by Howe, A. E.
Blasko glared at his retreating back and followed him.
“I’m taking you into custody,” Logan said to Timothy Handlin.
“What the hell do you mean you’re arresting me?” Handlin sounded like he was ready to fight. “You need to find the monster that killed my wife!”
Logan ignored him. “Were you having an affair? Never mind. We’ll soon discover your motive. Take him to the office and put him in a cell. Drag him, if you have to,” he told Bobby, who was frowning and slowly shaking his head. The sheriff saw the look. “You’ll do as I tell you.” His hand shifted slightly back to rest on the Colt revolver strapped to his side.
“Doc?” Bobby said to McGuire.
“I’ll meet you down at the station. More light there anyway,” the doctor said, and helped Bobby support Handlin as they left the porch.
“What are you looking at?” Logan said as he noticed Blasko staring at him.
“A grave error.” Blasko turned and walked back into the night.
He could still smell the animal. If that buffoon of a sheriff had been willing to listen, he could have led a hunt for the creature. Instead, he followed the smell on his own. The scent was stronger behind the house.
“What’re you doing back here?” Deputy Paige yelled from the back porch as Blasko stopped to sniff the air.
Blasko ignored the sheriff’s toady and followed the scent into a dirt alley that ran behind the house. He could just make out some prints on the ground.
“Mind if I join you?”
Blasko whirled around to see Colonel Etheridge standing behind him, carrying a hunting rifle and a flashlight. Blasko had been so focused on the scent that he hadn’t noticed the colonel following him. A mistake like that could be fatal, he thought. That’s twice I’ve let him take me by surprise.
Shaking off his embarrassment, he pointed to the scuff marks in the dirt. “Tracks.”
“Go on, then,” the colonel said with a grim smile.
The scent was strong and easy to follow. Blasko was able to track it without making it obvious to Etheridge that he was using his nose to do so. Two blocks from the Handlins’ house, the trail led them to the back of one of Sumter’s two gas stations. Behind the brick building there was an old hand water pump with a five-gallon tin pail underneath it. Here the odor of blood and animal musk was overwhelming for Blasko.
“Someone’s used this within the last hour,” Etheridge said, shining his flashlight at the pail.
“The attacker.”
Etheridge looked closely at the handle of the water pump. It was wet.
“No animal pumps water,” he said as much to himself as to Blasko.
“No natural animal.”
“I confronted a beast down in the Belgian Congo back before the Great War,” the colonel said thoughtfully. “I hope to heaven this isn’t anything like that.” Blasko raised his eyebrows, but the colonel did not elaborate.
They spent another half hour trying to pick up the trail before giving up and walking back to the courthouse square. As Etheridge and Blasko neared the sheriff’s office, Bobby Tucker was leaning on his patrol car, smoking a cigar in the cool night air.
“We followed the creature’s trail to the back of Sam’s Service Station where it cleaned itself off at the water pump,” Blasko told him.
“Could you tell where he went from there?” Bobby stood up straight, looking like a Labrador Retriever that’s just flushed a flock of quail.
“No luck,” Etheridge said. “Why do you think Logan flew off the rails like that and locked up Handlin?”
“He’s been under a lot of stress,” Bobby said, not really wanting to defend the man’s action in this case. But Logan had been more than a mentor to him over the years. Now he was watching him break down and he didn’t know what to do about it. His job was too important to simply support Logan, regardless of the cost.
“Did Handlin say anything else that could be useful?” Blasko asked.
“He’s too badly hurt. Both physically and emotionally. The doc treated his wounds, but Handlin ain’t there. He saw his wife torn up, was attacked himself and then arrested for his wife’s murder. I don’t think there are many men who’d be in any shape to talk after a night like this.” Bobby took a long draw off his cigar.
It was past midnight and quiet, so when the men heard cars heading their way they all looked up. It was Sheriff Logan and Emmett Wolfe. Both cars pulled up to the curb and the sheriff jumped out of his before the engine had stopped coughing.
“Has he confessed?” Logan asked.
“No. The doctor treated his—”
“Then what the hell are you doing out here? We got to keep his feet to the fire.” The sheriff was standing close to Bobby, shouting in his face.
“Sheriff, I don’t mean to argue with you, but Handlin didn’t do this,” Bobby said in as submissive a voice as Blasko had ever heard him use.
But it didn’t do any good. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the sheriff’s face flushed red and his anger boiled over.
“How dare you? Are you blind? This is nothing more than a copycat murder. Handlin saw an opportunity to kill his wife and make it look like it was done by the same animal that ripped up the Taylor boy. Stupid! ’Cause no wild animal is going to come into town and kill some woman in her kitchen. It’s nonsense!”
Logan was out of breath from the tirade, but he wasn’t ready to stop. “Now do your job! I swear, if you don’t get in there and start putting some heat on the suspect, then you can just hand in that badge.” He punctuated his last words by poking at the star pinned to Bobby’s chest.
Bobby pursed his lips, but didn’t react.
“By George, I’ll do it myself!” the sheriff said, spittle flying from his mouth. He wheeled around and started up the steps toward the door of the sheriff’s office.
