He leaned close. “I know things. I know things that’ll help solve the Arnarsson case. She wasn’t the only murder.”
That got Tessa’s attention, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Murder investigations were out of her league. In fact, she got the impression they were out of Justin’s league, but for whatever reason, that was what he’d gotten involved with.
“I can’t help you,” she said. “But I can get you the actual servitor that’s here. You can talk to him.”
The guy hesitated and then gave a slow nod. He released her, and she took out her ego to call Justin. He didn’t answer, and things were further complicated when Mae didn’t answer either. So much for “Call if you need anything.”
“I can have them get back to you,” Tessa said apologetically. “But right now—”
“No!” he exclaimed. “They’ll never get back to me. I know how bureaucracy is. And they don’t even think it’s a real murder.”
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly worried she wasn’t dealing with someone who was completely sane. “Um, what is ‘it’ exactly?”
“My brother. They killed him. The same people who killed Clara Arnarsson. I can help SCI get to them.”
“Why don’t they think it’s a real murder?”
“Because there was no body. They just think he’s missing,” he explained. “But I’m telling you it was them! He was murdered by the servants of an evil goddess of death and war. Come talk to my dad—he’ll tell you.”
Tessa didn’t know what to do. His story seemed absurd—especially the evil goddess part—but if there was a chance he knew something about Justin’s case, it would be invaluable. Justin hadn’t directly said it, but she’d begun to pick up on signs of unease that made her think his continued stay in the RUNA might very well hinge on this case. She tried again to get the Nordic guy to wait, but he was obstinate.
“No. Now. Look, I’m not taking you into a dark alley or anything. My dad’s in a convalescent home not far from here. Totally public.”
“Why is he in a convalescent home?” she asked.
“Because they think he’s crazy.”
This wasn’t really reassuring her. But as she studied him, she began to feel sorry for him. His face was so earnest, his eyes so pleading…whatever was going on was real to him. He was cute too, and while that shouldn’t have affected anything, it did make her feel more kindly toward him.
“We’ll stay out in the open to get there?”
He held up his hand. “I promise. It’s a fifteen-minute walk from here, all busy streets.”
She hesitated only a few moments more before finally agreeing. The guy—who introduced himself as Darius—lit up and actually grabbed her hand to lead her from the park. He was true to his word. The walk was safe, the convalescent home nearby. Along the way, Darius apparently decided Tessa was his new best friend and launched into the story of his brother.
“Ilias was older than me,” he began. “Almost ten years. Our parents weren’t very fertile, and it took them a long time to have me. We didn’t grow up playing together with the age difference, but he always looked out for me and helped teach me things. He was great. Outgoing, good-looking. Everyone loved him.” Darius’s face fell for a moment, and then he rushed forward. “Last year, this guy kept showing up to see Ilias and our parents. I don’t know who he was or what he said, but everyone had a different reaction. Ilias always treated him like a joke. He was like that. Thought everything was funny. He talked about the guy like he was crazy. But our parents…they were different. They were upset every time he visited. Not upset—scared. After a while, they were just always on edge. You could see it all over them. And one day…my mom just cracked. She committed suicide. Cut her wrist in the bathtub.”
Tessa flinched. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.” Conversation faded after that.
The facility that Darius’s father lived at tried very hard to pretend to be something else. Its fa?ade was nearly as grand as the Koskinen house, though better maintained, and even its name sounded more like what you’d find with a country manor: Rose Grove. A clock in the lobby said it was nearly eleven, making Tessa worry about whether his father was still up.
“He doesn’t sleep much,” Darius explained. He led her upstairs to a room on the third floor. A sign outside read OLAF SANDBERG.
Olaf had the look of someone who’d aged before his time. He sat at a table in his room, talking to himself as he slid around puzzle pieces on a screen. “Red line matches red…start with the corner, then find the others…can’t match blue with yellow….”
Darius took a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Dad,” he said gently. “I have someone who wants to talk to you.”
“That’s nice. Very nice.” Olaf’s eyes never left the screen.
“She wants to talk about Mom and Ilias.”