At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(33)

While Patrick sorted and stapled the printouts and slid them into folders, Addie wrote a list of facts about the two cases on the board. When she was done, she glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until the meeting started.

“I want a beer,” she said. “A thick, dark stout. And a burger with all the trimmings.”

Patrick had just finished setting the folders on the table, one in front of each chair. “Ach, lass, that hurts. Make do with coffee?”

“Any port in a storm.”

She watched Patrick’s departing reflection in the glass. Her thoughts lit on the mental image of Clayton L. Hamden, attorney to the stars. Clayton was busy with clients until later tonight. But after that, he’d be hers. They’d made plans to meet at his place for a midnight nightcap.

And whatever else followed.

She moved to the window. Outside, the rain turned heavy, lashing the panes. She leaned against the glass and watched as her breath fogged and faded on the cold surface.

Was he out there now, the killer? Prowling through the rain-whipped streets and back alleys for his next victim? Did he carry a sack full of bones that rattled and clinked and whispered to him in an ancient language about blessings and sacrifice? Was he somewhere practicing the Old English bletsian, the altar sacrifice? Did he seek to mark something as holy by slaughtering it on an altar of his own devising?

She jumped at the sound of voices in the hall. Lieutenant Criver and another man.

“Did you hear why they couldn’t make a live-action movie of Snow White?” the lieutenant was asking.

“I did not,” replied a low, gravelly voice. “Tell me.”

“Apparently there was a dwarf shortage.”

The two men roared with laughter, and a few seconds later, Criver waved a man into the room and followed him in. Criver’s eyes locked with Addie’s.

The joke had to be about Evan, and she knew she was scarlet. Her face gave her away every time. But she nodded politely.

“Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Ah, Adrianne,” Criver said cheerfully. “You’ve obviously been working out in the field. Awful day with the weather, isn’t it?”

She’d toweled the rain out of her hair but hadn’t had time to do more. Her hair always went wild in the humidity, and now it probably looked like a dark-brown dandelion fluff.

“Yes, sir,” she said, resisting an impulse to smooth down her curls. “Hard at work on our case.”

“Good, good.” Criver set a stack of papers on the table. “Adrianne, this is Ralph Rhinehart. He’s an expert runologist. Perhaps you’ve heard his podcast or seen him on TV. Multiple networks, right, Ralph? And he’s published fifteen books. We’re lucky to have him.”

Rhinehart was a fiftysomething man of average height with dirty spectacles, a headful of wiry gray hair circumnavigating a bald pate, and a paunch that made him look as if he’d tucked a bowling ball under his sweater. He smelled of mints and deodorant.

Addie plastered a smile on her face and stepped around the table, arm extended. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rhinehart. Thank you for offering your help.”

“Of course. Happy to do my part.” He peered at her through the smeary lenses of his glasses. “Thomas, they just keep making them prettier every year.”

Addie shoved her hands in the pockets of her suit coat and kept the smile. “I’m curious. Do you think runes are connected to sorcery? I thought I read something to that effect on your website.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, yes. It’s quite common for people to associate runes with occultism.”

“And you think that might have some bearing on our case?”

“I believe that’s exactly what we’re dealing with.” Rhinehart pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his face. Addie noticed a sheen of sweat on the man’s upper lip.

“Mr. Rhinehart, are you feeling all right?” she asked.

“Of course, of course.” He placed a hand on his chest. “Just need to sit down for a moment. A touch of whatever’s going around.”

Criver leapt into action, taking the runologist’s elbow and steering him to a chair. “Coffee?”

Rhinehart nodded, and Criver raised a hand toward Addie. “Would you mind? Black for me and cream only for Ralph—is that right? Ralph and I can start going through the folders here.”

Addie’s chin dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

At that moment, Patrick strode into the room. Addie could tell by his darkened face that he’d heard the last part of the conversation. With false cheeriness, he set the coffees on the table. “Two more, then? I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, Patrick,” Criver said. “Adrianne was just going. I want you to meet our runologist.”

“Sir, I’m happy to do it. Change burning in my pocket.”

“Detective—”

The moment broke when four of the techs from the Forensics Services Division walked in carrying cardboard trays of coffee from the local barista. Oblivious to the tension, they greeted everyone and set the lattes and a bag of biscotti on the table. Immediately after, Sergeant Billings sidled in, snagged a chair next to Criver’s, and opened a laptop.

Criver cleared his throat. “Let’s get started, then. Adrianne, where’s Dr. Wilding?”