The Wolf at the Door

by Charlie Adhara

  Cooper jogged to catch up to Park. “Hey.”

  Park nodded in acknowledgment but veered a little to the right, as if to put more distance between them. Cooper chose to ignore it along with the tightening in his chest. He walked closer to Park. “So you weren’t kidding when you said there was nothing out by Baker’s.”

  Park grunted and walked a bit faster. Cooper bit his tongue in annoyance.

  “Hey. Park. Hey.” Cooper sped up and grabbed Park’s arm, forcing the wolf, his partner, to face him.

  Park stare was cool, though he didn’t go as far as to shake off Cooper’s grasp.

  There was no weird rippling this time, but Cooper could feel the substantial muscles of Park’s arm tensing under his fingers. He was too annoyed to be intimidated. “Are you serious right now? You’re running away from me because, what, I hurt your feelings last night?”

  Something in Park’s amaretto eyes flickered. Not a glimmer of the primal wolf like he’d seen in the bar, but something soft and uncertain that landed like a kick to his throat.

  Cooper continued and his voice was a little gruff. He wasn’t good at apologizing. People in his family usually just fought and started speaking again when they needed something, grudges carefully filed away to resume later. “What I said yesterday, about wol—locals being scared of you and the other thing, it was, ah—I shouldn’t—look, I don’t know why I said it,” he lied.

  Park took this in silently and Cooper thought he was going to ignore him. So much for apologies. He shouldn’t have brought it up at all.

  Then Park abruptly said, “Do I scare you?”

  Cooper frowned. “What...?” Then he understood. “You mean because I—” Flinched, jerked away, stumbled over himself pulling away this morning, insisted on backup that Park went ahead and arranged despite not wanting to. “Is that why you’re avoiding me?” His voice was incredulous. “You think I’m...” He trailed off, unwilling to use the word afraid.

  Park blinked once, slowly, waiting.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I—” This next part felt harder to say than anything else so far. Cooper realized he was tugging and twisting his own shirt over his scars and stopped, shoving his hands under his armpits. He kicked a little rock in the dirt road between them and watched it roll rather than look at Park. “That shit has nothing to do with you. Nothing. Okay? And I got to say, it’s pretty self-centered of you to assume it is. So does that soothe your big, fragile feelings?”

  “Wow,” Park said after a long minute. His voice was dryly amused and when Cooper looked up his expression was warmer, gentler than before, in a way that was hard for Cooper to see. “You really know how to butter a guy up, Dayton.”

  “Oh, get over yourself. It wasn’t that big a deal. What are you expecting, that I get on my knees and beg?”

  Park tilted his head. Now the look in his eyes was not soft at all. They flicked down to Cooper’s mouth and then back up.

  Cooper didn’t breathe. Had he...?

  Harris called from farther down the drive. “Everything okay up there?”

  The moment, if there had been a moment, was broken. Park looked away and gave Harris a thumbs-up over Cooper’s shoulder. He said, “I’m not running away from you because my feelings are hurt, Agent Dayton. I’m running away because you smell like you bathed in bug spray and it’s destroying any chance I have of picking up anything useful.” He paused. “And I know that you want me to be more useful.” The dig felt oddly comfortable. Not cold, almost playful. Teasing.

  Park continued down the driveway.

  Well. It could have gone worse.

  Cooper took a few deep breaths and then followed, leaving a slightly larger distance between them. “Let’s say Gould wasn’t lured here to work for Baker—what else could he have been out here for?”

  Park scanned the woods. “No one else lives up here. It’s mostly cliff face. The ground’s solid rock. Christie was telling me that this part of the forest was mostly for climbers and rock hounds but rarely used by hikers. The only trail head’s been closed for years. Too rocky.”

  “What are you saying? That he was up here on a Forest Service job?”

