by Marc Daniel
“None taken.”
“I couldn’t bring you in on this case even if I wanted to. And on top of everything else, I am no longer in charge of the investigation. After what happened last week, I have become too personally implicated in the case to be allowed to stay on it.”
“Who’s in charge of the investigation then?” asked Michael.
“Some colleagues of mine, Detectives Lewis and Salazar.”
“I bumped into them at Harrington’s after I discovered the bodies. They didn’t strike me as particularly bright,” commented Michael.
“Don’t underestimate Lewis. She’s a sharp one. Salazar not as much, but he’s no dummy either, and he carries his weight.”
“Listen, even if they were the best cops on the planet, you and I know they are no match for what they are up against. Werewolves might, in a pinch, let cops arrest them in order to protect the pack or the secret of their existence. But if Lewis and Salazar come anywhere close to the truth, they will be eliminated without a doubt,” said Michael calmly.
“Fine! You made your point. Where do we start?” conceded David.
“We start with the obvious suspects. What do you know of the werewolf community in the region?”
“Not a whole lot,” answered the detective, caressing his three-day beard meditatively. “After my stepfather disappeared, I did my best to stay away from them.”
“When did that happen?”
“Sixteen years this past month,” answered David after a second of reflection.
“What happened, exactly?”
“Nobody knows. He left for work one morning and was never seen again.”
Michael wondered if David’s stepfather’s disappearance had influenced him in his career choice. He asked, “Do you know a man by the name of Peter Clemens?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Why? Should I know him?”
“It would help. Let me enlighten you.”
Chapter 30
“Tom?”
Executive Assistant Chief of Police Thomas Maxwell recognized the Alpha’s voice immediately. He had been expecting this call.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I need you to keep me informed of any development in the investigation. We can’t afford to be caught off guard. Is this understood?” asked the Alpha in a tone accustomed to giving orders.
“Yes sir, absolutely. I will personally keep an eye on the cops in charge of the case.”
“Good. And if they get even remotely close to finding out about us, you pull the plug on the investigation.”
“I understand. But sir, if I may ask, what is our next move going to be?”
Chapter 31
In a coffee shop across the street from the police station, Michael sat slowly sipping on a cup of tea. He was waiting for David Starks to come pick him up.
David had called him in his hotel room shortly after Michael had returned from getting lunch.
“I found our ticket in,” the detective had said excitedly as soon as Michael had picked up the receiver. “Our ticket to Clemens’ house.”
Now that David knew about Clemens, he hadn’t wasted any time and had already come up with a way to pay the Alpha an official visit. Michael had to admit that sheer luck had played a major part in their good fortune.
After getting out of the hospital, David had been assigned to a missing person’s case: two brothers who had gone hunting in Sam Houston Forest and had never returned. A 911 call had been placed from one of their cell phones, however, and traced back to the center of the forest. After studying a map of Sam Houston, David had noticed the call had been placed less than two miles from Peter Clemens’ cabin, giving him a perfect excuse to pay the Alpha a visit.
The coffee shop door opened and David walked in. He located Michael immediately and motioned for him to come. Leaving his cup half full on the table, Michael walked over to the detective.
“Let’s not hang out here too long,” said David in a voice just low enough to prevent eavesdropping. “If other cops see me with you, they’ll ask questions I’d rather not have to answer.”
Michael nodded his understanding.
“Let me walk to my car and you can join me in thirty seconds. OK?”
“Works for me,” answered Michael.
The car was parked in a space reserved for police vehicles a few hundred feet down the street. David wasn’t halfway to his car when he heard a woman’s scream. He turned around and saw a man running on the sidewalk holding by the strap something that looked too small to be a purse. A woman was running after him but quickly losing ground.
“Stop him! He stole my camera,” she screamed.
As the man was passing the coffee shop at full stride, Michael simply stepped in front of him, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The man, who couldn’t be a pound over one eighty, bounced off Michael and landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Michael, who had not even flinched in the collision, was holding the camera by its strap.
David and the woman reached Michael at the same time.
“Thank you, sir,” said the woman, gaping at Michael who was used to seeing that reaction from people meeting him for the first time.
“How stupid do you have to be to snatch a camera in front of a police station?” asked David, bewildered, as a couple cops in uniform were already showing up to collect the half-knocked-out thief.
“Are you an officer?” the woman said to Michael who didn’t get a chance to answer before she turned her attention to David, saying in a flash of recognition, “Detective Starks! What a coincidence, I was actually looking for you.”
David sounded a little uneasy and less than truthful when he replied, “Sheila Wang! What a good surprise.”
In response to Michael’s unspoken question he explained, “Sheila is a reporter for the Houston Post. Anything you tell her can, and most definitely will, be held against you.”
“Now, Detective, you know that’s not fair. All I want is to ask you a few questions about your assault,” replied Sheila in a voice as sweet as honey, her eyelashes playing their part as well.
