At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(35)

“And this Mr. X he claims to be working for?”

“We’re hoping a warrant will turn up additional information.”

Billings typed something on his laptop. Criver asked, “So what do the two victims have in common? I mean, aside from the manner of their deaths. Did they know each other?”

“Unknown,” Addie said. “We’re still running down leads. What we’ve learned this afternoon since linking the two cases is that both were successful businessmen, Talfour with his store and Desser with a lucrative accounting firm. Both men lived alone in the Near North Side. Neither man was married currently or divorced. Desser was widowed. Neither had children. Talfour, as my partner mentioned, was active in the community. Desser was more private. And not as friendly as Talfour, at least according to several neighbors who were interviewed by a Kendall County deputy at the time Desser’s body was discovered. Preliminary research indicates some of Desser’s clients have legal issues. We’re trying to gain access to his full client list along with the names of Talfour’s customers, looking for commonalities outside of their geographic location. As we learn more, we’ll add the information to our files.”

Billings tapped on his keyboard.

Criver pointed a hand toward Rhinehart. “If that’s all, why don’t we hear from our expert now. Mr. Rhinehart, can you tell us about the runes?”

Addie said, “There is one more thing.”

Criver raised an eyebrow.

“Talfour had dealt with racist attacks, as Patrick stated. Half an hour ago, while I was following up on a note in the sheriff’s file on Desser, we learned that a month before Desser’s death, an unidentified person spray-painted a swastika on his fence. Our first victim was Jewish, a cantor at his local synagogue.”

“Ha!” barked Rhinehart.

Everyone swiveled to look at him. The runologist pushed back his chair and stood. His face was pale, but he was no longer sweating.

“A swastika!” he cried. He seemed to have regained his energy. “And vile graffiti. This confirms my suspicion that we’re dealing with the practitioners of a dark and terrible magic. May I have the floor now?”

“I’m done,” Addie said. She returned to her chair next to Evan.

Rhinehart squeezed past chairs and made his way to the whiteboard. He picked up an eraser and turned to Addie. “Do you mind?”

Her lips thinned. “Not at all.”

Rhinehart wiped the board clean and wrote three words so that they formed a triangle.



He tapped the word at the top. “Are any of you familiar with the ásatrú?”

Silence. Addie glanced at Evan. He had folded his hands over his stomach and was watching Rhinehart with a vaguely puzzled expression.

“Very well, then.” Rhinehart hoisted a dry-erase marker and adopted a professorial tone. “The ásatrú are modern-day neo-pagans who worship the Viking gods. Many of them are Viking reenactors who re-create all aspects of Viking life, from the clothes they wear to the food they eat. And the alphabet they write with.”

“Vikings are dope,” someone said.

“Totally dope,” Rhinehart agreed. “But most importantly for our case, the ásatrú practice sacrifice. Animals. Crops. But also, on occasion, they sacrifice other things. Darker things . . .”

His voice trailed off as he looked around the room. Addie had to admire the man for his ability to play an audience. Everyone was rapt, even as they knew what was coming.

“They also sometimes practice human sacrifice,” Rhinehart finished.

More murmurs. Addie found herself nodding. So far, the runologist was tracking with what Evan had told her in the car. But Evan looked dissatisfied.

Justin Wao, the evidence tech who’d been at the crime scene that morning, said, “And just to confirm, we are talking about the twenty-first century, right?”

“We are indeed,” Rhinehart answered. “We could be discussing one of your neighbors or your mail carrier. Your grocery store clerk or your dentist. Any of them could be Viking pagans. That is, ásatrú.”

“Even”—Wao’s eyes cut to Criver—“my boss?”

Everyone laughed, including Criver.

Rhinehart held up a finger. “Let’s look at the next corner of my triangle.” The marker squeaked as he wrote the words HATE CRIMES beneath his earlier words. “The ásatrú believe in the superiority of the Aryan race. For some of them, this justifies taking horrible action against all non-Aryan races. Up to and including murder.” He tapped the board. “I’m talking about neo-Nazism.”

Wao gave a low whistle. “A racist serial killer.”

“Damn it,” Criver muttered.

Addie knew what the lieutenant was thinking. A racially motivated murder in a city like Chicago would be a spark to a fuse.

“And the third corner of your triangle?” someone asked. “Black magic?”

Rhinehart gave a doleful nod. “The Nazis were fascinated by the dark arts. They used occult ideas rooted in the so-called ancient wisdom of the Aryans to justify their persecution of the Jews. Hitler’s own chief architect of the Holocaust, Heinrich Himmler, was said to dabble in the supernatural.” He looked around the room. “I would bet the royalties from all fifteen of my books that if you investigate the local ásatrú groups and the local Viking reenactors, you will find that some of them are harboring white supremacists. And that some of them are practicing black magic.”