Under the thin ice that separated Shaw’s conscious mind from his subconscious, though, a thought swam in the darkness. Shaw’s pencil moved a little faster. He sketched a Bible, cover open, an onionskin leaf floating as though an invisible hand were turning the page. He sketched the facade of the Iris house. He sketched another traffic light, and then his best imitation of a GPS pin, and then a tree, and then he caught himself drawing the Kayak’s again. He lopped off the top of the building with a few sharp lines from the pencil and made the whole thing uglier, squatter, with cramped windows.

  “Why are you doodling a shoe box?”

  Shaw sniffed. “Why do you smell like cigarettes?”

  “Some kids were out there.”

  “Were they smoking?”

  “That’s kind of the implication.”

  “You didn’t say they were smoking. You just said they were out there.”

  “Some kids were out there smoking.”

  “It smells pretty strong. Were you talking to them? Did you tell them that we don’t like loitering? Did you explain how dangerous cigarettes are?”

  North bent over Shaw, took Shaw’s wrist, and moved his hand away from the sketchpad. The smell of cigarettes was stronger, but it came now with the aromas of cotton that has hung in the sun, sweat, and that smell that was particular to North. The way North’s hand curled around Shaw’s arm, like he was holding a baby bird, made Shaw’s heart thump like mad.

  “Are you doodling penises again?”

  “What?” Shaw jerked his arm away.

  North tapped the GPS pin.

  “No. That’s a—you know. On your phone.”

  “Yes. I know you look at penises on your phone, Shaw. It’s not really a secret.”

  “No, it’s like a map. The pins on a map.”

  North made a noise of disbelief, but all he said was, “You’re back to the Slasher stuff?”

  An automatic denial rose to Shaw’s lips, but he shook his head and said, “What makes you ask that?”

  “The Kayak’s.” One finger tapped the page again, just below the unlettered building.

  Shaw stared at North in disbelief.

  “What?” North asked. His hand moved absently to the pocket on his tee, as though checking for something incriminating. “Why are you staring at me? That’s the Kayak’s Coffee, right? And that’s where you were going the night the Slasher got you and Carl. You told me it seemed like a good place for a first date, and I said, it’s a good place to start a first date, but you definitely shouldn’t end your first date there. And you told me that just because I screwed everything that wasn’t nailed down, you didn’t have to do the same.” North waved a hand. “Are you having a stroke?”

  “I was going to Kayak’s.”

  “What’s going on? You honestly didn’t remember that? I thought—but we’ve talked about that night, right? I mean, we had to have talked about where you were going.”

  Shaw barely heard him. One part of his brain felt like the gears had jammed, and they just kept turning in tiny increments and then winding back: Kayak’s Coffee, over and over again. He had taken Carl to Kayak’s Coffee. Or he had been trying to. Why? Because Shaw had hoped he could reset everything? Because it seemed like a good place to start? Because it had been somewhere that he had gone with North and because—

  “Everybody has patterns,” Shaw said.

  “Ok. You’re definitely having a stroke.”

  “No, no. Listen. Everybody has patterns. Habits. Things that make life easier because we don’t have to decide everything; if we follow a routine or a pattern, a lot of things are already decided, and then our brains can do other things.”

  “Like look at penises on your phone.”

  “We know people have patterns; we basically build our business on patterns. So why haven’t we been talking about Shep Collins and his patterns?”

  “Because we got dragged sideways by Pari. Otherwise, we would have followed our usual procedure. But people break their patterns sometimes. Shep broke his patterns.”

  “He broke one pattern. Maybe he just fell into another.”

  “If you’re trying to distract me from whatever you’re working on with the Slasher, it’s not going to work.”

  “You and Tuck go out to dinner on Fridays.”

  “Tuck and I don’t do anything on Fridays anymore.”

  “But you did. That was a big thing for you: if you weren’t working a case, you guys went out. Usually a nice dinner, and then drinks somewhere with your friends.”

  “With Tucker’s friends.”

  “But it was a pattern, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “But you have another pattern.”

  North’s forehead wrinkled, and amusement glinted in his eyes. “Is this the pattern of patience and forbearance I show your weird ass?”

  “Well, I noticed that at the end of June, you guys changed up your pattern. Well, more specifically, you changed up your pattern.”

  “Shaw, are you telling me that you followed me?”

  “No, I’m telling you that you and Tucker were both watching something on my Netflix account, so it blocked me, and that’s how I knew you were both home.”

  “Maybe someone else was watching something.”

  “No. You two are the only ones who steal my account.”

  “Maybe you left something streaming on your phone or tablet.”

  “I didn’t. And then I checked the viewing activity on Netflix, and I saw that someone had binged all thirteen episodes of Fate/EXTRA, which had just premiered on Netflix, and I remembered how much you loved anime, so I went back, and I saw that every couple of months, you didn’t go out to dinner on Friday nights. Instead, you stayed home and powered through fourteen or fifteen episodes of whatever show had most recently come out, and—” When the look on North’s face registered, Shaw stammered, “Anyway, I just thought, you know, patterns.”

