Trakes studied her oversized self-appointed uncle. She knew he was an intense man. Working homicides required such, but around her, he had always been an easy-going, over-eating teddy bear. His attitude more than his words caused her stomach to chill and her throat to tighten. Trakes didn’t scare easily and she didn’t like the feeling.
She reached across the table and took one of Meeker’s hands and held it. Momentarily, she marveled at the size of it. It dwarfed hers. She raised her eyes to his.
“When I graduated college and announced I was applying to the FBI academy, who was it that told me it wasn’t all glamour and some of the investigations were ugly, and in order to survive, I needed to strengthen my spirit as well as my mind and body?”
Meeker said nothing. Trakes continued.
“And who was it after my graduation that told me to take my investigations as they come? Don’t look past to the next one that might be sexier, and don’t remember the last one that wasn’t?”
She kept her eyes on his. “Who was that, Uncle Jerry?”
Meeker took his hand away.
“Whoever it was,” he said, “he was a fool.”
Trakes smiled, “I’ve thought that very same thing on many occasion, but I still love him. Now, tell me what else you got.”
“What else I’ve got? A silver bullet isn’t enough for you?”
“Keeping things accurate, it’s a silver ball, and yes, you have more for me. If all you had was the ball, you’d have sent an email.”
Meeker took a sip of his coffee, noticed it was cold and motioned for a refill.
“Better drink your chocolate, it’ll get cold.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“All right, we identified the substance that was around the body, and you were right, the body was encircled.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t believe you’re going to want to send out an information bulletin about it.”
“Why have I got to drag every piece of information out of you? We’re on the same team, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I wish, in this case we weren’t. I really wish you’d step aside on this one.”
Trakes shook her head.
“We’ve already covered that. I’m not going to. You told me once my father never wished the crap off on other agents, and I won’t either. Now, tell me what you got.”
“Wolf urine.”
“Stop messing with me. Enough of the werewolf Dracula nonsense. What was the substance?”
“Wolf urine.”
“For real?”
Meeker nodded.
Trakes sat very still and closed her eyes. Several seconds passed.
“What are you doing?” Meeker asked.
“Hush,” she replied, “I’m trying a visualization technique my boss showed me. I’m closing out the world to better see the crime in my mind’s eye.”
Meeker sat back, drank his fresh coffee, shook his head and muttered, “Feds, what good are they?”
“Hush.”
That afternoon, Trakes once again paced outside Hubbard’s office. She had been ordered to report to the man, but given no explanation why. She had hoped the pacing would help her order her thoughts. It had not, and at one point, she giggled when she wondered if she could find the urinating wolf and point him at Hubbard’s pants leg.
At fifteen minutes before 2 o’clock, Hubbard’s assistant called her into the office.
“Special Agent Trakes,” Hubbard welcomed her, “please take a seat.”
He motioned to a side chair adjacent his desk.
“Thank you, sir.” She sat down.
“In a few minutes, we are going to be visited by Señor Matheus Ferreira, and he is going to want information about the death of his son. You may or may not know, Eduardo was the favorite and youngest of Señora Ferreira, and the family is understandably upset. You have met with the detectives since the body was discovered?”
Trakes shook her head, “I did not know that, and yes, I met with Detective Meeker this morning.”
“Good. I’m hoping you can take this time to brief me on the progress of the investigation, so I, in turn, can bring Señor Ferreira into the loop.”
Trakes opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How could this man expect a briefing of a homicide in only a few minutes? She didn’t doubt Hubbard was good at the political interaction that was required, but he had forgotten what little he may have learned about investigations. As she tried to formulate what to tell him, Hubbard’s assistant opened the door.
“Mr. Hubbard, Señor Ferreira is here.”
Hubbard stood and said, “Show him in, by all means.”
He turned his eyes to Trakes. “He’s early.”
Señor Matheus Ferreira was a man shorter than most. Still, he burst through the doorway as if it was an invasion. While her friend Meeker was a large whiskey barrel of a man, round, full and hard, Andee saw Ferreira was along the lines of a sack of wheat. He was not to be trifled with, but a touch soft at the surface. His full head of black hair was greying along the sides of his head. Andee could almost smell the bottled color and professional stylist. His mustache, also black, was thick and curled down. It hid the upturned corners of the diplomatic smile the man wore. The dark, forest green eyes touched on Trakes for only a moment, and she felt their intensity. The smile might be fake, she surmised, but the gaze was not. Señor Ferreira was a man of business. The diplomat breezed past her without a second glance. His eyes were focused on Hubbard, the senior man. As he passed, Trakes caught the scent of what she thought was gardenia. She stifled the grin and dipped her head, just slightly, in a show of deference.
Hubbard was on his feet, hand outstretched in respect as he rounded the corner of his desk.
“Señor Ferreira, let me, on behalf of the US Government, express our condolences to you and your family.”
“I am not interested in your condolences, Mr. Hubbard. I am here to find out how close you are to catching the animal who murdered my son.”
The little man’s voice sounded as if it came from a man twice his size. Despite herself, Trakes startled.
