Wolfwraith

by John Bushore

  What if Frank had some claim to property here on the cape? Could he be the ‘hold out’ Barnett had mentioned, who would get an ‘offer he can’t refuse?’

  He recalled the transit on Frank’s bicycle. Shadow had seen Barnett with a team of surveyors near the False Cape dock, a couple of times. Had the old man seen them also, and put two and two together with four being a causeway?

  Lorene had stepped nearer while he pondered.

  “Hey,” she said again. “What is it?”

  “I know who did it.” He spoke softly, afraid if he said it aloud, it would turn out not to be true.

  Lorene ran the rest of the way to him. “Who? And how the hell do you know?”

  “That.” He pointed at the marks in the mud.

  She leaned forward and looked carefully. “A bicycle? How does that tell you who the killer is?”

  “It doesn’t, exactly,” he said. “But it made me think of this guy since every time I see him, he’s on a bike. And I know that, at least once, he hid it away.”

  “Oh, Jesus, another hunch. And this one’s so far out it must have been beamed down from the moon.”

  Crap, why didn’t she ever believe him? “I’m telling you I know who killed her. Okay, I don’t have proof, but he’s on a bike, so he couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “Who?”

  He turned and ran toward his truck, parked alongside the house. “I’ll tell you on the way,” he shouted back. “Let’s get after the son-of-a-bitch first.”

  She ran after him. “Hold it,” she cried. “Wait.”

  “He’ll get away!” He slid into the truck’s cab.

  He expected her to get in the other side, but instead she held his door open. “I can’t leave a crime scene untended. For all we know, the killer could be hiding in your crawl space or one of the other buildings.”

  “Stay here then. I’ll go alone.”

  “No, damn it! This is a murder investigation and you’re not trained to handle it, let alone chase after a dangerous killer. Your boss will be here in a couple of minutes. Fill me in on who you think it is and why.”

  “Who made you boss?” He said and saw her eyes turn to ice.

  “My badge makes me boss in a situation like this. I’m serious, Shadow.”

  He felt like telling her where to stuff her badge, but knew he was being unreasonable. “Okay, you win this time. But there’s something else I can do.” He turned on the two-way radio. Alex’s voice came from the dash speaker, talking to one of the refuge wardens. Shadow held the microphone near his mouth, driving with the claw, and waited for a pause in the conversation.

  “False Cape Six to False Cape Two.”

  “Go ahead, Six,” Alex answered immediately.

  “The killer is on a bike,” Shadow said. “Probably heading north along the road, but that’s a guess. And...” He hesitated, deciding whether he was confident enough to accuse someone. “I think it’s False Cape Frank.”

  “False Cape Frank!” Alex paused. “Shadow, have you lost your mind? He’s an old geezer; there’s no way.”

  “Well, we’ll soon know, I hope. Tell everyone to be looking for someone on a bike; we found bicycle tracks. But if our boy Frank is found in the park, we need to talk to him.”

  “Ten-four. Did all units copy?”

  Several voices quickly answered in the affirmative, one after another.

  “Six,” Alex said. “I’ll be at your location in two minutes; I’m passing False Cape Meadow now.”

  “Ten-four,” Shadow answered. “Out.” He hung up the mike.

  “So who the hell is False Cape Frank?” asked Lorene.

  “He’s an old guy who’s been hanging around the park for years. Always rides a bike, although he sometimes leaves it and hikes through the dunes.” He marshaled his thoughts. “Helen called me this morning and said the governor and some of his cronies are trying to close the park to get the land. The park will revert to the original owners, according to the charter, or whatever it was, so they’re buying up the land rights through a dummy corporation. I think Frank is heir—or at least has a claim to—some property here. If they approached the old guy, and he realized what they’re up to, it would piss him off. He wants the cape to remain the way it was before the park opened.”

  He took a deep breath, then continued. “I think he’s trying to get everyone to leave False Cape. Maybe he figures the publicity of so many murders would keep people from coming here—everything points that way.”