  “Or he thought he was. Christie said Gould could be a bit—” Park tapped his own temple “—jump-first, ask-never.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, Christie didn’t put it quite that way, but yeah. He said Gould was impulsive. Didn’t think ahead. Didn’t think of much at all besides himself and his bike, according to Christie.”

  Christie said, Christie said. “Well, isn’t Christie a spring of information today,” Cooper said, feeling testy. Why hadn’t any of this come up before?

  He looked over his shoulder at the men following twenty feet back. Christie didn’t look like the guy who had been flapping his hands excitedly in the rearview window or someone who had gossiped the ride away. He was frowning yet again, his angular face twisted with suspicion or nerves, and he kept glancing around the woods at either side of the driveway.

  He was also younger than Cooper had first thought. Skinny and pointy-looking, his auburn hair flopped messily over his face, his disarmingly blue eyes never seemed to stay focused on one thing for very long. Not bad-looking. Not Cooper’s type. But maybe he was Park’s.

  Maybe it wasn’t any of Cooper’s business.

  “I’m surprised you got him talking. He seems so—” Cooper made an exaggerated scowl.

  “He’s an interesting guy.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mmm.” Park paused. “He also admitted to seeing Whittaker visit Gould at work fairly often.”

  Cooper stopped walking for a moment and then trotted to catch up with Park. He kept his voice low and said, “Why didn’t he tell us that before?”

  “Claims he didn’t think it was important. Said Whittaker and Robbie would hang out on the trails after work a lot because they didn’t want Gould’s mom to find out.”

  Cooper’s eyebrows popped up. “So they were fucking.”

  “Is that what hanging out in the woods means to you?”

  “When I was their age? Hell yeah.”

  “And now?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Park gave him an odd look. “I asked Christie about it and he said no, they weren’t romantically involved. Just friends.”

  Romantically involved. How sweet. “Would Christie necessarily notice if they were, though?”

  “Yes. Definitely,” Park said immediately.

  Cooper chewed on that. “No. Wait.”

  “Yes, I think so.” Park sounded pleased Cooper had caught up so quickly. “Christie has a bit of a thing for Whittaker. It made him very observant of the two of them. It also made him feel protective of Whittaker. So when we asked about friends of Gould’s—”

  “He lied to keep him out of it, and then tried to be the one to tell Whittaker himself, break the news gently. Idiot.”

  Park didn’t disagree.

  “I ought to book him for obstructing an investigation right now. Where was Christie when Gould went missing?”

  “Using his lunch hour to go to a meeting. Why?”

  “Just wondering if someone so observant of our main suspect might have seen more than he’s letting on. What kind of meetings do rangers have during lunch?”

  “He’s observant, not a stalker,” Park said. “And not a work meeting. AA.”

  “Huh. How candid of him. Is there anything you didn’t talk about?”

  Park’s smile seemed a little thin. “Some people like to tell me things.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Not to mention he always found himself talking more than he planned to around Park. “I’m surprised you told me all this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not doing Whittaker any favors, is it?”

  “This again?�
�� Park sounded pissed. “You still think I’d lie to protect a killer?”

  “But you don’t think Whittaker is the killer, do you? Like Christie, you might think you’re lying to protect a kid caught up in a mess.”

  “And you really think he’s our number one suspect?”

  Cooper avoided that. “Harris does.”

  “Harris just learned about Whittaker an hour ago. He doesn’t count. What do you think?”

  “I think I want to see what Baker has to say about Gould being on his property the day he disappeared.”

  Park scoffed, “Baker. I don’t see it.”

  “You don’t want to believe anyone you know, no matter how distantly, is involved in this. You’re too damn close to it, Park.”

  To his credit, Park appeared to seriously consider that. “Maybe you’re right. But you’re too close to it, too. Not in the same way. Not because you grew up around these people, but because you’ve already written the story out in your mind, and now you’re just looking to cast roles.”

  Cooper shook his head. He felt...agitated. Park didn’t know what he was talking about. Cooper kept an open mind. His mind might even be considered too open, recently...

