by Lauren Carr
A day can make a big difference. In the two days since David had seen him, Riley had his face shaved and his white hair cut up to the bottom of his neck. While it was still long and wavy, it was clean.
The wolf man resembled the man who had been his friend—except for the ties that bound his arms and feet to the bed. He was grotesquely thin. David had noticed it before. Now, as Riley lay in the bed with his arms exposed out of the sleeves of his hospital gown, David was able to see the outline of his bones.
David swallowed the sob of sympathy for how his friend had ended up this way.
Riley turned his head and looked at him. The blank look dissolved as recognition came to his eyes. “David.” He cocked his head to the side. His eyes grew wide with bewilderment. “Have they locked you up, too?”
Realizing how it appeared with him standing there in his bathrobe, David grasped the front of his robe and nodded his head. “Yeah, but only for a couple of days, though. I heard you were here and thought I’d stop by to say hey.” He hugged Riley. On an impulse, he kissed his neck. He lowered himself into the chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” he said in a slow voice. “There are so many things going through my head and I can’t make sense of any of them.”
“What kind of things?”
“Lots of things.” Riley lifted his head and looked at him. “You look older. You must have partied too hardy. You look like hell.”
It took a full moment for David to realize Riley was talking about the Halloween party from which he had disappeared. “Thanks a lot,” he said with sarcasm.
“Hey, that was some party, huh?”
“Yeah,” David said, “Some party. Where’d you go? You weren’t there when it broke up.”
“I went to answer the call of the wild,” he said in a whisper.
“From who? Who was calling you, Riley? Who did you go with?”
“Nigel,” Riley whispered.
“Nigel who?” David asked.
“The white wolf,” Riley said.
“Do you mean the German shepherd that disappeared when Hindman killed his wife and her tennis pro?”
“His spirit lives in me now. They think I’m crazy, but it’s true. You believe me, don’t you, David?”
“Sure,” he lied. “Where did Nigel take you after you left the party? Have you been living in the castle all these years? What have you been doing?”
“Protecting our territory—the mountain.”
“The mountain?” David repeated with a cock of his head.
“It’s our job.” Riley shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head at the same time. “That’s the job of the alpha male, to protect and care for every living thing in his territory—which is Spencer Mountain. Nature only gives that responsibility to the strongest and most dedicated to keeping the balance of nature. When something comes in to disrupt the balance, it is our job to do what has to be done to get rid of it, to protect the others in our territory.”
“Seriously?” David tried to comprehend what Riley was saying. “What?” He decided to try a less complicated question. “Were you there when a man, he was a writer—”
“Damian Wagner.” Riley almost jumped out of his bed. “He understood Nigel’s and my relationship. He didn’t think I was crazy.”
“You spoke to him?” David fought to keep from jumping out of his chair.
“All the time,” Riley said. “He gave me food and wanted to hear all about our story and our legacy—that of wolf and man coming together as one to keep the natural order. He wrote it all down in his book. He dedicated it to me and Nigel.”
Unable to form one question when he had so many, David asked, “What?” It came out as a squawk.
“He said it was important to tell our side of the story and give it an ending—or rather a beginning. His book tells the story of how Santos came to be—almost like a prequel—but it is also the ending because that was to be his last book. It’s our story—Nigel and mine.”
“Damian Wagner told you all that?”
Riley was nodding his head.
“Seriously?”
“Don’t you believe me, David?”
David could only gaze back at him.
Riley looked hurt. “I thought out of everyone that you would believe me, David.”
“I do,” David said. “What about the other people staying with Wagner in the castle?”
“They wouldn’t understand,” Riley said. “Besides, they were evil. I don’t go near evil, unless it is necessary to protect my territory. I tried to once but—” He grasped his hip.
David lifted Riley’s hand and moved the blanket aside.
“Evil. I can smell it.” Riley sniffed deeply while David examined his hip. “I can smell it now. It’s here.”
David found a long ugly scar in a straight line. It was a healed over stab wound. “What happened to Damian Wagner, Riley?”
After covering the wound again with the blanket, David realized his eyes had changed. They were no longer calm. As Riley spoke, they widened gradually to take on a wild look. “Canines have a sixth sense. She’s evil, David. I never did trust her. I could smell the evil in her. I told Damian that. He didn’t believe me until it was too late.” He cocked his head all the way to the side, so that his head was almost sideways. “Why does no one believe me, David?”
“Not everyone is very open-minded, Riley.”
“I was right,” Riley said. “Damian found out that they had betrayed them. So he made sure they didn’t get our book. He was going to leave and he said he was going to take me with him because I was his only friend, but she killed him. She killed them all.” Tears came to Riley’s eyes. “If I was stronger, if I was a better alpha, I would have killed her when I had the chance.”
“That would have been murder, Riley,” David said. “The right thing would have been to call the police—”
“It wouldn’t have been murder,” Riley said. “It isn’t murder in nature. She’s an animal—evil, pure and simple. When the leader of the pack kills an evil animal that’s threatening the natural order—it’s justice. In nature, justice is swifter and not as complicated as man makes it.”
