The Angel Maker

by Ridley Pearson

  An expression of doubt crossed the young man’s face. It dissipated quickly as he reminded himself emphatically, “The barn was locked.”

  “A barn?”

  “More like a small hangar. A Quonset hut. There were dogs.”

  “A kennel?”

  “It was a woman, I’m telling you.”

  Tegg explained, “Well, we can be at the Sheriff’s in about thirty minutes. Or we could call.” He pointed to his cellular phone. “I can get a clear signal a few miles down the road. But you better have your story straight.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Your name?”

  “Michael.”

  “Michael, have you ever heard a cat at night? Hmm? Have you ever heard that peculiar screaming of a cat during fornication and thought you heard a woman?” Now Tegg’s hitchhiker looked puzzled. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not telling you what you heard. I wasn’t there. You’re the one who’ll explain it to the Sheriff, but you mentioned dogs and that made me think of cats and how much they can sound like a woman. A woman screaming. Cats fornicating. A mountain lion can sound that way. What was it you said you heard?”

  His passenger didn’t answer at first. Then he stated emphatically, “I heard a woman scream.”

  Tegg added, “I don’t know how you feel about involving the cops, but they’re not my favorite people. Were you on private property? Was that property posted? Did you have the owner’s permission to be there? They ask you things like that. Don’t forget that.”

  “I know that. I also know what I heard.”

  “And you’re prepared to deal with them? Fine.” Tegg went through the motions of pretending to engage the car. “You ask me, cops are stupid. They’re little people.”

  “What choice is there? I have to do something.” He added, “And what about those dogs?”

  Tegg nodded. The important thing was to remain in control, to give this person the sense that he, Tegg, had all the answers, even though he was making this up on the fly. The key to such manipulation was in allowing the other person to believe that all the good ideas were his. To fill in gaps that were never left in the first place. For so many animals in the wild, the key to survival, the way they snared their prey, was through convincing camouflage. Tegg knew his most effective camouflage was to appear to be this man’s friend. How quickly we place our trust in those we like. And Tegg could be quite likable when he tried.

  “Listen, if you’re saying I should go back there with you,” Tegg suggested, “I suppose that makes some good sense. It’s a good idea. The police are certainly more likely to believe the two of us, aren’t they? Of course they are!” He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment; he had the boy right where he wanted him: confused. No one likes to disclaim authorship of a good idea. He turned the car around. He would have to pretend he didn’t know the way.

  It was strange how long the ride seemed to take. In reality it was only a few minutes, a couple of miles. For Elden Tegg, attempting to work this out in his head, those minutes passed slowly. Another complication. This heart harvest had brought him some bad luck, but he wasn’t going to bail out. Not with Wong Kei’s money in hand. Not with a donor all lined up. You seized a problem by the throat and you squeezed until it died. It was as simple as that. Problems left breathing came back to life. You killed them the first time, or you suffered the consequence.

  Michael directed Tegg through the turns that lead Tegg onto his own property. Tegg remarked convincingly, “I’ve been coming up these country roads for years. Never knew this place existed.”

  “Me either,” Michael said.

  “You’re on foot, are you?” Tegg asked, needing as much information as possible. His hope was to discourage this person, to convince him he had heard wrong, send him on his way. But if this failed, what then? Where was a person like Maybeck when you needed him the most?

  “Hiking.”

  “You’re a long way from anywhere.” He added, “I was under the impression this is mostly private land out here.” It was all privately leased land now—timberland owned by paper companies. The hiker had been trespassing—probably knowingly—and this seemed useful ammunition. You preyed on a person’s vulnerabilities. It was always the weakest link that broke first.

  When his passenger failed to respond, Tegg said, “The thing of it is, the police may wonder what you were doing up here in the first place. Especially if it turns out to be a wild goose chase—a couple of cats fornicating. You say you were hiking? Are there trails up here?”