The four men watched his back as he climbed the stairs. His foot had just touched the top step when he faltered. No one had a chance to react as Logan fell forward. Bobby dashed up the steps and managed to catch the sheriff before he slid back down to the sidewalk.
“Help me get him in the car. We’ve got to take him over to the doc,” Bobby said, already half lifting the man up off the steps. Emmett and the colonel took Logan’s legs as Blasko and Bobby held his shoulders. Together, they eased him into the back seat of Bobby’s car.
Blasko rode with him while the others followed in Emmett’s car. They rolled into the doctor’s driveway and Bobby laid on his horn. Within minutes, a woman came out of the house.
“What the dickens is going on? Oh, it’s you, Deputy Tucker. Dr. McGuire just got to bed,” Nurse Wheaton complained.
“The sheriff collapsed,” Bobby said, opening the back door of his patrol car to reveal the sheriff lying awkwardly across the seat. The nurse looked in at him.
“I’ll get the doctor,” she said, and started to turn back to the house. At that moment, the front door opened and Dr. McGuire came out wearing pants, slippers and a nightshirt.
“What’s going on?” he asked, and everyone stood back from the car’s open door. Without another word, Dr. McGuire leaned in and started unbuttoning the sheriff’s shirt.
“Get me a flashlight and my bag,” he told the nurse, who hustled back toward the house.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. McGuire backed out of the car. “We need to get him to the hospital in Montgomery. He’s had a stroke.”
Without another word, Bobby got back behind the wheel.
“I’ll meet you there,” the doctor said, heading for his own car.
Blasko, Emmett and the colonel stood watching until they were the only ones left in McGuire’s front yard.
“Some night,” Emmett said. “Y’all need a ride?”
“I’ll walk,” Blasko said while Etheridge accepted the offer. After watching them drive off, Blasko took his bearings. His goal now was to find Matthew and learn what François had been doing this evening.
Blasko remembered the direction h
e’d seen Matthew and François heading after the medium left the hotel. He set off at a brisk pace, thinking about the events of the night. What had made the Handlins victims of such an attack?
It took him an hour to find Matthew, who was lying under a sycamore tree about ten feet off the sidewalk in a neighborhood of lavish homes. The area had been built up during the boom years after the Great War. The house across the street from where Matthew was camping out was a Victorian with an excessive amount of gingerbread molding around the eaves, making it look a bit desperate to be noticed.
“He’s been in there all evening,” Matthew told Blasko, nodding across to the house.
“Are you sure?”
Matthew gave him an irritated look. “If you don’t think I can do my job, then fire me. Oh, wait, you don’t pay me. I guess you can’t fire me.”
“I give you money,” Blasko said, admitting to himself that it had been a while. “From time to time.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot. I’m tellin’ you, he walked straight here from the hotel. It looked like they made small talk for a while, had some drinks, then the lights went off and the candles were lit. That lasted for several hours until the lights came on again. Since then, they’ve been milling about in there. I was just starting to wonder when they’re gonna call it quits.”
“There was another attack tonight,” Blasko told him.
Matthew sat up. “Where?” His voice was tense.
Blasko described the attack on the Handlins.
“Tim Handlin works for the coal delivery company. Nice guy.”
“You know him?”
“When I was still panhandling around town, he gave me a buck now and then. Liked to talk about his father who was in the war. Came back in pretty bad shape. I’m afraid I used the guy as a soft touch. I’ve seen him around town a couple of times since I got sober, but I’ve been too embarrassed to say anything to him.”
“He’ll survive, but Logan’s trying to pin the murder of his wife on him.”
“Is there a chance the sheriff is right? I mean, it does sound pretty farfetched that an animal killed the Taylor kid and then went after this woman and her husband.”
“The pattern, or I should say the lack of pattern, is similar to what happened back in the Carpathians. There the beast seemed to be purposefully wreaking havoc. Like an anarchist who strikes here and there in order to sow panic and terror.”
“And you really think this monster is some sort of half-man, half-wolf? The attacks seem motiveless beyond wanting to kill and spread fear.” Matthew shook his head. “I’m no detective, but I’d say that a killer like that would be pretty hard to catch.”
Blasko looked over at the house where François had held his séance. “I thought I had my suspect,” he said wistfully. “I may have to write it off as a coincidence.”
“Contrary to what folks say, coincidences do happen.” Matthew said, standing up. “I hope this means I can stop following the man around.”
“For the moment. We’re going to have to cast a wider net.”
“Fine. You think about it. Can you give me a dollar? I want to head over to the diner before going home.”
Reluctantly, Blasko handed over the money and watched Matthew stroll off. Then he turned for home, mulling things over in his mind. François’s solid alibi for the most recent attack left him searching for a new suspect.
The lights were still on at Josephine’s house, so Blasko bypassed his apartment and entered the house by the back door. He found Josephine in the parlor, curled up on the sofa and reading a well-worn copy of Melmoth the Wanderer. When he entered the room, she held up a finger to stop him while she finished a paragraph.
