The closer she got to town, the more vehicular activity she encountered, and the slower her progress became. Eventually she was forced to stick to the side of the road, even while cars passed. The forest melted away and small front yards replaced thick trees and underbrush and there was simply no longer anywhere to hide.
She kept her head down, following the progress of each passing vehicle out of the corner of her eye, prepared to break into a sprint and begin screaming bloody murder at the first evidence of a threat. She had read once that a woman in trouble should not yell “Help me!” or “I’m being attacked!” or even “Rape!” These phrases signaled danger, and many bystanders would choose to ignore them rather than put themselves at risk by investigating.
A woman faced with a dangerous situation should scream “Fire!” and should keep screaming it. It was guaranteed to draw the attention of most otherwise-disinterested people.
Alicia couldn’t remember where she had read that advice, but she recalled how repellent she found it, remembered thinking what an awful indictment it was of the human race, that someone in mortal danger might have to trick fellow human beings into coming to her aid.
But she remembered it now, and prepared to yell “Fire!” as loudly and enthusiastically as possible.
She never had to. Cars passed and she kept walking, and if any of the occupants found it strange that a teenage girl was walking alone through New Quebec in the middle of the night, none of them found it sufficiently so to stop and investigate.
No Humvees passed her as she walked.
No wolves pursued her.
Finally, she turned the corner into the police station parking lot. The station was relatively new, a red brick building that struck Alicia as much larger and fancier—and more expensive—than was probably warranted in a town the size of New Quebec. Construction had begun shortly after the army set up shop at Tamerlane, repositioning the police department out of the town hall basement and into their own dedicated facility.
The general consensus of the townspeople seemed to be that construction of the new police station had been bankrolled by the army, although why the United States military would care about the New Quebec Police Department Alicia couldn’t imagine. On the other hand, she had never wasted much time or effort considering the question.
At the moment, the fancy red brick police headquarters building, with its hand-carved, gold-lettered wooden sign illuminated on each side with a faux-antique lantern, looked like the most welcoming thing Alicia Havens had ever seen. She’d never been inside the station—despite smoking the occasional joint, she wasn’t what anyone would consider a troublemaker—but she had begun speeding up at the sight of the station and barely slowed now, hitting the double glass doors and bursting through at nearly a dead run.
The lobby was sterile, barren but for a pair of uncomfortable-looking chairs placed next to a wall featuring a thick glass window. Behind the window stood an empty reception desk. A red “Press Here for Service” button was built into a narrow ledge running the width of the window.
Alicia hurried to the glass and pressed the button and waited impatiently, and when nothing happened after maybe fifteen seconds she pressed it again. Following the second attempt, a uniformed officer appeared from somewhere behind the reception desk and squinted at Alicia through the glass. He was bleary-eyed and looked like he might have been napping back there somewhere.
“Yeah?” he said. “Can I help you, Miss?”
“I think I just witnessed a murder,” she said, surprised by the steadiness of her voice.
“Excuse me?”
“I said I just saw a boy get killed.”
Things happened fast after that.
***
Alicia asked the police officer not to call her mother but she knew he was going to. She knew it the minute he asked for her name and address. He didn’t make her give him her phone number, but even the most incompetent investigator in the world could find a telephone number when armed with a name and street address.
He ushered her through a set of locked doors and into the labyrinthine headquarters building, sat her down at an empty desk and produced a thick blanket from somewhere. She wrapped it snugly around her shoulders, only now realizing she was shivering. She wondered how long that had been going on and couldn’t remember.
“Tell me what you saw,” the officer said.
She ran through the sequence of events that had occurred back on the logging road, leaving out the booze and the weed, although she wasn’t sure why she bothered. The minute the police searched Eddie’s car they would find both.
As she talked, she became increasingly aware of how ridiculous she sounded. Wild animals appearing out of nowhere and surrounding a car in a precision formation? Wolves chasing her down in the forest as she ran, but then breaking off just as they were about to tear her apart?
By the time she got to the end of the story, with the army men and the cleanup crew and the wolves lined up in neat, symmetrical rows waiting to be loaded into the trailer, the cop had put down his pen and was staring at her, mostly out of concern, but Alicia thought a hint of amusement might be hiding in there as well.
“I’m going to dispatch a unit out to the logging road to investigate. Then I’m going to call the chief at home. He won’t be happy about being awakened in the middle of the night, but given the nature of what you’ve told me, he needs to be informed. Before I do all of that, is there anything you want to tell me? Any part of your story you’d like to…amend?”
“No,” she said defiantly. “I don’t want to amend anything. I’m telling you exactly what happened. There’s a dead boy on that logging road. That fact is not going to change, and neither is my story.”
He nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”
He stood and began walking away, then surprised her by turning back. “Would you like a cup of tea? You look chilled to the bone.”