  “There’s an old railroad grade,” the young black man snapped defensively. “I don’t care what the police say!” Tegg knew all about the old railroad grade, about the Nature Conservancy’s attempts to purchase much of this land. He remembered the tree spiking. The radicals who chained themselves to the trees.

  He glanced over at his passenger, who seemed so righteous, so determined. Tegg rolled down his window and fished for air. What next? He thought of a possible way out. “We won’t have any trouble with those dogs you mentioned,” he said, once again getting the other’s attention. “At least we shouldn’t. Hmm? Did I tell you I’m a veterinarian?” There it was, the biggest risk to take, but if offered as an asset he hoped it might be accepted as such.

  “No shit?” the young man asked.

  “The rangers keep a couple horses out here,” Tegg lied convincingly. “Out at the reservoir,” he added, keeping his story straight. He glanced over at his passenger—was that relief he saw? He explained quickly.

  “I have my kit in the back. If the dogs give us any trouble we’ll be fine.”

  “It’s just up here,” his passenger informed him.

  “Did you speak to anyone in the house?” Tegg asked as they rounded the bend in the road that revealed the cabin. He felt in more control now, though his adrenaline was still pumping. He felt slightly giddy with anticipation.

  “Are you kidding? I mean, what if someone is in the house? What if there is a woman locked up in that hangar?”

  “There isn’t,” Tegg said, asserting some authority.

  “There are some strange people back in these woods.”

  “I know that.”

  “I mean really strange.”

  Tegg pulled the Isuzu to a stop. The dogs barked ferociously.

  With one eye on the cabin Michael stated, “Leave it running. If they’re armed … if there is someone here, and they turn out to be armed, we should be prepared to leave in a hurry.”

  “Agreed.” They both climbed out. Tegg felt suddenly enlightened—what a perfect idea. “You’ve given me an idea. I just happen to have something that might help us.” Feeling stronger now—himself again—he returned to the car, opened the back door, and rummaged in his veterinary supplies.

  One thing was for certain: If he made it through this, a few things were going to change. He would leave Felix uncaged, free to patrol the aisle. Free to attack if a stranger opened the door. And he would muzzle the woman. The Bitch. No more screaming.

  “This ought to help us,” he said, showing it to Michael Washington.

  “A gun?”

  “A dart pistol. Armed with something called Ketamine. Quite effective, I assure you. Now, let’s have a listen.” He motioned the young man over to the structure.

  “Over here. I heard her over here,” Michael said, indicating the north side of the structure.

  “We won’t hear anything with this barking,” Tegg said.

  “Maybe if we just sit here,” Michael Washington said, “they’ll calm down.” He seemed nervous about the possibility of somone coming from the cabin. He checked it continually.

  “I haven’t got all day, young man. Hmm?”

  “If we could get a look inside.”

  “It’s locked up tight. We’ve already trespassed. You don’t want to add breaking and entering to that, do you? The police treat all crime the same, you know. I for one want nothing to do with breaking any more laws.” Tegg felt a strange lightheadedness. The air seeme
d crystal clear. He knew what had to be done. He checked the dart gun.

  Once again Tegg attempted to discourage him. “I for one have other things to do. What about you? I thought you said you were lost. Won’t this delay of yours be noticed?” He tested, “Are you with anyone else?”

  “Me? No. But I understand what you’re saying. We can’t wait around here forever. Maybe it was just a cat.”

  The dogs quieted. Tegg lifted his hand like a preacher and they waited in silence as the last of the barking stopped completely. It surprised him they should stop so soon; sometimes they went on for hours. “Nothing,” he whispered.

  Michael stepped toward the building. He raised his arm, preparing to bang on the wall!

  “Without actually breaking inside,” Tegg added, stopping the man, “there’s not much more to be done. We’re sure as hell not going to break that lock.” Tegg’s finger slipped onto the trigger. Despite the isolation, Tegg had no desire to do this out in the open. He had made a similar mistake once before in his life, and he was not prone to repeating mistakes.

  “Helllppp!” came the distinctive cry of a woman’s voice from inside. It was quickly buried in barking, but there was no mistaking it.