  “You’d better be right. Do you realize everyone heard your transmission, not just your boss?” Lorene’s left hand rubbed her temple, as though she had a headache. Her automatic remained in the other hand, held loosely at waist level. Shadow briefly wondered if she had the safety on, but wasn’t concerned. Lorene was obviously very competent with firearms from what he had seen. She was pretty damn bossy, too, when you came right down to it.

  “It’s more than a hunch. That’s why Helen Parsons was coming out here,” he said. “I don’t know all of it yet, but she thinks—thought—the governor is closing the park so it can be sold off through or to his brother-in-law, something like that. The thing we couldn’t figure out is why, since the land isn’t worth much without access. Helen was looking into it and found out they were surveying the bay to put in a causeway. A frigging causeway!” He still couldn’t believe he’d never thought of such an obvious solution to the isolation of the park.

  “And...?”

  “This cape is worth a fortune if they build a causeway. It bypasses the major problem, that the federal government would never allow a road through the refuge. If they approached Frank about buying off his family’s old place, he might have figured out what was up. He carried a surveyor’s transit on his bike sometimes; maybe he figured out the causeway angle. I talked to him once, only once, but he was so fired up about keeping people away from the cape, I figure it would really piss him off to think of it becoming a cookie-cutter, high-priced suburb.”

  “And he’d kill because of that?” Her brows furrowed. Damn, she didn’t believe him.

  “Look, I know I don’t have any evidence, but I think the governor’s chicanery flushed a looney out of the bin.” What would convince her? “Remember how we talked about a motive, if sex wasn’t it? What if he figures nobody will want the park if people are being murdered here?” He had a sudden thought. “Maybe he’s messing up the bodies—the throat mutilation, that is—to make it look like it’s some sort of crazed animal or something. He mentioned the ‘spirits’ were...” He broke off. “Here comes Alex.”

  A park truck skidded around the curve past the cottage where Jenny had lived. It barreled toward them.

  “Oh, shit!” Shadow cried. He pushed his way out of the truck past Lorene and ran for the road.

  Too late. Alex’s truck tires ran right over the bicycle track.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  How’d an old man take him?

  After a few moments of confusion, cursing and explanation, Lorene asked Alex to guard the crime scene. Soon, Shadow started his truck and he and Lorene were on the way. Moments later, they passed by Jenny’s cottage.

  “Which way?” Lorene asked.

  “Left.” Shadow spun the steering wheel to take the large truck through the intersection, sliding on the gravel. “The right goes to the E.E.C., no place to hide there, unless he takes the old road south past the cemetery, but it’s all blown sand and he’d never make it on a bike. East, through the woods, leads to the beach. He’d have to carry his bike over the dunes, and then ride out on the hard sand just above the waterline. He’d stand out like a sore thumb.”

  Shadow straightened the wheel and hit the gas. The truck bounced wildly as Shadow sped northward. The radio crackled with chatter as more and more searchers joined in. He figured there’d been enough time now, that cops from Virginia Beach should be reaching the park.

  Lorene reached up and grabbed a handle, designed for such rugged going, near the roof. “But where
would he be going? There’s nothing up this road until False Cape Meadow and then the contact station farther north.”

  Shadow turned the radio down. “There’s nothing anywhere in the park, really. The only buildings are at Barbour Hill by the contact station and at Wash Woods. There’s nowhere to hide, so I’m betting he’s going for a boat stashed near the False Cape dock.”

  “Okay. But you really think some old codger could be our killer?”

  “He may be old, but he’s tough. Besides, he only killed women—Jonesy doesn’t count because his murder wasn’t...”

  Lorene interrupted. “It doesn’t wash. Planned or not, the killer managed to do him in. I met Jones. He was a burly guy, looked like he could handle himself. Tough from hard physical labor. How’d an old man take him?”

  “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But he had a knife and Jonesy was fucking unarmed.”

  Lorene pursed her lips. “Do you even know this old man’s last name?”