  Almost without meaning to, Cooper said, “Miller didn’t come in to work today again.”

  Park made a small huffing sound. “I don’t think he’s going to get that promotion he’s angling for.”

  “What do you think of him? Miller.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Cooper wasn’t sure what he meant. He just thought it was odd he was the only one who seemed to find Miller’s timing, well, odd. And he couldn’t stop coming back to those stun gun burns or the look on Miller’s face as Eagler spoke to Park. But it was a serious jump from funny feelings to accusing a fellow officer of...what?

  It wouldn’t be an accusation, though, would it, to float it past Park? It would be partners—temporary, experimental partners—bouncing ideas around. Which was fine. Expected, even. And it would show Park he wasn’t here to just play pin-the-tail-on-the-wolf.

  Unless Park put it in his report. Between inappropriately staring at my lips and lashing out for no reason, Agent Dayton accused a local officer of abduction and assault, conclusively proving himself unfit for duty and his paranoia out of control.

  Christ.

  It really depended on whether or not he trusted Park.

  “Dayton? Is there a problem?”

  “No, forget it. I—I was just wondering, is this going to be a problem? Us coming onto Baker’s territory unannounced and you, uh, that thing Whittaker was saying?”

  “You mean me being a huge, adult alpha wolf marching down the door of a territorial recluse with three armed men? What could possibly be the problem with that?”

  Cooper swallowed. He brushed his hand reassuringly over his weapons firmly secured at his waist, gun and Taser. Whittaker had complained about him being decked out in weapons, but it was standard procedure for BSI. More and more LEOs were carrying both, too. Well, not Tasers modified to take down wolves. But normal ones.

  Would Baker see it as standard? Or a threat?

  “Will walking up help? I thought it might be less aggressive than if we drove right up to his door.”

  Park nodded ahead. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Cooper squinted. Through the trees he could just make out the shape of...some sort of truck? Machinery? As they got closer and the house came into view, Cooper’s brows shot up. The yard was full of...everything.

  A couple of old cars slouched in the grass, looking Dali-esque in their droopiness. Lawn mowers and table saws were scattered through the yard in between disassembled machines and precarious piles of parts. Long metal pipes here, a collection of rusted buckets there. Some of the machinery Cooper couldn’t identify, and after a moment he realized they weren’t machines at all. Not anymore. Towers of various metal objects were welded together to become sculptures. Either that or Baker had piled junk together in some sort of giant game of mousetrap. Some of the benches held chainsaws and other tools in various degrees of dilapidation and rust. If Cooper had to name the aesthetic, he’d say “American Psycho has a yard sale.”

  There was a big tent with the flaps closed and multiple metal storage containers scattered around the house. Cooper thought of Gould trapped in one of those things and shuddered.

  There was an odd stillness in the air as they approached the front door, no birds chirping or squirrels rustling, like all of nature was waiting on bated breath for what happened next. Cooper’s hand twitched to his gun nervously.

  “But you’ll just flash him your Park gang sign or whatever you did in the bar and it’ll be fine,” Cooper said, belatedly realizing he sounded like he was continuing a conversation.

  Park didn’t blink. “Not in front of the kids,” he said, glancing back at Harris and Christie, who were picking their away across the yard, stepping over poles and eyeing nail guns.

  “Right.” Cooper suddenly felt a lot less grateful Park had gone ahead and requested the backup Cooper had wanted.

  Pull it together, Dayton.

  He strode past Park to the house. It was a one-story, dark blue clapboard in much better condition than the yard. He climbed three wood steps, opened the screen and gave the door three loud bangs. “Mr. Baker? BSI. We need to ask you some questions.”

  The house was silent as far as Cooper could tell. Christie and Harris waited at the bottom of the steps. Park stood beside him, eyes partially shut like he was concentrating on something. Cooper knocked again. “Mr. Baker, if you are able to, please answer your door.”

