The Wolf at the Door

by Charlie Adhara

  “How did Christie know him?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry.”

  “You knew a lot more than I did.”

  “He was only a year behind one of my brothers. When I heard the name, I made a phone call. He filled me in on what he could.”

  “What’s your brother’s name?”

  “Park.” The wolf blinked at him innocently.

  “Asshole,” Cooper said, but he couldn’t help smiling.

  They followed Harris’s truck into a short driveway leading to a small white house. A big, beat-up SUV took up most of the drive, and Harris pulled partially onto the front lawn to make room. “That the vic’s car?” Cooper asked.

  “No, Robert drove a Yamaha. They haven’t located it yet. That must be Mom’s ride.”

  Cooper winced thinking of driving a motorcycle on roads like this. “Are we sure Gould and his bike aren’t in a ditch somewhere?”

  “They did a trace on his cell. It was deactivated at 2:34 p.m. and hasn’t been on since. Presumably we can assume Gould was definitely taken by that time.”

  They got out of the car and Harris smiled and waved, the picture of cheer, like it was some kind of fucking surprise them meeting up here like this. An assortment of small stone angels were placed around the house like a guard. Park eyed them with interest while Officer Harris knocked on the front door. It opened immediately and a middle-aged woman looked at them anxiously from the shadowy house.

  “Robbie?” she said.

  “No news yet, Mrs. Gould,” Harris said with an apologetic face. Thank god he’d tamped down that smile. “I’d like to introduce you to these gentlemen helping with Robbie’s investigation. They have a few questions for you.”

  Cooper noticed Harris didn’t say “assisting with the search for Robbie.” Despite his cheerful attitude, the man didn’t seem to have any more doubts of how this was going to turn out for Gould than Cooper did.

  “Mrs. Gould, my name is Special Agent Dayton with the BSI and this is my colleague, Agent Park. Do you mind if we come inside and ask you a couple of questions?”

  Mrs. Gould nodded and stepped back to let the three of them into the house. They followed her down a narrow hall and into an outdated but clean kitchen. The house smelled faintly of old cigarettes. Someone here had once been a smoker, but not anymore.

  As his eyes adjusted to the room, dark compared to outside, Cooper examined Mrs. Gould. She was thin, very thin, and looked exhausted. She had dry blond hair and dark circles under eyes that currently looked more red than blue. Despite the warm wet of the day, she wore a heavy sweater wrap over her tank top and her whole body had a slight but constant tremble. She stumbled a little sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. Cooper didn’t need a wolf’s enhanced senses to figure out Robert inherited his drinking problem from his mom. Of course, if his only son was missing or dead, you could probably find him on the bad-news end of a vodka bottle, too.

  “Mrs. Gould, I know this is a very difficult time and that you’ve already talked to the police about this, but I would really appreciate it if you could walk us through the day you last saw Robbie.”

  She rubbed a hand over her face. Her knuckles were cracked and red. “Robbie left the house around seven in the morning. He was working a half-day on the trails. That meant he was supposed to be back by two. When he wasn’t, I didn’t get too worried. I know he was planning on asking Ranger Christie for extra shifts. I thought... I thought maybe Christie gave them to him and he was starting today. When he wasn’t home by eleven that night, I started to get scared.”

  “You called the police then?” Cooper asked.

  “No, I still didn’t think anything was wrong. I was worried he’d gone to the Pumphouse.”

  “Bar,” Harris offered. “Out of town a bit, off Route 35.”

  “Did Robbie often go to the Pumphouse?”

  “No, never,” Mrs. Gould protested.

  Right, Cooper thought. “Why were you worried that he went there that night?” he asked as gently as possible.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said. “I know Robbie likes to go out and have fun. I’m not saying he doesn’t. And when he has a couple drinks, sometimes he can get a little rowdy. Typical boy stuff.” Her voice was coming on real earnest. Too earnest.

  “Sure,” Cooper said. Again, soothing, agreeing. “I know what it’s like at that age.” Unless Robbie was getting wine-drunk over his textbooks and blowing his “straight” roommate, Cooper did not in fact know what it was like at that age, but Mrs. Gould relaxed a little.

