Wolfwraith

by John Bushore

  Several seconds passed with Barnett saying no more than “Uh-huh,” and “Right.” Then he spoke again. “I’ve told you before, don’t worry about the legislature. The governor has the authority to close any park he wants, but needs approval from the state senate. He’s been pulling strings and calling in old favors. He’s sure he has enough votes in his pocket; not many lawmakers want to come out against any so–called budget cut with the deficit so bad. You make sure you’re all set to move when it happens, that’s all. Is everyone bought out?” There was a long pause, then, “If it’s only the one guy holding out, you’ll just have to convince him.”

  Convince who? Another mysterious “ him”—although Shadow now guessed the first one was the governor. Barnett’s next words gave no clue.

  “Look, we’ll take care of closing the park. The rest is up to you. If he won’t come around, you’ll have to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Another pause, then the commissioner laughed. “No, we’re still looking at the same timetable. After the fall session of the legislature, False Cape Park is history.”

  Helen Parsons had been correct and it sounded to Shadow like someone was going to be muscled into something, or worse.

  “Look, you do what you need to do,” Barnett said, “but be sure you show your gratitude when it’s all over.”

  Shadow presumed gratitude translated to money.

  “That’s right, Mr. Henderson. Okay, I’ll tell the governor. Goodbye.”

  Suddenly Shadow realized the commissioner would be coming out any second, and Barnett couldn’t miss his least favorite ranger sitting in the open shelter. Hearing the door’s hook-and-eye released inside the outhouse, he quickly stuffed Ashley’s letter into his pocket and took several steps out into the road, moving quietly. Then, he turned completely around and strode toward the side of the kiosk, as though he were hurriedly on the way to the outhouse.

  He heard Barnett’s footsteps coming down the short, wooden ramp to the road and managed to time it so they nearly collided at the corner of the kiosk.

  “Oh, sorry, Commissioner,” he said, hastily stepping around the other man as though he had no time to waste. He rushed up the ramp and yanked the door open, hoping to convey a sense of emergency. Once inside the outhouse, he latched the door and leaned back against it for a moment. Then, worried the other man might be standing outside, suspicious, Shadow unzipped his fly and forced himself to urinate in a splashing stream.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isn’t that somewhat cynical?

  Afterward, Shadow walked over to the contact station, trying to act normally, wondering if the commissioner suspected he’d been overheard. Fortunately, Shadow had to maintain his pose for only a few minutes, because Alex and the commissioner soon left. Shortly after, Mark departed to escort Betty through the refuge, leaving Shadow to man the phones and headquarters radio.

  Once alone, he took a piece of paper from Betty’s desk and wrote down everything Barnett had said, afraid he might forget details.

  He considered the implications of what he had heard. Barnett had seemed pleased about the killings, looking at them as an excuse to close the park. Why the hell was he and the governor so set on that? Who was Mr. Henderson, and who was going to get “an offer he can’t refuse?” Although Barnett’s words had not hinted of any involvement in the killings, he didn’t seem to mind using them to his advantage and had apparently sanctioned the use of force or coercion—or worse—against someone. Why? Could this tie in with the murders in some fashion? Somehow, he had to find out.

  Of course! Helen Parsons. Her boss had assigned her to look into the matter.

  He took her card from his wallet and called her cell phone. She didn’t answer, so he left a voice-mail message for her to call him at home. He felt much better, as if he’d enlisted an ally.

  Remembering his daughter’s letter, he took it out. It was dated two weeks before; Ashley usually put off mailing anything to her father until she could get to the post office, since a couple of her letters had never reached Shadow. His wife—ex-wife, he reminded himself—had probably thrown them away.

  The brief note was of the usual sort, mentioning school activities, her latest report card and the like. She also mentioned she was excited because her stepfather would soon be taking the family to Hawaii for two weeks.

  Shadow put it in his shirt pocket. It would go in the drawer with her other letters when he got home.

