At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(77)

The front door rattled while outside, a faint howling sounded. All three jumped and glanced toward the door.

“Speaking of wolves,” Simon said. “It’s just the wind. At the door and at the eaves. But it does sound like animals sometimes.”

“Perhaps,” Christina said with raised eyebrow, “the end times are upon us.”

Simon gave a small shudder. “Oh, I do hope not. I’ve got a man coming in this afternoon with some signed first editions of Sigmund Freud’s lectures on psychoanalysis. Still in their original wrappers, or so the man says. I’d hate to miss an opportunity like that.”

Christina laughed, then looked at her watch and gave a small cry. “I have overstayed myself.” She rose quickly and thrust out a hand to Evan. “A delight. Any more questions, please don’t hesitate. Here’s my business card. Do call.”

She pressed her card in his hand as they shook.

Simon stood. She kissed his cheeks in the European fashion, then pulled on her coat and scarf. “Stay warm!” she cried cheerily and vanished through the door.

“What did I tell you?” Simon said. “Better than any book.”

“Much better. I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed before now.”

“The university is really more of a city than a village, though, isn’t it? And now, shall we move on to our mutual friend Ralph Rhinehart?”

Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got class soon. Let me see if Diana can cover. May I borrow your phone? I forgot mine at home.”

But Diana didn’t pick up either in their shared office or on her cell. Disappointed, he tucked his journal inside his coat pocket and stood. “I’ve got to go and earn my keep. Can we talk in the early afternoon? How about over New York Sours at a nearby watering hole?”

Simon sighed. “Unfortunately, no. Big, important client dropping by after lunch. Those aforementioned first editions of Sigmund Freud’s lectures. Going through the volumes will take the afternoon. Why don’t I give you a call after that? We can meet for happy hour. Especially if you’re buying.”

Evan laughed. “Always the dealmaker.”

“I promise,” Simon told him, “that if you’re interested in Ralph Rhinehart, what I have to share will be worth both your money and your time.”





CHAPTER 24


Whatever Hank Helskin might have been in life, whatever crimes he’d committed, Addie felt sure he’d met an ending no one deserved.

The man lay sprawled in the center of an immense concrete patio, his skull crushed, his sightless eyes open to the tin-colored sky, his light-brown hair arranged like a halo around his head. Blood-spattered fingers curled softly toward his palms.

On his bare chest, someone had scratched, NOT ?.

Thorn—?. She recalled from Evan’s chart that thorn was the third rune of the runic alphabet.

Before she saw the marks on his chest, Addie’s first thought was that one of the dogs had gotten to him. That Helskin had been bending over or kneeling when a dog lunged, snapped its powerful jaws together, and then took off for parts unknown.

But there was the message, NOT ?. Helskin was not their killer. And, if Evan was correct, then the killer was telling them that Helskin didn’t even count as the third victim. Which maybe meant they were wrong about Helskin’s name being buried in the poem—skin sinner and the guardian of the Viking underworld, Hel.

Addie rocked back on her heels. This case was like hunting an invisible tiger with a butterfly net and wishful thinking.

Right now, they had nothing.

From behind her, near the house, Walters’s soft sobbing rose and fell like ocean waves. One of the patrolmen stood next to him, looking unsure whether to console or accuse. The other cop had already taken a dazed-seeming Ryan Ruley out to their squad car.

Was one of these two men the Viking Poet? The distraught Walters or the suddenly subdued Ruley? Or had the poet—as she suspected—escaped into the dark? Just like that invisible tiger.

“Addie,” Patrick said.

She glanced at him, and he nodded toward a point beyond the body. Addie followed his gaze and saw the bone.

“That’s the leg bone of a deer,” Patrick said. “Looks like the killer was kind enough to leave behind his weapon.”

The bone was long and thick. Blood and tissue discolored one knobby end.

“Helskin and another man got in an argument last night,” she said. “When Evan and I were here. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the other men had to pull them apart before it came to blows.”

Patrick scratched his chin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like it came to blows after all.”

“Guess so.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “The man had a raven tattoo on his forehead.”

“Who doesn’t? Except mine’s on my—”

“Get some filters, Paddy Wagon.”

But Patrick looked suddenly cheerful. “Assuming there hasn’t been a run on raven tattoos, likely he’s the guy I told you about from the ax-throwing place. The one Diana said radiated evil. We should have a picture of him soon.” He grinned. “Forget all those bad feelings I was having earlier. This just might be our lucky break.”