“And Sheldon Lachs?”
The flaring ceased as he replied mildly: “Sheldon Lachs, oh what a righteous tzaddik. He sincerely believed that he could save me. He liked to call me into his room and ask me how I am, then read me cornball quotes from religious sources and mumbo jumbo from psychological sources, like he could do something about my rage, put an end to my deviant desires, and make me not me. If Spiller might swat a fly, Sheldon couldn’t kill a fly, let alone Ori. If you’re in any way a smart detective, and I’m guessing you might already have spoken to Sheldon, why would he? What, Mr. Joel Watson or whatever your last name is, would be his motive?”
Michael’s words stung, but I refused to be provoked. “And Joshua Cushman?”
Michael’s face hardened and then went deadpan, emotionless. “Y
