Page 68 of Seth

“What did he burn?”

“That’s the most interesting question.” The complacent voice with the ringing smile in it suggested Diego already knew the answer.

The last file attached appeared to be the image of a burned photograph. Only the left bottom corner of what looked like an old portrait had survived the flames, but Gustavo instantly recognized the uniform of the burned-down summer camp. “What the hell?”

“Are you missing anything?” Diego purred, voice dripping with self-importance.

“Do you know which one?”

“I’ll tell you if you admit I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you in your life,” Diego crooned.

“Do you really want me to tell you such a vicious lie?” Gustavo snorted.

“Okay, you obviously don’t want my help. I’m hanging up…”

“Wait-wait-wait…” Gustavo couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Fine. Diego, you are a shitty friend, a degenerate gambler, a self-seeker, but unfortunately, I can’t deny your usefulness, or I would have put you down long ago.”

“Fuck you!” A squeal of indignation coming from the speakers had Gustavo cackling as he imagined Diego’s handsome face twist with a put-on insult.

“Come on, now tell me.”

“You don’t deserve my help and friendship, but I’m in a generous mood. His name was Brian Schütz.”

Gustavo strained his memory, but only a distant fog stirred at the corner of his consciousness. “I don’t remember him.”

“No wonder. He looks nothing like Mayr’s usual prey.”

A notification popped up at the right corner of the screen. Gustavo clicked it. The old photo of a boy, who looked older than his sixteen years, filled the screen. The burning gaze of his black eyes peered at Gustavo with immense confidence. His dark hair, parted on the side, glossed under the light. His cheeks had already lost the tenderness of youth.

“Oh, yeah, I remember seeing him. You are right; he doesn’t look like Seth’s type.”

“But he does look like you.”

“Don’t speak nonsense,” Gustavo snorted, looked closer, but shook his head. “If it’s his type, Seth should be after my ass.”

“Or… Seth doesn’t have a type.”

“Hm?”

“If he burned the summer camp, he killed fifty people. It makes him a mass murderer.”

“It doesn’t explain why he burned only this photograph.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. He could have tried to mess with our heads.” Diego insisted.

Gustavo considered the possibility for a second, then shook his head. “It would be too obvious. If he stole it, he would expect us to miss it sooner or later. He didn’t need to put on such a show. I think it’s an act of hatred.”

“Okay,” Diego easily agreed. “Is anything else missing?”

“I’ll check.”

“Call me if you find something.”

Diego terminated the call, and the phone’s screen dimmed. For a few more minutes, Gustavo sat in the dark, staring at the portrait of the boy, then turned on the lights and pulled the folder out of his drawer.

An hour later, he rocked in his chair, watching the sky ripple with colors behind the window. The folder lay closed by his feet. Gustavo ransacked through the folder twice, but only one photograph was missing—Brian Schütz’s.

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