“And right you are, sir,” Hubbard stammered. “I’d like to introduce Special Agent Andee Trakes. She is the liaison agent working with the NYPD detectives investigating your son’s death.”
Ferreira interrupted, “My son did not die, Mr. Hubbard. He was murdered. He was murdered in your city and in your country. I hold you personally responsible in finding his killer.”
Hubbard ducked his head as if he was a servant chastised. He raised his eyes and said, “I have Agent Trakes standing by to brief you, sir.”
Both men turned at looked at her.
She hesitated, took a deep breath and began, “Señor Ferreira, I would like to offer you my personal...”
The round little man raised his hand indicating he was not interested in her expressed compassion. Trakes stopped and looked at the man. She struggled to maintain the appearance of calm.
“I am only interested in learning how close you are to catching the animal that killed my boy. His mother cannot be consoled.”
Trakes hesitated and from the corner of her eyes saw Hubbard silently make a rolling gesture with his hand, indicating he wanted her to start. She replied with a curt nod of her head and turned her gaze to the father.
“Sir,” she said, “I am not prepared to share with you what few findings we have uncovered at this early juncture of the investigation. Rest assured, NYPD has assigned the investigation to one of their best, a detective I have known most of my life. Detective Gerald Meeker is a solid and thorough investigator, and I have no doubt, the offender will be apprehended in short order. He has already discovered several lines of investigation, all which show the potential for promise. That being said, it would be premature for me to comment on any of them until the NYPD has had more time to sort things out.”
Ferreira gave her a small, sad smile, as if he felt a touch of pity for her. Then
his eyes hardened.
“Miss Trakes, I am sure the NYPD will do what it does. I am not visiting the NYPD office. I was told to come here to get my questions answered. That is your job, is it not? To be of service to diplomats and their families? So in this instance, you work for me, and I expect my questions to be answered. If you do not know the answers, I expect them to be learned and related to me in short order. I am not used to being disappointed. Don’t tell me I will be so here.”
Trakes, angered the moment she was referred to as Miss and not Agent, bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to maintain her demeanor.
Hubbard broke in, “You have had four days in which to uncover leads in this case, Special Agent. Share with us what has been learned.”
She looked from Hubbard to Ferreira and back.
“I’m sorry, sir. At this time, all I can say is that several promising leads have been identified and are currently being explored. To say more runs the risk of jeopardizing the investigation, and I am not prepared to do that.”
“Special Agent Trakes,” said Hubbard, his voice tight and an octave higher, “you will tell this man what he wants to know and anything you have learned about the death of his son.”
Trakes stood and looked at Hubbard, then trailed her eyes to Ferreira and said, “Sir, you expect this murder to be solved, and with the assistance of the NYPD, it will be. I will not hamper the efforts being made by sharing what should not be shared at this time. To do so would run the risk of, at minimum, confusing the investigation and, more than likely, give you false hopes.”
Trakes stretched to her full height and braced for the verbal onslaught she was sure to come.
Hubbard’s face was red, and she thought she could detect the artery in his neck pulsating. In comparison, Ferreira’s complexion darkened.
“And do you think I would run to the press, young lady, and share what you tell me? Do you think you have more of an interest in solving this than I? I am a representative of my government and as such, am familiar with the need to keep information close. I am trusted with many secrets.”
Ferreira was shaking, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.
“Sir,” Trakes replied, “as a representative of your government, I am sure you are familiar with operational security. That is the situation I find myself in at this time. I have sworn an oath to do the best I can in these matters, and that is what you expect of me. I will not risk disappointing you, your family, or your government, by being intimidated by you.”
Ferreira glared at her for several seconds. She remained unmoved, shoulders squared and prepared to take the verbal retaliation. The diplomat stared at her, the rising and falling of his chest exaggerated by his anger. Then, he turned on Hubbard.
“This is why this country is going to follow in the footsteps of the Roman Empire and the other empires that went before it. This is why nothing gets accomplished. Leaders who are expected to lead, do not. Subordinates who are expected to follow orders, refuse to. And all of this chaos is accepted as individualism. There is an expected order in a proper society. The upper class decides what is to be done, and the lower class does what they are told.”
Hubbard was aghast. He stood still, as if to move would result in yet another tirade of verbal abuse from the visitor. Trakes tamped down the urge she felt to rescue her boss. Her refusal to do as she had been told was the cause for which Ferreira abused Hubbard. Instead, she stood by and watched. Hubbard, after all, had thrown her under the bus without concern. Well, she thought, don’t let the rear wheels get ya.
The trade minister wasn’t finished.
“I will file a complaint with your supervisor. You are not the end of the chain on this. I will file a formal grievance with the State Department. My ambassador will speak to your ambassador about this. This matter is not settled, not by a long shot. I am not happy, and when I am not happy, I see to it that others are not happy as well. It is the death of my son, my son, that requires this meeting. Yet you refuse to share with me evidence concerning his death. Why? Do you think I will run to the newspapers and tell them? Do you think I don’t understand the concept of secrecy? This is nothing more than the same old tired attitude of superiority of you whites over the brown-skinned people. Well, we are not your colony any longer.”
