by Marc Daniel
As if celebrating the arrival of fall after months of drought, the rain had just started pouring again. When it rained like that, the roads could be flooded in less than an hour… that was Houston for you!
Waiting in her car for her partner to return from his doughnut run, Detective Samantha Lewis was watching the raindrops explode as they landed on the windshield. Salazar was going to get soaked simply for giving into the doughnut-eating cop stereotype… moron! Tired of waiting, Lewis started reading the report she had grabbed on their way out of the office.
Salazar opened the passenger door an instant later and sat on Lewis’ leather seat, drenching it in the process. Thankfully for him, Lewis was too absorbed by her reading to notice.
“I brought some for you,” said Salazar, opening the box of doughnuts he had brought back with him.
She ignored him, still reading.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.”
“What?!” she finally answered looking at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I said I brought you some doughnuts.” He held out the open box.
“I’m on a diet,” she replied, getting back to her reading.
“Again?”
“Shut up, asshole! You’d do well to do the same! It’d be cheaper than buying new sets of pants every six months,” she scolded.
But her outburst did not affect Salazar who just shrugged before sinking his teeth into a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut.
“And watch out for my seat! You’re getting sugar all over it.”
“What are you reading?” he asked, unperturbed.
“The latest lab report on evidence collected at Sullivan’s home,” she replied as she finished reading the second and last page.
“Anything interesting?” mumbled Salazar, his mouth full of doughnut.
“Mostly confirming suspicions we already had.”
“Meaning?”
“They found traces of both wolf and human blood in the Rottweilers’ mouths. The human blood didn’t belong to Sullivan. That means someone else was in the house when the wolf killed him.”
“That answers the riddle of the second gun…” Salazar licked sugar residue off the tips of his fingers.
Of the two guns found at the crime scene, one had been Sullivan’s, but the other one hadn’t shown any print and hadn’t been fired.
“Only partially,” said Samantha Lewis thoughtfully. “We still don’t know why he left his gun behind, or why he brought a gun in the first place if he was planning to use his wolf as the murder weapon.”
“He probably brought the gun as a backup and dropped it by accident as he fled the scene,” suggested Salazar.
“Maaayybe. There are still way too many pieces that don’t fit the puzzle, if you ask me. If the murderer brought the wolf as a weapon, why didn’t the wolf leave with him through the door instead of busting a window to escape as suggested by the DNA evidence?” she asked, as much to herself as to Salazar.
They considered the question in silence a few minutes, but no obvious answer jumped out at them. Lewis started the car and began driving through the rain that still poured over the city.
“This whole case doesn’t make any sense,” said Salazar finally. “Even simple things like the shoes don’t make sense.”
“The shoes?” asked Lewis, surprised. “What shoes?”
“The shoes on Sullivan’s shoe rack. That was on the first report from the crime lab—I thought you saw it.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lewis, irritated.
“One of the lab guys found a pair of black leather moccasins, size eleven, on the rack in Sullivan’s hallway,” explained Salazar.
“And that’s important because—?”
“All the other pairs of shoes were size nine… Sullivan’s size.”
Chapter 36
The local ducks had come to investigate whether the newcomer had brought food with him and now they were vehemently quacking their disappointment at Peter Clemens, who was sitting on a bench facing the small lake.
Ivanov was now fifteen minutes late, and Clemens started to suspect the mobster’s lateness was no accident. It was more likely Ivanov’s petty way to affirm his status and show he did not fear him. The idiot…
A scent in the air interrupted his train of thought—Ivanov had finally made it. A minute later, the mobster showed up and sat next to Clemens while his bodyguard placed himself directly behind the bench. A couple more of Ivanov’s hoodlums were standing by a tree a hundred feet away, watching the area.
“Good evening, Peter. It looks like we’re going to have a nice night,” said Ivanov in his light rolling Russian accent.
The rain had stopped a few hours earlier, and the sun had already dried the bench on which they were sitting. The ducks, having given up on Clemens, were trying their luck with Ivanov and Stan.
“Good evening, Dimitri. I am glad you could make it,” replied Clemens in a tone devoid of sarcasm. He knew very well how much Ivanov disliked to be called by his first name in front of his men, and it was his way to remind him where he stood.
“What is this urgent matter you wished to discuss?” asked the mobster.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” answered Clemens, using the word “favor” on purpose to flatter Ivanov. Most people would think long and hard before asking a favor from the mob, but Clemens knew he had little to fear from Ivanov’s organization.
“I am listening,” answered Ivanov benevolently.
“In the past, you’ve come to me on several occasions to help you with individuals that had become a nuisance to you.” Expecting a reaction from his interlocutor, Clemens paused. Ivanov remained silent, however, and the wolf eventually resumed, “Well, today, I am asking you to do the same thing for me.”
Ivanov contemplated the Alpha’s request before answering, “And why is it that you cannot take care of this matter on your own?”
“If something were to happen to this particular individual, I would be under too much suspicion. I don’t want the cops to be able to link me to this in any way,” lied Clemens.