  “He got into a few...disagreements. Roughhousing, you know. He didn’t talk to me about it. Didn’t want me to worry. But there was this one recently. A week ago Robbie came home really upset. I, ah, overheard him talking about it on the phone.”

  Nothing like a landline for eavesdropping, Cooper thought. “Do you know who it was?”

  She shook her head. “On the phone? No. But he mentioned someone named Sammie. He said he was going back to the Pumphouse to convince Sammie. I thought maybe it was a girl he liked or something and I tried to ask more, but Robbie got angry. Said he was a grown man who didn’t need his—” she swallowed dryly “—his mom butting into his business. I made him promise me he wouldn’t go there. No more fighting, I said. No more trouble. He promised me.” A small animal sound escaped her.

  “Do you have any idea what Sammie’s last name is?” Mrs. Gould shook her head, lips pressed tight. “Did Robbie ever mention a Kyle Bornestein?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think so. Is Kyle a suspect?”

  “No, ma’am.” If she didn’t know about the bodies found in the woods, Cooper wasn’t going to tell her. “What about a girlfriend or friends?”

  “He doesn’t have a steady girlfriend. Not that he’s not handsome enough for it,” she added hastily. “A lot of Robbie’s friends are all at school now or moved away. I gave the officer a list of names—” she glanced at Harris, who smiled encouragingly “—but no one’s seen him. They didn’t even know he’s missing,” she whispered, and her voice cracked.

  That was enough questioning. They wouldn’t get anything else useful out of Mrs. Gould. Cooper had already reviewed the list of Gould’s drinking buddies in the file who were not quite close enough to be good friends and were a definite dead end. There was no mention of a Sammie or Samantha there. “That’s very helpful, Mrs. Gould. Thank you. Could we take a look at Robbie’s room?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s—”

  “Please, don’t get up. If you could just tell me which door, you can stay here with Officer Harris. Maybe he can help you remember more about this Sammie that Robbie was upset about, okay?” He looked at Harris, who nodded. Park had resumed his closed-off and thoughtful look. But when Cooper headed down the hall to the bedroom, Park followed him.

  Gould’s bedroom could have been that of a twenty-three-year-old man or a fifteen-year-old boy. Ripped posters hung all over the walls—Boston sports teams’ logos and various motorcycles with busty women dressed to risk the worst road rash ever. The bed was unmade and smelled stale. Dirty laundry littered the floor in clumps, like weeds.

  “Well, this brings back memories,” Cooper said, and Park snorted. Cooper hadn’t been joking, though. His childhood bedroom hadn’t been so different from this, crusty socks and underdressed ladies included. The more it became clear he wasn’t going to be the son his father expected, the more he’d fought it.

  Cooper glanced through the closet and bedside table. Finding nothing, he joined Park at the dresser covered in wrestling trophies, ribbons and framed photos. A faded homemade banner with gold spray paint hung on the wall above it.

  “‘Go for the Gould,’” Cooper read out loud. “Well, he was clearly not ready to let go of the glory days.”

  Park picked up one photo of five guys cheesing it up in front of a campfire and showed it to Coop
er. He pointed to a hulking blond dude on the left. Not handsome exactly, but striking in his size. Huge, strong and laughing.

  “That’s Robbie Gould,” Park said. He pointed to the boy Robbie had in a friendly headlock. The boy was more slender than Robbie, but then so were some redwoods. He had dark brown skin, big eyes and, despite being in a choke hold, appeared to be having even more fun than Robbie was. “That’s Samuel Whittaker.”

  “You think he’s the Sammie that Robbie was fighting with?”

  “I don’t know,” Park said slowly. He lowered his voice a little. “But the Pumphouse is a werewolf bar. And Sam Whittaker—” he tapped the smiling boy’s face again “—is a werewolf.”

  Cooper clapped his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Park tilted his head and frowned, a gesture Cooper was quickly beginning to recognize as his “I think you’re wrong, but I won’t waste my breath saying it” face.

