Wolfwraith

by John Bushore

  The first indication he might be near the end of his quest arrived as a strong, nauseating stench on the wind. How long had the girl been missing? Two weeks? He shivered at the thought of what he might find.

  As he crossed over a rise in the sand, he suddenly stopped. Below him was a large, bowl-shaped natural hollow. A few crabs, too greedy to have left when the sun came up, skittered away from the two objects near the center of the depression, frightened away from their meal by his sudden appearance.

  Shadow’s stomach began to flip-flop when he realized what the crabs had been feeding on. An arm stuck up from the sand. The hand was missing; bare bone poked from the wrist. A couple of feet away, obviously part of the same body, a larger portion of flesh lay partially out of the sand. It looked like a thigh. Chunks of flesh had been torn from it.

  He tasted bitter bile and morning coffee in the back of his throat and fought to overcome his nausea. He’d need his wits about him to decipher what had happened here.

  The digging of the pigs and other animals had disturbed the sand around the corpse and their muddled tracks had not filled in, since the hollow was protected from the wind. He saw the ribbon-like trails left by the scraping of crab undersides, paralleled by a twin beadwork pattern made by their four legs on either side. There were a lot of bird tracks, from the delicate feet of tiny shorebirds up to the large imprints of a crow. It didn’t appear the body had been scavenged for very long; perhaps the wind had recently exposed parts of the body.

  Shadow walked around the remains in a wide circle, searching for anything to show what had happened here, but found no clues. It had been too long. Then he sat down on his heels and studied his find for several minutes. His nausea faded away as he became preoccupied. Could it be the missing Amanda Gordon? The shape of the arm and leg—and the red fingernails he’d seen earlier—told him the body was almost certainly female. He had no way of knowing if the corpse had been purposefully buried or naturally covered by the shifting sands. There’d been quite a fierce storm around the time she went missing, he remembered. Maybe she’d died of natural causes and the wind buried her.

  He was fearful of disturbing any evidence, but his curiosity and strong desire to solve the mystery overwhelmed him. This body had been here for some time; any marks in the sand from when she had first arrived here would have long disappeared, what could he harm? So, careful not to step on anything, he gingerly approached until he was crouching down beside the body.

  The mottled black, blue and purple skin didn’t look human anymore. In places, it had peeled away in large patches to reveal grayish yellow tissue beneath. He saw no apparent wounds; nothing gave the slightest hint of what had happened to this once-person.

  He caught a hint of the inhuman malevolence he had felt when he found the other body, as though the aura had faded with time. Enough remained, however, to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  Well, no matter what had killed her, it was time to call Alex and bring the authorities in. He began to reach for his belt radio but stopped as a voice barked from behind him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Ranger?”

  Shadow whirled around to the glaring eyes of Chief Warden James Moorcock, a lanky man with close-cropped dark hair, a beaky nose above a short mustache. He also wore his trademark perpetual scowl. His uniform, as always, was meticulously pressed and spotless, although his tie fluttered around in the strong wind and dark stains showed under his armpits. Even his gun belt shined squeaky clean. Shadow had spoken to him only a few times and always on a professional level, with Moorcock speaking down to him from a lofty perch of self-anointed superiority. Shadow had figured him for a desk jockey and was not only amazed to see him here in the dunes, but slightly embarrassed the warden had managed to come up on him undetected.

  “Oh, uh, hello Warden. I was about to call Alex to let him know what I’ve found, so we can get the police out here.”

  “What for? We don’t call the police for poaching, or whatever this is. I want to know why you are on my refuge.”

  Oh, shit, thought Shadow. That’s right; the road he had crossed marked the boundary between the park and the refuge. He should have considered it, but he had been obsessed by the mystery of the pig’s gruesome trophy. Moorcock had always had a feud going with the state park rangers, even forbidding them to drive on his dike trails—roads along the tops of the dikes between the many large ponds—in fall and winter, forcing them to use the beach as their only access. This had been a big reason for obtaining the Terra-Gator.

  “Er, well...actually I didn’t realize I was. I guess I did cross over the dike trail, though, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. I saw tracks while I was on my way to check on one of the drainage pipes and then I saw someone go over the top of a dune. I followed to see who it was. Now, as you know, I allow you state people to use the dike trails, but I certainly haven’t given permission for any of you people to be in the dunes. If you’re investigating some wildlife problem, you have to use proper channels.”

  “Uh, right. Sorry, Warden, but this isn’t a wildlife problem. I had a clue about that missing woman from a couple of weeks ago and it wouldn’t wait. And I found her.”

  “You mean...the smell...it’s not an animal carcass?” Moorcock’s eyes became saucers.

  “No, it’s not.” Shadow stepped away so his body no longer blocked the remains. Moorcock’s deer-in-the-headlights expression quickly changed to horrified shock. He stared at the incomplete limb for a several seconds and his face went ashen. Then, color began to return—green. When he looked back at Shadow, he licked his lips before speaking.

  “Oh my God, i—is it what I think it is?”

  “Yep. It may be the woman who went missing. It looks—from what you can see of the body—like a female, anyway.”