  “It’s, uh, Water-something.” He thought for a moment. “Waterfield, I’m pretty sure that’s it. He’s...whoa, here comes Slocum.” He jammed on the brakes and pulled as far to the right as he could get.

  Steve Slocum also pulled his truck to the edge of the road and slid to a stop alongside, facing the other direction. It was lucky they hadn’t met at a curve and gone head-on.

  “I hear the reporter, Helen Parsons, was killed,” he said. “What happened?”

  “Later,” Lorene answered brusquely, leaning across Shadow from the passenger seat. “Did you see anyone on a bike?”

  “Nope. No one at all.”

  She turned to Shadow. “Was there any place he could have turned off?”

  “Not unless he got off and carried the bike.”

  “How about turn-offs ahead of us?”

  “We’ll check them,” Shadow answered, annoyed Lorene always seemed to take charge. She was a different person when she was on the job, no doubt about it. Okay, she had all the training and experience, he had to give her that, but this was his park—familiar territory—and he had a stake in the case now that he had named False Cape Frank as a subject. Besides—and more importantly, his friends were the ones being killed.

  He leaned in front of her, blocking her off from Slocum.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “I was told to seal off the southern border,” he drawled. “I’m gonna use the ol’ road south from the E.E.C.”

  Shadow wondered what it would take to get Slocum to act excited. “Good,” Shadow said. “Let’s...Oh, I just thought of something. If he went that way, he’d leave tracks—that’s soft sand. Look for bike tracks—recent ones—or signs of someone walking alongside a bike. Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” Slocum said. “I wanna to hear what happened to the Parsons woman. I saw Helen, threw her bike in the back and give her a ride into the park—never pass up the chance to do a favor for a pretty woman, I always say. I let her off at your place, said she had somebody’s name for you.”

  Shadow nodded. “That’s where we found her—lying dead on my front porch.”

  “No! Jesus, I left her there. It’s like it was my fault. Fuck! I thought they’d done caught the killer. She was just...just...how the hell could it happen?”

  “We’ll talk later.” Shadow cut him off; they were wasting valuable time. “Get down there and make sure no one gets out to the south.”

  “We’re looking’ for False Cape Frank?” The other man’s eyes showed skepticism. “So what makes you think...”

  “Shadow, let’s go,” Lorene said. “We’re wasting time.”

  Shadow turned and looked at her, challenging. “Yes, boss.”

  Her eyes grew wide and he saw the anger there. She opened her mouth and began to speak, but then turned away, pointedly not looking at him.

  He waved good-bye to the other ranger. He stepped on the gas. They quickly came to the entrance of the False Cape meadow and turned in. The truck bumped across the clearing in a set of twin ruts left by park vehicles over the years. The wheels began to slip on mud left by the recent squall and Shadow shifted into four-wheel-drive. He noticed several startled campers turning to watch, but ignored them. On the other side of the meadow, he took the worn path under the branches. They bounced wildly along the ruts until the truck emerged from the tunnel of trees, sliding to a halt at the base of the False Cape Dock. There was no one there. There were no boats out on the bay.

  “Shit!” Lorene slapped her hand on the dash. “He got away.”

  “Maybe not,” Shadow said, turning the truck around quickly. “He could have got off the road and still be in the park—in the woods somewhere. We’ll check for sign where he might have left the road.”

  “What about the beach?”

  “Let someone else check that out. I don’t think he’d go there, he’d leave tracks even Warden Moorcock couldn’t miss.”

  “But wouldn’t we have seen a track on the road?” she asked as they bounced back toward the meadow. “There were plenty of patches of sand, washed smooth by the rain; it would have stood out.”

  She turned slightly in the seat and faced him. “Are you sure about that tire mark? It was under the tree’s branches, so maybe it could have been an old one, from before the rain.”

  “No,” he said. “I’d have known if it was old sign, rain or not but unless we find Frank or another tire mark, I have nothing to physically link him to the crime, no matter how weak. Hell, we don’t have Frank’s bike to compare the tread patterns anyway. I’ve got nothing to base my suspicions on but the words of a dead woman.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  This used to be a town, remember?

