by E A Price
They guessed that the killer had hurt Reginald, perhaps hitting him hard enough to draw a little blood outside the shack, and then Reginald had tried to run, with the killer in pursuit. Small drips of blood, and also fibers from Reginald’s worn clothes had been found until they reached the alley where he was killed. His body, what was left of it, had been tossed into a dumpster, but the killer hadn’t tried to clean up the copious amount of blood.
Cutter let out a long breath. “Okay, Wayne you be the victim. Avery, you’re the killer.”
“Why am I always the victim?” griped Wayne as he gingerly sat in front of the shack.
Avery gave him a playful pout. “You’re so much better at it than me.”
Cutter hushed them with a scowl. “Okay let’s try it a few different ways. Avery, you’re walking down the alley.”
She started walking. “Strange that I’m out here in the middle of the night.”
Wayne pointed to the other end of the alley. “There’s free parking down there at night.”
“So maybe I’m walking to my car, but it’s still kind of dangerous to be out at night.”
Cutter nodded. “Marvin couldn’t really tell us anything other than a big predator with sharp teeth attacked our victim.”
“Wolf, cat or bear?”
“Yeah, those would be my first guesses. I’d lean to wolf or cat, though. Hedgehog shifters can actually be quite fast.” He almost smiled as he thought of the light-footed Lucie chasing him around the office.
Avery stopped when she arrived at Wayne. “So then what?”
“Maybe Reginald asked for some spare change or something and he got a punch for his troubles,” suggested Wayne.
The parts of his body they found had enough bruises for that to be true.
“Okay, show me,” said Cutter.
Wayne and Avery play-acted that, with Wayne flailing around on the ground, over-acting in a manner that would make the hammiest actor proud.
Avery rolled her eyes. “Settle down, Brando. Now, what?”
The gator shifter rolled to his knees. “Maybe they got in an argument and our killer just lost his temper.” He gave Cutter a sly grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time a wolf shifter went nuts for no reason.”
“We’re still not sure a wolf did this,” he muttered.
Avery tapped a finger against her lip. “At that time of night and in this part of town, they could have been drunk and not exactly thinking clearly.”
Cutter rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think this is helping. All we’re doing is guessing, and even if we’re right, we’re still no closer to finding out who did this.” He stared at Reginald’s makeshift home. “Did the crime scene techs look over all his stuff?”
“They did,” replied Wayne. “They took a few things back to the lab to look at, but given that the murder happened elsewhere, they didn’t really bother with this place.”
Cutter dug out the crime scene photo. The alley had been cordoned off for a couple of nights before being released. Since it wasn’t actually the scene of the murder, it wasn’t deemed important. It was odd that no one else had tried to take over the hedgehog’s area. His wolf stirred uneasily.
“Didn’t that care worker say that Reginald never liked to leave his home because he was afraid that someone else would try to move in on his turf?”
Avery nodded. “Yeah, he was apparently really obsessive about it.”
“But it’s been a week, and Reginald is definitely not coming back, yet no one else has tried to, why not?”
Wayne shrugged. “Maybe they’re too scared.”
The lioness pulled off her sunglasses. “You think there’s something to that?”
He wasn’t the best as solving puzzles and working things out, so he relied on the instincts of his wolf to steer him in the right direction. And his wolf seemed to think it was odd.
“It just seems weird, I mean, Reginald has blankets and even canned food in there – why wouldn’t another homeless person want them? It’s not like Reginald is coming back for them.”
“Something’s scaring them away,” she agreed.
“Do you think you guys can find out what?”
Wayne nodded. “We’ll grab that care worker and see about finding some people who knew Reginald.”
“Good, I guess I’m going to look through the stuff the techs actually did take from this place.” Cutter sifted through the paperwork he had on the case. “I can’t find a report on it.”
Avery snorted. “There isn’t one. Hale didn’t do anything with it.”
His wolf rumbled at the mention the chief crime scene technician. Hale was a crocodile shifter who suffered from a superiority complex – namely that he believed every single person on the planet was beneath him.
“Fucking crocodile,” grumbled Wayne.
Hale wasn’t exactly liked throughout the SEA, but, in particular, he didn’t get along with the gator shifter. It wasn’t a matter of personality; it was a matter of species. Wayne had tried to explain it once. Apparently there was this big rivalry between alligators and crocodile shifters. Crocodiles tended to be richer, snootier and had serious chips on their shoulders, and considered gators to be the lesser hicks of the shifter world.
As far as Cutter was concerned, they were all just lizards and almost the same. Although, he didn’t say that out loud, not after the first time when Wayne went berserk. Hale treated Wayne with as much respect as gum he’d stepped in and was having trouble scraping off the bottom of his shoe.
“Why hasn’t Hale done anything with it?”
“Well, when I asked him about it, he told me it was low priority,” said Avery. “He explained that the items weren’t from the actual crime scene and because the murder was of a homeless man, he considered the case to be less important than his other cases.”
His beast growled as he snapped the file shut. “He actually said that?”
“Almost word for word,” confirmed Avery.