  Nothing. Cooper glanced at Park, who shook his head slightly.

  “Should we check the back?” Christie said, his rough voice soft.

  Cooper agreed. “Christie, with me around the left. Harris, Park, take the right?”

  Park was already heading down the stairs, which didn’t so much as creak under his weight. Harris followed close behind. Christie and Cooper walked quietly around the house, carefully navigating through a mine field of junk and the occasional crevice where the earth simply gave way.

  “Jesus,” Cooper muttered, nearly tripping over another rock hole.

  “Watch your step,” Christie said uselessly. “We’re on the mountain face here. Lots of loose rock.” His long legs carried him to the back of the house first and he peered around the corner. “Huh,” he muttered, and his hand went to his weapon. Cooper quickly followed suit.

  “Visual on Baker?” Cooper asked.

  “No,” Christie said. “Just...” He nodded for Cooper to step around him and take a look. Cooper felt a tensing in his shoulders as he eyed Christie, who eyed him right back with his icy blue stare. Cooper slowly stepped around him.

  The back door was wide open, hinges squeaking softly in the slight mountain breeze. Leaning up against the house was a ’97 Yamaha, gold paint dull in the shade.

  Chapter Eight

  “Gould’s bike,” Cooper muttered as the four of them stood at the back of the house examining the Yamaha. He glanced at Park, who was biting his lip and looked almost upset. Cooper wasn’t surprised. Park really hadn’t thought Baker was the unsub.

  “That looks like suitable cause to me,” Harris said, a little cheerfully considering they may be about to walk in on a sliced-up Gould.

  Cooper drew his gun and walked into the open house. Christie, Harris and Park followed behind him. The floor was a terracotta-colored linoleum laid to look like Tuscan villa stone if you squinted very hard. It squeaked under Cooper’s weight as he walked down the hall and systematically cleared the rooms.

  The house was empty. No sign of Baker. No sign of Gould.

  “We should split up and do a search of the house and property,” he said. “There must be twenty storage sheds scattered out there at least.”

  �
�I’ll contact the station to get some crime scene guys up here,” Harris said, unclipping his radio and heading towards the front door.

  “I’m better outside,” Christie mumbled. “I’ll start on the sheds on the far side of the property where the ground is worse. Watch your step.” He followed Harris out.

  That left Cooper standing with Park in the living room. Park had that closed-off look on his face again and Cooper wondered if he was angry with him. He felt the insane urge to apologize. For what? Sorry for being right? Sorry your childhood bogeyman turned out to be a grown-up monster who killed three, or more, men?

  Park had screwed up. He should have said something about Baker from the start, and they both knew it.

  Cooper started looking around while in his periphery he watched Park do the same. The house was neat enough, compared to outside, but whole rooms seemed stale and dusty. Cooper spent an embarrassing amount of time in his apartment when not at work, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the tables, not because he was necessarily a clean freak but because he was using them all the time.

  “I thought he was supposed to be a hermit. What kind of hermit isn’t found at home?”

  “Maybe he knew we were coming,” Park said, poking at a small welded sculpture in the corner that was either a kneeling man with horns or an out-of-control shrubbery.

  Cooper looked at a jumble of repurposed metal pieces. Between the horns, or branches, a small chunk of yellow quartz was wedged. “Baker made that sculpture at the Pumphouse.” It wasn’t a question so much as a spoken epiphany, and Park just shrugged.

  “Do you think someone warned him we were coming? Whittaker or his boss?”

  “And scare off the only reason you’re not booking Whittaker right now? No. Besides, just because Rudi supports his...art doesn’t mean they’re close.”

  “True. But it does suggest he’s at least a little familiar with the Pumphouse. He could have crossed paths with Gould there.”

  “Offered him some work and when he got up here...what? I don’t smell any blood and even Baker’s scent is faded. He must have a secondary location.”