1
Knowles was bored of talking to the police. His statement had been taken twice, and now this third guy looked like he was about to start from scratch all over again. He could feel bruises on his chest from when the wolf had floored him and he needed to get back to the house before the others left for the woods.
“So Mr Knowles, how are you doing?”
“Fine,” he snarled. “As I said to your colleagues.”
“I’m Detective James Wilson. I just have some questions for you.”
“I’ve said everything to the other officers, I just need to get home.”
“I appreciate that, sir, but we have a dead man and a vicious animal on the loose. There is also another missing man, who is presumably dead given that all we have are his ripped clothes. We need to make sure we have every avenue covered before we let you go. The fact that the evidence here matches a scene from Huntleigh, where you are staying, is quite interesting, don’t you think?”
Knowles sighed heavily. Leaving now would bring far too much unwanted attention to him and their operation. “Make it quick, please.”
“The animal jumped on you?”
“Yes.”
“Your friend scared it off.”
“Yes.”
“He shot it twice.”
“Three times.”
“Then you shot it.”
“Twice.”
“A witness said you fired at least three times.”
“Yes, but I only hit twice.”
“Are you a good shot?”
“What?” Knowles raised his eyebrows at the question: that was a new one.
“You seem a little bitter at only hitting it twice.”
“I’m a soldier, I’m supposed to be a good shot. By missing I might have hit a civvy.”
Wilson looked down at his notebook and nodded slowly. He flicked a page and scanned his notes. “You used a Browning, is that correct?”
When the other man nodded he continued: “I thought soldiers only had guns assigned to them when they were on an operation.”
“Yes.” Knowles stared at the policeman.
“So how come you’ve still got your gun, Sergeant?”
“I’ve just come back from Ghanners – um, Afghanistan. I didn’t turn it in.”
“And neither did your colleague?”
Knowles sighed again. “Look, we fancied doing some shooting when we were down here. Maybe some pheasants.”
“Deer?”
“No, no, no. Just some birds,” Knowles said. “Look, it was a good thing we had the weapons isn’t it? God knows what it would have done if we hadn’t shot it.”
Wilson smiled for a second. “Oh yes, most fortuitous. Still, we have a problem.”
“We do?”
“Well, you claim to have hit the wolf twice, your friend thinks he hit it three times in the side.”
“And?”
“A trail of blood goes across the car park and into the woods. We’ve had a team trailing it, but they got back just before we started speaking.”
Knowles knew that they would have been using UV torches to make the blood show up. Judging by the expressions on Wilson’s face, they hadn’t found the wolf.
“The blood stops, but there’s no body. No dead wolf.”
“Shit.”
“Quite. So, where did it go?” Wilson tapped his pen on his notebook. “See, that’s what we call a mystery.”
Throughout his career, Knowles had met people like Wilson. People who talked very slowly and explained every little thing as they talked. People who assume that, because you are in the military, you are stupid.
“Us policemen, we don’t like mysteries.” Wilson tapped his pen again. “And the worst thing is, when I told you there was no body, you didn’t look at all surprised.”
2
Wilson eventually, bored of Knowles, interviewed Jones, who stuck to the script like an actor on first night. Frustrated, he let both soldiers go after taking contact numbers for them both.
He reviewed his notes. One dead, one missing and all the witnesses claim to have seen a huge wolf running through the corridors. This was his first corpse since moving to Devon a year ago, and already he didn’t like it. Murder, or death by an escaped animal, either way it was a mess.
When he’d been in the Met, he’d seen a murder a day – often more, and that had been why he’d put in for a transfer to Devon. There were only so many dead junkies and prossies you could see. His last case had been a man who had been set on fire because he’d owed money to drug dealers. No witnesses. The burning man had run into the street where he’d been run over by some poor sod on his way home. Wilson had put in for a transfer the next day. Too much, too much.
The doctor – Baxter – had been partially eaten. That was a first for Wilson. The missing man was Jack Stadler, but his clothes were in tatters next to the dead doctor. His wife was now in a bed in the maternity ward with his baby being cared for by the nurses. The baby was not yet a week old.
What a mess.
He asked for directions to the maternity ward and made his way through the packed car park. A news van sat in the ambulance bay, but it didn’t matter – the hospital was closed to emergency cases now. The whole of A&E was a crime scene and would be closed until the SOCOs were done.
It wouldn’t be long before more media vans arrived – this would be a great story, like the Beast of Bodmin but with actual bodies. He had maybe an hour before this turned into a media circus and then dealing with the press and crackpots would take up all his time.
What a mess.
3
Katie sat up in bed, disorientated by her surroundings. A blue curtain surrounded her bed, giving everything a pale hue. The bed was narrow and uncomfortable, like lying on a concrete slab. To her left sat a clear plastic cot and Josh lay fast asleep in it, his head facing her and low soft snores coming from him. Relief washed over for a second before-
-Jack-
She started crying, huge sobs that racked her body. A nurse ran in and hugged her. Katie was in no position to resist and she allowed the nurse to rock her like a newborn.