  The hiker exploded into a frenzy. “What did I tell you?” He ran for the door.

  The pistol was no good for moving targets; Tegg was no marksman. He hurried after him. Above all, he wanted them both inside before he used the dart gun. It would take anywhere from thirty seconds to several minutes for the Ketamine to take effect. He needed the man contained for this period, not running wild. Shoot him inside the kennel, then get out quickly and lock the door until the drug took effect.

  In a calm, almost serene way, he examined his options. What was left? There could be no trusting this man. The threat was too great. Even if Tegg were to move the woman, his research laboratory was here in the basement of the cabin. Could he give it all up on account of one lost hiker? Problems tended to breed like rabbits. Solutions required quick decisions.

  “Something has just occurred to me. What about a hidden key? A spare key for this shed? People always hide a spare. I certainly do. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Tegg said this as he fingered the appropriate key in his pocket.

  “You’re right!”

  “All we have to do is think like him. Hmm? Where would you hide a spare key? I’ll take this side, you take that.”

  It took Tegg only a few seconds to separate the key from his key chain, although he had to set the dart gun down to do so. He turned over a rock so that it would look as if he had found it there. Then he announced loudly, “I’ve found it!”

  The man named Michael came running.

  Tegg retrieved the dart gun and led the boy to the door. He inserted the key and turned. The padlock snapped open. “You first,” Tegg said. “This was your idea.” He added, “I’ll back you up,” and displayed the loaded dart gun.

  The door swung open. They were greeted with a penetrating darkness, and foul, bitter odors. The dogs barked wildly. Michael Washington checked silently with Elden Tegg. Encouraged by him, he began a slow, tentative walk down the darkened aisle. The white teeth of the dogs, bared and snarling, challenged him at every step. The shock collars sang with warnings, and the dogs cried with pain as they threw themselves against the chain-link walls of their cages.

  Elden Tegg, dart gun in hand, followed a few steps behind. With each cage Tegg passed, the dog inside went silent. Michael Washington took no notice, made no connection, his attention instead riveted on the inhabitant of the cage up ahead on the left. On the bare back and buttocks of the woman crouched into the far corner.

  She glanced over her shoulder briefly, her arms tucked tightly, covering her breasts, looking first at Michael Washington, then at Elden Tegg. She hid her face.

  “I was right!” Michael Washington proclaimed triumphantly, turning toward Tegg.

  “But you’ll soon wish you hadn’t been,” replied Elden Tegg, who was waiting several feet away, dart gun raised. He squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with a crack. Tegg had never fired a dart gun at a human. He had hesitated an instant too long. A shocked and stunned Michael Washington reached down and pulled the dart free.

  Eyes filled with rage, he charged Tegg, who would be no match for the younger man.

  The dogs’ barking was deafening!

  Tegg’s mind worked furiously: the shovel! Leaning against the near wall, it offered possibility. He lunged toward the wall, jumping left toward the shovel as his charger misjudged his intentions and crashed into the door, slamming it shut. A drugged Michael Washington got out of his own way then and managed to crack the door open as Tegg seized the shovel and swung it in a long, unforgiving arc toward the other man’s head. The shovel dropped quickly, only grazing the black man’s arm. Washington caught hold of the shovel, and hand-over-hand drew Tegg closer—both of them struggling for possession. Tegg saw the man’s pupils then, and he let go of the shovel, surprising Michael Washington, who staggered back, shovel in hand. Tegg witnessed the first major seizure in the man, a ripple of muscle contraction that ran from his feet to his shoulders.

  Michael Washington fought it. With great difficulty, he managed to move one heavy step forward. Fear belied his intentions.

  Tegg watched, catching his breath. He smiled. “There’s no use fighting it now,” he said.

  Washington’s entire body tensed as a second contraction hit him. He collapsed. Tegg stood over him, watching. Studying. He had never seen such a severe reaction to Ketamine. As a doctor, he found it fascinating. In higher doses, it was lethal.

  “Oh, no …” the drugged man groaned.

