Seven Ways to Die

by William Diehl

  Who the hell put that tape there? he thought. Probably one of McKeown’s boys. He put a forefinger against her lips and stopped her.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Incidentally, that’s an old wives’ tale, about wolves and the full moon.”

  “It’s really eerie.”

  “I suppose it can be. Particularly if someone you know has just been killed across the hall and you’re alone.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned her head. He stepped forward and put his arms around her, held her close to him and gently rubbed her back.

  “It’s okay, let it out. You have a right.”

  “I thought I was all cried out.”

  “It’ll come and go for awhile.”

  He stepped back and she dried her eyes with a dish towel. “God, I must be a mess.”

  He thought for a moment then asked: “Have you eaten anything today?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither have I and I’m starved. So how about we turn on all the lights in your apartment and I’ll go over and pull down the tape on Raymond’s door. And then we can go grab a bite somewhere. Or am I being too forward?”

  “Oh yeah, you’re just all forward and a mile wide. Look, you don’t have to…”

  “I don’t have to do anything. I’d love to take you to dinner.”

  His cell hummed against his side.

  “I’m gonna have to take this. Excuse me for a minute.” He looked at the call window, pressed the button and said, “Hey, Dave.”

  “Ahoki, brother. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Your friends miss you.”

  “Yeah, I heard the alpha. I’m right up the street.”

  “I picked up a couple of nice venison bones this afternoon at the market on Amsterdam.”

  “Terrific. Give me fifteen. Oh, I’ll have a friend with me.”

  “That’s cool.”

  He rang off and turned back to Amelie. “Why don’t you go do whatever you have to do and I’ll turn on the lights,” he said.

  “Everything okay?” she asked tentatively.

  “Sure. I have to stop for a few minutes on the way to dinner and see a couple of friends. I think you’ll like them.”

  She rushed off to the bathroom and he walked around the apartment clicking on lamps. He stopped for a moment at the window overlooking the street. A nice street, he thought, but it will never be the same for her. Then he went across the hall and tore down the yellow crime ribbons, balled them up and stuffed them in his jacket pocket, and went back to her apartment, doctored his coffee and sipped it until she came back.

  He noticed, for the first time, that she wore very little makeup. Her skin was flawless and her eyes, cleared by tears, sparkled behind pale eyeliner. She had exchanged the blouse and vest for a red cashmere turtle neck sweater.

  She was something. A guilty pleasure in his world of violence, death and paranoia. Perhaps in fairness to her…

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He drove west to Fifth Avenue and turned left with the park drifting past them on the right. He turned into the park at 65th Street, drove to a discreet entrance behind the Wildlife Center and turned in.

  She was surprised but said nothing. I’m with a cop working a murder case and we’re going to a closed zoo in the dark and I feel wonderfully secure, she thought. I have no idea what we’re doing here and I don’t care. It’s a giddy experience after a day filled with fear and it feels good.

  And she laughed, secretly, inside herself.

  He parked, got out and hurried around the front of the car and opened the door for her. As she got out she heard the wolf howl again only this time it was very close by and seemed less mournful. It startled her and Cody took her hand as she got out of the car and smiled.

  “Not to worry,” he said and led her toward an open door at the rear of the wildlife complex. A man was leaning against the door jamb awaiting them, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a large package stuffed under one armpit. He was a little taller than Cody and was wearing a black sweater, its sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He was deeply tanned like Cody and his short, black hair appeared wind-ruffled. He saw Amelie and looked surprised.

  “Hi, pal,” Cody said and they gave each other a friendly hug. Cody turned to Amelie and said, “Meet Dave Fox, the best veterinarian on the planet. Dave, Amelie Cluett.”

  Fox smiled and shook her hand. “Miss Cluett. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hi,” she said with a smile. “It’s Amelie.”

  “Good. I’m Dave.”

  “We grew up together,” Cody said as the vet led them through the Center.

  Fox led them to a rear door marked: “Private. No admittance.” Inside there was a dimly lit glass corridor with another door leading to a large, secluded compound, thick with foliage, with a stream coursing through it and a man-made den at its midpoint. It was enclosed by a ten foot chain link fence surrounded by trees, which hid the isolated enclosure from Central Park’s East Drive. As she peered through the glass into the compound, she saw a large gray wolf exit the den about fifty feet away and walk back and forth, staring at them.

  “They’ve been restless all day,” Fox said. “Done some roughhousing but mostly he’s been stalking around like that. Very vocal. Y’know, growling and whining the way he does. Then they started yelling about forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, Charley heard them all the way downtown.”

  Amelie, who did not fully understand their conversation, stared mesmerized at the big gray who was watching them through golden eyes, his raised nose sensing the air.

  Fox handed Cody the brown paper package. “Good shank bones,” he said. “Lots of meat on the shoulder.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Cody turned to Amelie. “Wait here with Dave, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna have a chat with old loudmouth there.”

  “The gate’s unlocked,” Fox said.

  “Okay.”

  He went outside the corridor, closing the door behind him, and walked toward the gate to the enclosure.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Just watch,” Fox said and then, out of curiosity, “How long have you known Micah?”