“Who is she, Riley?”
“The shape shifter.” He drew in a deep breath. “Can’t you smell her?”
“Shape shifter?” David had to hold his breath to keep from telling Riley to pick one horror or paranormal entity and stick to it. “Shape shifter? Are you serious?”
“She killed them all and then transformed into another shape and left.” His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. He grasped David’s arm tightly. His lips curled up into a snarl. “She’s come back.”
“Anyone here looking for a private eye?” Tonya called downstairs to the file room where Mac and Bogie were going over the case files for Damian Wagner’s murder. “There’s a Danny Foster on the phone. Says he’s got information about Raymond Hollister’s murder.”
“He was on the phone with Hollister for a long time the night before he was killed.” Bogie tapped Mac on the arm before hurrying up the stairs to his office.
“Foster used to work for the New York City police department until he retired and got his PI license. He’s been running background checks and finding missing people for the last fifteen years or so.” Bogie hit the speaker button on the phone. “Hey, Foster, this is Deputy Chief Bogart and I’ve got Mac Faraday, our homicide detective, here now.”
“Hello, Mr. Foster,” Mac said into the speaker. “Thank you for calling us back.”
“Anything I can do,” the deep low tone replied. “Your message told me that Raymond Hollister was killed yesterday. I’m sorry to hear that. I would have called sooner but I was on surveillance for another case.”
“Hollister was a suspect in the murder of D
amian Wagner,” Mac said. “Back when Wagner’s daughter and editor were killed in 2002, Hollister was a person of interest. Since Wagner’s body has been found, the case is hot again. Hollister immediately came running back to Deep Creek Lake, even though he was still a person of interest. His girlfriend told us that he thought he had a lead on locating Wagner’s last book, and he was looking for a Taylor Jones. Is that why he called you? To locate Ms. Jones?”
“Damian Wagner’s last book was always foremost on his mind,” Foster said. “He about had a stroke when Wagner disappeared, and no one knew where the book was, or if Wagner had even finished it. He was hoping ideally that you had found the book, because it was legally his with Wagner dead and no heirs, or at the very least that you had found a clue to its whereabouts.”
“But we didn’t find it,” Bogie said.
“Yeah, Hollister told me that,” Foster said. “But he did find someone who he thought might know where it is.”
“Taylor Jones,” Mac said.
“That’s who he wanted me to find,” Foster said. “He was desperate to find her.”
“Who is Taylor Jones?” Mac asked while Bogie dug through the files in the case boxes.
“A ghost,” Foster said. “Let me explain. This wasn’t the first job I did for Hollister having to do with Damian Wagner. Back in 2001, he hired me to find Damian Wagner’s daughter.”
“He told us that,” Mac recalled Raymond Hollister claiming he had found Genevieve for the author.
“Wagner had really bad writer’s block ever since he got out of rehab,” Foster said. “So it was either start using and drinking again, or find a way to break through. Hollister thought that if Wagner’s daughter, who was now in her early twenties, came back to him that he’d break through and start writing again. So, Hollister hired me to find her.”
“And you did,” Bogie said.
“No, I didn’t.”
Bogie and Mac looked at each other. Mac broke the silence. “Excuse me.”
“Damian Wagner’s daughter was killed in a ferry accident in 1998,” Jenkins said. “That’s what I reported to Raymond Hollister. He paid me a lot of money to keep my mouth shut. So I did.”
“Why didn’t you come forward when it hit the news that Damian Wagner’s daughter was killed Halloween night in 2002?” Bogie asked.
“I thought that maybe she was adopted or …” Foster said, “it wasn’t my job.”
“Now help us to do our job,” Mac said. “Tell us everything you know about this case.”
“The other night, Hollister confessed to hiring an actress to pretend to be Wagner’s daughter in order to inspire him to write,” Foster said. “I tell you, I knew nothing about that at the time Wagner was killed. If I had, I would have come forward. I swear. This actress Hollister had hired—her name was Taylor Jones.”
“That’s why the DNA showed that the female was no relation to Wagner,” Mac whispered to Bogie. “She was a phony.”
“Hollister swears it worked,” Foster said. “Wagner was working on the book and didn’t suspect a thing. Then suddenly, everyone’s dead and a bunch of money from Wagner’s bank account went missing. Hollister thought at the time that Wagner had drained the account and took off after flipping out and killing the phony daughter and the editor, who must have witnessed the murder. But when Wagner’s body was found and it turned out he’d been murdered—Hollister went to Deep Creek Lake to find out what had happened and see if the book was found along with his body. He struck out. But he must have gotten some lead in Deep Creek Lake, because when he called me—it was to find this actress that was playing Genevieve.”
“But if she was playing his daughter,” Bogie asked, “and everyone thought it was his daughter who was murdered—”
“That’s all Hollister told me,” Foster said.
“Did you find her?” Mac asked.
“She’s a ghost,” the investigator said. “The booking agent hasn’t seen or heard from her since the murders. There’s no record of her anywhere. I struck out completely.”