  “Patterns.” North’s fingers were pressing on the page with so much force that the paper looked ready to split under the tension. A hairline fissure showed at the edge of the paper, widening slowly as North continued to bear down on it.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I didn’t feel well that night.”

  “Oh.”

  “I fell asleep watching TV. I must have rolled over. Bumped the remote. Started something playing that I never intended to watch.”

  “No, that’s not possible because Netflix will only autoplay so many episodes before it stops and checks that you’re still really watching, and—”

  North barely moved. Just his fingers. But a long rip opened down the center of the page.

  “—and, um, you know what,” Shaw said. “I think you’re right. I think that’s what must have happened.”

  “It is what happened. I’m telling you that’s what happened. That’s how you know. Because I’m telling you.”

  “Right. Of course. So, I just thought Shep has patterns, and we would have followed up on those patterns if a dead body hadn’t shown up in the trunk of Chuck’s car and gotten us off track.”

  North gave a slow nod. “You work on Shep. I’ve got my teeth into something, and I want to keep going.”

  “Isn’t that what you said the first time you gave head? And Nick Navarra kept begging you to stop because you cut him up so bad?”

  Color tinged North’s cheekbones. “Nick enjoyed himself just fine.”

  “Sure, but then he had to get stitches, and that skin graft.”

  “He didn’t need a fucking skin graft.”

  “I just think it’s really great that you didn’t give up. I’m really proud of you. Another guy might have gotten worried when he almost chewed off the first dick he tried to suck.”

  “Keep it up. Keep it the fuck up.”

  “But not you. You’ve got grit. You didn’t give up, no matter how much Nick begged.”

  “Shaw, I swear to Christ, you had better let this go.”

  “That’s exactly what Nick said!”

  “Fine.” North moved to his desk and dropped into his chair. “Fuck. You.”

  The first thing Shaw did—after dodging the pen that North flicked at his head—was call Mike. But Mike didn’t answer. So Shaw thought about it again, taking it from a different angle, and then he called Teddi.

  Teddi answered on the second ring, breathless. “Oh my God, please tell me you have some answers.”

  “That’s what I was going to say to you.”

  “What? Shaw, what are you talking about? I don’t have time for your games today. I’m dying over here. I’m absolutely dying.”

  “You sound upset.”

  “Shaw, tell me you’ve figured it out. Tell me you’ve used that big, beautiful brain to find out who did this to me.”

  Covering the phone with one hand, Shaw whispered, “What’s Teddi talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Nick Navarra.”

  “That’s not very mature—” But then North flicked another pen, and Shaw was too busy dodging to finish.

  “Shaw?” Teddi said. “Shaw, I have to know.”

  “We’re still working on it,” Shaw said; it was the best noncommittal answer he had.

  “Well, did he send the invitation at least?”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. I think North got one. North, did you get—”

  North gave him the finger.

  “Yes, he got one.”

  “That brunch is tomorrow, Shaw. You can’t miss it. I have to know how this happened.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Shaw said, and then he rushed ahead because he was running out of generic reassurances. “Teddi, I don’t have much time, and I need your help with something. Shep Collins. Who was he dating?”

  “The one from Iris? He wasn’t dating anyone. He was married. Michael, I think. Or Miguel—is he Latin? I’m not sure.”

  “No, that’s his husband. But we’ve heard that Shep was sleeping around, and—”

  “This is the murder,” Teddi said, drawing the word out with ghoulish fascination. “Oh, blessed Madonna of the Gollum Arms, you think someone he was sleeping with killed him. Shaw, do you know how many people would just die for this kind of story to tell at brunch? Do you have any idea? And I’m sitting here with a goldmine and nobody will even darken my door.”

  “I need names, Teddi. Do you have any idea?”

  “Of course not. I never had anything to do with that odious man. He was very good to the kids, I understand, but he was horrible to have over for a meal. I tried it once. Everything is an issue.” Teddi pronounced the word with distaste. “Everything is so grim and serious. I couldn’t do it again; poor Marie was so distressed that she couldn’t sleep for a week.”

  “Teddi.”

  “I’ll call you back, darling. But don’t forget about me. You have a job to do, remember?”

  When the call disconnected, Shaw tried Mike again; still no answer. Then, to North, he asked, “What’s this about a job for Teddi?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Nick Navarra?”

  “I’m sorry I—”

  This time, the pen caught Shaw right in the mouth, clicking off his teeth.

  Shaw decided on discretion this time. He called Grace Augusta. She agreed to meet with them that afternoon. As soon as Shaw disconnected, his phone vibrated, and a series of texts came through. They were from Teddi’s number, and each message included only a first name and a number. Shaw sent a quick thank you back, and then he dialed the first number.

  It rang eight times before voicemail; the message was simply a repetition of the phone number in a polite, artificial voice. Shaw disconnected and dialed again.

  It rang seven times before a man answered. “Jesus Christ. What time is it?”

  “Ten after eleven,” Shaw said, checking the clock.