  She looked at her watch. “About twelve hours. Since this morning. I started out as a suspect, then I became a witness and now? I don’t know what the hell I am now.”

  “You ought to be flattered. He’s never brought a guest with him before.”

  Inside, Cody opened the gate and entered the big cage.

  “Is he going in there with that wolf?”

  “Keep watching. That’s the alpha. He was the leader of the pack. His mate is shy. Wary of strangers. She smells you but she’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Amelie said half-aloud.

  She watched as Cody closed the gate behind him and walked toward the wolves. He jumped the small stream then squatted down and opened the package, taking out two large bones and laying them beside him. He appeared to be talking to the animal. She could see his mouth moving, then he held out his hand, palm up. The alpha wolf crouched, then stood up and approached Cody slowly, leaning forward, and licked his hand. Cody began to stroke his neck between his ears with his other hand. She could hear the wolf, half growling, half whining—a strange, happy sound. The wolf hunkered down and Cody gave him one of the big bones.

  A moment later the female slipped out of the den and came forward slowly, zigzagging her way to Cody who held his hand out and spoke softly to her. She finally crouched down too and, bending her head, took the other bone he offered and backed away a few feet before settling down to her feast.

  “You look good, son,” Cody told the alpha. “You must be up to a hundred and twenty pounds and no fat. They’re feeding you good here, aren’t they?”

  The wolf grunted as though he understood.

  Δ
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  The shooting had occurred two months ago, when Cody was back on the reservation for a visit.

  And now the alpha and his mate were good as new, thanks to Dave Runningfox, who had healed them and built the pen in which they had grown strong.

  “Three weeks, old boy, and I’ll take you home,” Cody said to the alpha. “That juvenile that’s looking to take over your pack will take one look at you and back off with his tail between his legs. And you two can have more pups and life will go on.”

  Back inside, Amelie and Dave were sitting on a bench watching Cody and the wolves.

  “Are they tame?” she asked Dave.

  “No, not at all,” Dave answered shaking his head. “They’re wild as grizzlies.”

  “Then…?”

  “They were shot.”

  “Where? Not around here.”

  “Out in Idaho, on the reservation. Micah tracked the hunter and gave him the beating of his life.” He paused, watched questions forming in her eyes, on her brow. “How much time have you spent with Micah?”

  “I told you, I met him twelve hours ago. He questioned me about a man who was killed. Probably thirty, forty minutes.”

  “That’s Micah, alright. He doesn’t answer questions, he asks them.”

  “I called him a little while ago. I’ve been scared all day. He came out, calmed me down, then asked me to dinner. The wolves were howling and here we are.”

  “Well, wolves howl differently for different reasons. They howl one way when they’re lost, another when they’re looking for their mate, another when they’re sad. If they spot a prey they howl to the rest of the pack to come bring it down.” He laughed and added, “And sometimes when they’re feeling full of themselves, they just howl for the hell of it.”

  She laughed and asked, “How about tonight?”

  “That was a lonely howl. The alpha was calling Micah.”

  Amelie said, skeptically, “Specifically Micah?”

  He nodded. “Look, I’m sure he would’ve gotten around to this. We’re Nez Perce Indians. Ours was the tribe that befriended Lewis and Clark and led them through the Northwest Passage to the Pacific Ocean.”

  Her eyes were wide with wonder. She slowly nodded her head. “I remember that from history lessons. There was an Indian girl with them.”

  “Sacagawea. She was Shoshone but she interpreted for them with the Nez Perce.”

  “And the reservation is in Idaho?”

  “Yep. It’s gorgeous. Near the Washington border. That’s where we grew up. Been best friends since we were toddlers.”

  “Does he still have a home there?”

  “No. But he goes back three times a year, ten days at a time. His father was Nez Perce. Nimiipu in the language. His mother was white. She was our school teacher when we were in grammar school. His born name is Micah Cody Wildpony. My full name’s David Runningfox. I shortened it when I went to college.”

  “You’re not kidding me?”

  “Of course not. But I am talking too much. I should let him tell you all this.”

  “Not on your life.” She looked back at Cody, and then added, “You started, you can’t quit now.”

  “Well, when Cody was about three, the Elders of the Nimiipu recognized something special about Micah. They call him Ka’wan, which means Little Wolf. The wolf is the most sacred of all creatures. They pronounced he was weyekin, a prophet, someone unique. Cody is incredibly intuitive. He inherited great instincts from his dad who was a true warrior, special ops. The Nez Perce have no written language and Micah was selected as one who passes on the legends and language of the Nimiipu: the myths of nature, the wisdom of the culture, the religion of The Dreamer. He takes that responsibility seriously. So, he lives in two worlds. His spirit follows the wisdom of the Nimiipu but he chooses to live in this culture.”

  “Why did he leave the reservation?”

  “Micah was thirteen when his father died. His mom moved them back to her home in Columbia, Missouri. He went to the University there.”

  “So how did he end up here?”

  “He was in the army for a year but it didn’t appeal to him. He loves New York City so he decided to serve it as a cop.”

  She exhaled. “And he talks to wolves,” she said.

