Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  The moment they stepped through the door, Lara knew they were too late. The splintered door jamb and shattered hall table. Muddied bootprints stamped onto the floor like some crazed dance steps. Hovering overtop all of this was the smell. Grissom’s scent and the evaporating tang of adrenaline left by Gallagher.

  Amy tore through the house, screaming for her dad. More wrecked furniture through the house, more signs of a violent struggle. Then Amy was shrieking for her to come quick and Lara’s knees wobbled suddenly, fearing the girl had found her father dead in the mudroom. Staggering in, she saw Amy kneeling over something on the floor. It was the dog. Still breathing but knocked cold, the eyes like whited slits.

  The girl screamed, demanding to know where her dad was and what had happened. Lara held the girl tight, talking her down but they both saw the dollops of blood on the tile floor like spilled paint.

  Lara told the girl to see to the dog and she went on to the kitchen, trying to piece together the order of events. Grissom had kicked the door in and attacked Gallagher. The dog had gotten in the way trying to defend him.

  Then she saw it. A message scrawled onto the kitchen wall in big crude letters. Almost childish in its form, as if written by a hand unaccustomed to writing. The ink was blood and it had already dried. Gallagher’s blood.

  COME FIND US

  That’s all it said. Lara studied those simple words and considered wetting a cloth and scrubbing it from existence. The girl didn’t need to see this but it was already too late. Amy rushed in behind her, gasping at the blood on the wall.

  “What is that?” Amy looked to Lara for some answer and then back to the blood smeared wall. “Did Grissom write that? What the hell does it mean?”

  Lara scrambled for some answer that would make sense but there wasn’t one. The racket at the door let her off the hook. Two uniformed police officers stormed inside, barking at them to get on the floor. On the heels of the uniforms came two plainclothes officers. Lara didn’t recognize the man but the sight of the woman made her stomach drop.

  Charlene strode in as the uniforms forced Lara and Amy to their knees. A cold edge to her tone. “Hello Lara.”

  THIRTY

  INTERVIEW ROOM TWO was tiny. A table and two chairs, the beige walls. How many times had Lara been in this room before, questioning suspects, entering and leaving at will? Drilling shitbirds or empathizing with witnesses to chip away at the truth. It was completely different being on the other side now. Unable to leave, unable to breathe in this coffin of a room. It was effective. It wore you down. She gained a new level of respect for those hardened suspects who resisted the stifling closeness and maintained their stony denials or silences.

  Cracking wasn’t what had her worried. It was the tingle of adrenaline coursing down to her fingertips. What would happen if she couldn’t keep her head? Keep that secret chamber in her heart clenched tight?

  Charlene sat across the table, lobbing question after question at her. Where had she been for the past three months? Why had she fled? Why did she come back? What happened the night Lieutenant Vogel died?

  Lara mimicked the flinty silence of every bad mofo she’d grilled in this room. Neither a yes or a no. Nada. No habla. She tuned Charlene out, focusing on the more pressing matters of keeping her head to prevent the lobo from ripping her old friend to fucking pieces.

  Charlene blew out her cheeks in frustration. She pushed aside the file before her and changed tactics. “Lara, I have to apologize to you. I gave up looking for you because I thought you were dead. It was a shitty assumption and I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”

  Lara felt her resolve sift away like ash on a breeze. “It’s okay. I would have done the same.”

  The harsh edge left Charlene’s eyes. She placed a hand on the closed folder. “Leaving this aside for the moment, where is Gallagher? And that message on the wall. The tech’s confirmed it was blood. His type. Who put it there?”

  Lara resumed her silence.

  Charlene frowned. “Lara, this is serious stuff. You gotta level with me. Please.”

  “Am I being charged?”

  “You’re being questioned.”

  “Then let me out of here. Charge me or let me go. Simple as that.”

  “You’re a key witness into the murder of a police lieutenant. You’re not going anywhere and you know that.” Charlene dragged the folder back to the center of the table. “Give me something here, Lara.”

  Lara dipped her head and said no more.

