Sophie looked down at the two-handed longsword she’d taken from the case. The students were taking a “creativity break” to better help them “envision the assignment.” Sophie knew they really just wanted to touch the swords and she couldn’t blame them. There was a fundamental power in holding a weapon this old. And this lethal.
“I was more angry at his mother who was too busy talking on her cell phone to watch her kid.” She chuckled. “Luckily my brain hadn’t fully settled back into English, so when I cussed her out, it was in French. But, uh, some things transcend language.”
“So what did she do?” Marta asked.
“Went crying to Ted. He gave her a refund, then came after me. ‘You can’t frighten the guests, Sophie,’” she mimicked. “I still remember the look on that woman’s face when I dragged her little brat over to her. She wasn’t much bigger than the kid. Nearly broke her neck looking up at me. It was one of the few times being tall was an asset.”
“You need better security in this place,” John commented, his eyes focused on the Viking Age sword he held. “It’s a wonder nobody’s walked off with any artifacts.”
Sophie frowned. “We have an alarm system, but you’re right. Before, hardly anyone knew we were here, but now, with all these tours, we definitely need a guard.” The salary for a guard had been in her operating budget for the coming year. But nooo… Ted wanted paneling. It was enough to make her twitch. “I know of at least two Italian reliquaries that are no longer on their shelf. I keep checking for them on eBay.”
“Makes you wish for medieval justice,” Spandan grumbled.
“What would have been the penalty for theft?” John asked, slanting a look up at her.
Sophie carefully settled the longsword back in the display case. “Depends on what point in the Middle Ages-early, high, or late-and on what was stolen, if it was stolen by force or by stealth, and who the victim was and who the thief was. Felony thieves might be hanged, but most small thefts were settled by recompense.”
“I thought they cut off a hand or gouged out an eye,” Bruce said.
“Not commonly,” Sophie told him, her lips quirking at his obvious disappointment. “It didn’t make sense for the lord to disfigure the people who were working his land. Without a hand or a foot they couldn’t make him as much money.”
“No exceptions?” Bruce asked and Sophie shot him an amused look.
“Bloodthirsty today, aren’t we? Hmm. Exceptions.” She considered it. “Outside Europe, there were cultures that certainly still practiced eye-for-an-eye justice. Thieves lost one hand and the opposite foot. In European culture, go back to the tenth century and you’ll find amputation of ‘the hand with which he did it’ as a punishment in the Anglo-Saxon Dooms. But the culprit had to be caught stealing from a church.”
“Your reliquaries would have been in a church back then,” Spandan pointed out.
Sophie had to chuckle. “Yes, they would have been, so it’s a damn good thing they were stolen from here and now, not there and then. Now your ‘creativity break’ is over. Put the swords away and get back to work.”
Sighing heavily they did as she asked, first Spandan, then Bruce and Marta. Until only John remained. In almost an offertory way, he lifted the sword with both hands and with both hands Sophie took it. Fondly she studied the stylized pommel. “I found one like this once, at a dig in Denmark. Not this nice, and not all in one piece. The blade had corroded completely through, right in the middle. But what a feeling it was, uncovering it for the first time. Like it had been sleeping for all those years and woke up, just for me.” She glanced down at him with an embarrassed laugh. “That sounds crazy, I know.”
His smile was solemn. “No, not crazy. You must miss it, being in the field.”
Sophie arranged the contents of the case and locked it. “Some days more than others. Today I miss it a great deal.” Tomorrow, when she was leading a tour in period garb, she’d miss it a great deal more. “Let’s go-”
Her cell phone rang, surprising her. Even Ted gave her one day of rest. “Hello?”
“Sophie, it’s Katherine. Are you alone?”
Sophie straightened at the urgency in Katherine’s voice. “No. Should I be?”
“Yes. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Hold on. John, I need to take this. Can I meet you and the others in the hall in a few?” He nodded and turned his chair toward the Great Hall and the other students. When he was gone, she shut the door. “Go ahead, Katherine. What’s wrong?”
“I need your help.”
Katherine’s daughter Trisha had been Sophie’s best friend since kindergarten and Katherine had become the mother Sophie had never had. “Name it.”
“We need to excavate a field and we need to know where to dig.”
Sophie’s mind instantly put “medical examiner” and “excavation” together, conjuring a picture of a mass grave. She’d excavated dozens of gravesites over the years and knew exactly what needed to be done. She found her pulse increasing at the thought of doing real fieldwork again. “Where and when do you need me?”
“In a field about a half hour north of town, an hour ago.”
“Katherine, it’ll take me at least two hours to get my equipment up there.”
“Two hours? Why?” In the background Sophie heard several disgruntled voices.
“Because I’m at the museum and I have my bike. I can’t tie all that equipment to the seat. I have to go home first and get Gran’s car. Plus, I was going to sit with her this afternoon. I need to stop by the nursing home and check on her at least.”
“I’ll check on Anna myself. You go to the college and get the equipment. One of the detectives will meet you there and transport you and the equipment to the site.”
“Have him meet me in front of the humanities building at Whitman College. It’s the one with the funky ape sculpture in front. I’ll be out front by 1:30.”
There was more murmuring, more intense. “Okay,” Katherine said, exasperated. “Detective Ciccotelli wants to be sure you understand this is to be kept in the utmost confidence. You must exercise extreme discretion and say nothing to anyone.”
“Understood.” She returned to the Great Hall. “Guys, I need to go now.”
The students immediately began to gather their work. “Is your grandmother okay, Dr. J?” Bruce asked, his forehead creasing in concern.
Sophie hesitated. “She will be.” Not the whole truth and hopefully for Anna, not a lie. “For now, you get a few free hours this afternoon. Don’t have too much fun.”
When they were gone, she locked up, set the alarm, and headed toward Whitman College as fast as she legally dared, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. For months she’d been missing the field. It looked like she was finally about to find one.
Chapter Two
Sunday, January 14, 2:00
P.M.
He sat back in his chair and nodded at his computer screen, his lips curving in a satisfied smile. It was good. Very, very good. If I do say so myself. Which he did.
He raised his eyes to the still photos he’d taken from the video of Warren Keyes. He’d chosen his quarry well-height, weight, musculature. The young man’s tattoo had been Fate sealing the deal. Warren was meant to be his victim. He’d suffered brilliantly. The camera had captured the exquisite agony on his face. But his screams…
He clicked on an audio file and a chilling scream blasted from the speakers with crystal clarity, sending a shiver of pleasure racing down his back. Warren’s screams had been perfect. Perfect pitch, perfect intensity. Perfect inspiration.
His eyes moved to the canvases he’d hung next to the stills. This series of paintings might be his best work yet. He’d titled the series Warren Dies. It was done in oil, of course. He’d found oil the best medium for capturing the intensity of expression, the victim’s mouth stretching open on one of those perfect screams of excruciating pain.