Sheila Wang looked definitely more like a Wang than a Sheila. About 5’3”, petite, with straight dark hair worn in a bob and slightly slanted eyes, Sheila could not hide her Chinese heritage. Most people would have considered her attractive, but she was not attractive enough to coerce David into an interview.
“How did you hear about that?” he asked, not hoping for an answer.
“You know I can’t reveal my sources, Detective,” she told him with a smile Michael found quite attractive.
“And you know I won’t tell you a thing,” David replied, copying her smile before turning to Michael and saying, “Let’s go, we’ve wasted enough time.”
As the two men were walking towards David’s car, Sheila called to Michael, “Sir. What’s your name?”
He turned around to look at her and after a second of hesitation answered, “Michael Biörn.”
Chapter 32
Victor Grey, known in some circles as the Chemist, stood in front of a complex-looking distillation set-up made of Vigreux columns, glass alembics, and countless glass coils. At one end of the set-up, an electric heating mantle was supporting a large flask containing a dark yellow liquid. The boiling liquid was sending vapors through the columns and alembics, which cooled the gases down before resending them back into the boiling flask. A small fraction of these vapors, however, was traveling all the way through the glass labyrinth and making it to the end as a colorless liquid dripping one drop at a time into a much smaller flask.
With his short stature, his untamed reddish hair, and his oversized belly, Victor more closely resembled a barbarian of old than a nerdy scientist, but he knew his way around a lab.
The distillation step was the most meticulous part of the process, which was why the Chemist was paying close attention to the details. If the heating were too harsh, the coveted molecules would decompose and the whole batch would be lost, but if it we
re too gentle, the brew would not be refined and would therefore be unusable.
The flowers contained the sought-after ingredient in a very diluted form, drowned in a sea of other molecules of no interest to his customer. The right alkaloid needed to be isolated from the complex mixture in order to warrant the potency of the final product.
This was a very interesting project from a scientific standpoint—interesting and dangerous. These were calculated risks, however. If one were careful, this particular substance was actually less hazardous to make than heroin, and the Chemist had had plenty of experience making heroin.
Victor did not know his customer’s identity. The small bright purple flowers were delivered to him on a regular basis by a feral-looking black man wearing a thousand-dollar suit, who also picked up the final product when completed. This guy was not the man Victor talked to on the phone though, he was just an underling. The phone guy was the real boss, Victor was sure of that.
What Victor did not know was what his customer did with the product. He couldn’t sell it or even use it as such… the pure form would have killed anyone. So, someone, somewhere, had to be converting it into something useful.
The Chemist knew better than to ask questions though; his customer paid him handsomely for his discretion. Still… he wondered.
Chapter 33
The dirt road leading to Peter Clemens’ cabin in the heart of Sam Houston Forest was narrow, and particularly winding. On several occasions, Michael had expected David to hit one of the trees edging the path; but the detective had negotiated his turns with dexterity, and they had finally made it to the cabin.
Upon seeing the house, Michael decided that calling it a cabin had to be the misnomer of the century, or maybe his definition of the word was simply a bit dated.
The garage was separated from the house, but only at the ground level. The second story of the house connected with the second level of the garage, and the bridge between the two buildings offered protection from the weather to anyone walking from the garage to the house or vice versa. All in all, the two-story house had a footprint exceeding 3,500 square feet, which seemed rather large for a couple with no children.
The fact Clemens and his wife had no children was not surprising to Michael, however. Werewolves often suffered from fertility issues, especially when trying to conceive a pure-bred. They were generally more successful in their unions with humans, but the resulting offspring only had one chance out of four to be a werewolf.
Werewolves born of the copulation between a wolf and a human were called half-bred. Half-bred wolves were weaker and less dominant than their full-bred brothers, but since werewolves had such a hard time reproducing between themselves, most of the born werewolves were half-bred.
David rang the doorbell and a tall burly man opened the door. Peter Clemens’ gaze immediately went to Michael, totally ignoring David as if he had not even noticed the detective.
“Peter Clemens?” asked David, holding out his badge. “I am Detective Starks from the Houston Police Department, and this is Michael Biörn.”
Michael was hoping Clemens wouldn’t notice David hadn’t introduced him as a detective.
Peter Clemens slowly shifted his eyes to David, finally acknowledging his presence.
“Yes, what can I do for you, Detectives?” asked Clemens, who had been quick to regain his composure—but not quick enough. David had definitely seen panic in the man’s eyes. Panic and hatred… this was going to be fun.
“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you. Would you mind if we came in?” asked David.
The Houston pack Alpha seemed to hesitate an instant before making up his mind. “No, of course, please come in.” Clemens knew his hesitation had been a mistake and he hated himself for it. One could never show weakness in front of an enemy, and Michael was definitely an enemy.
They followed him to the living room where a man and a woman were sitting. As Michael entered the room, both of them abruptly got up, visibly agitated.