  Charlene wanted to scream. Instead, she gathered up the file and crossed to the door. “We used to be friends, Lara. For that, I’ll try and help you any way I can. But you have to help me first.”

  She left the room. Lara concentrated on her breathing, trying to slow the beat of her heart. When she was processed through, the officers had turned out her pockets and taken her coat. They had also confiscated the silver stud in her navel, the small talisman keeping the beast locked up in her heart.

  Amy had an easier time of it. Questioned by Detective Rueben Wade, she answered most of their questions without lying or omitting too much. Her dad had followed another lead in his obsessive search for his missing partner and came home with Lara Mendes. Of Lara’s whereabouts or the particulars of her absence, she hadn’t been told. Lara had encountered a man she called Edgar Grissom and this man had pursued her to Portland. Amy gave a description of the man, having met him once. This man clearly invaded their home and attacked her dad and what, she wanted to know, were the police doing to find him?

  Wade reassured her that they were doing everything they could to locate her dad. In that instance, he had done the lying, unsure exactly what was being done to find Gallagher. He found it hard to believe that Gallagher, of anyone, could be abducted.

  Wade then left the room and when he came back twenty minutes later, said she could go. He took her down to the lobby. “I might have a few more questions later. Just follow up stuff. Okay?”

  “Where’s Lara?” she asked.

  “Answering questions, same as you. We’ll look after her.”

  “Will you call me the minute you find out anything about dad?”

  “I will.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll find him, Amy. Just hang in there.”

  A standard issue response and Amy knew it. She followed Wade into the lobby, then stopped. “What about our dog? Is anyone looking after him?”

  “The dog bolted, wouldn’t let anyone come near him. I think Animal Services is trying to find him .” He patted her shoulder and looked over the precinct lobby. “Now, where’s your ride?”

  Amy startled when her mom came bounding at her. Of course they had called her mom. Cheryl was roughly the same height as her daughter and it was obvious looking at her where Amy got her looks from. Amy had inherited her dad’s eye color but everything else was mom. Something she hated at times.

  “My God, Amy,” Cheryl blurted after squeezing her daughter so hard Amy was winded. “What happened? Were you hurt?”

  “I’m okay, Mom.” Amy pulled away. “Can we go?”

  Pushing out the front door, her mother hooked an arm around her as they marched for the car. “Is there any word about dad? Do they know anything about what happened to him?”

  Amy heard the tension in her mom’s voice, how she was biting her tongue to keep from screaming. “Not yet. They promised they’d call when they do.”

  “You must be tired,” Cheryl said. “Are you hungry?”

  “I think I should stay at Dad’s tonight.”

  “It’s a crime scene, honey. You know that.”

  “What if he calls?”

  “They’ll either have someone at the house or they’re monitoring the phone.”

  Amy sunk down in the bucket seat. “I need to get the dog.”

  “No. I’m not having that dog in the house.”

  “He can’t stay there alone.” Amy bristled at her mom’s rules. “He’ll stay in my room. You won’t even know he’s there.”

&nb
sp; Cheryl hated dogs, always had. “Okay. But just until we find someone else to take him until your dad gets back.”

  Until dad gets back. Like he had simply gone away for the weekend, fishing with his buddies.

  The house was dark when they pulled up. With the bay window smashed and garage door destroyed, the house looked like one of the foreclosures that dotted every neighborhood like rotting teeth. Police tape strapped the front door and garage.

  Cheryl nosed up behind the Cherokee in the driveway and left the motor running. “I’ll go in with you,” she said, looking uneasily up at the dark foursquare with the green trim. She disliked going inside at the best of times.

  Amy slid out of the car. “It’s okay, mom. I’ll be two seconds.”

  “We shouldn’t even be here, honey.” Cheryl called out, watching Amy dip under the yellow tape.

  The place looked awful. Amy hadn’t noticed how badly it had been trashed when she and Lara ran back in looking for her dad. Heartbreaking and unnerving to see your home beat up and left to die. She popped on the light and looked over the kitchen, calling for the dog. Passing through to the mudroom, she opened the backdoor and called out to the dark backyard. The dog slunk out of the shadows with a soft whimper and wagging tail.

