At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(27)

Evan sensed Addie perk up.

“Why does Mr. X want the bones?” he asked.

A blank look. “Because they’re interesting.”

“Of course.” Evan nodded agreeably. “Did you find any bones the day you found the body?”

“Yeah. Lots of bones.”

Addie made a small sound. Evan ignored her.

“And did you pick them up?”

“No!” Another chortle. His hands relaxed. “That would have been wrong. They were the dead man’s bones! Skeleton of Homo sapiens. Ha! Ha!”

Addie puffed out a sigh, but Evan pushed on. “What about other bones, Tommy? Deer or cattle bones? Did you pick up any of those for Mr. X?”

Something sly slithered into Tommy’s eyes. “No.”

“Do you like Sherlock Holmes, Tommy?”

He looked suspicious. “I liked The Hound of the Baskervilles. And A Study in Scarlet.”

“Did you know Holmes’s IQ was at least 190?”

“That’s what John Radford said in his book.”

“That’s right.” Evan was starting to figure he and the kid were twins separated at birth—both packed to the gills with mostly useless information. “It’s a good thing the police had Sherlock Holmes, isn’t it? Because he liked to solve murders. And he was smart enough to solve murders.”

Tommy moved closer. His tall, thin shadow loomed on the wall beside Evan’s short form.

“We need your help,” Evan said. “Would you like to solve murders?”

“I think I’d like that.”

“And what we need to solve this murder are the bones that were placed near Mr. Desser.”

Tommy’s eyes moved around the room, never lighting on his mother or the detectives. “Do you mean the bones with writing on them?”

“Yes,” Evan said. “We need the bones with writing on them.”





CHAPTER 11


Forty minutes later, Addie sat with Evan in her SUV, the heater running, while they munched on the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’d brought along. She leaned over the console toward Evan so that together they could study the photos she’d taken at Tommy’s house.

Tommy had produced three bones, each etched with runes. Addie had photographed the bones and placed them in separate, labeled bags. She’d asked Tommy to sketch exactly where he’d found them. In a few short minutes, he’d produced a drawing that was remarkable for its skill. Although none of the bones was in the immediate vicinity of where Desser’s corpse had been found, she assumed the map was probably accurate. Tommy seemed a stickler for detail.

Animal activity could easily explain why the bones were scattered. They were lucky to get as many as they did.

When she asked Tommy why he hadn’t given the bones to the police, he shrugged and said they never asked. And until Addie and Evan showed up, he hadn’t known they were related to the murder.

Now she felt a surge of her earlier excitement.

They had a serial killer.

Horrible. And wonderful. All at once. Her stomach churned with guilt.

“You should buy seedless jam,” Evan said.

She straightened in her seat. “You’re thinking about jelly? The great Dr. Wilding is looking at runes carved on bones by a serial killer, and he’s thinking about jelly.”

“We’re eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Jelly is nothing but fruit juice with a little backbone. Jam is okay, but preserves would be better.”

“Shut up and finish your sandwich.”

“But it’s the little things that matter. You shouldn’t underestimate the importance of a proper sandwich spread.”

“Get to work.”

Evan dutifully stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth and scrolled through the photos on Addie’s phone while she shifted out of park and pulled onto the street.

“This might be the word for blessing,” he said around a mouthful of bread. He enlarged the photo. “We have the word bless spelled out—b-l-e-s-s. Then we have the runic character that looks like two small Xs stacked on top of each other. In modern English, it stands for the sound ing.” He found a napkin in her glove box and wiped his mouth. “It’s possible the killer took a shortcut, and instead of spelling out the i-n-g, he used the rune. The same character appears multiple times in the bones from Talfour’s crime scene.”

“I thought you couldn’t read runes.”

He looked smug. “I’m a quick study. Plus, I have resources.”

“Whatever it takes.” She turned a corner and headed back toward the highway. “At least now you’re talking my talk. But why would a killer use the word blessing?”

“It’s a mystery. Just give me a few minutes.”

He pulled out his journal and, using the photos Addie had taken of the bones, copied them onto a clean page. After a few moments, he said, “He once again used boustrophedon. Clever little bugger.”

“What is that?” She tapped the brakes. “Bou—stro—whatever.”

“It’s about the order of the letters. Whether you read them from left to right or right to left. With boustrophedon, you alternate. The ancient Greeks used it quite a bit. Now, keep driving. I’m still working.”