The notion of the police serving tea to a teenage girl who claimed to have just witnessed a murder seemed incongruous, the last thing she would have expected. But although the blanket had helped warm her exterior, her insides still felt stone cold. She doubted that sensation was in any way related to the temperature, but decided a cup of tea couldn’t hurt.
“Sure. That would be nice. Thank you.”
The officer disappeared, presumably into a kitchen area to brew the tea and into a private office to make his phone calls. Moments later he returned with a steaming mug. He handed it to her and said, “Your mother is on her way, and so is Chief Haviland.”
He made no apologies for disregarding her request to leave her mother out of the situation, and although Alicia felt a flash of annoyance at his words, she also couldn’t really blame the man. She was technically still a child in the eyes of the law, a minor who claimed to have witnessed a murder. What else could he do?
“Are you starting to warm up a little?” The officer was young, probably no more than six or seven years older than Alicia, and he seemed genuinely concerned about her.
She shrugged. He could take his concern and shove it, unless and until he treated her story with the seriousness it deserved. He would find out soon enough that she was telling the truth, anyway. He said he would send a cruiser out to the logging trail. The minute the patrol officer arrived he would see it all for himself.
“The chief said he’ll be here in ten minutes. Will you be up to retelling your story when he arrives?”
Alicia shrugged again and sipped her tea. The chill was leaching out of her bones and the adrenaline that had fueled her since first setting eyes on the wolves had drained away, leaving her feeling tired and fuzzy and half-sick to her stomach.
It wasn’t going to matter, though. Once Eddie’s body was discovered, she guessed she would be repeating the events of the evening many more times, whether she felt “up to it” or not.
This was going to be a very long night.
It already had been.
7
Her mother and t
he police chief entered the station at virtually the same time. For all Alicia knew, maybe the chief had held the door for her on the way in.
Her mom’s face was heavily lined and tired. The woman who had laughed and smiled and read children’s books to Alicia as a little girl was long gone. She’d evaporated into thin air, and now seeing anything on that face besides haunted eyes and an old-lady frown of disapproval happened about as often as a lunar eclipse.
Tonight was just as bad. In fact, tonight was worse. She locked eyes with Alicia as she approached, her expression of disappointment clear. Reproach.
So this is what it’s come to? I’m picking you up at the police station in the middle of the night?
Alicia broke her mother’s gaze and looked away. She had no reason to feel guilty but couldn’t help it.
The police chief was one step ahead of Alicia’s mother, leading her through the station house, and the man extended his hand when he reached the desk where the night shift officer had seated Alicia. “Hello. I’m Chris Haviland, Chief of Police here in New Quebec.”
She accepted his handshake and before she could answer, her mother interrupted. “What kind of trouble are you in, young lady?”
“Mom, I’m not ‘in trouble.’ I saw a friend get killed a little while ago, and I thought, I don’t know, maybe I should report it. And I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
Her mother drew in a breath to respond and Chief Haviland raised his hand to cut off the bickering before it could really get going.
“Please, Mrs. Havens,” he said, never taking his eyes off Alicia. “Let me handle this for now, alright?”
Her mother didn’t answer but she did stop talking, and as far as Alicia was concerned that was a win.
The chief said, “Why don’t we take this conference into my office? It’ll be a little more comfortable, and we can go over exactly what happened out on that logging road tonight. As Alicia is a minor, obviously I expect you to be included in our dialogue, Mrs. Havens, but I have to ask that you allow Alicia to tell her story with as few interruptions as possible.”
“I understand,” her mother said. Alicia could tell she wasn’t happy about being dismissed, but at least she held her tongue. For now. Her silence would end the minute they left the station, of course, but it seemed clear that scenario wouldn’t play out for quite some time.
Chief Haviland began walking toward a glass-enclosed office located near the front of the large room. Alicia stood and trudged behind him, now bone-tired. The chief pulled a large key ring off his belt and searched a moment before locating the proper key and unlocking the office door.
He swung the door open and then turned to the young officer, who had followed. “I’ll handle this from here, Officer Worcester. Please return to the dispatch station and I’ll let you know if we need anything.”
They entered the office and the chief slid two chairs from the corner, positioning them in front of the desk and inviting Alicia and her mother to sit. The crisp precision of the maneuver reminded her of the wolves, and their creepy military spit and polish, and she shivered involuntarily.
Chief Haviland moved behind his desk and said, “I know you’ve already told Officer Worcester your story, Alicia, but would you mind repeating it for me? Be as thorough as you can, and leave nothing out. Any detail, no matter how small, could be critical to determining exactly what happened tonight.”
She sighed and started talking, again omitting the part about the beer and the weed, again wondering why. The chief had just told her to include every last detail, and here she was not thirty seconds into her narrative and already ignoring his instructions. If her mother hadn’t been sitting right next to her, she probably would have included it, but neither item had anything to do with what had happened to Eddie, and she just didn’t have the energy to deal with the reaction she knew she would get from her mom.
The hypocrite.