  He heard the crunch of tires outside and saw Helen Parsons pulling up in an SUV with a Virginian Pilot logo on the door. No wonder she hadn’t answered her cell phone; it probably wouldn’t work in the park.

  There was someone in the car with her, a young black man. Shadow got up and walked out to the porch.

  “Good morning,” Helen said as she and the man came up the steps. “This is Darrin Rogers, a photographer who works with me now and then. Darrin, meet Shadow Fletcher, one of the rangers.”

  Shadow and Darrin shook hands.

  “We mainly stopped to use the men’s room,” Helen explained. “It’s over there behind that little building, Darrin.” She pointed and the photographer ambled toward the outhouse.

  “Surely you didn’t get my voice mail already?” Shadow asked.

  “You called me? My phone should have beeped if I have voice mail.” She took her phone out and looked at it. “Nothing.” She put it away and looked back to Shadow. “Do you have something about the murders?”

  “No, it’s not about the killings—I don’t think. I overheard Commissioner Barnett talking on the phone about closing the park.” He went on to relate the conversation. “I wrote down what I remember,” he concluded, handing her the paper. “I didn’t know I’d see you so soon and I was afraid I might forget some detail or other.”

  “Thanks,” she said, glancing at it before putting it in a pocket. “I know a reporter in Richmond who knows everybody who knows anybody. If this guy, Henderson, is a wheeler-dealer, my friend will know him, or at least somebody who does.”

  “But why would the governor want to close the park?”

  “Maybe I’m being petty, but I’ve never seen our esteemed governor as the type to pass up a fast buck. This piece of real estate you call a park is probably pretty valuable. Acres and acres of land with beach and bay access would grow multimillion-dollar vacation homes with enough green fertilizer.”

  Shadow shook his head. “No, that can’t be it. We’re closed in on four sides. The bay’s on the west, the ocean on the east, there’s no northern access because of the refuge, and no road coming up through North Carolina. Even if they built a good road, there’s nothing down there for miles and miles. It’s the long way around from anywhere.”

  Helen thought for a moment. “Yeah, I see your point. North Carolina isn’t about to spend millions of dollars for a road to a development that wouldn’t net them a cent in real estate taxes. Remember what I said about ‘green fertilizer?’ If there’s enough money in something, some politicians will find a way to get their share.”

  “What do you think Barnett meant by ‘an offer he can’t refuse?’”

  “Hell, it could mean anything. It’s just a corny line from an old movie. It doesn’t necessarily imply force; it could be an offer of a shitload of money.”

  “You seem to think everything revolves around money. Isn’t that somewhat cynical?”

  Helen’s eyes widened as she looked at him, then she grinned. “Shadow, you need to get out in the big wide world now and then. Like in the song, money really does make the world go ‘round.”

  “But what about the killings? Could the park closing have anything to do with them?”

  Helen lost her grin. “If there’s enough money involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. Then again, the people who were killed wouldn’t have anything to do with goings-on in the capital, as far as I can see. Anyway, thanks for the information. I’ll check it out and get back to you.”

  Shadow felt guilty. Helen still didn’t know the Gordon woman had
her throat mutilated, not to mention the wolf angle. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got something for you. They interviewed the park staff and took DNA samples. I’m pretty sure they have some kind of physical evidence.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm, thanks, Shadow. Do you know how the cops got the guy’s DNA?”

  “I’m not sure.” Shadow noticed the cameraman returning from the outhouse. “Another thing. They checked my knife, and I found out they checked the other ranger’s knives, too.”

  Helen smiled warmly. “Thanks, Shadow. That’s a big help. Maybe I can use that information to get a little more out of my contacts.”

  Shadow was glad he had given her something, but was still uneasy about keeping the rest a secret. “Maybe I could take you out to dinner or something, sometime—for all your help.”

  “Sure, I’d like that. Call me.”

  As she walked back to her vehicle, Shadow stood dumbfounded at his own action. He hadn’t asked a woman out in many years.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Would you like a drink?