“There, there.”
“Jack!”
The nurse continued to make comforting noises until the sobs subsided. “Can I get you anything?”
Katie shook her head. “I want to see my husband.”
The nurse looked distinctly uncomfortable. “How much do you remember, Mrs Stadler?”
Before she could answer, the curtain was pulled back by another nurse who was accompanied by a tired looking man in a suit.
“She’s just woken up,” said the first nurse, lips thin.
The man flashed his badge. “I just need to ask some questions.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. We have a dead man – I need to know what she knows so we can find the killer.”
“Go easy on her.”
“She’s not a suspect,” Wilson said, as if this would make everything alright.
“Katie, this is Detective Sergeant Wilson.”
Both nurses left. Wilson pulled over a chair and sat down. He took out his notebook and a pen.
“Hi, Mrs Stadler. I appreciate that this isn’t a great time for you, so I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Katie nodded, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. She went cold inside: she had not been interviewed by the police before.
“What do you remember?”
She shook her head and started sobbing again. Wilson looked at Josh as if aware of him for the first time.
“He’s – he? – very cute.” Wilson smiled at Katie. “I have two of my own. I suppose you’ve already been told this, but make the most of them at this age, they grow up so fast.”
Katie tried to smile at him, but more tears rolled instead.
“Mrs Stadler, uh, Katie, I don’t have much time. I need to know what you can remember.”
Katie nodded. “We came to see the doctor. He was so nice.” Her bottom lip quive
red and she paused. “Then the animal came and-”
This time she didn’t succeed in getting herself under control. Wilson scribbled in his notebook.
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know there were wolves that big in Devon.”
“There are no wolves in the UK, apart from in zoos. We’ve got people ringing round to find out if any have escaped.”
“Have they?”
“None yet,” he admitted, “but the night is young.” He looked at his watch. Only seven o’clock. Just over an hour past the attack. “Wolves are not known to attack humans – anywhere in the world.” Thank God for Google.
“But-”
“I know. Every witness said it was either a wolf or a really big dog. Katie, I’m really sorry about your husband but-”
“Jack? Where is he?” You know, Katie.
“Nobody told you?”
“What happened to my husband?” Panic was very clear in her voice.
“I’m sorry, Katie, I thought you knew. You were there –”
“Tell me.”
“He’s missing, presumed dead. His clothes were found next to Doctor Baxter. They were shredded and covered in blood. Our SOCOs are on the way to examine it all, but it doesn’t look good.”
Katie went white. “He’s not dead, he can’t be,” she said firmly.
“I’m sorry Katie.”
“Jack is not dead, Mr Wilson, you need to find him before he gets hurt.”
4
Wilson closed his notebook and put his pen away. He’d covered a page in doodles. It was important that Katie thought he was writing pertinent notes, but he’s realised quickly that she had nothing to tell him. Crying relatives were the worst part of the job. He stood and put the chair back against the wall. On his way out, he paused by the cot and looked at the sleeping baby.
“What’s his name?”
“Josh.”
“Good name. Sleep well young Joshua.”
“No, it’s just Josh.”
“Sorry.” He paused again. “We will find your husband, Katie.” Even as he said it, he knew he shouldn’t have. “With your permission, I’d like to go to your house.”
“Why?”
“It’s where he’ll head if he’s still alive.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Katie.”
“You got a warrant?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I can get one.”
“How long will that take?”
Wilson said nothing, but his face gave it away.
“So let me come and I’ll give you permission.”
Wilson shrugged, but knew she was right. Time was crucial here. The media would be here any second and with them any chance of a quick, easy end to this would disappear. He hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with Katie. It would be a nightmare if she died whilst with him: the paper work would be a bitch.
“Come on then.”
5
Knowles sat in the car with Jones. They were watching from a street opposite the hospital car park. They had a good view of the only entrance to the car park. Neither Stadler would be able to leave without being seen.
“This is fubar.”
Knowles had to agree with him. He knew what he’d seen with his own eyes, but he had a hard time believing it. If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it probably tastes good with hoi-sin sauce. That was what Meyers had said. It didn’t make anything easier to believe though.
“Hello, what’s this?”
Jones’ voice shook him from his reverie. Katie Stadler was getting into her car. Near her, a man was talking to the uniformed police manning the cordon. He flashed his badge twice before they started to move. Katie had already bundled baby Josh into the back and was soon setting off past the cordon of police cars. Moments later another car pulled out, clearly following her.
“Let’s go.” Jones had already started the engine.
“Keep back, we know where they’re probably going.”
“Who’s in the other car?”
Knowles shrugged. “Some useless copper, probably.”
They were barely five hundred yards away from the hospital when the radio buzzed. They could hear a voice shouting in the background, but it was too muffled to make out. Knowles clicked receive.