“These gentlemen are with the Houston PD,” said Clemens to the man and the woman. “Please do sit down, Detectives.”
David and Michael sat down on one of the empty couches while the others, obeying the Alpha’s veiled order, settled back into their seats.
“This is my wife, Isabella, and my friend Karl,” explained Clemens.
The man was as tall as Michael, and although his muscles were visible under his business suit, the ranger still had a good fifty pounds on him. Not a hair was visible on his closely shaven scalp, but a well-trimmed brown beard swallowed half of his face.
The woman was in equally good shape and was clearly a force to be reckoned with.
Karl and Isabella were not nearly as good as Clemens at hiding their emotions, and to the detective’s trained eyes, their nervousness perspired through every gesture they made.
Karl’s gaze was focused on Michael with the intensity of a laser beam, while Isabella’s eyes kept flying from Michael to her husband like drunken butterflies. Although Peter Clemens was apparently looking at David, Michael knew the Alpha was in reality watching him from the corner of his eye. Michael always made wolves nervous, especially
when there were only three of them around, and these three were definitely wolves.
“Mr. Clemens,” said David. “We are investigating the disappearance of two brothers who were last seen on September 11th. Their names were William and Brad Ferguson.”
“I am afraid I don’t know these names,” replied Clemens in a controlled voice that was meant to be amiable.
Michael shifted position, and Isabella jumped in her seat. For a fleeting instant, David thought he saw fangs between her slightly parted lips.
“Bella, could you bring these gentlemen some coffee?” said Peter to his wife.
David and Michael quickly declined the offer, but she still left for the kitchen.
“Your wife seems nervous,” remarked David.
“It’s understandable, I believe. She’s not used to seeing the police in our home,” replied Clemens, smiling.
“Quite,” said Michael.
This time Clemens could not disguise the daggers in his eyes when his gaze met Michael’s. The other wolf, sitting on the edge of his armchair, looked ready to jump at Michael’s throat at any moment. David was thoroughly enjoying the show.
“I have a couple of pictures to show you.” David took out photographs of the missing brothers from a file he was holding. “Could you please tell me if you recognize them?”
“Never seen either one,” answered the Alpha, after staring at the pictures for a short instant. “But why are you asking me?”
“A 911 call was placed from one of their cell phones the day they disappeared. The phone’s GPS tracker was active and we were able to trace the call’s location. It was placed less than two miles from your house.”
Isabella Clemens still hadn’t returned from the kitchen when David and Michael took their leave a few minutes later.
Chapter 34
The instant the door had closed on the departing ‘detectives’, Isabella jumped out of the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” she exclaimed. “What was that thing doing in our house? Is he a cop?”
Isabella was not exceedingly beautiful, at least not according to commonly accepted canons of beauty, but she was attractive in her own way. Athletic and lithe, her body could be considered deadly in more ways than one. She had fine features—although her nose was a bit long and her eyes sat a little too deep in their sockets—emphasized by thick blond hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. A stranger would not have noticed any of these features at the moment, however—only the extreme nervousness that brought her beast to the edge of her skin. It wouldn’t have taken much more stress for her to morph involuntarily.
In contrast with his wife’s extreme agitation, Peter was showing no emotion. He simply went back to his armchair and sat down in silence.
“Do you want me to follow them?” asked Karl.
Peter, still lost in his thoughts, replied by a negative nod.
“Snap out of it, Peter,” said his wife. “What are we go—”
“Be quiet!” he interrupted. He had not raised his voice, but his tone was unmistakable. It was an order, a command from the Alpha to a subaltern wolf.
He remained meditative for another few minutes before saying in a reproachful voice, “You could not have followed them without being, noticed Karl.” He added more neutrally, “You are my Beta, I need to be able to count on you to make the right choices.”
He was not really upset with Karl. The presence of that man in the house had clouded his second’s judgment, and Peter could hardly blame him.
“But what was that thing?” asked Karl timorously.
“That wasn’t a wolf, was it?” said Isabella.
“Did it smell like a wolf, darling?” asked Peter rhetorically. “It was obviously not a wolf.”
“Whatever that thing was, it was a predator for sure and definitely not human,” said Karl. “It is on our territory, Peter… it needs to be removed.”
“I could not possibly agree more,” answered Peter. “How do you propose we do that?”
“The same way we always do,” interjected Isabella, looking more feral than ever. “With teeth and claws!”
Isabella was a dominant wolf, ferocious and vicious. As Peter’s mate, she benefited from a status almost equivalent to his in the pack. The Alpha female took orders from her mate only.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, darling, but I would like to find out more about this man before sending my beloved wife after him. I have the feeling this particular prey could be more than even you can handle.”
Neither Isabella nor Karl objected to Peter’s remark. They too had sensed the quiet strength emanating from Michael Biörn. A type of raw power unfamiliar to them, but undoubtedly present.
Chapter 35