Page 34 of Fatal Pattern

“That’s it?” Blade asked.

“I’m afraid so. Mr. Florek was quite guarded about specifics. He never named individuals or described concrete threats.”

The clock’s tick-tick-tick drove into Blade’s skull. He let Tori take the lead, watching her shift into professional mode as she and Stone began discussing therapeutic approaches and patient resistance patterns. Their conversation drifted into territory that might as well have been a foreign language. Defense mechanisms, transference, cognitive behavioral frameworks.

His phone buzzed on Dr. Stone’s desk. Blade grabbed it and checked it, trying not to be rude. A message from his deputy:

Incident report confirms Petersen’s story. Photos and witness statements match his account of the golf accident.

Another lead evaporated. The golf club to the head, the emergency room visit, the alibi that placed Ryan Petersen miles away from Donald’s murder. All verified. He’d been hoping for inconsistencies, gaps in the timeline, or a crack in the man’s story that Blade could burst wide open.

Instead, he had another dead end. Ryan’s injuries were legitimate, which meant they were back to square one on suspects.

The text from his deputy gave Blade an idea. A hail Mary if he ever saw one. “Dr. Stone, does this symbol mean anything to you?” He held up the screen. “Did Mr. Florek ever draw anything like this during your sessions?”

Stone leaned forward, squinting at the display. “May I?”

Blade handed over the phone. Stone pinched the screen to zoom in, studying the intersecting triangular shapes.

“No. Donald never drew it. Not here, anyway.” Stone kept his eyes on the screen. “But this . . . this looks like a Keplerian fractal.”

Fractal. The word hit Blade like a lightning strike. Damien Sullivan’s words slammed back into focus.

He caught Tori’s eye, hoping she’d let him run with this. “Keplerian fractals? What exactly is that?”

“Fractals are geometric patterns that repeat at different scales. Johannes Kepler studied star polyhedra. Three-dimensional shapes formed by extending the faces of regular solids.” Stone’s academic enthusiasm was building. “This particular design resembles a stellated dodecahedron, where pentagonal faces are extended to create star-like projections.”

The technical terms made Blade’s head spin. He reached into his pocket, fingers finding the texture of his green stress ball. The spiky surface helped anchor his focus while Stone continued showing his sky-high IQ.

Stone held the crystal paperweight up, tilting it until the butterfly inside caught the light. “Fractals. Infinite detail boxed into limits,” he said. His thumb traced the ridge of the glass. “Snowflakes. Branches. Insects.” He angled the wings toward Blade. “See how the veins fork, same angle, same split, again and again. The colored spots too. Big circles echoing smaller ones. From a distance or with a microscope, it never changes. The whole wing built on repetition. Self-similar. That’s fractal geometry.”

The monarch butterfly suspended in crystal seemed to pulse with hidden meaning. Blade studied Stone’s face, searching for tells. How did a psychiatrist become such an expert on complex mathematical concepts? Was this pure academic interest, or something more personal?

“How do you know so much about fractals?” Blade asked.

“I became fascinated with them when—” He stopped himself, setting the paperweight on his desk. “Well, I can’t really say. Confidentiality, you understand. But fractals, once you truly begin to study them, are infinitely fascinating. Some even say they represent God’s fingerprint in creation.”

Blade had to force himself not to jump out of his chair.

God’s fingerprint.

A soft chime sounded, and a light above the door flickered on. Stone glanced at it and stood.

“I’m afraid my next patient has arrived. Thank you for your understanding.” He moved toward the exit door, clearly expecting them to follow. “I hope this information proves helpful in your investigation. I’d be happy to have my assistant email the pertinent files.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Blade pocketed his phone and stood, his mind churning with connections that felt too convenient to be coincidental. Stone’s expertise in fractals. His sudden reluctance to explain his interest. The timing of Florek’s terminated therapy sessions.

Blade pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on Stone’s desk. “Email those notes today. And expect a few more questions.”

Stone nodded, his professional smile returning. “Of course.”

Tori stepped forward, extending her hand. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Stone.”

As they shook hands, she tilted her head. “This might sound strange, but your voice sounds familiar. Did we have any classes together? Or maybe we’ve met somewhere?”

Stone’s grip lingered a moment too long. “I don’t think we attended school at the same time. You look much younger than me, Dr. Crew. Perhaps you heard me speak at a conference?”

Tori’s face brightened with recognition. “That’s it. I’m sure I heard you speak last year.” The thought tugged sideways, like she was looking at the right answer through the wrong window. She filed it away.