“Sit rep,” he said, far more calmly than he felt.
Scarlet started talking fast – and it was not good news.
Chapter 15
1
Jack stopped crying when the cold made him start to shiver. His clothes were long gone, lying in tatters back at the hospital. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Katie shrieking and shielding Josh from him (no, not him, the other thing).
What am I going to do now?
His options appeared to be very limited. Firstly, he had killed a man (two men, Jackie boy, two men) and terrified his wife. He had attacked yet another man, been shot and run away from the scene – all in the view of about forty people.
Katie. God, please forgive me, Katie.
No-one had actually seen him kill Baxter, of that he was sure. Except Katie of course, but surely she wouldn’t tell people that she’d seen her husband turn into a wolf? Who would believe her?
No-one. So she goes into a mental home and Josh goes into care, never knowing who his real parents are. Not bad for a night’s work, Jack, not bad at all.
Baxter. Did he have a family? A wife? Children? Think, think. What can I do? He could turn himself in but who would believe him? What if he changed into that thing in one of the cells? Would he eat all the prisoners? The police? He felt calm around Katie, the creature wouldn’t come then – he was certain of that. He screamed as loud as he could for a few minutes until his throat started to burn and tears filled his eyes again. Katie was not going to a mental home, Josh not going into care, not while there was breath in his lungs. He would sort this out somehow, but he would not let his wife suffer.
How Jack? How do you solve this problem?
Easy: one step at a time.
First problem: clothes.
2
Steven Wexley looked at the sausage and took a tentative bite. He nearly scalded the inside of his mouth and chewed noisily, mouth open. He tried to blow on the sausage piece as he chewed and ended up looking like a horse.
The fire was going strong, although it had been a slow starter. The wood around here wasn’t as dry as he’d first thought. Gathering it had taken an hour as the sun had gone down. He’d waited for the minimal tourists to bugger off before pitching his tent. Rain had helped with that. He was far enough down the beach that he didn’t think anyone would find him, despite the light from the fire. He sat in the opening to his tent, sheltered from the wind, but exposed enough to feel the heat from the fire. A noise came to him on the wind, somewhere between a roar and a scream. No one in sight.
The smell of the sausages was overwhelming his senses. He tried the sausage again and this time it was at an edible temperature. His stomach had just started grumbling at the lack of food today, so the sausage tasted fantastic.
There were two more sausages left in the packet. He had planned to keep them till morning, but that first one had tasted so good he couldn’t resist. Not being able to say no had got him into this state in the first place.
He had put the next sausage on his stick and in the fire when he realised that a naked man was staring at him.
3
They regarded each other for a few seconds. The only sound was the popping of the fire and the crash of the surf behind them. Jack sized up the man in front of him and decided that a fight was probably not the best option.
“I need some clothes.”
“No shit,” the other man said. “It’s cold out here. You on a stag?”
“Something like that.”
“Get closer to the fire, son, it’ll help.”
Jack did as he was asked. The heat from the fire helped take the immediate chill off his bones,
but the wind still felt cold. A seagull called out in the distance and was answered by several others. Nice to be wanted.
“I need some clothes,” he repeated.
“So you said, son, so you said.” The man nodded, his grey beard bobbing up and down in the firelight.
“Can you help?”
“Maybe, son, maybe.”
Silence fell between them again. Jack took deep breaths and tried to keep calm. It was not easy. The wind blew again, and he shivered.
“You want a sausage?”
“No thanks.” Jack nearly added I’ve just eaten, but managed to stop himself. He didn’t want to throw up.
“Your loss. There’s nothing quite like a sausage cooked on an open fire.” The man bit into a sausage and fat dripped down his chin, settling in his beard. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
“Jack.”
“So, your mates stripped you and left you. Not good mates I’d say.”
Jack shrugged.
“So what’s this going to be worth to me?”
“What?”
“Well, I ain’t got much, son; I give you some clothes, I got even less.” More fat dripped onto his beard.
“You want money?”
“Yep.”
“How much?”
“How much you got?”
“Not a penny on me.”
That awkward silence fell between them again. Then Steve threw back his head and laughed. “Hey I like you Jack, you got a sense of humour.” He continued to laugh even as he bit into the sausage again.
“I can get you enough money to buy you food for a week,” Jack said.
“And whiskey.”
“And whiskey.”
“Don’t look like that Jack. I ain’t no drinker and that’s not how I ended up like this – but a little whiskey keeps the cold off at night, know what I’m saying?”
Jack nodded. He already had an idea how much whiskey would have helped keep him warm tonight. Last time you had a drink you killed a man. Jack closed his eyes, but could see Baxter as clear as day on his closed eyelids. And don’t forget him either, Jack: you weren’t drinking then.
“Want some now?”
“No thanks,” Jack said. “I’m not a good drunk at the moment.”
The Original's Return (Book 1) Page 11