At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(10)

“Tell me about the sticks around his head.”

She frowned. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. Wood, of course, signifies primordial matter. The Greek hyle. In India, materia prima—the universal substance. Wood, in turn, comes from trees—the living example of the universe’s constant regeneration. The symbolism of the halo is probably obvious. A characteristic of Christian saints stolen outright from the Roman emperors. Given how violently many of those saints died, the halo might tie in with the three forms of death our victim suffered.”

She laughed. “Let’s hear it for eggheads.”

He arched an eyebrow. “It’s good of you to keep me humble. It’s also entirely possible the killer was unaware of the significance of wood outside of the most obvious religious aspect. Perhaps he simply hates Catholics.” He looked up at her. “Or saints. And of course, you have the significance of a noose around the neck of a Black man. It’s a sad and terrible crime, but not outside the bounds of what your own profiler must see from time to time. What made you call me?”

He didn’t bother adding what she already knew. That he wanted out of the forensics business. That he had too much other work to do. That he preferred to avoid dead bodies unless they were at least several centuries old. A month after they met, he’d told her he didn’t understand her fascination with the dead. She’d countered by telling him he was the guy who spoke twelve dead languages.

“They aren’t just sticks,” Addie said. “There are weird markings on them. Like some kind of writing.”

He could almost feel his own ears prick. With some guys, it was boobs or butts that got their motor running. With him, it was writing.

Actually, with him it was all three. It was a wonder he hadn’t become a tattooist instead of a semiotician.

She grinned. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

He sniffed. “Possibly.”

“You ready for a closer look?”

“Lead on, Macduff.”

“Just steer clear of Lieutenant Criver. The guy with the tan and the million-dollar suit. He’s not big on academic types. Same with Sergeant Billings. The oily sidekick.”

Evan raised a brow, and she shot him a warning glance.

“Don’t you dare bait them,” she said.

“I’m shocked you think I would.”

They jogged down the hill and returned along the road before cutting down the lower rise. Patrick was busy with one of the techs, but when they tried to skirt the lieutenant, he stepped into their path.

“This is our specialist?” he asked, his eyes narrow.

Addie said, “Lieutenant Criver, this is Professor Evan Wilding. An expert on the signs and writings left by killers. He was responsible for the capture and conviction of the Copper Hills Killer last year.”

“I see.” Criver pressed two fingers to his chin. “The Copper Hills Killer was caught based on a series of texts, as I recall. Rather straightforward. This case seems likely to be much more complex.”

Evan wasn’t fond of having his bona fides questioned. Especially by anti-intellectuals. “I’ll scrutinize the premises and of course the corporis,” he said. “If, upon examination, I have nothing to contribute that would provide succor to your brilliant detectives as they labor steadfastly to resolve this most dastardly of crimes, I’ll retreat to my ivory tower and voilà! Et erit ex capillum tuum.”

“What?”

“I’ll be out of your hair.”

Criver’s lips thinned. “A lot of brain in that body, huh?”

Addie clamped a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Let’s take a look at that corporis, shall we?”

He felt the lieutenant’s gaze on him and Addie as they continued down the hill toward the body. When he glanced back, the lieutenant was heading toward the Suburban, trailed by Sergeant Billings.

Addie whirled on Evan. “I told you not to cross him. I need you on this case.”

“Me? He loved me.”

“Of course he did. About as much as he’d love a hemorrhoid.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m a pain in his ass? I thought that was your job.”

“No worries on that regard,” she said darkly. “There’s plenty of room in there for us both.”





CHAPTER 5


Evan smiled when he saw Patrick leave the tech he was chatting with and make a beeline for him and Addie. He always appreciated the older cop’s Irish humor.

“Thanks for coming,” Patrick said to Evan.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective.”

They shook hands; then Evan plowed on, half stepping, half sliding down the bank in his trainers.

He should have kept his wellies on.

“Is it all right if I approach the body?” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

“Knock yourself out,” Addie said.

“Just stay outside the tape,” Patrick added.

Evan approached the corpse. Distantly, traffic came as a faint whoosh, like a far-off river. Closer by, a flock of starlings scolded from the branches of a cottonwood tree, and the water of the Calumet sloshed in desultory fashion against the shore, wavelets lapping at the dead man.

Evan had long ago trained himself to approach a murder victim as a puzzle. A locked box that needed the right key so that he could reveal the motivation behind the crime and lay bare the killer’s secrets. A killer who posed a body, who left behind carefully arranged signifiers and symbols, had not killed in haste. Nor had he chosen his victim casually. The victim offered the killer something. Satisfaction. Revenge. The fulfillment of a sexual urge. Perhaps even, in the killer’s twisted mind, a form of redemption.