  Two days later, returning from Jonesy’s funeral, Shadow drove through the wildlife refuge. He’d ridden in a van with the other rangers to the church and then the cemetery, but they’d separated at the Little Island parking lot. A couple of state police officers, assigned to help the rangers patrol the park and beaches, had watched over False Cape while all the rangers were gone. Why bother, Shadow thought, there are no hikers or campers to protect.

  When he reached the park, he had to swing aside a bar across the road at the main entrance. It was the only time he had ever seen it closed. No guards were necessary here, he supposed, since the refuge was closed too. Besides, there were too many ways to get into the park other than the dike trails and roads, especially by water. They’d posted signs on all three docks, but that was all. Most outdoors-type people would obey the sign, even if they hadn’t heard about the situation in the park, but he wouldn’t put it past some of the rainbow-haired crowd to sneak in, looking for thrills.

  Alex had offered vacation leave to the park staff, but only Mark Wilson had taken advantage of it. Steve Slocum had stayed on, but his wife and kids were staying with friends in the city. Alex’s wife, Lillian, refused to leave; she was the only female remaining.

  Shadow drove to his house but walked past it to the Taj Mahal. The crime-scene tape had been taken down around the trailer, although Jenny’s place was still blocked off. The Taj Mahal was locked up, which was unusual, but Jonesy had always kept a spare key under a board on the steps. Shadow let himself in. The kitchen was warm and musty, so he turned on the air, then went to the refrigerator and grabbed one of the beers still there. For nearly an hour he drank beer and moved the pegs around on Jonesy’s cribbage board, then went home.

  The next day, Shadow took a vacation day and hung around home, whittling, doing crosswords and listlessly watching God-awful soaps while his air conditioner whined in a feeble attempt to suck moisture and heat from the air. The summer heat and humidity had descended on the Atlantic Coast like a sweat-soaked blanket. He would have liked to visit where Jonesy had been killed, but he’d been told to stay out of the investigators’ way.

  When Helen phoned and asked to meet him in town, it was as though he had been given a reprieve. She avoided giving him any information on the phone and suggested meeting at a beachfront nightspot.

  “Why not meet at the refuge headquarters or Little Island?” he asked.

  “Oh come on, Shadow. It’s Friday and I’ll feel like I’m still working if we do that. I’ve got some hot stuff for you and there’s no reason we can’t do it over drinks and dinner. Besides, it’s sort of business, so I’ll put it on my expense account.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty bummed out over Jonesy—and Jenny, too of course.” He’d forgotten it was Friday; the days had been running together lately.

  “All the more reason. You can’t sit down there and mope, all by yourself, right next to where they were killed. Let’s go. I wouldn’t mind having dinner with a sexy ranger, even if it is business.”

  “Er, well, I guess so.” Why was he hesitating? It wasn’t like dating, which he had avoided since his divorce because he felt clumsy around attractive women. Besides, she’d just called him sexy. “I’ll be glad to meet you somewhere. You name it.”

  Helen laughed lightly. “That’s better. I was beginning to think you had something against paleface girls. Can you meet me at The Raven at, say, eight-thirty tonight? It’s a restaurant and bar on Ninth and Atlantic”

  “Why so late?”

  “Any earlier and we’ll be the only ones there,” she said. “C’mon, there’s no reason we can’t have a drink while I bring you up to speed. Besides, I’m driving down from Richmond and the interstate is always jammed in the evening.”

  “Okay. See you there.”

  He called Alex and let him know he’d be away from the park. The rangers weren’t required to account for their off-hours, of course, but everyone did so as a matter of courtesy.

  By seven-thirty, he had showered and was on the way to meet Helen. Even after he’d cleared the park and the refuge, he had several miles to drive. Virginia Beach was a sprawling city, stretching from the southern shore of the Chesapeake Bay to the North Carolina line. Although there was still a lot of farmland in the southern parts, the land in the north was quite developed. Even so, two navy bases, a national guard base, an army fort and two state parks—the other being First Landing—took up a great deal of space, and all but the navy’s airfield took up miles of valuable beachfront. No wonder the land in the park would be so valuable if it came on the market; there was very little room left elsewhere in the city.

