message said. That he finally found the artifacts, after a decade of looking."
Diane looked up from her clipboard and said, "Hell of a thing, to find something you've been looking for, all these years, and get murdered right afterward."
"Yeah, it's a hell of a thing, and I think I know who you might want to talk to."
"Who?"
"His brother, Ray Ericson. Runs an antique store up in Porter, ex-con. Not very friendly and the two of them have had words before."
"What kind of words?"
"While looking for Vikings, Jon also manages to find other things. Like coins, old nautical artifacts, stuff like that. What he didn't like or didn't want to keep, he passed on to his brother to sell. But his brother thought the whole Viking thing was a waste of time."
"Unh-hunh," she said, scribbling some more in her clipboard. "I'm going to need to talk to you later, Lewis. After we clear the scene and figure out where we're headed."
"Look, can I come in and ---"
Diane took a hand from the clipboard and gently touched my shoulder. "My friend, there's nothing you can do in there for him. It's my job now. Please let me do it. You've already done enough, giving me that phone information. Just let me be and we'll talk later, okay?"
I nodded, finding it hard to talk.
Diane turned and went back into Jon's house. I stood on the street, hands in my coat pockets, and waited in the growing darkness, waited until my feet hurt and my stomach growled, waited until my throat hurt from being thirsty, waited until there was some movement from the firefighters and they went into the house with a collapsible gurney and came out a few minutes later with a shrouded shape on the wheeled stretcher that had once been my friend.
Then I left.
I started walking past the grass and Paula Quinn came up to me, smiling and then giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You okay?"
"Not particularly."
She motioned with her reporter's notebook. "I'll do a good write-up on him, don't you worry. It'll be in Monday's paper. Do you have anything you want me to put in the story?"
Something sharp started making its way around my tongue and lips, and then I forced myself to stop. Paula was just doing her job, was doing what she did best, and I smiled and said, "No, not really. I'll trust your good judgment."
Paula said, "All right, but if you change your mind, call me before ten a.m. on Monday, before deadline. Okay?"
"Fine," I said, and then Diane Woods made her way over and said, "Tough day."
"You got that," I said.
"I'd like to have a couple of words with you, if you don't mind."
"For you, detective, name the place and time."
She said, "All right. How about in an hour, at Jon's house?"
"For real?"
"Yes, for real. I've got a couple of more questions for you. And something else."
"Like what?"
Diane looked over at a man standing by himself under an oak tree. "Let's just say we need to come to an understanding. All right?"
"Sure."
Diane went over to her unmarked police cruiser, and I went over and joined the solitary man, Felix Tinios, wearing a long black cloth raincoat, a tweed driving cap, and some kind of boots that looked like they cost about as much as my monthly food budget. Felix shrugged as I got closer and said, "Tough thing, going through a funeral like this. Practically alone."
I stood next to him and watched as the workers did their job, tossing dirt into the open hole. I flinched as I heard the wet slapping sound of the dirt hitting the wooden surface of the casket.
"Some were here," I said.
"But not much. Back home in the North End, a guy this old, a funeral would last all afternoon, and the line of cars would be going out the gate and out to the street."
"Yeah."
I noticed Felix staring straight ahead, and then he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "You looking for help?"
"I am. How much?"
"Please. This one is gratis. What do you need?"
"I need to find his younger brother. It looks like he's the one who did it."
"Okay," Felix
Diane looked up from her clipboard and said, "Hell of a thing, to find something you've been looking for, all these years, and get murdered right afterward."
"Yeah, it's a hell of a thing, and I think I know who you might want to talk to."
"Who?"
"His brother, Ray Ericson. Runs an antique store up in Porter, ex-con. Not very friendly and the two of them have had words before."
"What kind of words?"
"While looking for Vikings, Jon also manages to find other things. Like coins, old nautical artifacts, stuff like that. What he didn't like or didn't want to keep, he passed on to his brother to sell. But his brother thought the whole Viking thing was a waste of time."
"Unh-hunh," she said, scribbling some more in her clipboard. "I'm going to need to talk to you later, Lewis. After we clear the scene and figure out where we're headed."
"Look, can I come in and ---"
Diane took a hand from the clipboard and gently touched my shoulder. "My friend, there's nothing you can do in there for him. It's my job now. Please let me do it. You've already done enough, giving me that phone information. Just let me be and we'll talk later, okay?"
I nodded, finding it hard to talk.
Diane turned and went back into Jon's house. I stood on the street, hands in my coat pockets, and waited in the growing darkness, waited until my feet hurt and my stomach growled, waited until my throat hurt from being thirsty, waited until there was some movement from the firefighters and they went into the house with a collapsible gurney and came out a few minutes later with a shrouded shape on the wheeled stretcher that had once been my friend.
Then I left.
I started walking past the grass and Paula Quinn came up to me, smiling and then giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You okay?"
"Not particularly."
She motioned with her reporter's notebook. "I'll do a good write-up on him, don't you worry. It'll be in Monday's paper. Do you have anything you want me to put in the story?"
Something sharp started making its way around my tongue and lips, and then I forced myself to stop. Paula was just doing her job, was doing what she did best, and I smiled and said, "No, not really. I'll trust your good judgment."
Paula said, "All right, but if you change your mind, call me before ten a.m. on Monday, before deadline. Okay?"
"Fine," I said, and then Diane Woods made her way over and said, "Tough day."
"You got that," I said.
"I'd like to have a couple of words with you, if you don't mind."
"For you, detective, name the place and time."
She said, "All right. How about in an hour, at Jon's house?"
"For real?"
"Yes, for real. I've got a couple of more questions for you. And something else."
"Like what?"
Diane looked over at a man standing by himself under an oak tree. "Let's just say we need to come to an understanding. All right?"
"Sure."
Diane went over to her unmarked police cruiser, and I went over and joined the solitary man, Felix Tinios, wearing a long black cloth raincoat, a tweed driving cap, and some kind of boots that looked like they cost about as much as my monthly food budget. Felix shrugged as I got closer and said, "Tough thing, going through a funeral like this. Practically alone."
I stood next to him and watched as the workers did their job, tossing dirt into the open hole. I flinched as I heard the wet slapping sound of the dirt hitting the wooden surface of the casket.
"Some were here," I said.
"But not much. Back home in the North End, a guy this old, a funeral would last all afternoon, and the line of cars would be going out the gate and out to the street."
"Yeah."
I noticed Felix staring straight ahead, and then he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "You looking for help?"
"I am. How much?"
"Please. This one is gratis. What do you need?"
"I need to find his younger brother. It looks like he's the one who did it."
"Okay," Felix
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