At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(87)

The scene of a murder carried many signs. Most obvious were the forensic signs, such as blood spatter and fingerprints. But there were often other, less certain signs that could be difficult to interpret. Patterns and symbols, rituals enacted or reenacted, victims posed. In cases where the killer was driven by religious intentions, versions of extreme killing weren’t unusual. Perhaps the gods that demanded these deaths could only be appeased if the deaths were both brutal and prolonged.

He zeroed in on the wooden stakes he’d drawn, the ones holding down Talfour’s body. The Vikings had a term for the unquiet dead—draugar, or draugr in the singular form. Draugar were essentially zombies—the reanimated corpses of people who, in life, had been ill-doers of one kind or another. Often, they returned as creatures much larger than humans, with superhuman strength. The Vikings had responded to this threat by sometimes mutilating their dead or holding them down with stones inside the grave. You did not want to meet the draugar on your way home across the fields.

This fear of encountering the dead—was that their killer’s secret terror?

The answer lay somewhere in the signs he’d left behind.

As Evan bent over the maps, his mind made an all-too-familiar shift, moving into a darker and more lethal place. A place where he was no longer the detective or the semiotician. A place that had its roots deep in the ancient recesses of his brain.

He became the hunter.





CHAPTER 26


“Turn here,” Addie said.

Patrick released a sigh as he pulled into the parking lot of a large chain store in Bridgeport.

“Seems so American, doesn’t it?” he said. “Collaring a serial killer in a big-box discount store smack-dab next to an expressway.”

For the last hour, they’d driven around the city while Addie directed Patrick. Raven’s location had pinged on a map every ten minutes, whenever the signal from his tracker uploaded to the mobile app.

For the last twenty-three minutes, his location had held steady.

She placed Ryan Ruley’s phone in the console and glanced across the street from the store at what looked like acres of asphalt. Several dozen 18-wheelers sat in gleaming white and chrome rows.

“We sure are a long way from Vikings and bog bodies,” she said.

Patrick followed her gaze. “A freight shipping company. You know, it used to be pretty down here, once upon a time. Now, let’s see if we can find Helskin’s vehicle.”

He drove to the east side of the store’s parking lot and then went slowly up and down the lanes until Addie spotted Helskin’s truck—a late-model Ford—parked near the entrance.

“He’s here,” she said. “Or somewhere close by. The tracker puts him within a hundred yards. Plus or minus.”

Patrick gave a noncommittal grunt. He pulled the sedan into an empty space in a far corner of the lot so that they had a good visual of the area. Rain spattered the sedan’s windows, and he flipped on the wipers. “Temperature keeps dropping, we’re gonna get snow.”

Addie unbuckled and stretched her legs as far as she could and watched as hordes of shoppers darted in and out through the automatic doors, holding their coats tight against the wind. What did all these people do for a living that left them free to shop on a Tuesday afternoon?

Was Raven—aka David Hayne—among them?

“He must have no idea we’re onto him,” she said. “Probably doesn’t even know Helskin’s death has been reported.”

“I hate to pop your balloon, partner, but the signal could also mean that he’s dumped the tracker and the pickup and beat feet out of here.”

“Not funny, Paddy Wagon.”

“Don’t make it not true. It’s what I would have done. There are friggin’ hundreds of cars all around this area to hot-wire. He could have his pick. Heck, there’s even a railroad right on the other side of the expressway if he had a mind to head out for parts unknown.”

Addie’s heart was pounding hard enough for her to feel it in her ears. “I need him to be here. Evan needs him to be here.”

“I know.” Patrick pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his nose. “Maybe he is. Even murderers need potato chips and toilet paper.”

“So how do you want to play this, oh wise and experienced partner? The full-on circus in blue? With all these civilians here, I’m thinking quick and quiet.”

Patrick stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “I’m thinking you’re right.”

“Let’s case the interior, then call for backup as soon as we have eyes on him.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He started the engine. “You take the west side of the store. I’ll start on the east. You spot him, text me whatever aisle you’re in. I’ll do likewise. We’ll call for backup, then follow him out, wait until he’s fumbling bags and keys, and make our move.”

“You don’t really think he’s in there, do you?”

“The truth? I think he’s long gone. But what else we got at the moment?”

Her right foot tapped a rhythm of its own on the floor mat. “If he’s not here . . .”

Patrick patted her arm. “I’ve been known to be wrong every blue moon or so.”



Inside the store, Addie snatched up a shopping basket and made a quick turn to the left, heading down the aisle behind the checkout lanes with her phone in her hand. She glanced in the coffee shop, took in the line at the in-store pizza place, then let her gaze skim over the patrons waiting in line. Head on a swivel, an army friend had once told her. What you do when you need to take in everything all at once.