  She hugged the husky as it collided into her legs. Cooing to it, she examined the dog for injuries, running her hands over its legs and neck. The dog winced when her hand touched a spot on its ribs but she found no cut or visible wound. Bruised ribs, she guessed. “Come on, boy,” she whispered to it. “You’re coming with me.”

  The dog panted at her with those eyes and stayed close as Amy gathered up the big bag of kibble and hauled it out to her mom’s car. She opened the back door and set the bag on the floor and knickered to the dog to jump in.

  Cheryl turned in her seat to find the dog panting with its tongue flapping loose less than a foot from her face. Hot dog breath. “When we get home, there’s a lint brush in the kitchen drawer. I won’t have dog hair furring up my car.”

  “Okay, mom.” Amy closed the door but then stopped, looking at the Cherokee. Patting her coat pocket, she remembered she still had the keys and marched for it.

  “Where are you going?” Cheryl called.

  “Hang on,” Amy said, unlocking the truck on the passenger side. The black duffel bag sat crumpled into the footwell. The police had neglected to search the truck. Thank God. Slinging it onto her shoulder, she loaded it into the trunk of her mom’s car and climbed back into the passenger bucket.

  Cheryl looked at her. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Uh… Christmas presents and stuff,” Amy said. “So no peeking, okay?”

  Cheryl backed out of the driveway. Amy sighed and wondered how long this short string of luck would run.

  Gallagher ran for his life. Feet stomping through ankle deep snow, bolting through the pines in some dark forest. Brambles tearing at his face as he ran headlong through the brush.

  Something big and angry on his heels. Popping teeth and insane yellow eyes.

  Heart jacking against his ribcage, he dove through the underbrush and came into a clearing. The night sky was clear and the moon full, its eerie light turning the snow blue. The lobo crashed from the pines and slammed him with the force of a freight train.

  No defenses, no weapon. His hands useless against the powerful jaws of the wolf. It tore into his guts and chomped his right arm, snapping the bone. Its maw enveloped his ribs and shook him back and forth with feral savagery.

  Whipped under that godless force, his neck snapped and Gallagher knew he was going to die. The monster would kill him and eat his flesh and there’d be nothing but scattered bones to find come the spring thaw. His shattered arm swung free on a hinge of tissue and when he felt a tug on his stomach he knew the lobo had gone for the belly and was dragging loose the purply ropes of intestines. The steam of his guts wisped up into the cold air but the pain subsided and he knew this was the end.

  The jerking stopped. He didn’t want to look down but couldn’t help himself. The bony tips of his ribcage shone through the wet gristle of meat.

  The wolf was gone.

  Lara crouched in its place.

  Squatting over him, naked as her birth and her wet hair hung over him, dripping with sweat. She was covered in his blood, as if she’d painted herself red with the stuff. She sklathed forward on her haunches and punched her fist under his ribs. A wet popping sound as she plucked her arm free with the raw meat of his heart in her fist. It beat once, twice and then went still.

  He looked away, unable to watch as she devoured it. He screamed but no breath came out, no voice was raised under the blue of that killing moon.

  The nightmares were back. Piggybacking the terror was a plunge of disappointment. He’d been doing so well since he’d found Lara. All these nights without the nightmares that robbed his sleep and left his nerves raw. Why now?

  It all came back when the scream of his nightmare couldn’t escape his throat. He couldn’t open his mouth. Duct tape, sealed taut over his mouth. Blindfolded. The pressure of the fabric pressing down on his eyeballs. Trapped. His wrists burning under rope ties, arms bound tight against his chest. Ankles trussed.

  He listened to the hum around him. The floor vibrated and rattled. A vehicle. Something big enough for him to stretch out in and judging by the vibrations of the floor, the vehicle was moving at a fast clip. Highway driving.