  “Well, the Elders were right, he’s weyekin—he has the gift. He communicates with other creatures. It’s a spiritual thing I couldn’t begin to explain. But it’s a beautiful thing to watch.”

  She looked back in the compound. The alpha’s head was in his lap and Cody was scratching him behind the ears. It was lovely to behold and it touched her. She could feel her pulse in her throat. “I wonder why he brought me here?” she thought aloud.

  “Well, he’s a practical guy and this is on the way to dinner,” Dave answered. “Or maybe he sees something special in you. Or maybe you are a suspect. Or maybe it’s simply that he’s a man and you, Amelie, are quite a fox, if I do say so myself—and pun intended.” Dave Fox smiled at her impishly.

  She looked over at him and smiled back. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And what’s with the ponytail?” she asked.

  “Part of the culture.”

  “Then how come you don’t wear one?”

  Dave answered, quite seriously, “Because I’m a veterinarian. He’s a warrior.”

  22

  “Shall I call you Daisy?” Ward Hamilton clinked his crystal glass of Prosecco against Victoria’s, and squirmed in his arm chair with the delight of knowing that, beneath her filmy white crushed cotton slit skirt, she was almost certainly wearing nothing at all.

  “Why, Mr. Gatsby,” she purred. “I do believe you’re treading closer to the informal every moment.” She smiled at him lasciviously, and finished her drink in a single sensuous sip—her eyes never leaving his as she swallowed. In the distant background, in what could indeed have been scene from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, archers also dressed in white dotted the country club’s impeccable green lawn.

  “You must admit it, darling,” Victoria continued. “I bested you roundly this afternoon.”

  “You did indeed,” Hamilton chuckled affably. “But I am not surprised. While I’ve been slaving away at the Public Library and in front of my screen, you can practice any time you like.”

  “Not that you did too badly,” she allowed. “Four bull’s eyes aren’t exactly a shabby score.”

  “I am becoming,” Hamilton said, “an increasingly good marksman. Un bon tireur, as General Idi Amin used to say. Though he was talking about his rate of impregnation.”

  “Why is it everything has to come back to sex with you?”

  “Because you are my lover,” Hamilton said. “In your physical presence, there is nothing else worth thinking about.” He took her hand, and brought it to his lips, savoring her delicate perfume.

  “If only it could cure what ails you,” she said, her eyes misting for a moment until she covered by reaching for the bottle.

  Hamilton brushed her hand aside, took the bottle, and poured for her.

  The waitress in the French milkmaid’s pinafore approached the table, a look of sweet solicitation on her innocent face. “May I bring you another bottle, madame et monsieur?”

  Hamilton shook his head. “I think we finish this one,” he said in a teasing tone, “take it and you with us to the back seat of our limousine for dessert.”

  The waitress put her hand to her face to cover a blush.

  Under the table Victoria’s white-stockinged foot found its way into Hamilton’s crotch and gave him a playful nudge. “Don’t worry,” she said to the young woman, “he’s just joking.”

  “Not at all,” Hamilton insisted. “We would take you to places you’ve never imagined,” he purred to the waitress, who was slowly but surely backing away from the table, glancing around for the nearest exit.

  Victoria put down her champagne glass and reached for her cell phone. She pushed a speed-dial and spoke into the mike: “B
ring the car around, please. Mr. Hamilton is being naughty again and needs to be attended to.”

  Hamilton loved the look she gave him. He knew he was in for a treat.

  Δ

  “The privacy window is up,” the chauffeur whispered to Victoria as he held the door for her.

  “Thank you, Patrick,” she said. “Care to join us?”

  “No, thank you,” the driver answered, flicking a speck of pollen from his otherwise impeccable gray lapel. “Awfully jolly to invite me, though.”

  Victoria gave him a look filled with erotic promise, then ducked inside the car, taking care to allow Patrick a glance of her braless décolletage.

  Hamilton was waiting.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” she said, reaching for his zipper and pulling aside her skirt.

  “You’ll see,” he said. “Viagra goes down very well with champagne.”

  “Then I will too,” she said, releasing him from his white linen trousers. “Pretend I’m wearing a white pinafore.”

  “I’d rather pretend you’re wearing nothing at all,” he said, moaning as she took him into her mouth. He pulled her hair away from her neck, so he could focus on the heart-shaped tattoo at its base.

  23

  Cal Bergman was frustrated. He had taken no notes during his interview with Nevins but the details were swirling in his brain; details he was not sure how to handle. How much should he reveal to Cody? How much should he dictate to himself? What had he learned that would advance the case?

  That one he was sure of: nothing.

  Should he suggest another run at the Yellow Door club? Perhaps shake up the bartender a little more or perhaps bang on the Manager, whoever he was? It seemed to him that would be a waste of time though as Cody often reminded them, “Nothing is a waste of time.” Dog work, which is what the captain called it, was necessary if for no other reason than to close the book on a string of the investigation. As he wove his way through the Friday evening traffic he considered the only clue they had: The woman in the red dress and the vampire mask.

  Someone had to know who she was and at that moment the only someone was the killer. And at that moment who was the only person whom he felt certain knew who the killer was? The woman in the red dress.