." She shuddered. "I've never seen a psychic do their thing, but...yeah, not what I expected."
Maybe they should've allowed Saylor to see; it might have cured his kink, but Frode didn't want him there. He doubted he was ever more vulnerable than when he was reading something. Having someone perv on you in that moment wouldn't be great.
Frode was seated in a chair, his arms and head resting on the table. Pale, with his eyes closed, and facial muscles tense as if he was in pain.
"Honey." Nikolai slid a hand over his back.
Hjalmar made a sound, but Nikolai ignored him. Frode cracked one eye open.
"Hi, there. Are you able to stand?"
Frode grimaced and reached for his tiny red box of raisins. He tipped the last four out on the table and ate them one by one. Nikolai noted he had his gloves on, which was good.
He heaved a sigh and looked at Nikolai but didn't speak.
"Hjalmar says food and rest, so we should get going before you drop off."
Frode groaned but held a hand out. Nikolai grabbed it and pulled it gently. He swayed, and Nikolai wrapped his other arm around his waist. "Are you able to walk out of here?"
Hjalmar was watching them without saying a word.
Frode closed his eyes and leaned into him, giving Nikolai most of his weight. He didn't think carrying him would be doable, not unless he did so in a fireman's carry, and it was most likely not what Frode needed right now.
Slowly, they made their way toward the door, Frode with his face tucked against Nikolai's throat. It was fine. Slow going, but fine.
Saylor was out in the corridor, glaring. They slow-shuffled past him without a word, and Isaac joined them.
The corridor was longer than Nikolai remembered it to be. He could sense the trembles going through Frode, and at times, tiny little whimpers escaped him. Was this normal? He sent Hjalmar a questioning look and got a nod in reply, so maybe it was.
They reached the door and the cool April air washed over them. "What kind of food do you want?"
"I'm out of raisins." The words were slurred, and Nikolai shot Hjalmar another look. How would they know if there was brain damage?
"I can get you more raisins, but food. You need to eat. What are you in the mood for?"
Frode shook his head.
"Salty and greasy normally does it." Hjalmar's tone was solemn. "Want me to take you home, Frode?"
No reply.
"Don't you have to go back to work?" Nikolai waited while Hjalmar unlocked his car. They'd all traveled together.
"I should. Givens isn't pleased with me."
"You're in the wrong department."
Hjalmar gave him a quick grin. "Maybe."
Oh? He'd believed Hjalmar enjoyed his job. "I can look after him." He didn't think Medlin would be too upset. "I can bring him back with me."
"He'll pass out. It's not a nap. He'll be out for hours, and it'll be near impossible to wake him."
"We can put him in the conference room. There is a couch along the wall, and we'll be nearby working." Isaac looked at Hjalmar for approval. When he got a nod, he smiled. "Will he throw up?"
"Nah, he usually doesn't once he's gotten this far." Then Hjalmar grimaced, and Nikolai remembered how Frode had rushed to the bathroom when he'd woken last time. He'd place a bucket near the couch.
They got into the car, and Hjalmar took them to a drive-through where he got fries and a burger for Frode.
* * * *
Frode blinked his eyes open then closed them again. There were a table and chairs in front of him--not his table and not his chairs. He listened to a low murmur of voices. There was someone in the room, more than one.
He opened his eyes again and squinted. He was spread out on a couch, and Nikolai and Elmore were both seated at the end of the table, shuffling through papers, reading, and making notes.
He closed his eyes again and took stock of himself. His head was throbbing, his throat was a little sore, and his limbs were filled with lead.
Looking over at Nikolai again, he tried to get a grasp of how much time had passed.
He remembered eating fries in Hjalmar's car, but he couldn't remember getting here.
They couldn't have carried him, could they?
Nah, he'd most likely been functioning. He shivered and wished he was at home so he could crawl into bed.
"Hey." Nikolai spoke softly, but despite looking at him, it took Frode a moment to realize he was talking to him.
He gave him a small nod, not ready to try his voice yet.
Nikolai got up from his chair and walked over. "How are you feeling?" He crouched in front of the couch and placed a hand on Frode's shoulder.
"Dead." It wasn't more than a whisper, but Nikolai winced, so he must've heard him.
"Yeah? Can I get you anything?"
Frode closed his eyes and blew out a breath. He didn't have the energy to move.
"Water? I got you raisins."
"You did?" Frode looked at him. "When?"