The police chief allowed her to speak mostly without interruption. Every now and then he would request clarification of details, minor points Alicia couldn’t imagine having any bearing on the death of an eighteen-year-old high school senior. But every time he asked a question, she answered as best she could and then continued on with her story.
She felt like she talked forever. She managed to relate the part about the wolves ripping the flesh from Eddie’s body without breaking down—more or less—and she was proud of that, especially since she hadn’t been able to do so earlier when she was talking to Officer Worcester.
She had nearly finished, was telling the cop about the Humvee and the wolves sitting patiently behind the trailer waiting to be loaded inside, and about the man who seemed to be in charge saying he was going to call for a “cleanup crew,” when the telephone on the chief’s desk rang, startling everyone.
Chief Haviland lifted a finger and said, “Excuse me. This should be the officer who was dispatched to check out the logging trail.” Then he lifted the receiver to his ear.
Alicia closed her mouth mid-sentence and waited as the chief talked to his officer. She was exhausted and frazzled, but couldn’t help wondering why the cop would call on a landline rather than using the police radio. Probably wants to avoid creating a panic. Who knows how many people in this town have police scanners, and what their reaction might be once the officer starts relating the details of the killing?
She tried to follow the conversation but it was impossible. The chief’s end consisted mostly of “Uh-huh,” or “Yes,” or “I see,” and when he wasn’t making non-statements like those, he was speaking in unintelligible cop-speak, using code words and phrases she could not understand.
Soon she gave up trying to decode the chief’s half-conversation and allowed her mind to wander. She was conscious of her mother’s disapproving presence next to her, a cloud of negativity that practically overwhelmed Alicia whenever they were in the same room. She couldn’t help wondering what her mom was more upset about: the fact her daughter had just witnessed a murder, or that she had been forced to leave the comfort of her bedroom in the middle of the night after swallowing a couple of Valiums, or Xanax, or whatever prescription medication she might currently be abusing.
Probably best not to think about that particular question. She thought she knew the answer, and it was depressing as hell.
By the time the chief hung up the phone, Alicia had almost forgotten he was even there. All she could think about was getting some sleep, and while the notion of lying comfortably in her bed filled her with guilt—Eddie had died tonight, in spectacularly horrific fashion, and she was concerned about getting the proper rest?—the fact was she could barely keep her eyes open.
Chief Haviland cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to regain the attention of Alicia and her mother. Then he looked at Alicia and said, “That was my officer. He drove out to the logging road you specified.”
The silence hung uncomfortably, and finally Alicia spread her hands. “And?”
“And I’d like to know what you think you’re doing.”
She sat back in her seat, stunned. She didn’t know what reaction she had been expecting from the chief, but this definitely wasn’t it. Did he think she had killed Eddie? That would be ridiculous. No human being could inflict the kind of damage on a victim that the pack of wolves had perpetrated, certainly not a teenage girl. Even the most superficial of investigations must have revealed that.
“I…I don’t understand,” she finally said. She could feel her face reddening. “What are you talking about? What did the officer find?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He drove out there and examined the trail all the way from the intersection of Mountain View Road to the Tamerlane security fence. He found nothing. So I’ll ask you again, Ms. Havens. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“But that’s impossible,” she said. “Eddie’s body was lying in front of his car, on the left side. It was lit up by the headlights, which was why I could
see exactly what the wolves were doing to him. And his car! I slipped out the passenger’s side door while the wolves were busy…chewing…on Eddie. His car should be right there. His car should be…”
She realized she was babbling, almost incoherent, not helping her case at all. She could feel her mother’s gaze boring into the side of her skull. It was thick with a disapproval bordering on hostility, a sentiment now clearly shared by Chief Haviland. She was used to it from Mom, but up until that phone call the chief had seemed so supportive, so reasonable and understanding.
Now he just seemed pissed off.
She decided to try again. What choice did she have? “Didn’t the officer at least find Eddie’s car?”
“I told you. He found nothing. Now, I’m not going to ask you again, Miss Havens. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you understand it’s a crime to file a false police report? It’s serious business, especially when the false report is of a murder.”
“But I’m not trying to file a false—”
“That’s enough.” Her mother’s words sounded shrill, almost foreign. “I think an apology is in order, don’t you, young lady?”
“Apology? Sure, and I’ll be happy to accept one the second Chief Haviland gives it.”
“You know damned well that’s not what I meant. And if you don’t have the decency to do the right thing, then I will. I’m very sorry my daughter wasted your time, Chief. I’m sorry you were awakened in the middle of the night and forced to come all the way here from your home and listen to…whatever this is. I don’t know what’s going on, but if you can see your way clear to allowing Alicia to leave, I give you my word nothing like this will happen again.”
“Eddie’s dead,” Alicia insisted. Her voice sounded hysterical—exactly like her mother’s, in fact—and she hated it. But it wasn’t surprising, really. She was angry and frightened and exhausted and confused. “What are you going to do when his parents call you, frantic because their son has disappeared? What then?”
The Lupin Project Page 5