  “You don’t agree?” Cooper said.

  Park eyed him skeptically. “Does it matter to you if I agree?”

  Cooper paused and struggled to find the right words. “I should have listened to your opinion yesterday. So I’d like to hear what you think now.” That didn’t quite cover it, but Cooper wasn’t entirely sure why he cared if Park didn’t agree. Of course the guy wasn’t happy the trail was leading to one of his own. But they had known it would ever since they saw the crime scene photos. It was why BSI was here.

  Park opened his mouth to respond when Harris walked into the room. His face had hardened, making him look more like a bull than ever.

  “They find Gould?” Cooper guessed. He thought of having to walk back into that dingy kitchen and tell Mrs. Gould her only son was dead and suppressed a wave of nausea.

  “No,” Harris said. “I’ve got to head back to the station. Possible missing person.”

  “Shit.” Cooper looked at Park and saw the same grimness he felt. “Another kidnapping doesn’t bode well for Gould.”

  Harris looked startled and then shook his head. “No. This isn’t related.”

  “How can you know?” Park asked.

  “Female victim. Thirty-eight. Didn’t return home from her late shift at work last night. Her boss reports obvious signs of a struggle.” Harris grimaced. “Different victim, different M.O. You’re the experts, but I don’t see how this could have anything do with the dead men.”

  “No. Probably not,” Cooper agreed. He looked at Park. “In that case, I think you and I should go on to Bornestein’s residence. You good with that?” Park nodded. “And Officer Harris, you’ll update us if anything comes up that ties the cases together?”

  “Right,” Harris said, tiredly. He thumbed at the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “This used to be a nice town. A safe town. Now you can’t catch one devil before running into another. When did this world become overrun with sin?”

  They bid an uncomfortable goodbye to Mrs. Gould, and after giving them directions and the keys to Bornestein’s house, Harris sped back toward town, leaving very deep, muddy grooves in the Goulds’ front yard. With the small stone angels standing by, Cooper couldn’t help but think they looked like dug graves waiting to be filled.

  Overrun with sin.

  He looked away and followed Park into the car.

  “Do you know where Sam Whittaker lives?” Cooper asked once they’d driven a couple of miles in silence.

  “Approximately. I know the neighborhood,” Park said. “I could figure it out from there,” he added with a significant look.

  Cooper nodded. He had to admit the wolf partner thing had certain advantages.

  “You want to track down Whittaker after Bornestien’s,” Park said. It was not a question.

  “Uh, let’s see. An investigation where young men are being chewed up by wolves and a wolf known to have been fighting with Gould shortly before his disappearance? Damn right I want to have a chat with Whittaker.”

  The way he said chat sounded ominous and threatening, like he was some ’70s crime show cop talking about helping a suspect remember what happened. The assessing look Park gave him made it clear he had picked up on the tone, too.

  Cooper felt a twist of guilt in his stomach. But this was the way he was used to talking on a case. Jefferson always said they had the hardest jobs in the world. There was no precedent for what they were doing. On virgin ground, justice was sometimes a gray area. Had to be. He’d never had to think about what it sounded like to a wolf before.

  Sometimes it was hard to remember Park was a wolf himself. He was just so...stable. Controlled. Self-contained.

  Of course, it was obvious how dangerous Park could be if he wanted to. He was ripped as hell and nearly as big as Robbie Gould. But unlike Gould, it was a relaxed, effortless sort of strength. Cooper guessed Park was someone who had always been the most powerful guy in the room, had always known it, and felt no pressing need to prove it.

  Cooper wasn’t envious of being a wolf, of course, but he did crave that sort of comfort in your own skin.

  His phone rang again. Sheriff Dayton.

  “You’re popular,” Park remarked lightly. “You want to take that? I can pull over, if you want,” he said, offering privacy.

