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Kyser’s frown deepened. “That would be inconvenient.”
“But helpful,” Jason repeated.
“Very well.”
Boxner said, “You’re in contact with Martin Pink, aren’t you? You’re one of the only two people approved to phone him up in prison.”
Kyser cracked his knuckles again. “I was writing a book on Pink,” he said. “I’ve written several books on the topic of aberrant psychology and crime. I’ve interviewed any number of convicted killers in their place of incarceration—as I’m sure you’re aware, Officers.”
“You were writing a book?” Jason asked. “Does that mean the book is finished?”
“No. I decided Pink was not a suitable subject for my work. Can we get to the point of your visit? I’m very busy.” He started to pop his knuckles, caught Jason’s glance, and stopped himself.
Jason said, “Regarding those miniature carvings—”
Kyser burst out, “Agent West, I’m not a fool! It’s obvious that someone—presumably you—has finally made the connection between me and the carvings that Pink planted on the bodies of his victims. Ask me what it is you wish to know. I have nothing to hide.”
“You have nothing to hide?” Boxner said. “How about the fact that you never came forward to admit you were the one who carved those mermaids?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Kyser said, “no effort to find the creator of the mermaids was ever mounted. No such search was advertised in the press. And why would it be of interest or importance? I had nothing to do with those murders, was not aware that my work was used in such an obscene way by Pink until I interviewed him years later.”
“You could have come forward then,” Jason said. He was considering the use of the word creator. It struck him as off. Kennedy would probably have some theories on that.
“No. That would have solved nothing. I would have lost Pink’s trust, which I needed for my book. And it would have directed unwelcome publicity and attention my way. Only a fool or a madman would willingly put himself in that spotlight.”
Boxner said, “That wasn’t your call. You should have—”
“Incorrect and inaccurate,” Kyser said flatly. “Pink is already serving several life sentences with no possibility of parole. There was nothing you could have gained, but there was—and is—a great deal I could lose.”
Everything Kyser said made a certain amount of sense, and yet Jason had the feeling that they were missing something.
“That’s a pretty weird attitude to take, sir,” Boxner said. “If you don’t mind my saying so.”
Kyser glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I do mind you saying so. Who are you to judge me?”
Boxner bristled. “I’ll tell you who I—”
“Why mermaids?” Jason raised his voice, talking right over Boxner who just wasn’t going to let it go even if he antagonized Kyser into lawyering up.
Kyser’s strange dark gaze fastened once more on Jason’s. “What do you know about mermaids, Agent West?”
“Not a lot,” Jason admitted. “Mythological creatures, half-woman and half-fish, that appear in most of the folktales and legends of the world. They’re water spirits, right?”
“Mythological.” Kyser laughed. “No. The mermaid is as real as you or I. She is an Assyrian demon. There are numerous historical accounts of these creatures. Christopher Columbus reported seeing mermaids during his exploration of the Caribbean. Sightings continue to this day in Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Israel, and Zimbabwe. To encounter one is to encounter disaster.”
“An Assyrian demon.” Boxner was looking at Jason.
Kyser glared at him. “Yes, Officer Box. And I know what you’re thinking. To believe in an angel is perfectly normal. To believe in the Christian devil is reasonable. Yet to believe in an Assyrian demon, the oldest by far of all of these, is to be crazy.”
Okaaaaaay.
“Dr. Kyser, did you know Martin Pink previous to interviewing him for your book?” Jason inquired.
For the first time Kyser hesitated. His licked his lips. “I wouldn’t say that I knew him. I ran into him on occasion. I’m something of an amateur naturalist, and I used to spend a good deal of time in the woods around Kingsfield. As did Pink, though our objectives were very different.”
“I see. Are you familiar with Rexford?”
Kyser stared. “Rexford. What is that?”