The ducks, tired of the parsimonious trio, chose this instant to return to the lake with exuberant splashes of water that barely missed Clemens and Ivanov.
“I see, and who is the mark?” replied Ivanov, not fully convinced by the argument.
Clemens handed him an envelope containing a picture of Michael Biörn. The photo had been taken by one of the surveillance cameras hidden around the Alpha’s cabin. Along with the picture was a note with Michael’s name and hotel address. Through an informant inside the Houston Police Department, Clemens had also discovered Michael Biörn was not a cop but a park ranger from Wyoming: a wildlife expert the Houston PD had called upon to help them with the recent series of murders seemingly perpetrated by wolves. In other words, Biörn had come knocking on his door under false pretenses. What a naughty thing to do.
“He looks like a big guy,” commented Ivanov, glancing at the photo.
“He is a big guy… and dangerous too. Your men should take their assignment very seriously. It will probably require several of them to finish him off, and some heavy artillery too. Once they are done with him, I want them to bring me back his head,” said Clemens, sounding utterly serious.
Ivanov turned towards Stan and asked him to give them some space. The bodyguard didn’t seem particularly comfortable with the request, but he obeyed nonetheless and went to stand fifty feet from them.
“Is there something you are not telling me about this man, Peter?” asked the mobster in a voice low enough to prevent any eavesdropping. “Are we dealing with a mere human or something more?”
“I have told you everything I know about him,” answered Clemens, and technically he wasn’t really lying. Biörn’s potential needed to be tested and Ivanov’s goons were more expendable than his own wolves; this point was not mentioned to Ivanov, though. There was such a thing as being too honest, after all.
Chapter 37
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br /> Olivia Harrington looked older than her twenty-five years, but Michael thought the grieving probably had a lot to do with it. Few people looked their best five days after burying both of their parents.
Her brown hair, held behind her head in a French twist, gave Olivia a secretarial appearance that was further emphasized by the conservative-looking black dress she wore cut just above the knees. Michael didn’t find her particularly pretty, but she had charisma, and charisma often trumped looks.
This trait reminded him of a now distant time… Isibel had possessed charisma, along with an uncanny inner strength. A woman needed inner strength to marry a praeternatural being… especially one like Michael. In the end, however, her inner strength hadn’t been enough to save her.
Realizing he had not listened to a word Olivia had pronounced in the past thirty seconds, Michael made a conscious effort to drive the demons of his past out of his mind and focus on the conversation at hand. The young woman had called him the night before and asked if he would be available the following day to meet her for coffee. Her request had surprised him at first. Although he had told her how to get in touch with him in case she needed help with anything, Michael had not expected her to take him up on his offer. Here he was though, sitting across from her in a small Tea Salon—according to the inscription on the window—sipping on terrible black tea. The water used for the brew had clearly not been anywhere close to boiling temperature.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, and Michael could tell by the sound of her voice that she meant it.
“It’s my pleasure,” he answered soberly.
Although the malfunctioning air-conditioning unit left the place feeling moist and stuffy, she had her hands wrapped around her cup of unsweetened jasmine tea as if she were trying to absorb heat from it.
“I understand my dad asked you to come to Houston to help him out with a case, is this correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is this case related in anyway with my parents’ murder?” asked Olivia, looking straight into Michael’s eyes. This would have been a dangerous thing to do under other circumstances, but Michael knew this was not a domination challenge; she was simply trying to gauge him.
“I’m afraid so. Your dad brought me in as a wildlife expert. He was working a case where a wolf was suspected to have been used as a murder weapon.”
Olivia considered Michael’s answer for an instant before asking, “And now that he’s dead, are you continuing the investigation or are you going back home?”
“Your dad brought me in because I was a friend, but the detectives who took over the inquest don’t seem eager for my help. As a park ranger, I have no legal attachment to the investigation unless they want me to,” answered Michael, sounding apologetic.
“This isn’t an answer to the question I asked,” she retorted calmly, as if she were simply stating a fact.
Michael kept silent a few seconds before answering, “I’m not going back home.”
Olivia seemed satisfied by his answer as her lip curled up in the half-smile he had already seen her display at the funeral. She took a sip from her cup and asked, “Will you keep me posted?”
“I will.”
Chapter 38
Katia Olveda was about to enter her shower when she heard the doorbell. Her eyes went to the clock on the bathroom wall: 7 p.m. It couldn’t be her friend Tania. Tania was not supposed to pick her up before 8:30… and she was always late.
Katia grabbed the white robe lying abandoned on the side of the bathtub and wrapped it around her naked body. She checked her looks in the mirror located directly above the sink and headed for the front door, which, as always, she opened without checking the peephole.
“What are you doing here?” she said with genuine surprise to the man who stood at her door.
“Is that a way to greet people, gorgeous? Aren’t you going to let me in?” He pushed the door open and walked straight to her living room.
She closed the door and followed Peter Clemens to the bar where he was pouring himself a glass of scotch.
“Will you have something?” he asked, but she declined the offer.
