Chapter 4: Numerology
The wait was the worst—Simon could forget all about it during busy moments, however brief they were, but the sitting around, waiting for autopsy reports, information, any result that would give them a lead, tugged at his sanity. The Rules dominated him in such periods. The Rules took many forms and shapes. They were, however similar, never the same. This time, the Rules made him count. His steps to the office, his taps on his phone, the number of brush strokes when he polished his shoes, and, once, the words Stackpoole spoke.
Two. Twelve. Forty-nine. Thirty-six. Seven.
He had to keep counting, walking, tapping, talking, brushing, clicking—until he had reached one or a multiple of those numbers. He didn’t even ask why, it lacked logic and reason. Sometimes he though