“Fucking crocodile,” reiterated Wayne.
Cutter rubbed his head, running his hand over his short, bristly hair. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Avery pouted. “Aww, I’m sorry I’m going to miss it. Usually, when you talk to someone, it ends with punching. After the crap he gave me over the case, I’d have loved to have seen Hale getting punched.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” muttered Wayne.
“I’m not punching anyone.”
The lioness threw back her head and barked with laughter. “Gets funnier every time you say that. C’mon, Leatherhead, let's go.”
Wayne stood up and stretched his lithe form. “Leatherhead?” he inquired in amusement.
Avery gave him a look of mock exasperation. “Apparently you’re not as well versed in eighties cartoons as I am.”
The alligator gave her a cheery, crooked smile. “Nah, growing up, we never had a TV. My momma said it rotted your brain.”
Cutter bit his tongue. He could have argued that fish head stew and all the other putrid sounding dishes he raved over might do that. But, like crocodiles, he’d learned that his momma’s kitchen prowess was a sore subject. Seriously, though, his family seemed to eat all the parts of animals that everyone else threw away.
The lioness looked at Wayne agape. “You poor thing, how on earth did you survive your childhood?”
Wayne put his hand on his heart. “It was rough.”
“Well, let me educate you,” she said, purposefully. “Leatherhead was a mutated alligator in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”
“Right, didn’t a film come out about them recently?”
Avery grimaced. “The cartoon is better; you should watch it - it’s awesome. And if you like that, you’ll love Thundercats.”
Wayne waved a hand at Cutter as they walked away, trying to hide his smirk as Avery started explaining about Lion-O and Mumm-Ra.
Cutter shook his head. When he first met Avery, he’d thought her to be so prim and proper. She looked like she belonged on a catwalk
– pardon the pun - instead of hunting down murderers. But, no, he’d soon come to realize that she was a kickboxing, cartoon-loving, sports-addicted tomboy at heart. She was the star pitcher of the office softball team.
He scowled at that thought. It still irked him that he’d been overthrown as captain in a hostile takeover. Alright, so he probably shouldn’t have lost his temper and chased the umpire around the field, but that umpire was completely biased to the other team! At least they still let him play. He needed all the physical release he could get.
Cutter made his way back to his car. He needed to tackle Hale. The fucking crocodile had no right to decide which victims were worthier than others. Yes, he needed to slam his thin, arrogant face into a wall…
No, no violence. He would talk to him like a rational creature, one shifter to another.
His wolf huffed in irritation. The beast wanted nothing more than to pound away the tension permeating his body. He had a year’s worth of sexual frustration built up, and his only outlets were fighting and exercise. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he hadn’t had sex in over a year. He made up for it by exercising more, boxing and taking the office softball matches far more seriously than necessary, but even those things didn’t seem to help much anymore.
The fact that his self-imposed celibacy seemed to have started at about the time a certain hedgehog shifter arrived at the SEA was completely coincidental. Yep, totally. The only reason why he hadn’t been with another woman was because he just couldn’t find one that interested him. Yep, that was all there was to it. Nothing else; nothing whatsoever.
Ugh.
The strains of the Imperial March from Star Wars started echoing out of his back pocket. With a sigh, he grabbed for his phone. He wasn’t much of a sci-fi fan, but Darth Vader’s theme suited the Director.
“Yeah?”
“There’s been a murder,” snapped the Director agitatedly.
Cutter frowned. Usually, Jessie called to let them know this kind of thing. If the Director was calling, it meant it was really bad news.
“What’s wrong?”
“The victim was a former SEA agent. It was your old partner, Clayton Reeves.”
“In Ursa?”
“No, he was here, in Los Lobos.”
“Give me the address,” Cutter growled hoarsely.
The Director rattled off the details, and Cutter hung up as he ran to his car. His wolf howled mournfully. Clayton, a sly eagle shifter, had been his mentor and partner, right up until Clayton retired, and Cutter moved to Los Lobos.
The son of a bitch was a tough old bird and a former army sergeant. Cutter couldn’t imagine anyone being able to get the drop on him.
Fuck, things just kept getting worse and worse.
Chapter Five
Cutter hauled a couple of agents who were chatting and sipping coffee out of his way. They glared at him but were soon cowed by the ferocious snarl he let loose. He could barely control his wolf.
One of the agency’s greatest agents had just been murdered, and they were gossiping about the janitor getting it on with the head of human resources!
He pushed by a crime scene tech and made his way into the crowded motel room. It was a surprise to find that Clayton had been in town, never mind that he was crashing at a fleapit like the Shifty Bear Motel. The place was known for renting rooms by the hour, and for keeping pest control companies in business.
A number of other crime scene techs moved around the room, and a large, blonde, somewhat familiar lion was leaning over Clayton’s body. His wolf whined, and his gut twisted at the sight of his former mentor prostrate on the bed. A look of surprise was etched into his face, and his body was riddled with gunshot holes.