  Moorcock opened his mouth to reply but no sound emerged. He closed his mouth and began to swallow, then turned his head suddenly and spewed vomit onto the sand. He doubled over and retched again and again, long after his stomach was empty.

  Fall off your perch? Shadow wondered. Then he remembered his reaction to the first body and waited patiently for Moorcock to recover.

  When the chief warden straightened, he was no longer green, although his face was pallid and sweat beaded his brow. “I guess you’re right, Ranger—Fletcher, isn’t it?—this is a matter for the police.”

  Moorcock used his radio to call the refuge headquarters and told one of his wardens to inform the police. Shadow called Alex, who always kept a radio on at home. He finished before Moorcock and stood considering what he knew of the man.

  The warden’s main responsibility was the protection of the permanent and migratory wildlife inhabiting his refuge and he took it very seriously. Too seriously, Shadow thought. Moorcock believed even the sound of engines near the nesting areas was detrimental to the waterfowl and always kept vehicles out of the refuge during nesting season. It didn’t matter to him if his decision made it difficult for the False Cape rangers. In fact, he made a point of letting the rangers know he considered them to be little more than tourist guides.

  When the warden had finished arranging for the police to be escorted to the site of the body, he turned again to Shadow and pointed at the remains.

  “How...” He licked his lips and then swallowed. “How did you find her?”

  “I saw a pig carrying a hand and backtracked it to see if I could find where it came from. That’s why I’m on the refuge.”

  “A pig? Carrying a hand? Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I know it sounds weird, but that’s what happened. I figured I ought to follow it up before I reported it, since it was so strange.”

  Moorcock shook his head. “Strange is hardly the word for it. Preposterous would be more like it, but why couldn’t it wait until you notified your superior so he could arrange an investigation?”

  “I didn’t have time,” Shadow explained. “The pig tracks were filling in fast. I
had to follow them right away. There wouldn’t have been time to make a report and wait for somebody to give me the okay.”

  “But I followed you from the road and you walked directly here.” Moorcock looked at him accusingly. “To the body. As if you knew exactly where it was.”

  “I followed the pig tracks, like I told you.”

  “You keep mentioning pigs. They don’t run around carrying human body parts, and I didn’t see any pig tracks—only your footprints. They led me straight here and I found you bending over the remains of a body. I expect a better explanation than mysterious pigs.”

  Shadow noticed Moorcock had crooked his right arm, bringing his hand near the butt of his automatic pistol.

  Chapter Seven

  Why did you disturb the scene?

  Early the next day, Shadow stared from a window at a world of asphalt parking lots and identical, box-like office buildings with mirrored windows. He had been summoned to the F.B.I. headquarters building in Norfolk, Va., an hour’s drive from the park. Since the body had been on federal property, the Federal Bureau of Investigation had jurisdiction. For the last half hour, he had been waiting in the outer reception area for his interview.

  Not that he hadn’t been questioned already. Two detectives from Virginia Beach had quizzed him at length about his gruesome discovery. They had confirmed the body was indeed Amanda Gordon—he wasn’t sure how, they wouldn’t give him any other information. The detectives had also asked pointed questions concerning the girl he had found a month earlier, the kayaker. Trying to establish a link between the three deaths, no doubt.

  While he waited, Shadow slowly sucked on jellybeans taken from a bag in his pocket, one by one, while he reflected that Moorcock had surely been responsible for the accusatory tone of the earlier interrogation. The warden had flatly refused to lend credence to Shadow’s story, contending he would surely have seen pig tracks—if they ever existed.

  Alex, who had been chewed out by Commissioner Barnett over the phone, had gotten on Shadow’s ass in turn. The commissioner was livid that the park was going to be linked with a death in the news—again. If Shadow had stuck to his own business, Barnett said, it would have been solely the wildlife refuge’s problem since the body was found there.

  Shadow pulled at his collar, not used to the restriction of a tie. He was told to wear civilian clothing to the interview. His suit, unused since his last job interview, no longer fit his trimmer physique. He was also overdue for a haircut and his dress shoes were scuffed since he was out of shoe polish and there were no stores in the remote park.

  A door along the inner wall opened and a man entered the reception area. He was tall, with a thin waist and broad shoulders. His hair was curly and black and his old-fashioned glasses accentuated his square jaw and serious expression. He strode over and shoved his hand toward Shadow.

  “Hubert Fletcher? I’m Special Agent Morrow. David Morrow.”

  Shadow grimaced. “People mostly call me Shadow. Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands.

  “Come on back,” Morrow said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been waiting for my partner on this case, Agent Walker. She was supposed to be here by now, but she called to say she’d be a few minutes more. I figured you might as well come on back and have a cup of coffee while we wait for her. Wouldn’t want you to think the Bureau lacked common courtesy.”

  “Thanks. Coffee would be great.”

  He followed Special Agent Morrow through a maze of corridors. Shadow wondered what made the man a special agent. Was the position a step above a normal agent or did it mean he investigated special cases?

