The Lie In Belief #2

November 11, this year
2 Newport Highway, Idaho
9:25am PST

The van rolls north. A gentle rain falls through the grey. The conversation moves to Professor Molmer as he runs through Astrid’s research with Rearden. The main points: the uncovering of scrolls and written mythos, laws and pieces of historical record. And the Toele, the Itonalya tome. It contains the history of the so called immortals on Earth. He touches on the Itonalya language of Elliqui and how Astrid’s team has managed to translate more than any other Wyn Avuquain expert.

Rearden listens with a genuine interest, his eyes often resting upon Astrid. It makes her uncomfortable. She lifts her phone and swipes to her text screen. The thought occurs to her that she has no one to tell where she’s gone. No one waiting. She could send a note to her assistant, Marcel, to share with him the news. The text forms in her mind: validation, new funding, there’s more to do. But she hesitates. She should learn more first. But other than Marcel—no one.

Her eyes tick up from her screen to Rearden as Molmer mentions the mysterious Albion Ravistelle. Rearden still watches her. Astrid ducks back to her phone and her thumb slides to Google. She taps in Dr. Marcus Rearden.

Jackpot. Criminal psychologist. Author. Celebrity. Photos of Rearden with politicians, lawyers, judges. Famous trials—mostly macabre and grisly murder cases. Quotes. The cover of his New York Times bestselling book, Getting Away With Murder.

She taps to images—the screen fills with photos of him. She scrolls. Handsome in his own way, Astrid thinks. Especially as a young man. She notes that in his latest pictures, he looks much older than he appears now. She stops herself from looking up to make the comparison. But it is obvious that some care or weight has lifted since these recent photos. The thought of Rearden going through with some sort of cosmetic surgery to maintain his vain celebrity almost lights a mocking smile.

She taps back a screen and sees the headline, Dr. Marcus Rearden arrested for murder. Again she resists the impulse to glance up at him. The article is one of many covering the same case. Suddenly it registers. Astrid recalls hearing about it on the local news. Rearden was arrested after confessing to the murder of a woman named Bethany Winship. A picture of Bethany appears in her scrolling. She is attractive, older and altogether lovely, Astrid thinks. But Astrid notes a strange hint of sadness in the woman’s smile. She reads on. Rearden had strangled and drowned the woman in Sandpoint’s Pend Oreille Lake—during his escape, he shot two police detectives. He also shot and injured a woman named Julia Iris just before capture in Coeur d’Alene (no photograph). This was less than two weeks ago, on Halloween. Her hand clenches the book in her lap. She can feel her heart rate increase.

The latest headline, not a week old, reads: Undercover Rearden vindicated. Rearden’s protégé, Psychologist Loche Newirth, is now wanted for murder. She scans. The article tells of how Rearden was working toward bringing the young psychologist, Loche Newirth, to justice through some rather unorthodox methods. Several other links follow, connecting Newirth to a terrorist attack at the Uffizi in Florence, Italy.

Before she can read more, she hears Rearden say, “I have so many questions.”

Astrid lowers the phone. She has her own questions regarding his recent past, but she refrains. Instead, she quickly asks, “Why are you so interested in my work, Dr. Rearden? Isn’t your calling criminal psychology, that is, when you’re not basking in the limelight as author and celebrity?”

Rearden blinks.

Something about this asshole, she thinks. She laughs lightly to give the impression that she is kidding with him.

Rearden chuckles. “So you recognize me?”

“Only because of the local news.”

He nods. “I see. Yes. A sad story, I’m afraid.”

“Sounds like it,” she says.

Molmer interjects, “Marcus’s part was helping the authorities capture Newirth.”

“A rather long story that I’m not able to speak freely about,” adds Rearden.

Astrid says, “I’m not interested in Mrs. Bethany Winship or this Newirth person—you didn’t answer the question. What is your interest in my work?”

“Ah,” Rearden sighs. “Truth is, the still-at-large Dr. Newirth will play a role eventually. But let’s suffice it to say that my interest falls in line with his interest.”

“His interest? You mean, Loche Newirth’s interest?” she asks.

“Precisely. Believe it or not, like you, Newirth is…” Rearden pauses—searching for a word, “Loche is an authority on your particular subject of interest.”

“An authority?” Astrid says dubiously.

“Indeed. He has insights that I believe would delight and shock you, Professor.”

“You believe so, do you?”

“There’s that word again,” Rearden notes with a slight squint. “After Dr. Newirth murdered Mrs. Bethany Winship, he retreated to his lake cabin and surrounded himself with numerous texts on mythology, ancient history and the like.”

Astrid says, “So you believe that by learning more about my work you can better understand Loche, and thereby find him?”

Rearden’s face slides into a hard-to-read smile. Astrid feels her stomach tense. She feels fear.

“Yes,” he answers. “There is truth enough in that. But right now, I can say no more.”

Molmer points to the approaching gate. “We’re here.”

“Where?”

“The airfield.”

“Airfield?” Astrid nearly shouts.

Molmer nods. “Yes. And Astrid, please know that I have your best interest in mind. In less than thirty minutes, you will be thanking me. And look, the sky is clearing. What happy chance. Have you ever been in a helicopter?”