Ferreira turned from them and stormed from the room. He slammed the door to mark his exit. Such a force was he, that after his exit, the room seemed brighter. The effect was like a brightening of the day after the thunderstorm had passed. Trakes turned to Hubbard.
“Sir, I will now share with you all that has been uncovered in the investigation to date. If you think Señor Ferreira should know this information, call his office and share it with him. I was not comfortable telling him what I am about to share with you until after you had heard it and had a chance to ponder the meanings of it all.”
Hubbard studied her and whatever his thoughts may have been, he hid behind a neutral expression. He allowed one ragged chest-deflating sigh and then he sat in his chair and simply nodded. Trakes briefed, while the Special Agent in Charge rested his head on the back of his chair and sat, eyes closed.
After she had finished, she added, “I don’t believe in vampires, myself…”
“Werewolves,” Hubbard said as he opened his eyes. “We’re dealing with werewolves.”
“I don’t know why I get them confused…” she shook her head.
“Because you not taking this serious, Agent Trakes.”
“Sir?”
He shook his head, rose and stepped to his window.
“You think this is silly, a fool’s errand. It is not. I have no doubt you are the better investigator of the two of us. You have had more experience on that side of our organization than I ever had. But I have the advantage and experience in perception that you do not. You, we, may think the person who killed Eduardo Ferreira is crazy, and maybe he is, but he sees himself as one who rights wrongs, even a hero, maybe. He sees himself as a destroyer of evil at best and a misunderstood defender of the weak at worst. He is saving humanity from the age-old curse of shapeshifting. If you hope to catch him, you better respect him enough to know the species he thinks he is.”
Trakes sat silent for several seconds and thought about the advice given her. He was right, and she recognized it.
“Sir,” she said, “I apologize. You are correct. In many ways, this nutcase could see himself much as a terrorist who sees any action as acceptable retaliation. Have you any suggestions on how I should proceed?”
Hubbard arched an eyebrow.
“To start with, Special Agent, I would refrain from referring to him as a nutcase. I assure you, he does not see himself in that light.”
The man smiled at her. She blushed and smiled back.
“And, as silly as this might sound, I think you should find the most notable expert you can. Set up a meeting with said expert and learn all you can over an afternoon or even full day.”
“Expert, sir?” she asked. “Expert on what?”
“Why, werewolves, of course. How do you expect to track and capture the beast if you don’t know anything about it?”
“Sir, you’re joking. There’s no such thing as a werewolf and therefore, no such thing as an expert on the subject.”
“Perhaps you are right, Special Agent Trakes, but if I was involved in this investigation, that’s where I would start.”
He turned and looked out his office window. He followed an airliner as it prepared to land at JFK Airport. He turned back to Trakes and grinned.
“I almost forgot. I am involved with this investigation. I am the Special Agent in Charge.”
He held her eyes, “Find yourself an expert, Special Agent Trakes. Find out all you can about these creatures, mythical or not. Focus on the practice of hunting them and executing them. By all accounts, the killing in the park was an execution. Whether or not the Ferreira boy was a werewolf is immaterial. Someone certainly though he was. Keep me in the loop.”
/> “Yes, sir. But may I ask if it won’t make the office look a little silly, trying to find a werewolf expert?” Trakes asked.
“You can always return to your background investigations and I will assign another agent to the task.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’ll find the expert.”
“I assumed you would,” he smiled.
He turned and looked out his window. She had been dismissed.
Three days later, Special Agent Trakes found herself in a small town north of Albany, home of a small private college that boasted of having Professor Alwyn Lloyd, PhD, on its staff. According to the college’s website, Lloyd was a history professor who specialized in myths and legends. He had reportedly amassed a huge amount of information about many of the myths, especially werewolves.
When she informed Hubbard she wanted to meet with this man and shared the professor’s background, the Special Agent in Charge readily agreed the professor was the man to see. He directed his assistant to make the necessary arrangements from finding Trakes a motel in which to stay and walking through the process for her per diem payments. Trakes laughed to herself that the SAC would have agreed to care for Kelsey, if he thought it would get her on her way faster. Thank heavens for Ramon. Whatever his intentions, she doubted his boss would take as good of care of her little dog as her neighbor.
The GPS advised the trip would require four hours. It took her almost six. The GPS didn’t account for the heavy traffic, nor the construction. By the time she got to where she was headed, Trakes was sure the entire stretch of I-87 was under construction. The experience left her irritated, and every time the digital readout told her she was going too fast, her anger grew.
Trakes drove onto the campus and the size, or lack thereof, left her shaking her head.
“This ain’t no UNC,” she quietly said, and she allowed herself to feel some pride in her alma mater. The buildings were old, and most were constructed using red brick. They appeared to be well cared for. The entire grounds were covered with grass and shrubs. Mature trees shaded most of the walkways, and spaced along the walkways were areas widened enough to allow for park benches and tables. Many of the resting areas were occupied. Students in small groups gathered, and while some appeared to be studying, most just seemed to be chatting. None seemed to worried about making it to class.
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 5