“I decided I’d pull out some of my old gothic novels. They don’t seem as… frightening now that I’m living in one.”
“You heard that there was another murder?”
“Evangeline Anderson pounded on my door to tell me about it and to warn me not to answer the door. That woman is crazy. Her account seemed hysterical, even for her,” Josephine said, referring to their nosy neighbor.
“Mrs. Handlin was mauled to death in her kitchen. Her husband came in at the end of it and was slashed across the face, but he’s going to be all right.”
“Now that there’s a living witness, is the sheriff finally willing to listen to you and Bobby?”
Blasko sighed. “The sheriff accused Handlin of killing his wife and making it look like a copycat murder. Logan went so far as to order Tucker to arrest and interrogate the man.”
“Poor Bobby,” Josephine said, then added, “And of course, Mr. Handlin. He must have been distraught.”
“That’s not the end of the story. Logan had what, according to Dr. McGuire, was a stroke on the steps of the sheriff’s office.”
Josephine frowned. “That I hadn’t heard.”
“The sheriff was acting quite irrational before the stroke.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“They took him to the hospital in Montgomery. His condition looked… severe.”
“Bobby take him?”
“Followed by McGuire.”
“I guess someone told Logan’s wife and daughter?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Bobby and I were planning to go back out to the Chesters’ farm tomorrow to try talking with the daughter when her parents aren’t around.”
“On several nights when the hunts were close to their house, I tried to catch a glimpse of her. Her parents seem very protective of her.”
“As you certainly would be with a monster creeping around the countryside,” Josephine said, not knowing why she was defending them. She had found the father’s attitude overbearing.
“You mentioned that her father would have been angry about her courting Seth Taylor. He might have instituted some sort of… isolation for the girl as punishment.”
“I’m afraid of that. Or worse. Mrs. Chester seemed scared of her husband. She and her daughter were hiding the fact that she had been seeing Seth, but I don’t have much faith that they could keep the secret long if the girl was as upset as her mother said she was.”
“You’ll be pleased to hear that François was not responsible for the Handlin attack,” Blasko said, a smirk on his face.
“I don’t know why you insist that I like the man or even believe in his abilities. I just pointed out that it was uncanny how he told me about the note from my uncle. So how do you know that he’s innocent?”
“I had Matthew tail him. François was giving another one of his séances tonight.”
“I told you it was unlikely that he could have committed the Taylor murder with the number of people who witnessed him at the séance the night Seth was attacked.”
Blasko waved his hand. “Still, there is something…”
“He’s an odd foreigner. If I was you, I think I’d let that drop,” Josephine said with a sly smile.
“I am not…”
“You aren’t what… foreign? Odd? I’d say take a look in the mirror, but that would be a shot below the belt.” Josephine was enjoying getting a few barbs in at Blasko’s expense, though she had to admit the mirror line was cruel. Blasko had explained to her that he could see his reflection, but only as a disturbing image of his true age.
“Can you think of any other suspects?” he asked, deciding to call off the tit-for-tat exchange.
“If this is a monster, then what is the motive?”
“A desire to spread chaos could be the only reason. When your grandfather’s village came under attack, I believed that the creature responsible reveled in the murders. If there was a deeper motive, I never discovered it. Here, I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“The two murders are so different. One in the country, the other in town. A young man and a mature woman.”
“The first was in an isolated area where the killer could count on no one interfering, while the second was inside a home where the victim’s husband was upstairs and could be counted on to interv
ene. Is there a reason for the difference?” Blasko asked.
“Looking at the two victims and seeing if they have anything in common would seem like the logical place to start.”
Blasko smiled at her. “Exactly.”
“Let me guess, that’s going to be my assignment.”
“You are the one with deep ties in the community. You will be much better able than me to ferret out any connections that might exist below the surface.”
“Hmmm, I guess I’d agree with that. I want to talk to Molly Chester first.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that you go out to the farm by yourself,” Blasko said with a stern look.
“If we miss the opportunity tomorrow morning, then we’ll have to wait until next Saturday.”
“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m going no matter what you say.’ Fine, but if Tucker doesn’t show up, please take Matthew with you.”
“Matthew wasn’t much good last—”
“Do not give him a hard time about that. He has been flagellating himself ever since you two were snatched and held by that cult.”
“I was only kidding. He shouldn’t blame himself.”
“Promise me you won’t go out there by yourself,” Blasko said, his face earnest.
“You have my word. See, my fingers aren’t even crossed.” She held up her hands. “Honestly, there was a strange undercurrent to the place that didn’t sit well with me.”
“If Logan is incapacitated, who will be the chief law enforcement officer in the county?” Blasko still didn’t fully understand how local American politics worked.
“Depends on how bad Logan’s health is. If he’s just going to be out for the short term, then Bobby will probably fill in. But if Logan won’t be able to return to duty, then the governor will appoint someone to fill his post. If that happens, it will take a while, possibly a month or more. The governor will seek advice from prominent locals.”
“Like you?”
“I might be able to get a word in, but the best way for me to influence the choice would be to put the word out to local politicians who the governor might ask for opinions.”