“I’m expected,” Mace said. “Where will I find Warden Strand?”
The CO handed a clipboard to Mace. “Park at the visitors’ center. You’ll see activity on the grounds. Someone there will tell you where to go.”
“One of my detectives should be close behind me: Karol Williams. Let her in.”
“I’m not authorized to do that on your say-so, Captain.”
Mace signed the registry and handed the clipboard back. He hated traveling where he had no jurisdiction. The coiled razor-topped gates of the Cyclone fence parted, and he drove onto the prison grounds, illuminated by work lights. Corrections officers and police officers swarmed in the yard to his left. He wanted to get out there, but he followed the instructions and parked at the visitors’ center.
Mace got out of his SUV. Emergency response vehicles were spread out around him. Scanning the terrain, he spotted a cluster of Ossining POs and COs and headed in their direction. When he reached them, he showed his ID. “Is Strand over there?” Mace said, gesturing across the yard to where a dozen men stood next to crime scene tape and a forensics team shot photographs.
“Yeah,” one of the COs said.
Mace crossed the yard. As he neared the men, he saw Jim Mint and Warden Strand standing together. The corpse of a CO lay within firing range of the forensics team’s cameras. A pair of detectives stood by as well.
“I can’t believe you actually beat me here,” Mace said.
Jim and Strand turned at the sound of his voice.
“I got the call,” Jim said. “The situation needed to be contained.”
Mace didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s happening?”
“Gomez killed two COs inside,” Strand said. “Then . . . something killed this one. He was stationed in that tower.”
Mace felt the muscles in his jaw tightening. “How did it happen?”
“Warden Strand was just about to show me some security footage,” Jim said.
“A private screening?”
“Very.”
Strand looked pale and shaken.
“First I want to see Gomez’s cell.”
It took Mace a moment to get his bearings when Strand led them to building two, where a PO and a CO stood watch outside. Mace looked at the weathered building opposite the walkway. It appeared to be marble and shimmered in the moonlight despite the grime on their surface.
“I always thought this block was closed,” Mace said.
“It was,” Strand said. “We reopened it when Gomez proved to be difficult in solitary confinement.”
“Why wasn’t I notified?” Mace said. “I’m the arresting officer.”
“Which is why you were called about Gomez’s escape. You don’t need to know what goes on inside these walls.”
“He told me and the FBI,” Jim said. “I didn’t think it was important enough to mention to you.”
Mace refrained from voicing further displeasure as they entered the old building.
Strand’s cell phone chirped, and he took the call.
Mace stared at bloody footprints on the floor. He kneeled beside one.
Paw prints, he thought. Giant paw prints. He looked at Jim, whose eyes glistened with fear.
“Send him in,” Strand said. He pocketed his phone. “Eric Hollander is here.”
“My counterpart in the FBI’s New York office,” Jim said.
“I suppose we should wait for him,” Strand said.
“I want to see that cell now,” Mace said.
Strand gave a questioning look to Jim, who nodded.
Their footsteps echoed as they approached the entrance to the control room, guarded by another CO and PO. They gave their names to the PO, who recorded them on a clipboard.
“If either one of you has a weak stomach, I recommend waiting out here,” Strand said. He opened the metal door.
Inside the control room, spattered blood marred every surface within a ten-foot radius. The tattered remains of a human corpse lay strewn over the console and on the floor. Gagging, Jim covered his mouth.
Mace stared at the gore. He had seen crime scenes like this before. It resembled the handiwork of Janus Farel, the Manhattan Werewolf. Gomez had stepped up his game.
“Criminy,” Jim said in a strained voice.
Mace zeroed in on the torn remnants of a CO’s uniform soaking up blood. “How many officers were stationed in here?”
“Just one,” Strand said. “Alex McBryde. The other uniform belonged to Jose Alvarez, who was stationed inside the cell block. His corpse is nude. Gomez must have tricked him into opening his cell door somehow. That’s against procedure.”
“Is Alvarez’s body in the cell?”
“Yes. He made a radio call for medical assistance, said something about Gomez’s heart. Gomez must have taken him by surprise, then put on his uniform. Wearing that, he tricked McBryde into letting him into the control room. When the medical team arrived, Gomez was gone and Alvarez and McBryde were dead.”
Mace’s body felt numb. “How did Gomez get off the grounds?”
“We think he scaled the wall,” Jim said. “That’s how the third CO got killed.”
“Something scaled the wall,” Strand said. “We have video surveillance of it.”
Mace felt Jim studying his reaction. “Who’s seen that video?”
“A guard in another control room saw it live, then my deputy and I played it back. A guard stationed in the closest tower saw what happened as well.”
Four witnesses, Mace thought. Neither Jim nor Strand addressed the elephant in the room. “Who saw this mess?”
“The medical team, the CO and the police officer outside, and the Ossining detectives,” Strand said.
“How many in the medical team?”
“Two, just like any EMT would have.”
Ten witnesses. “What about the forensics team?”
Strand spoke in an even, guarded voice. “They haven’t gotten this far yet. I thought it best that they start out front and stay there until you arrived.”
“No one comes inside without your permission. Keep those forensics boys away.” Mace turned to Jim. “We need to get Hector Rodriguez and Suzie Quarrel out here.”
“That might be a jurisdictional issue,” Jim said.
“It shouldn’t be. They’re assigned to the task force. We have federal weight behind us. Get them out here so they can be the ones to examine the corpses. Otherwise, the FBI is going to seize them from the local coroner, and we won’t know anything until they want us to.”
“The FBI’s taking these stiffs no matter what,” Jim said.
“That’s fine. Forensics won’t tell us anything we don’t already know. But if we collect these remains now, we’re preventing even more witnesses from seeing the evidence. I assume we’re going to try to contain this?”