  Grissom. The son of a bitch wasn’t content with mopping the floor with Gallagher’s ass, he had to kidnap him too like some hapless victim whose face adorned a thousand police flyers. The nightmares had returned but now he was the one who had vanished. The irony was neither funny nor poignant.

  Worst of all, he had brought it on himself by daring the son of a bitch to come out into the open.

  stupid

  stupid

  stupid

  THIRTY-ONE

  SAFELY INSIDE THE house, Cheryl had gone nuclear. Amy sat with the dog at her feet and quietly endured a barrage of rants and questions and more rants. Norm, her mom’s common-law beau, stood off to the side and interjected now and then to calm Cheryl down. Amy had little use for the man, tolerating his mellow vibe but had to admit he had a way of talking Cheryl down from the ledge. Amy employed the same lifeless answers here in her mother’s kitchen that she had used back in the precinct. Dollops of truth mixed into a batter of denials and shrugs.

  The Siberian had saved her butt. Rising from its coil at Amy’s feet, the dog had padded across the tile to Cheryl and, in what Amy could see was an effort to calm or silence the woman, had leaned its flank against her mom’s knees.

  It worked. Cheryl lost her cool and ordered the dog from her sight. Get out of jail, do not pass go. Amy clucked her teeth and the dog scampered back and she led the husky to her room. Even with the bedroom door closed, she could hear her mom turn her outrage against Norm until her shrillness subsided into sobs. She pictured Norm hugging her in his hippie way, cooing until Cheryl collapsed into his shoulder with full-body sobs.

  Gross.

  She fell onto the bed and wondered where her father was. Why did that guy take him? Lara had said that he was after her, not her dad. Where had he taken him? Rueben had assured her that they would do everything they could but they hadn’t been able to find Lara when she was missing. Lara was the only one who could find him now and she was locked up inside Central Precinct.

  What if dad didn’t come back at all?

  The dog had sniffed its way through the room and chose a patch of floor under the window to curl up in. It raised its head at the sounds of sobs coming from the bed. It rose and hopped onto the bed and lay back down, its chin draped over the girl’s knees.

  Lara tried to sleep. Stretched out on the floor of interview room 2, she closed her eyes against the fluorescents and fell asleep. She had seen plenty of suspects stretch out for naps inside the interview rooms and was always amazed how anyone could sleep in these rooms. Now she knew. Hours ticked by with n
o clock to tally their passing and nothing but walls to stare at. As a detective, she had assumed that any skel hard enough to nap in the interview room was guilty. Now she was sure of it.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position. A figure sat in one of the hard-backed chairs. Squinting against the light, she assumed it was Charlene or Wade but it was neither. A dark figure in a green rain slicker, the hood pulled up to shadow the face.

  “Made a real mess of things, didn’t you?” he said.

  Lara rubbed her eyes to dispel the phantom. Just a bad dream.

  A grimy hand reached up and pulled back the hood. Stringy hair and filthy beard, the eyes hidden under mirrored sunglasses. Ivan Prall’s face was spackled with blood and when he leaned back, Lara could see the open destruction of his torso. Split down the middle, his guts tumbled out and hit the floor with a wet plop. The ropes of intestine lay coiled there and Ivan Prall reached down and scooped them back up. “Hard keeping this stuff in. You and that asshole gutted me pretty bad.”

  “Go away,” she said.

  “I never meant to pass this onto you. It was supposed to end with me when I killed the son of a bitch who cursed me.” Prall shrugged and a tube of gut spilled out. “But we both know that didn’t work.”

  When she and Gallagher were tracking Prall, he was on a mission to save himself. Ivan Prall thought that if he killed the lycanthrope that had infected him, he would sever some kind of spell and cure himself of his own lycanthropic curse. It hadn’t worked and she and Gallagher had killed Prall, but by then it was too late for her.

  “You know what you got to do,” he said. “You should have done it a long time ago.”

  Lara pinched the skin of her arm. Wake up.

  “How long are you gonna last in this fishbowl before you turn? How bad is it gonna get when the wolf is turned loose in here?” More guts tumbled as he spoke and he scooped them back up. “Where’s your knife?”