At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(64)

“You planned this before you even asked me to go?”

“I knew I’d be convincing.”

She usually was. “Are there digestives?” His favorite cookie was McVitie’s Digestives. Which, properly, should be McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits. But he wasn’t one to quibble.

“No cookies,” Addie said. “Just my sweet self.”

“That’s good enough.” Newly content, he poured a bit of milk into the Styrofoam cup she offered, then added the steaming ambrosia. He handed the thermos back to Addie and took a sip of the tea. The brew was perfect. Perfect enough for McDonald’s, anyway.

He and Addie fell back into silence and resumed watching the party, which appeared to be quieting down as the minutes ticked by. The dogs settled under the porch. The men sat silently, nursing their beers, their faces slack. One man leaned back in a recliner and closed his eyes.

Evan finished his tea. A wave of sleepiness washed over him despite the caffeine. His eyelids lowered like a pair of shades pulled by an anchor.

“Something’s happening,” Addie said.

Evan’s eyes popped open, and he bolted upright.

Helskin and one of the other men now leaned forward in their chairs, glaring at each other. The flames lit their faces orange and made their eyes shine. Helskin’s adversary was he of the evil expression and fire-poking stick. The man’s hoodie fell back, and Evan noticed a raven tattooed on his forehead, its wings outspread, its wedge-shaped tail and clawed feet clearly visible.

That has to be Diana’s Raven. The one she claimed radiated evil.

He said as much to Addie.

“Doesn’t everyone stare at Diana?” Addie asked. But she sat up, her shoulders tense.

The two men leapt to their feet. Both had their hands fisted. Cords stood out in their necks as they shouted, and their yells came faintly through the windows of the SUV. Addie cracked her window, but although the voices carried, they couldn’t make out the words.

“Maybe something about tonight?” Addie guessed. “It’s not going to happen tonight?”

Helskin cocked his left arm back, but before he could strike the other man, his friends jumped to their feet and grabbed him. All of them were shouting now. Helskin’s adversary grinned and spat in the dirt. Helskin did likewise. Sides were drawn and insults hurled. It seemed mortal combat was about to break out.

Then, as with a flurry of snarls among caged dogs, the moment passed. Everyone resumed their seats and picked up their cups where they’d dropped them in the dirt, frowning down at the spilled beer.

Everyone but Helskin, who vanished into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Throughout it all, the dogs stayed under the porch.

Addie and Evan waited another half hour while the fire died down. One by one, the men stood, stretched, and went into the house.

“I guess that’s that,” Evan said.

“I guess it is.” Addie started the engine, then reached over and briefly touched his hand. “Thanks for coming with me. I know I’ve been awful.”

“Anytime. As long as there’s tea. And next time, digestives would be good.” He eased the seat belt under his arm and away from his neck. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes.” She sounded surprised as she pulled away from the curb. “I do. I’ll come back tomorrow. Bring Patrick and some uniforms. At the very least, we can question Helskin and the others about the assault on Talfour. And if they’re fighting the dogs, we can stop that, too. Can I keep the ring with the runes?”

“Consider it yours.”

Evan swiveled in his seat as they rolled past the other side of the house. On the far end of the porch, just inside the light cast from the weak bulb, a stack of bones rose two feet into the air.

“Addie,” he began. “There are deer bones.”

She slowed. “I see them.”

There were probably fifty bones in the stack along with skulls and horns. Mostly there were the larger leg bones, like the ones found by Desser’s body.

Hanging from the porch eave, twisting and swaying over the bones, was another flag.

This one carried the image of Himmler’s black cross. Next to that, a sun cross, exactly as it appeared in the runes left by Talfour’s body.

“Perhaps,” Evan said, “I’ve been entirely wrong.”





TWO





Excerpt from Criminal Behavioral Analysis: The Viking Poet

Semiotician: Evan Wilding, PhD, SSA, IASS

Semioticians, when analyzing the signs and symbols left at a crime scene, attempt to extrapolate the killer’s emotional experience of the world and the narrative he has created to understand and explain that experience. But we must proceed with caution. Symbols are a form of shorthand that risk being ambiguous or indistinct, which allows for a wide range of interpretation. Proper analysis requires that we examine the greater picture—that is, the entirety of all the crime scenes—and interpret the killer’s choice of symbology within that larger scope.

Likely characteristics of the Viking Poet:



The killer has a high IQ: his narrative is clear and complex even under the stress of committing serial murder.

The killer likely has a stable job that he has held for months or possibly years. He is trusted by his employer and coworkers (typical of most organized offenders).