The Wolf at the Door

by Charlie Adhara

  “We’re glad you’re here,” Brown said, putting her hands on her hips and looking them over closely.

  Cooper stood a little straighter. “Can you fill us in?”

  Brown got right into it. “We’re not sure Gould’s got anything to do with our vics. This could just be a lost man. Gould was working on a trail not far from here yesterday and the bodies were found further south. Gould’s momma said she was expecting him home after his shift ended here at two. I’ve got four teams combing the area in case—” She broke off, looked behind her and beckoned one of the men standing around the map to come over.

  “This is Ranger Christie with the Forest Service. He was the last to see Gould yesterday.” Christie was tall, taller than Park even, but much leaner. Sort of poky and angular-looking. Bright auburn hair peeked out from under his wide-brim hat, thin lips were set in a grim line and large sunglasses obscured a good deal of his face. Brown introduced them. Christie didn’t smile or offer to shake, keeping his hands shoved into his uniform’s pockets.

  “BSI? What’s that?” Christie said as way of a greeting.

  “Bureau of Special Investigations. We’re a branch of the FBI,” Cooper said quickly. “Can you walk us through what happened?”

  “Robert Gould works part-time as a forestry technician here. Fancy title for trail maintenance and service work. He showed up yesterday morning and I sent him to Burberry Pass, one of the east trails. We had a storm a couple days ago and a tree came down across the path. Gould was to spend his shift clearing it.”

  “By himself?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t a hard job and we don’t have a large crew. I did rounds and checked in on him around noon. Nothing unusual. He asked if he finished up could he leave a little early. I said that was fine by me.”

  “That was the last time you saw him?”

  “Yes. When I passed that trail again around two, he was gone. I assumed he’d left for the day.”

  “He didn’t come back by the ranger station here to report in or clock out?”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “Was that normal?”

  Christie hesitated. “For Gould, yes,” he said finally.

  “Was Gould an experienced outdoorsman?” Park asked.

  “Experienced enough. I hired him about a year ago. He learned quickly. It’s not exactly in the job description, but he knows how to track and how to stay out of the way of predators. He grew up here, so he’s got a pretty good handle on the land. I would say he could take care of himself. But some of those cliffs and crevices have a way of sneaking up on even experienced hikers.”

  So did some of the predators, thought Cooper, and touched his own belly absently. Two bodies turn up ripped apart by a wolf and a capable man goes missing from the same forest right after? Brown may not be convinced the two were related, but Cooper was. “Where were Bornestein and Doe found?”

  “About an hour and a half south of here off-trail.”

  “I’d like to check the scene out,” Park said.

  Cooper frowned. He didn’t disagree necessarily. He just hadn’t decided whether it would be a better use of their time going over the crime scene or joining the search. But Brown was already nodding and assigning them a guide.

  “Christie, would you mind? You know the land better than anyone else.” Christie shrugged his pointy shoulders, face unreadable behind the sunglasses. “And—”

  “I’d like to go with them, Chief.” Another one of the uniformed men standing around the map had joined them. He was a burly man, stood like a soldier and had good-looking if slightly coarse features, including a nose that had obviously been broken once or twice. He smiled broadly. “Excuse me for butting in. Officer Harris. You must be with the BSI. We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”

  Cooper nodded. “You’re who reported Bornestein missing.”

  Harris looked surprised before his features smoothed into an unreadable expression and he glanced at Miller like he had no doubt who had been talking about him. “Not exactly. We’d hunt together sometimes. When he didn’t show up last week I can’t say I thought much of it, though. Bornestein could be, ah, unpredictable.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “When we ID’d him... I can’t tell you how much I regret not saying something sooner.”

  Brown clapped her hand to his arm. “You couldn’t have known, Tim.”

  Harris smiled grimly at her. “Maybe not. But I’ve got to do what I can now.” He was older than Miller. Older than Brown, too. Cooper would normally expect a man his age to be a higher rank or even retired, though his own father had a decade on Harris and was still refusing retirement. Harris, too, had lifer written all over him.