  He drove for several miles through Sandbridge, a narrow stretch of expensive homes on stilts, where millions of dollars had been spent building up the sand along the beach and detoured around Camp Pendleton, the National Guard base. It was nearly dark when he crossed a high bridge over an inlet looking down on marinas full of large, expensive-looking boats. He’d entered the resort area.

  This section of the city hadn’t been so commercialized when Shadow had first seen it as a child on vacation. There had still been weathered wood-sided hotels and summer-rental cottages with colorful awnings, looking like old ladies sitting along the beach with drab, gray dresses and bright shawls.

  He had a bit of trouble finding The Raven, which was an older tavern and restaurant across the street from the beach. The bar’s parking lot was full, so Shadow parked three blocks away in a pay lot.

  He walked back to the restaurant, noticing mobs of tattooed, ornament-studded teenagers hanging around storefronts while sunburned families hurried in and out of restaurants, game parlors and souvenir shops. Four lanes of traffic inched along between traffic lights, slowed by trolley-like buses plastered with advertisements for local businesses. Pairs of white-helmeted police officers seemed to be everywhere, afoot, on bicycles and in cars. Shadow even saw a pair of high-booted cops riding horses along the street.

  He had agreed to meet Helen on the patio—more of a veranda actually, which wrapped around the building. When he had found a table there, separated from the sidewalk by a low wall, he ordered a beer.

  The din of motors and car horns outside assailed his ears, competing with a blare of music from within the building. With his nose and throat burning from exhaust fumes, he wondered why anyone would pay thousands of dollars to vacation here. Maybe most fathers would rather come here, he supposed, where they had to shell out money for video games, ice cream and souvenirs, than go to a quiet, secluded spot where their children would continuously complain, “There’s nothing to do here!”

  Helen arrived before he’d finished his beer and he stood up to wave her over. She weaved through the crowd wearing flat-soled, comfortable-looking shoes, a tan skirt and matching jacket. Her short red hair was combed back over her ears but one strand had escaped, giving her the look of a harried office worker after a long day. Sliding into a c
hair, she let out a deep breath.

  “Whew, I’m glad to be out of the car,” she said. “Traffic was backed up for miles; probably some idiot ran out of gas in the tunnel.”

  “I was thinking how lucky I am to be out of the rat race,” said Shadow. “Would you like a drink?”

  “A margarita—and make it a double. They make absolutely delicious margaritas here. Have you ever tried one?”

  “No, I’ve never been here before, but it sounds good.” The waiter had arrived at the table immediately after Helen, and Shadow ordered drinks for both of them.

  Helen rose from her chair as the waiter walked away. “Excuse me for a moment, please. I’ve been in the car for nearly three hours. Back in a moment.”

  She returned shortly after a waiter had brought the drinks. She had let loose her hair and removed her light jacket. She was quite attractive with her hair down, Shadow found.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Now I can relax.” She picked up her drink and held it out, “Here’s to money making the world go ’round.”

  “Hello yourself,” Shadow replied, clinking his glass against hers. “I take it you found something out.”

  “I did.” She took a large gulp of her margarita. “Mmmm.” She drank again. “I told you. Scrumptious.” She licked her lips, obviously savoring crystals of salt from the edge of the glass, and every hint of her professional demeanor seemed to drop away. Shadow remembered he’d always had a thing for redheads.

  He sipped. “I agree. Absolutely the best.”

  “I did an article about this place, years ago,” Helen said. “Back when I was still doing ‘local flavor’ pieces. Now I’m a bit of a regular here.” She finished her drink. “Wow, someone gave me a glass with a hole in it!” She looked about, caught the waiter’s eye and waved him over.

  “Drink up,” she told Shadow after she had ordered another round. “I need to wrap myself around a couple of drinks before I can eat. Besides, this is on my expense account, remember. You may consider yourself a ‘journalistic source.’”