“I’m going to give you some tranquilizers to take when you get home, so that you can rest as well. You have clearly been through some sort of trauma yourself, by what I see… or am I jumping to conclusions?” the doctor asked, concerned.
Paddy sighed. He wondered how he would recount in a nutshell how he was involved in a life-and-death struggle on a plane where several civilians were executed because he could not protect them either.
“Let’s just say I have had a very, very long day of more tension than any man can handle,” he said, and he placed his hand on Cassie’s forehead. As his palm met her skin, his wedding ring gleamed in the meager light as if it had come to life when he touched his wife.
“It shows. Maybe you should get home and rest, while we take care of Mrs. Smith. You can come in and see her tomorrow,” Dr. Burns reassured Paddy. “For now she is healing nicely.”
When Paddy arrived at his house he had a word with the two officers watching his house. He arranged for them to send an officer to stand guard at his wife’s hospital room, for fear that the assailant would return to finish the job. Since Paddy used to be a DCI at the same precinct, the commanding officer had no problem obliging. They all knew the Smiths. The sent out two men in eight-hour shift changes to watch Cassandra while she was in hospital.
In the meantime, Paddy was going to wait patiently for the attacker to come looking for him. The generator burned a whole in his pocket and he could not help resenting Sam and Nina just a little for pulling him away from his wife while endangering her with their constant involvement in these clandestine quests. Had it not been for them, none of this would have happened, but then again, his inner voice reminded him, he could have said no. His loyalty to Sam Cleave almost cost him his wife. He was done protecting Sam.
He boarded up the broken window with shaking hands and a very unstable disposition.
“This is where Cassie was shot,” he said to no one in particular. He felt like he had to say it out loud to give it the reverence it deserved, to honor her courage and remind himself that it could never happen again. A few hours before, the local police detectives had combed the scene for prints and evidence, but they found nothing conclusive, according to the squad car driver out in his driveway. “This is where Cassie escaped,” he said as he stepped back to observe the closed-up window. Then he turned to the couch. Blood stained the upholstery and carpet, forcing Paddy to weep, “This is where Cassie fought for her life.”
Patrick Smith collapsed to his knees, sobbing like a child. Almost losing the most important person in his life finally sank in and gripped his soul with a cruel squeeze. Whoever did this was going to pay, even if he had to resort to murder, even if he got suspended for taking the time out for his own vendetta. He did not care.
Through his tears, he noticed a green piece of wool yarn sticking out from under the couch. He followed it and found the knitting his wife had been teaching herself. A ball of wool with two knitting needles was bundled up with some horrendous attempt at a scarf. He had to smile for the mess she construed as a legitimate piece of work. But then it dawned on him that the blood on the knitting needle was not Cassie’s. After all, did the nurse not tell him that Cassie mentioned stabbing her assailant with her scarf stuff?
“Well done, love,” Paddy smiled through his tears. He reveled in the amount of blood on the wool. “Hope you killed the fucker.”
He got up and put the kettle on. There was no drinking tonight, not only for the pills he would take to help him sleep, but because he did not need to feel like shit in the morning. He had to be sharp, because he had to get rid of this generator once and for all. He took it out of his coat and put the small vessel that held the much-desired device on the kitchen counter. While he listened to the rain and the hum of the kettle element boiling the water, he stared at the Dewar, wondering what would happen if he opened it.
Tea and a cigarette sufficed as dinner before Paddy took the pills Dr. Burns gave him.
“Hope you’re not also in on it, doc. I wouldn’t be bloody surprised,” he said as he threw his head back to swallow the tranquilizer. While he waited for the pill to kick in, he opened the freezer door at the top of his fridge. From the freezer he pulled out a box of frozen fish fingers and chucked the lot into a frying pan. But Paddy was not hungry.
He slid the silver flask of the generator into the box and replaced it in the freezer. If anyone was going to come looking for it, he would not make it easy to find. Better yet, he would sleep with his gun loaded, and make it downright impossible.
Chapter 20
Jari Koivusaari enjoyed the company of the Scottish celebrities he had been entertaining, yet he could not help but feel that they knew more than they let on. After he told them about Josef being his father, and the subsequent sale of the cross statue, they acted a bit different. However, he thought it was just his imagination.
“So did Josef tell you what would happen after 19 years?” Purdue asked.
“No. Has anything happened?” he asked Purdue. He sat forward in excitement, “Something happened, right? Or otherwise why are you here?”
Purdue was caught in a moral mess. If he told Jari that the cross fell apart and revealed solid gold, the Finnish dealer would be distraught for selling the item that would have gifted him his financial rescue. He might even be angry. The old man was very sharp, that much was clear to them. He had a way of deducing the truth behind things, so Purdue played it down the middle.
“It was damaged, but most of it is still standing,” he told Jari. “But we were just curious about the symbols on the head of the cross. Nina had a hunch it might be an interesting story.”
Nina looked surprised at his blaming her, but for the sake of the argument she held her tongue and just smiled. Purdue was trying to tell the truth without taking the responsibility for it and she knew it.
“That writing is Estonian,” Jari explained. “You see? Just like the real monument, this piece was looking like it is for Estonia. It says “Odinsholm 1943” and then it says “to the Grave of Odin will no compass yield. But his Wisdom lies beneath where the white eye looks.
“What the hell does that mean?” Sam wondered out loud.
Jari shrugged. “My father was no Christian. He had great respect for Odin. He told me that he had seen Odin’s wisdom and it terrified him to his soul. So he never went back.”
“Back where?” Nina asked.
“I don’t know. He was very… how is the word? He was mad with genius, with knowing things,” their host imparted, as he emptied the bottle into their glasses. “And Odin was one with wisdom.”
“Odin!” Nina shouted out. “Of course! Your dogs, their names are the same as Odin’s wolves! I knew those names were familiar!” She laughed proudly, rubbing her palms together. Jari joined in her glee, impressed again that she knew.
“Yes, yes. My children are named for the two wolves at Odin’s feet, just because they eat everything they can,” Jari chuckled.
“That’s right. His wolves were known to be ravenous,” Nina agreed. “Then that is a perfect name for these boys.”
Purdue knew all he needed to know. On his tablet he had noted everything referring to Josef Palevski and his eccentric riddles. It was time that they got going as the late afternoon loomed.
“Well, Jari, we have to be off. It was a great honor to meet you,” Purdue smiled, shaking the man’s hand. They parted with well wishes and another bottle of Virvatulet to consume while they mapped out their plan of action.
And they did. Next to the lake the three sat discussing the meaning of the inscription. Nina was of the mind that the term “Grave of Odin” was merely a metaphor.