  Brown said, “I want Officer Miller to accompany the agents to the scene.” Harris frowned and started to protest, but she continued, “I need your tactical head here with the search, Tim.”

  Harris nodded and smiled, easing any tension. “Understood, Chief.”

  “Understood, Chief,” Miller echoed, and only the slightest flicker of annoyance passed Harris’s face. An old pro. He caught Cooper watching and shrugged a little as if in apology. Maybe he was sorry they were getting stuck with the rookie. Maybe Miller was more annoying than he looked.

  “Good luck,” Harris said.

  Chapter Four

  Cooper nearly slammed his head into the window with relief when they finally parked at the end of a service road. He and Park had gotten into Christie’s truck and Miller was following behind. If he thought Miller’s back seat was bad, Christie’s was worse. The cramped quarters made Cooper feel trapped and jittery. But he’d wanted to take the opportunity to question Christie, and Park had wordlessly tagged along. Talking had turned out to be a waste of time. Getting information out of the grim-faced ranger was like consulting a Magic 8-ball. The answer to everything was yes, no or an unfriendly frown that may as well have meant “Reply hazy, try again.”

  Park wasn’t any help, sitting in silence in the front again.

  What Cooper had managed to pull from Christie was slim. Yes, Gould was a consistent worker. No, he didn’t know if Gould had any enemies. No, he didn’t know if Gould had any relationships or friends. No, Gould hadn’t mentioned anyone strange talking to him or any recent run-ins. In fact, no, they didn’t talk personal lives at all. No, he didn’t know if Gould had known Kyle Bornestein.

  The only interesting thing was that Christie apparently had run across Bornestein a couple times during hunting season himself. He’d cited him for illegal use of artificial light and off-season hunting.

  “He had a trespassing charge as well, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” There was a long pause and then Christie said, “I didn’t like Bornestein.” The first unsolicited opinion he’d offered thus far. A bit of a doozy at that. Apparently he didn’t care about speaking ill of the dead. “He wasn’t...good.”

  The hell did that mean? Park was looking at Christie with a contemplative expression on his face, so maybe he got it.

  “What about Gould? Did you like him?” Cooper asked.

  Christie just shrugged. But the frown on his face was answer enough.

  Don’t count on it.

  Cooper wondered if Christie liked anyone.

  As soon as Miller parked and joined them, Christie handed each man a small emergency pack of water, rope, flare and bear spray.

  “Is this necessary?” Cooper asked.

  “The crime scene’s an hour hike in, partly off-trail,” Christie grunted. “It’s rugged land. Some of these pits can be more than six stories deep and there’s no cell service. Do either of you have hiking experience?”

  “Yes,” Park said absentmindedly, squinting into the woods.

  “I’m good,” Cooper said.

  “Um—” Miller started.

  Christie pointed to Miller. “You, follow behind me. Let�
��s go.” He turned abruptly and started up a packed dirt trail a weather-beaten wooden sign identified as Caribou Speckled Mountain Wilderness. Miller gave them a sort of embarrassed smile and hurried after him. Park followed, still looking distracted, and Cooper brought up the rear.

  The air was cool and damp under the trees. Cliff faces and boulders sprang up and receded lest anyone forget this was mountain country. The rocks wept tiny trails of spring water. Cooper couldn’t resist pressing his palm against the stone. It was frigid in a way that sent a chill up the underside of your arm. He wiped his hand on his jeans. It was easy to get lost in melancholy in old woods like this.

  After Cooper’s mother had passed when he was eleven and Dean was fourteen, his dad had taken them hiking, boating and fishing most weekends. It was great. Really great.

  Well, he could have done without some of it, to be perfectly honest. He wasn’t that big on fishing, which was pretty much hours of standing occasionally interrupted by brief bouts of violence, and the long, gloomy silences while hiking had left Cooper with a lot of time to obsess over his mom. But it had been Sherriff Dayton’s way of reaching out to his kids.

