“Yes,” he says. “I ask about Petra because I am curious. Very curious. I have, until now, dismissed her. She does not annoy me. She does not interest me. Therefore I have paid her little mind. But her arrest tells me there is more to Petra than meets the eye. She is not what she seems.”
“No one here is, Mathias.”
“Mmm, no one here is who they say they are. But most are who they seem. There is a difference. I prefer those, like you or William or Eric or Isabel, who do not claim to be anything at all. Isabel says, ‘I was a therapist’ and no more. Her entire past is summed up—like yours—in an occupation. You both allow yourselves to be judged instead on what you do here. Others make up an elaborate backstory and then attempt to fulfill it. Petra does neither. She was an artist, yes?”
“Comic-book artist.”
“Do you think she really was?”
“Back to idle curiosity.…”
“No, I’m posing questions that you’re already asking yourself. I am proposing, Casey, that you indulge my curiosity by using me to solve the problem that is Petra. I will investigate her for you.”
I glower at him. “Don’t pretend you’d do that for me. You’re bored, and I don’t want you taking on Petra for a project. Not yet. As for socializing Raoul…”
I tell Storm to stay. Then I march over and take the cub from him. I cuddle Raoul for a moment. He knows me—I was his nurse and keeper when he first arrived. He wriggles and licks at my hands. As I pet him, I ease closer to Storm. Raoul notices and tenses, but he’s too busy accepting my attention to pay much mind. When I’m a few feet away, I kneel, saying, “Stay, Storm.”
She whines but does as she’s told. I take a strip of dried meat from my pocket. I break it in half, and then give Raoul one piece and Storm the other. While he’s chewing, I creep closer to Storm. I extend my hand, and she snuffles it. Then I pet her and let the cub smell my hand afterward. As he does, he peeks out at her while I hold him tight, reassuring him he’s safe.
Then I rise, hefting him, walk to Mathias and hand him back.
“He was curious,” he says. “He would have gotten closer.”
“I know. Always leave them wanting more. Step one accomplished. Now Storm and I have rounds to make.”
“Do you still want my lead?”
I look up at him. “You actually have one?”
“I may misdirect, but I do not lie. Not to you. I would suggest you take a closer look at Sebastian.”
Sebastian is that newest and youngest resident who popped out when Garcia began knocking on doors. He hasn’t had any contact with us—either by committing crimes or by being quick to volunteer his help solving them. He works as general labor, so I don’t encounter him in the shops. Nor do our social sets overlap. He belongs in the fifty percent of Rockton’s population who come and go, and never leave a mark, and considering they’re here to hide, I can’t blame them for lying low.
“What about him?” I ask.
“I do not like him.”
I roll my eyes as I walk back to Storm. “Really, Mathias? You don’t like ninety-five percent of the people here.”
“Not true. I have no interest in ninety-five percent. They are leaves passing on the breeze, making no sound as they go, not attracting my attention in any way. There are actually only … five people I dislike. No, make that four. Valerie is deceased.”
“So what does it take to incur your dislike?”
“Attracting my attention in an actively negative manner. For example, my neighbor Ronald. He has sex. It is loud, and it is bad. One of those things would be acceptable. Both is very annoying in a neighbor. It is like listening to an amateur sex tape every weekend. I have considered ways to rid myself of Ronald.”
“Note to self: if Ron goes missing, arrest Mathias.”
“I would not kill him. That is wrong and unjustified. I simply mean getting rid of him as my neighbor.”
I rock my weight onto one hip. “Mathias, is there a point—?”
“There are others that I dislike because, in them, I see traits that remind me of my former patients.”
“The sociopaths and psychopath patients? Here’s a thought—if you notice that, maybe you should tell me.”
“I am. Sebastian Usher is a sociopath.”
When I start to sputter, he says, “Possessing some degree of sociopathy does not mean one is a dangerous killer. I myself score uncomfortably high on the scale.”