  “Jesus Christ,” the man said. “I was sleeping.”

  “Is this Johnny?”

  “I’ve got to work tonight, man. I’m never getting back to sleep now.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you. I’m a friend of Shep’s, and I got your number from his phone and—”

  “Jesus Christ.” Across the line came the sounds of scrambling movement. “Is this Mike? I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me, ok? First he told me he was single, and then Robbs told me he was still married, and when I threw that in his face, he said you guys were splitting. I didn’t know, man.”

  “This isn’t Mike,” Shaw said. “It’s just a friend. I’m just trying to track down Shep.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ. Oh Jesus Christ. Are you a cop? You’re a cop, aren’t you? Look, man, I didn’t know. I didn’t know he had a husband. I didn’t know anything. It was just, I don’t know, weed. And a little coke. I mean, it wasn’t anything, ok? And I just—”

  Shaw knew what he could do: what he always did. He could ask questions. He could try to understand. He could give the guy time and space to talk, and he knew, from how rattled the guy was, that the guy would start talking eventually. But it was a matter of time. And Shaw thought back to last night, to the way Jadon had said so completely idiotic came back to Shaw, and all the times North had laughed at Shaw, and the way Matty had Shaw wrapped around his finger, and suddenly, just like that, Shaw was sick of being Shaw. He wanted to be somebody else for a while. Somebody who wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

  “Listen to me, you little shit. I don’t care if it was barely enough coke to make your grandma’s titties hard. I don’t care if you knew Shep Collins had a husband and you fucked them both. I don’t care if you’ve got work tonight. If you don’t shut up and answer my fucking questions, I will drive over to you right now and fuck you up so bad that spending the next ten years in prison will seem like a motherfucking trip to Disneyland. Do you understand me?”

  Broken crying came over the phone.

  North looked up, forehead furrowed.

  Shaw shrugged.

  “Yeah, man. Yeah, I understand.”

  It was hard to understand him through the crying, but Shaw got the information he wanted: name, address, occupation—he was a WashU junior, and the fact that he was still just a kid made Shaw feel a little bad. Then he asked about Thursday night. And then he asked one other question.

  When Shaw disconnected, North was still staring at him, his brow still wrinkled.

  “What?” Shaw said.

  “You went straight to the nuclear option.”

  “He was getting hysterical.”

  “‘I don’t care if it’s enough coke to make your grandma’s titties hard.’”

  “Like I said: hysterical.”

  “Are you on some kind of power trip?”

  “Come on.”

  “Are you broken? Did Jadon break your mind somehow with that big fight you guys had?”

  Shaw laughed. “It was just to make him talk.”

  North didn’t laugh. He just studied Shaw until Shaw dialed and made the next call.

  Number after number, Shaw spoke to young men. At first he felt like he was having some kind of lucky spell. Then he realized that it wasn’t coincidence that he was able to reach the men; they all carried their phones with them, and the chances of them being in a classroom on Wednesday right before lunch were low. Seven boys between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. All seven undergrads at WashU. The youngest had graduated high school in May and was doing a summer early admissions program; his voice cracked when Shaw started in on him.

  “Very butch,” North said, not glancing up from his phone this time. “The way you made the last one sound like he was being kicked back into puberty. Very macho.”

  “I was asking them questions, North. I wasn’t taking their lunch money.”

  “I think it’s great.”

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I like this tough side. I like this Shaw that won’t take any shit. The other Shaw, the one who would talk to those guys, get to know them, figure out what they needed, help them and still manage to get the information he needed, he was all right. But this new one, the one that takes no shit, he’s pretty great. Pretty badass. Pretty butch. I bet Jadon would be really proud of this new Shaw. Jadon would be so happy at how you handled those kids. Jadon would really like it, this new, butch touch.”

  Shaw shifted in his seat, drawing his knees up to his chest and glancing over the notes he had written. “You already said butch. A couple of times. Anyway, do you want to hear what I heard?”

  “Are you going to yell at me if I don’t?” North swiveled in the chair, still not looking up. “Are you going to force me to listen to you?”

  “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

  With a grunt, North tossed his phone on the desk and looked up. Something chased itself behind those ice-rim eyes, but Shaw couldn’t figure out what it was. “Well?”

  “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about your feelings like a grown-up, we can work on the case.”

  It looked like North might say something else; his jaw tightened for a moment. But all he said was, “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine. Shaw. I said it’s fucking fine. So tell me what the fuck you found out.”

  “None of them will admit to being with Shep on Thursday. Four of them have alibis that sound solid; we can check them out.”

  “They’re not lying.”

  “I don’t think so either, but it won’t hurt to check.”

  North shrugged. “What about their first dates?”

  “Two of them, Shep hooked up with at house parties. I figure that’s its own kind of pattern; they said they never really went out. They’d just text and get together to mess around.”

  “And the other five?”

  “Four of them said they met up at various gay bars for drinks and then went home together.”

  “To the kid’s place.”

  “Exclusively.”

  “And the fifth one.”

  “That was the freshman. The one you said I kicked back into puberty.”