"I ran down to the corner store once you were asleep." He grabbed a bag of raisins from the small table next to the couch.
"A bag?" Was it rude to whine when someone was being kind?
"They didn't have the little boxes."
"What? What kind of store doesn't have the little boxes?" Everyone knew raisins were supposed to come in little red boxes.
Nikolai smiled at him. "Do you have your box? I can fill it up, and you can pretend it's a new box."
Frode scrunched his nose. "It's not the same."
When Elmore snorted, Frode remembered they had an audience. Shit.
"It's okay. I'll live. Thank you." He grabbed the bag from Nikolai and pulled himself up, so he was leaning against the armrest. Then he opened the bag and ate a few raisins. They were soft and sweet and exactly what he needed.
"The mechanic didn't touch the rug."
Nikolai rubbed a hand over his mouth; a five o'clock shadow had appeared while Frode had been napping. How long had he been out?
"Did you learn anything?"
"A lot of faces. More than on the first one, so I'm not sure we should trust Saylor in the future. Though I never asked him if he believed more or less people had touched this rug compared to the first one, so maybe he's not to blame."
Nikolai studied him for several long seconds. "Are you up for talking about it?"
Frode ate some more raisins and considered it. He hadn't learned much, so there wasn't much to talk about. "Yeah, we can talk about it." Then he'd head home and sleep some more. A long hot shower, then crawling into bed.
"Want to come sit by the table?"
"Ugh, you meant talking about it official-like? Can't I talk from here?"
Elmore tutted, but got up, grabbed a notepad and a pen, then dragged a chair over.
Nikolai sighed but snagged a chair for himself too.
Frode sat up straighter. His head swam a little, and when he noted a water bottle next to where Nikolai had placed the bag of raisins, he realized how thirsty he was.
"For me?" He gestured at the bottle, and Nikolai nodded.
He took several deep gulps of water, then focused on Nikolai and Elmore. "What do you want to know?"
"You wanted to touch it because something about the order of the touches of the first rug was bothering you." Nikolai waited, and Frode wasn't sure if he'd meant it as a question or not.
"Yeah."
"So...Does the order feel right?"
Frode considered it with a frown. How was he feeling about it? He wasn't alert enough to analyze it. "Maybe we should do this tomorrow. My mind is a bit sluggish."
"We can talk about it tomorrow, but what can you tell us about the order?"
"Dubose was first, which makes sense since I asked her to move the rug before I touched it.
Then there was Saylor, which also makes sense, since he was the one working on it.
Then the dark-haired guy who also works there, then Saylor, Dubose, Saylor--" He closed his eyes as the faces swam before him.
"Then the ME, the guy, Saylor, then Altman, the victim, Altman, a woman with gray streaks in her hair, a toddler, a young girl, then the woman again, then someone I'd guess is her daughter.
They look alike, but she's maybe twenty years younger, then the toddler again--"
"Okay." Nikolai touched his arm. "You think Altman got the rug from the gray-haired woman?"
Frode shrugged. "She's the last one to touch it before him."
"Right. And you didn't see Sam Neace, the mechanic?"
"No, he didn't touch this one."
"So he's not an accomplice."
Frode shook his head. "No."
"But you still think there might be an accomplice?" Elmore frowned at him.
Pursing his lips, Frode considered it. "Something doesn't add up." He waited for Nikolai to sigh, but he didn't. He watched Frode with narrowed eyes.
"Maybe sleep on it, and tomorrow you can--"
"I need to touch rug three."
"What? No!"
Frode held up a hand. "Not today. I can't do it today, but I have to do it. Dubose said she believed it was the least worn one, but it wasn't what Saylor told us."
"When did she say that?" Nikolai didn't sound happy.
"I asked her before I touched the rug. She said Saylor is the one who's checked the rugs, so he knows more about fibers and shit, but at a glance, she said rug number three looked to be in the best shape."
"Can she tell without having studied it underneath a microscope?" Elmore looked confused.
Frode shrugged. "She didn't want to say at first, but I pushed."
"Why?" Nikolai's eyes scanned his face.
"I don't know. I wanted her opinion."
"Because?"
He kept quiet.
"A feeling?" Nikolai raised his eyebrows.
Had it been? "Yes, a feeling."
"A feeling Saylor wasn't telling you the truth about the rugs?"
Was it what he was feeling? "Maybe."
* * * *