“Now that you have your drink, Peter, are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my apartment?” she asked, not trying to mask the impatience in her voice.
He looked at her with an aggravating smile and went to find a seat before finally answering, “This boyfriend of yours, the cop, are you still seeing him?”
“Do you mean David Starks?”
“Yes, I mean David Starks! How many cops are you fucking?” he asked crudely. “Aren’t detectives below your pay grade anyway? I thought assistant DA’s went for fancier things.”
“Don’t act all surprised when you’re the one who ordered me to start seeing him in the first place,” she replied, making a point for anger to be clearly noticeable in her voice. Truth being told, she found great satisfaction in the assignment, but she kept this detail for herself.
“Oh yeah… It had skipped my mind,” he answered with a satisfied smile.
She noticed his eyes lingering over her not fully concealed curves, but she didn’t particularly worry about it. Wolves typically mated for life, and she had never heard anything to make her think Clemens belonged to the few exceptions.
“Why are you asking if I’m still seeing him?”
“It turns out that your detective came knocking at my door.”
“Really? What did he want?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“He was looking for a couple of hunters who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but I don’t believe that was the only reason for his visit.”
“What makes you say that?”
Clemens finished his scotch in one gulp and got up to pour himself another one before replying, “He had a man with him, a Michael Biörn.” He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes and added, “Do you know him?”
“We met briefly at the hospital when David got hurt. You wouldn’t know anything about that incident, would you?”
“I don’t,” he replied, “but getting back to this Biörn person, what do you know of him?”
“Not a whole lot. He’s a park ranger who came at David’s old partner’s request to investigate the Sullivan murder case. Apparently he too was attacked by a wolf, but I’m sure you have nothing to do with this either,” she said sarcastically.
“Indeed I don’t,” answered the wolf. “But I have a vested interest in the case. If you learn anything about the cops’ investigation, I want you to let me know immediately.”
“Of course,” she replied.
“I also want you to find out everything you can about Biörn. It’s time for you to show me I haven’t been paying you all these years for nothing.”
Chapter 39
It was around four in the afternoon when Michael left David’s beach house in Kemah.
Seeing David’s cabin had reminded Michael of the long house he had built on the coast of Labrador an eon earlier. After King Jarl Eiríkr Hákonarson had outlawed the berserkers, Michael had migrated to Greenland, where he had spent two years in the so-called Middle Settlement, the smallest of the three Viking camps on the island. Despite the camp’s isolation, it had still been too populated to Michael’s tastes and, taking advantage of a wood gathering expedition, he had reached Markland—the region known today as Labrador. It had been his first landing on the American continent. Taking advantage of the relatively warmer summer climate, he had built his long house on the beach. Two centuries of watching icebergs float by in almost complete isolation—with the exception of the occasional skræling encounter—had finally managed to bring him the peace and tranquility that three decades spent wreaking havoc as a berserker had failed to deliver. He had not forgotten Isibel—how could he?—but her memory no longer haunted every waking hour. He had not forgiven himself for the tragedy, but he could, henceforth, contemplate his own reflection in a pond without wanting to heave.
Michael
had been surprised at first to learn David owned a cabin on the beach—cops’ salaries were apparently higher than he suspected—but the detective had answered his unspoken question by explaining he had inherited the house from his maternal grandfather. His mother had been an only child and, after her death, David had become his grandfather’s sole heir.
Kemah was only an hour away from Houston, and shortly after he was attacked at his house in the city, David had decided to move to his beachfront property. A motivated assassin would probably be able to find him there, but he would at least have to work for it.
The two men had spent most of the morning going over the evidence they had collected so far. The detective had been able to access almost all the information available to Lewis and Salazar, the cops officially working the case, and, thanks to Michael’s peculiar talents and Ezekiel’s connections, they even knew things the others didn’t.
They knew, for instance, that none of the wolves they had met at Clemens’ during their visit had murdered Steve and his wife, or Chief Deputy Sullivan. They had not attacked David either. Michael had committed to memory the wolf scents he had found lingering at each crime scene and he was positive on that point. The ranger had not even detected the murderers’ odors at all inside Clemens’ cabin, but the wolf stench there had been so overwhelming that the assassins’ scents could have been lost in the olfactory mayhem.
Three different wolves were responsible for murdering two cops and trying to kill a third one within the span of a few days, but so far Michael and David had been unable to link the hits to the local Alpha.
If a single werewolf had been responsible for all the attacks, Michael would have entertained the idea that the assassin was a lone wolf, not connected to the Houston pack… but Ez had told him there were no lone wolves in town. A single lone wolf could possibly have passed under the wizard’s radar undetected, but not three of them—Ez was too smart for that.
The motel parking lot was almost empty when Michael pulled in around 5 p.m. Once in his room, he immediately headed for the bathroom. He was not used to Houston’s constant heat and humidity, or the stickiness associated with it, and he wanted to take a shower before doing anything else. Before he had a chance to step under the shower, however, he heard the hotel door slam open.