“Do you have a picture?” Mac asked.
“Only the head shot that Hollister had in his records from when he hired her ten years ago.”’
Mac said, “That would be a good place to start.”
Foster hung up with a promise to email the head shot of Taylor Jones.
Bogie was shaking his head. “What do you think, Mac?”
“The MOs,” Mac muttered.
“They’re completely different,” Bogie said. “Shooting, strangling, poisoning, stabbing and torching.”
“On the surface,” Mac said. “But look beneath the surface. We have two wealthy men. Damian Wagner—”
“Wagner was broke,” Bogie said.
“Seventy thousand dollars disappeared from his account the day of the murders.”
Bogie added, “And one hundred million dollars disappeared from Stan Gould’s account.”
“That’s the motive,” Mac said. “Theft, plain and simple.”
“Not so plain and simple,” Bogie said. “Our thief is also a serial killer.”
“A cunning and smart serial killer,” Mac said, “the worst kind. But I know how she did it. Do you have any pictures of Genevieve Wagner from around the time of the murder?”
“I’ll have to look.” Bogie stood up from behind his desk.
“Did you record the interviews with Rafaela Diaz?” Mac asked.
“I know we did that.”
Mac was taking out his cell phone. “Get pictures of both women and meet me at the hotel. I’m going to Hector’s office to look at the security footage.”
“Of Hollister’s killer?”
“Of Hollister threatening David.”
Chapter Nineteen
“What are you hoping to find?” Hector asked Mac while he studied the security tapes. Over Mac’s shoulder, Bogie was watching the recording.
“Taylor Jones.” Mac scanned through a security video of the lobby. He was fast forwarding through his encounter with Stan Gould and his entourage. “Raymond Hollister told his girlfriend and private investigator that he saw her up here at Deep Creek Lake.”
“Who is Taylor Jones?” the security manager asked.
“The actor Raymond Hollister hired to play Genevieve Wagner,” Bogie said.
Mac stopped fast forwarding the video at where Stan Gould was making introductions. He slowly turned around to face Bogie and Hector. “David slept with Genevieve Wagner.”
“But, according to the PI, she was Taylor Jones, an actress,” Bogie said.
Mac turned back to the video. On the recording, from the angle of the security camera in the ceiling, Mac and David stood before Stan Gould and his model wife—Lacey. Mac pointed at the screen. “When Stan Gould was introducing his wife Lacey to David, his first reaction was, ‘I know you.’”
Hector recalled, “To which Stan Gould said she was a lingerie super-model and men all over the world lusted for her.”
“Suppose that wasn’t where David remembered her,” Mac said.
“Why wouldn’t David have said something?” Bogie asked.
“Because he thought Genevieve Wagner was dead.” Mac fast forwarded the recording. “Believing she was dead, the thought that Lacey was Genevieve never even crossed his mind. I would never have considered it.”
The cell phone on his hip buzzed. With one hand, Mac answered it. A grin crossed his face. “That’s what I thought. Thanks, Doc.” He disconnected the call and slapped the phone down on the desk. Bogie and Hector were looking over his shoulder when he pointed once again at the monitor.
In the sitting area, Mac and Raymond Hollister were sitting across from each other while David stood with his back to the lobby area. Raymond Hollister became agitated and stood. “This is where he said th
at he wasn’t going to take the blame for something he hadn’t done,” Mac recalled. “He said that he had set the wheels in motion for the murders, but he didn’t do it.”
“You said he threatened David,” Bogie said.
“That’s what I thought,” Mac said. “Yet, when we confronted Hollister after the shooting, he claimed he never threatened David. Suppose he was telling the truth. Suppose during our questioning, at that moment, he saw the real killer and threatened them—the person behind David.” He pointed up toward the top of the image to where a woman was standing behind David while facing Raymond Hollister.
“Lacey,” Hector said. “She had come back in to use the head.”
“But she was shot and killed at the castle with Stan Gould,” Bogie argued.
“And her body burnt beyond recognition,” Mac said. “That’s why the killer set fire to the bodies, just like she did back in 2002 when she killed Damian Wagner and his editor and Rafaela Diaz.”
“Wait a minute,” Bogie said.
“Just got the news from the doc.” Mac held up his cell phone. “The DNA from the woman whose remains were in the fire-pit in 2002 contains markers that indicate she came from a Latino background. All along, you and Pat thought your witness was the housekeeper when in reality, she was the killer.” He glared at the security recording of Lacey. “She got away with it once and decided to do it again.”
“But DNA proved the body found at the castle with Gould was Lacey,” Bogie said.
“Who gave you that toothbrush with what was supposed to be Lacey’s DNA?” Mac asked.
“Karin Bond.”
Mac asked Hector, “Where’s Karin Bond right now?”
Hector shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“She was supposed to have checked in a little while ago,” Mac said. “I called to set up for her to stay in a suite—”
“And for us to watch her as soon as she arrived,” Hector said. “But she’s never checked in.”