  No. Cooper really did not want to take it. He already knew what this was about. He was not ready to have this conversation, and he was certainly not interested in having this conversation in front of Park. But apparently his dad could not take a fucking hint and figure out he was busy. Or more likely, he just didn’t believe Cooper was busy.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cooper said brusquely, and accepted the call. “Dayton,” he said into the phone.

  “Coop.” His father’s voice rumbled through the phone. The voice that always made him feel like a skinny little boy again. Hard and unwavering. Just like everything else about Sheriff Ed Dayton. His leadership, his political views, his parenting.

  Of course, his father was a good man who’d done his best by his sons, and Cooper admired the hell out of him for it. It couldn’t have been easy becoming a widower and a single parent to two boys under fifteen.

  But it wasn’t easy being one of those boys either and sometimes, as he’d gotten older, Cooper wondered if the sheriff’s “no weakness allowed” attitude was what he had really needed when he was eleven and had just lost his mom. There was no sense dwelling on that now.

  He cleared his throat. “Dad. How are you?”

  “Fine, son, fine. ’Cept I’ve been angling to get you on the line for two days.”

  “I know. I’m on a case.”

  “Sure,” his father said. “They don’t give you coffee breaks between meetings anymore?”

  Cooper bit back a sigh. There was no point in explaining he wasn’t in meetings. Ever since he had chosen not to come home after college and instead pursued his master’s and applied to the FBI to work as a profiler—an apparently unforgivable show of elitism—his dad and brother seemed to think he wasn’t real law enforcement. Like the fact that he was required to own at least one suit now meant he must wear them all the time while sitting around boardrooms talking crime spikes and drinking espresso. It hadn’t helped that his descriptions of his job had only gotten more vague after joining the BSI.

  “Anyway, son, are you coming home for Don’s retirement party next weekend?”

  “Unless something with work comes up,” Cooper said, giving himself an out for later. His dad’s oldest buddy on the force was retiring and had invited Cooper to the send-off weeks ago. No matter how much he hated those kinds of events, he hated saying no to his dad even more. Better to just agree and make his excuses the day of. He did it so often Cooper sometimes wondered if his dad just expected it by now. This call wasn’t about that, though.

  “All right, just wanted to make sure. I figured you could crash in your old room, unless you’d rather stay at your
brother’s.”

  “Either way,” Cooper said tiredly, looking out the passenger window. They were driving past a sparkling lake nestled between pine trees and cliffs. What was it about Maine water that made it look freezing no matter how warm or sunny the day was?

  “You thinking of bringing somebody? We’d love to meet your girlfriend. I’m sure Don wouldn’t mind an extra guest.”

  I’m sure he wouldn’t either, Cooper thought, remembering loud, nosy Donald. “You know I’m not seeing anyone,” he said instead, resisting the urge to glance at Park. God, he regretted answering the phone.

  “Sure, sure.” His father chuckled. “A handsome young guy like you. I remember how it was. You’re not seeing any one.”

  Cooper was unpleasantly reminded of Mrs. Gould talking about Robbie. Not that he’s not handsome enough for it. Like she was worried her son not having a girlfriend was a direct reflection on her. Why did parents feel like their adult children’s sex lives had a single goddamn thing to do with them?

  He tried to imagine, not for the first time, telling his family he was gay. Then his dad wouldn’t be pushing him to bring anyone home. Not that he wouldn’t still have no one to bring anyway.

  “Dad, I got to get back to work, okay?”

  “Sure, sure. You know, with Don retiring, there’s a position opening up back here on the force.”

  And here we go, Cooper thought. The real reason his dad was calling.

  “I have a job. I like my job,” he said, trying to speak low. He glanced at Park, whose expression was blank, looking like he wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation. But how could he not? It was human nature. Or...whatever.

  “’Course you do,” his father said. “But if you’re getting bored and want to get your boots back on the ground—”

  “I’m not bored with the BSI, Dad.” That lost, unbalanced, sick feeling wasn’t boredom, was it?

  “It’s a good opportunity here. You could work with your brother and me. I’m not far from retirement myself. I’d rest easy knowing there’d still be two Daytons taking care of Jagger Valley when I’m gone.”