  Jagger Valley, Maryland, didn’t look like this, of course. Flatter, for one. Warmer too, on the oak pine savannahs. But something about marching in a line through an oppressively quiet forest made him feel like he was back there now, trudging after his father and wandering around the floodplain forest. He and Dean struggling to keep up as Sheriff Dayton strode faster and faster, silently looking around as if searching for something, someone or some way out.

  Cooper had sometimes wondered if he fell behind, would his father even notice? Would he come back for him? Even when he did look back at them, something in his expression told Cooper he wasn’t quite seeing. For a long time there was a desperation in his eyes that had been shocking to see as a child looking at his parent. Thankfully the look faded after about five years. But even now, when Cooper visited, his dad still insisted the three of them go hiking through the floodplains. This was what the remaining Daytons did, happy memory or not.

  He felt a shudder travel up his spine. He didn’t think he’d made a noise, but Park turned and looked at him curiously and raised an eyebrow. Cooper ignored Park and looked past him.

  Ahead, Miller attempted to keep up one-sided conversation so determinedly it almost made Cooper miss the stilted silence of the car ride. Too bad it wasn’t Miller he’d been hoping to pump for information. The eager young officer was a geyser. Cooper shook off his mood and tried to focus.

  Miller talked about Florence, moving here from Portland, the nonexistent crime rate and, most frequently, his wonder if perhaps this was all a big mistake.

  “Gould could have gone to Portland for the weekend. Or he’s sleeping off a bender. It wouldn’t be the first time, you know what I mean?” Miller directed his talk to Cooper. Apparently he’d singled him out as the only fool willing to respond.

  Cooper grunted. It was hard not to know what he meant when he was saying it plain as day. “You don’t think Gould disappearing around the same time two homicide victims are discovered nearby seems suspicious?”

  “Are you saying you think Gould is a suspect, Agent Dayton?”

  Cooper hadn’t been saying that. But now that Miller had, he considered it. Could Gould be a wolf who took off when he learned his kills had been discovered? Would Park have known if Gould was a wolf? Just because he was familiar with some local wolves didn’t mean he knew them all, did it? Would he have necessarily told Cooper if Gould was?

  “Anyway, are we even sure these are homicides?” Miller continued. “The injuries are consistent with animal attack. Bears or wolves or something. They might have been attacked, survived, but were injured and lost in the woods, unable to get medical help, which would account for the time between disappearance and death.”

  “ME says the men died days apart. Are you saying an animal attacked our vics at two separate times and then their bodies ended up in the same spot? Animals aren’t supposed to collect kills like that.”

  “Wolves aren’t supposed to be this far south in Maine either, but they are,” Christie said suddenly from up front. “Caribou aren’t supposed to wander so close to town, but they have been. Plenty of animals around here aren’t acting like they’re supposed to.”

  “What makes you think that?” Cooper said. “About the wolves, I mean.”

  “Seen them.”

  “Tracks?”

  “Yeah. And the animals that make them.” It was hard to read Christie’s attitude. He continued to walk straight ahead while he spoke without turning to them, and his voice was a permanent state of gruffness. An almost reluctance to be heard.

  Miller, on the other hand, looked at Park and Cooper, bewildered. “You ran into wolves in the woods? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Christie’s shoulder twitched. An aborted shrug. “We looked at each other. I backed away. Wolves don’t attack people. It’s mama bears and bobcats you want to avoid around here.”

  “Well,” Miller said, turning around to look at Cooper and Park again. “That still means there are predators out here that could have—”

  “We’re leaving the trail now,” Christie interrupted, turned right and started stomping through the leaves and underbrush.

  He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said “off-trail.” Cooper had been expecting an unmaintained path or maybe a deer trail, but this just seemed like a random veering off-course. The forest floor, uphill now and littered with rocks and thick roots, forced Miller to be quiet in order to focus on his feet. Without his chatter the group was silent and so were the woods. So much green. Cooper liked to think he had a pretty good sense of direction, but there was little to no way he could get back on his own now that they’d left the trail.