  When they came back to the road, Shadow pointed the truck’s hood south.

  “We’ll go back along the road—slowly this time,” he said. “You watch your side and I’ll watch mine. Look for any sign where he might have left the road.”

  “Wouldn’t he be much more likely to leave the road on my side? He’d hole up in the woods; there’s nowhere to hide in the dunes.”

  “No,” Shadow said. “Maybe not. He couldn’t get very far in the woods carrying a bike—it’s too thick. There are plenty of hiding places in the dunes: old roofing sections, rusted car hulks, all sorts of things half buried in the sand. This used to be a town, remember?”

  Shadow rolled his window down and leaned out, watching for tracks. They hadn’t gone far when he heard the throbbing sound of a helicopter in the distance. It grew louder and then a police helicopter sped by overhead.

  “I’m sure glad they’re here,” Lorene said. “If he’s in the dunes, they’ll see him, right?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Shadow answered. “But this guy knows the park like a kid knows his back yard. That chopper engine is loud. He’ll go to cover.”

  Lorene sighed. “He may not even be in the dunes.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm. It was not remotely like how she had touched him earlier, in the boathouse. This was a grab, as though she could shake a solution out of him. “You know this park, Shadow; I’ve only been through it a couple of times. Where would he go?”

  He pulled his arm away. “Hell, I have no idea. He could have...”

  “False Cape Two to False Cape Six.” The radio interrupted them.

  Lorene made a move for the microphone, but Shadow grabbed it first. She might be the high and mighty F.B.I., but this was still his truck. “Six,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  “Detective Ericsson is at the latest crime site. He wants you and Agent Walker to fill him in since you got there right after.”

  Ericsson? Already? He must have been in Sandbridge to be here so quickly—or had he come in on the chopper?

  “Ask him to wait,” Shadow protested. “We’re still looking for this guy, Alex. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “I know that, but we’ve got people pouring into the park from every government organization you can shake a stick at. They’ll pick up the search. I n
eed you back at Wash Woods, right away.”

  “Ten-four.” Shadow put the mike back on the dash and glanced over at Lorene, who shrugged.

  “I think he gave us the slip,” she said. “Whether it was the old guy you think or somebody else, he’s screwed us again.”

  “You think?”

  “Hell, yes, I think! He’s gone.”

  “No, he’s not,” Shadow said. “He’s still in the park somewhere.”

  “Damn it, that’s all I hear. ‘He’s on a bike, he’s using a boat, he’s hiding under a tree, or maybe a barn roof.’ Where the hell do you think he is, if he’s still in the park?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But in spite of what you think, he’s here.”

  Lorene said no more, drumming her fingers on her knees impatiently.

  Detective Ericsson awaited them on the road when they arrived. In Shadow’s yard, a team of investigators moved cautiously toward the body, examining every inch of sandy soil as they literally crept forward on hands and knees. Walking up to Shadow’s truck, he nodded recognition. “Hello, Agent Walker. You, too, Ranger.”

  The asshole doesn’t even remember my name, thought Shadow, but he was wrong.

  “We really need your help on this one, Fletcher,” the detective continued. “You knew this woman?”

  “She was a reporter.” Shadow didn’t want to tell Ericsson too much. He didn’t like the guy.

  “You two were together when you found her?” Ericsson looked across to Lorene.

  Shadow wondered if the detective was, once again, looking to see if Shadow’d had the opportunity to kill. He felt his face begin to heat up.

  “Yes, we were together,” Lorene said. “All morning, in fact.”

  Was there disappointment on Ericsson’s face? Shadow decided he’d had enough. “Look, Detective,” he said. “Let’s not get on that track again. The only reason I happen to be around all these murders is because I live here in the park. Quit trying to find out if I have an alibi.”

  Ericsson didn’t seem to mind the challenge. He said, smoothly, “I need to check all the angles. And you weren’t just ‘close’ to this murder; it happened on your front porch.”