  They went to a small room with a pair of tables, a refrigerator and a counter with a coffee machine and supplies. The agent handed him a Styrofoam cup and Shadow mixed his coffee extra sweet with powdered cream substitute, then positioned the thumb of the claw and picked up the cup. Morrow pulled a chair from under the nearest table and swung it around until the back of the chair was against the table. Spreading his legs, he straddled the seat. Shadow sat down across from him.

  “We’ll wait here until Walker gets back,” Morrow said, loosening his tie. “Actually, I’m glad for the break. I never thought one of the hazards of being an agent would be Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.” He shook his right hand and wrist, grinning ruefully.

  “Too much paperwork, huh?” Shadow asked, wondering if he should loosen his collar too. He decided against it, preferring to maintain a professional appearance.

  “Way too much. How about you? The park service keep you bogged down with reports?”

  “Not too bad, really. They haven’t figured out how to clear a fallen tree or find a lost hiker with a computer yet.”

  “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until they do.” Morrow shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I envy you. It must be nice to work in such a remote area. Got any openings for a burned-out G-man?”

  “It’s not all that great. It’s a lot of work but at least you’re outdoors most of the time. It’s better than flying a desk; I have to admit it.”

  Morrow asked about the park and the area around False Cape. He seemed to have a keen interest in nature and camping. Eventually the talk turned to Shadow’s background. Morrow knew Shadow was Native American, which wasn’t surprising since he would have done his research. When he learned Shadow had grown up near West Point, Virginia, he mentioned being from nearby Richmond himself and had done a bit of hunting around West Point. Soon they were swapping stories and Shadow found himself talking about his childhood, something he rarely did.

  Shadow rose and, without stopping the discussion, poured himself a second cup of coffee. Sitting back down, he loosened his tie and unfastened the button of his collar. He and Morrow were engaged in a spirited discussion of the benefits of being raised in a small, tightly-knit community rather than in a city, as Morrow had been brought up, when an attractive blond-haired woman walked into the room carrying a briefcase. She wore a dark blue business suit and a serious expression. Both men stood as she came in.

  “Well,” she said with a quick, emotionless smile, “I’m glad you’ve been hard at work while I was out pounding the pavement, Dave.”

  “Life’s tough all over.” Morrow shrugged. “Shadow Fletcher, this is my partner on this case, Lorene W. Walker. I suspect the W stands for water, but she won’t admit it. Lorene, this is Ranger Fletcher of False Cape State Park.”

  Solid looking, in her mid-thirties maybe, Walker had a smooth, tanned complexion. Her wide, serious eyes were blue—and her hair, cut to curl below her ears, accentuated her high cheekbones.

  “Hello, Ranger,” she said. “I understand you found the body of the Gordon woman.” She did not offer to shake hands.

  “That’s right.”

  “We need to ask what you observed when you first arrived at the scene, since you were the only one to see it before it was disturbed.”

  “No, Chief Warden Moorcock was there too.”

  “No, not before you muddled it up. The Warden arrived after you had been there for a while.” She gave him a flat stare. “Why did you disturb the scene?”

  “All I did was walk around it.” Shadow could feel his voice going up a notch. This female agent was a real hard-ass.

  “Whoa, let’s hold up here.” Morrow interrupted. “Let’s not start the interview before we get back to the office.” He grinned at Shadow from behind Walker’s back. “There are procedures to follow, you know.”

  Morrow led them to a small interview room. There was a well-worn table with six chairs and a large mirror-surfaced window on the far wall. A briefcase lay on the table with a yellow legal pad and two pencils beside it. Morrow slid into the chair behind the briefcase and his partner sat down beside him. He pushed the pad of paper and pencils over to Walker. Shadow took the chair opposite the agents without being asked.

  Unlocking the case, Morrow extracted a manila file with the name Amanda Gordon and a series of numbers. He opened the file and immediately became bu
siness-like.

  “Ranger Fletcher, before we start, I need to ask your permission to tape this session.”

  “No problem,” Shadow said, but he could not keep himself from glancing at the mirror.

  “Just a recording, you have my word on it. The tape is already running, but I can turn it off if you wish.” Morrow indicated a switch on the wall. “This is not an interrogation and there is no one in the next room. We only want your take on the body since you were the one who found her.”

  Then he stated the date and time and the names of the people present in the room, and addressed Shadow.

  “Ranger Fletcher, would you please state your full name and occupation for the record?”

  Shadow complied. Agent Walker glared at him, although her gaze sometimes drifted to his prosthetic hand. He put it on his lap, beneath the table.

  “And you are aware this interview is being recorded?”

  “Yes.”

  Morrow questioned him about his involvement in the search for the missing jogger and his subsequent discovery of the body. They stayed with a chronological sequence of his memory of the events, but interrupted him with countless questions, especially concerning the pigs, with the female agent scribbling away on the legal pad. She asked occasional questions, but left most of the questioning to Morrow. When they had extracted all the information they wanted about the Gordon case, they backtracked and questioned his involvement in the search and discovery of the college girls. When Shadow was through telling of recovering the body from the bay, Walker took over. The focus of the interview changed.