  Cooper eyed Christie speculatively. He was marching without hesitation, without using any apparent navigation tool, and had retreated back to his tense, silent frown. The guy was odd, no doubt. Odd enough to lead them hopelessly lost and continue on as if everything was okey-dokey? Hopefully not. ’Cause Cooper sure as hell couldn’t rely on the wolf to have his back.

  Speaking of backs... Cooper let his eyes drift over Park to distract himself from the steady uphill climb. He had taken off his jacket and his T-shirt pulled across the broad muscles of his shoulders. It wasn’t long enough to cover a nice firm ass swaying in front of him as they hiked uphill. Cooper’s face heated and he quickly looked away. Not liking Park didn’t stop him from noticing other...attributes. Cooper wasn’t made of stone.

  He wished again they hadn’t shared that metro ride. Wished he hadn’t felt that body pressed against his for just a moment or Park’s rough fingers at his wrist. But most especially he wished Park hadn’t seen how interested in his attributes he was. Cooper felt the familiar prickling of embarrassment. Not because he was ashamed of his sexuality, but it just wasn’t Park’s business. Wasn’t anyone’s business but Cooper’s, and now he felt distinctly exposed. Disadvantaged. He didn’t even know Park’s first name, for fuck’s sake.

  Cooper focused on Park’s neck, which seemed safest. There was barely the slightest indication of perspiration there. The guy hadn’t been lying when he said he could hike. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. Cooper, on the other hand, to his chagrin, was huffing and puffing like a drowning man.

  Park rolled his shoulders and shook his head suddenly, as if shaking off Cooper’s gaze. Had Park felt him staring? Was it some kind of unspoken threat?

  Cooper hadn’t actually been in the continuous presence of a werewolf before. His interactions were limited to chasing, questioning and arresting. Spending all this quiet time with Park was making him think of shit he hadn’t wondered about before. It was weird how little you could know about the community your job focused on. But that was as much the Trust’s fault as the BSI’s. They were notoriously tight-lipped. Wanting to be understood
without really being known.

  What Cooper did know he’d mostly deduced from the job. He knew how to recognize a wolf kill. He knew wolves were all extra fast, strong and nimble fuckers. Most, Jefferson had told him, had bad tempers, too, though Park had been an icy-cold cucumber so far.

  From the little informational booklets the Trust distributed, Cooper knew that wolves had “enhanced senses” and tended to either live alone or in packs, which could be any size from two to twenty.

  He’d found that funny because, shit, wasn’t it sort of true of everyone? Growing up, Cooper, Dean and their dad were like a little pack. Everyone knew them, the Dayton boys. Jagger Valley hadn’t been that much bigger than Florence. Of course, it had helped that his dad was the sheriff and the whole town knew the sheriff’s boys were following in his footsteps. Sort of.

  These days Cooper would definitely fall into the lone-wolf category. He and Jefferson got along, they spent enough time together that they had to, but he was more like a mentor than a friend. Cooper liked Santiago a lot, but she was his boss, not a buddy. He had even fewer non-work friends.

  Well, he always had Boogie. So there was that. His pack of two. Him and his cat. What a badass.

  Cooper swatted at his face where a persistent mosquito kept coming at his eye. That was another thing he could have done without on those weekly camping trips, the fucking bugs. He swiped at it again and his knee suddenly collapsed. He had stepped in an animal hole and stumbled forward. A large, warm hand grabbed his arm and prevented him from face-planting into a rotted log.

  Cooper straightened quickly and shrugged out of Park’s powerful grasp. “I’m good,” he said gruffly.

  “Of course you are,” Park replied, deep voice reassuring and solemn, but there was a teasing narrowness to his eyes and the slightest quirk of his mouth. He had a full lower lip and a slightly crooked upper one. Crooked, Cooper realized, because there was a small scar that split the left side. The scar disappeared when his mouth was fully smiling, which it started to do now.