Cutter sniffed, taking in the familiar Old Spice mixed with cigars and bourbon that always adorned the old eagle shifter. But it was mixed with blood and silver. Someone had shot him with silver bullets, making sure he died quickly and painfully. Shifters weren’t quite as un-killable as say Highlander was, but they were allergic to silver, and attacking them with silver weapons was a sure way to stop them from breathing again.
He stilled, and his wolf whimpered as the familiar scent of blueberries and cream invaded his senses. Oh, no…
Lucie entered the room behind him, followed by the Director.
“You’re here,” remarked the cold snake shifter.
He didn’t even bother with a sarcastic comeback. He was too upset over the death of his friend and too interested in what the hedgehog shifter was doing there to be his usual, snarky self.
His eyes caught Lucie’s, and she threw him a look of sympathy that eased the sharp pain of loss welling within. His beast was caught between wanting her there to ease his suffering and needing her to leave. It was a need based on protectiveness. He didn’t want her there with that dead body; he didn’t want her to be exposed to the evils of the world. He wanted the sweet, little hedgehog untainted and innocent to the vicious acts of others. It was insane to think that he could protect her from all that, but, nevertheless, the desire to do so was there.
He watched Lucie as she walked over to the lion shifter and passed him what looked like a thermometer.
“Here you go, Doctor,” she murmured.
The lion lifted his blonde head and flashed her a quick smile. “Thank you, Lucie.”
A twinge of trepidation blossomed inside him at those three words, and his beast was not a happy little wolf. He didn’t like the way the male lion had said them; he didn’t like the way her name almost came out as a caress on his tongue. No, he didn’t like that one bit.
“What happened?” he asked the Director, refusing to take his eyes off the lion doctor.
Lucie melted into the background, but Cutter was painfully aware of her presence, and more than ready to step between her and the doctor – should the lion make a move to her. God help him if he tried to shake her hand or something.
“He’s been shot,” said the doctor.
“I can see that!” roared Cutter, barely managing to control his animal.
“Control yourself or step outside,” hissed the Director.
The lion raised an eyebrow at him, completely unfazed by his outburst. “I’d say he died about eight to nine hours ago, so some time between two and three this morning.”
“Housekeeping found him about an hour ago,” said Diaz as he made his way into the room. He nodded at Cutter, who jutted his chin in return. “I just spoke to the maid. I’ve got agents talking to other guests and the night porter, but no one appears to have heard anything out of ordinary. But then, for this place, ordinary is noisy sex and arguing.”
The jaguar eyed the doctor speculatively but didn’t say anything.
“I wouldn’t say gunshots are ordinary,” murmured Lucie as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
Diaz turned to look at her and, surprisingly, softened a little. “No, my guess is a silencer was used. But, so far, no one heard any loud noises coming from this room.”
“What was he doing here?” demanded the Director, roughly.
“I don’t know,” admitted Cutter.
“You mean he wasn’t in contact with you?”
“No, I had no idea he wasn’t in Ursa.” Enjoying a retirement plan that included getting drunk every day, hiring women to entertain him and obsessing over his unsolved cases.
The Director gave Diaz a meaningful glance, and he looked a little uneasy.
His wolf growled. “What?”
“Other than his personal items – clothes and a razor - and a bottle of bourbon, the only thing we found in the room was a note with your home address and phone numbers on,” explained Diaz.
“Maybe he intended to contact Cutter,” suggested Lucie, “but he just… uh…”
Her cheeks flushed, and her voice trailed away under the cool stare of the Director.
Cutter’s jaw ticked. As kind as it was for Lucie to try and stick up for him, he didn’t want her in the firing line. Even if it did give him a
warm, enjoyable buzz that he wasn’t altogether comfortable with.
“Maybe he was going to call after he got settled,” Cutter said, calmly.
The Director pursed his lips. “He’s been here almost a week.”
Oh, not good.
“What was he doing here?”
Cutter threw up his hands in exasperation. “I have no idea. I swear I thought he was back in Ursa. I don’t know why he came here.”
“Whatever the reason, Diaz is going to lead the investigation into his death, and I expect your co-operation.”
His wolf snarled. “Usually the alpha team handles the deaths of agents.”
The Director narrowed his eyes. “First of all, he’s a former agent. Second of all, he was your friend, you wouldn’t be objective, and finally, this is my decision. I don’t expect any further argument.”
Cutter’s nostrils flared as he breathed in and out quickly. His wolf wanted to challenge Diaz and prove he was the better male, but he doubted a primal show of force would really sway the Director in this instance. If anything, it would just confirm that he had made the right decision.
Instinctively, he sought out Lucie. He looked into the calming blue of her eyes, and his beast was instantly mollified. Her presence always did that to him. She pacified and soothed his naturally fractious soul. It was why he couldn’t be around her. If he became too calm, too enraptured with her hypnotic presence, he might just end up doing something he couldn’t take back – like bonding her to him.
“Fine,” said Cutter through gritted teeth.
“I expect Diaz will want to interview you later,” the Director looked to the jaguar for confirmation and he nodded. “Good, keep me informed.” He angled his head toward the lion shifter. “Good to meet you, Rick.”