  “Oh, yes,” answered Elden Tegg, another smile forming on his lips.

  17

  Boldt was driving his Toyota, Daphne riding with him. He had been warned that it might be days or even weeks until he could draw a vehicle from the pool. He didn’t have an office cubicle yet, either. In many ways he remained the outsider, his return to the department more technical than actual.

  A few miles passed. The Emerald City receded in the rearview mirror. He could see out across the Sound. Lush green islands like jewels. More pleasure craft than on the weekdays, their sails catching the brilliant sunshine like sun-starved flowers. Ferries like big bugs, back and forth, back and forth. The waterways came alive on weekends when the sun shone. His eyes refocused. OBJECTS CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR read the message stenciled across the outside mirror. “No lie,” thought Lou Boldt, studying Daphne’s profile.

  “You don’t have to be so mad,” he said to her.

  “We should have done this yesterday.”

  “You did speak to her yesterday. It couldn’t be official for twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s a stupid law. Twenty-four hours? Sharon could be anywhere by now.” She added, “And don’t give me the statistics sermon! You’ll see. Once you have spoken to Agnes you’ll be convinced. I know you. I know you will be. Sharon did not take off somewhere. Those goddamn statistics weren’t made for people like her. And don’t hand me that crap about her having been a runaway. That’s all behind her. I could have popped Shoswitz for that. He’s a misogynist, you know that?”

  “LaMoia’s running the surveillance on the BloodLines employee, Connie Chi,” he said, trying to distract her. She was worked up for nothing—they were almost there. In the police department nothing moved at the pace you wanted. Investigators learned to accept it; psychologists-turned-investigators suffered for it. There was a long silence.

  “So how are things?” he asked.

  “Things?” she questioned. “What things?”

  “You know,” he said.

  “My sex life?” she asked bluntly. “Am I getting enough? Something like that?”

  He felt himself blush. “Sorry.” He wasn’t asking about her sex life, but her happiness, though he felt helpless to explain.

  “I’m on hold at the moment,” she answered. “There was someone for a while, but I handled
it all wrong. I wanted too much too soon. It wasn’t even that I wanted it, I expected it. The truth is I don’t know what I want, and that doesn’t work in a relationship.”

  They stopped at a light, but Boldt didn’t look at her. She sounded so damaged. “You seem happy,” he said optimistically.

  “I’m in therapy. It’s fantastic! That’s what I mean about being on hold. I’m working a little too much. Surprise! But it fills the hours. You know? And the therapy is helping a lot. It’s nice to have some control again.”

  A single evening they had spent together. A dinner that had run out of control. Boundaries crossed. Honesties voiced. And now, strangely, as if it never had happened.

  “Well, you look great,” he told her, feeling stupid to have said it.

  “Thanks.” She hesitated. “No regrets. You?”

  “None.” He felt her look at him, and he warmed all over.

  “I’m glad,” she said.

  Sharon Shaffer’s housemate, Agnes Rutherford, was five feet tall with silver-blue hair that gleamed like silk and perfectly brilliant ice-blue eyes that belied their inability to function. Agnes Rutherford was blind. She wore a cardigan sweater littered with dandruff and a skirt that was losing its hem. Leather slippers worn shiny on the sides from sliding her feet along, like a person wearing boots on ice.

  When Boldt and Daphne were only a few feet inside the door, Agnes Rutherford asked him, “How old is your child, Mr. Boldt? Or am I supposed to call you by your rank?”

  Boldt looked over at Daphne in astonishment. She touched her nose in pantomime. “He’s six months,” Boldt replied. “Still a baby.”

  “And do you smoke, even with a child in the house?”

  “Smoke? No. Not me. I’m a musician. On the side,” he added, though he wasn’t sure which side anymore. “A night club.” He sniffed at his coat. “It’s probably my coat that smells like cigarettes.”

  Agnes Rutherford grinned, proud of herself. Her teeth were too perfect to be hers.

  Daphine repeated what she and the woman had discussed a day earlier.