“Of course.”
They stepped around blood spatters on the floor, and Strand opened the door to the cell block. As they crossed the block, Mace scanned the catwalk above them and the empty cells. They stopped at one with its door open. Inside the cell, Alvarez lay dead on the floor. Jelly leaked from the ruptured eyes in his sockets. Gomez’s prison blues were on the floor beside the corpse.
“There’s hardly any blood here compared to the control room,” Jim said.
“Gomez didn’t want to get any blood on Alvarez’s uniform,” Mace said. “His plan wouldn’t have worked if the uniform had been soiled.”
Strand frowned. “You plan to cover this up?”
“We plan to contain the details,” Jim said. “Let’s go see that surveillance footage.”
They walked back to the control room, where two men in black suits and dark blue trench coats gazed at the gore.
“Hollander, I presume?” Mace said.
Hollander, a thick man Mace’s age, mustered a tight-lipped smile. “FBI Deputy Regional Director Hollander, Mace.”
Mace didn’t like being recognized by people he had never met, something he’d had to live
with since apprehending Gomez in the first place.
Hollander gestured to his dark-skinned subordinate. “This is Special Agent Walter Grant. That’s quite a show outside. Is there more?”
“We were just about to watch some surveillance footage,” Jim said.
Hollander glanced at the camera above the door to the control room. “All because Gomez wouldn’t stop howling.”
“It was having an adverse effect on the other inmates,” Strand said.
“Then why not remove them?”
“This prison holds two thousand felons. We don’t put them in solitary confinement without good reason. Reintroducing them into gen pop would have been dangerous. This seemed an acceptable solution. Neither one of your offices objected.”
Hollander’s expression soured. “I don’t think we had the full picture. Can we see the footage?”
Strand gestured to the door.
Hollander turned to Grant. “Let’s get our own forensics team out here.”
“We’ve already called ours,” Jim said.
Hollander gave him a patronizing smile. “Good thinking.”
Strand closed the blinds in his office, shutting out the bright lights in the prison yard, and sat at his desk. The other men stood around him.
Strand used a remote control to turn on the wide-screen TV mounted on the far wall. He touched his keyboard with trembling fingers, and the monitor blossomed with light. Using a touch pad and clicking on buttons that appeared on-screen, he brought up multiple images from security cameras. “Let’s take this in sequence,” he said in a quiet voice.
A single image filled the monitor and the TV: a wide-angle view of the cell block they had just visited. A corrections officer ran over to a locked door.
“That’s Alvarez,” Strand said.
The CO spoke into his radio, then unlocked the door. Mace watched the scene play out with grim resignation. Thirty seconds passed, then the CO emerged from the cell and ran toward the control room.
Strand froze the image. “That isn’t Alvarez.” He enlarged the image twice. “It’s Gomez. He cut his hair after his interview with Cheryl.”
“You think the interview was a setup for his escape?” Jim said.
“He went nuts on the air to guarantee he’d be sent to solitary confinement.”
“But he had no way of knowing he could get himself relocated to that old building,” Hollander said.
Mace looked at the warden. “How many COs are stationed in the regular solitary wing?”
“The same: one man in the block, another in the control room.”
“So Gomez could have escaped just as easily if you’d kept him there?”
“I wouldn’t say that. He could have gotten out of the control room as easily, but he would have had more men to deal with to escape the building.”
“Has Alvarez been assigned to that block since you transferred Gomez there?”
“Yes, four nights. He worked one shift in another block the day before the transfer. He was supposed to be off tomorrow.”
“Could Gomez have known that?” Jim said.
“I don’t know how. We don’t allow any talking with inmates confined to solitary.”
Jim faced Mace. “Then why tonight?”
“There’s a full moon, and Alvarez was on duty. He needed a Hispanic guard to switch places with.”
“The Full Moon Killer,” Hollander said. “He lived up to his name tonight.”
Strand brought up an image from inside the control room, and they watched as Gomez entered. “This is what I wanted you to see. McBryde lets Gomez into the CR, then realizes he’s made a mistake.”
The Transformation occurred in seconds: Gomez’s legs grew longer, adding a full foot to his height. Black fur jutted out from his exposed skin. A canine muzzle grew out of his face. His fingers became claws. He lunged at McBryde. Lupine jaws engulfed McBryde’s head. The beast forced the man to the floor and dug into him with teeth and claws. McBryde flailed his arms as fountains of blood erupted from his body.
“Jesus,” Hollander said.
Mace recalled when Janus Farel had transformed before him. The metamorphosis had been just as sudden.
The Wolf tore off the remains of the uniform he wore and stood erect like a man. Then it strode toward the door, out of camera range.
“There are three more,” Strand said in a shaky voice.
An image of the Wolf running on all fours through the entrance of the building filled the screen.
“It’s so fast,” Jim said.
The image switched to an exterior shot of the Wolf skulking in the shadows along the edge of the building.
“It knows where it’s going,” Hollander said.
“It’s . . . cunning,” Jim said.
The final image filled the screen: a long shot of the Wolf scaling the wall and tower. When it reached the top, a CO faced it. A moment later, the CO plummeted to the ground, and the Wolf vanished over the top of the wall.
“We captured all its movements until it escaped,” Strand said, his voice tightening.
“Are there video copies of this footage?” Hollander said.
“Just digital files.”
“I want all of them turned over to me.”
Strand gave him a cool look. “I don’t answer to you.”
“On the contrary. You’ll receive notification from your superiors to cooperate fully with me within minutes.” Hollander turned to Walter Grant. “Make the call.”
Nodding, Grant exited the office.
“How many people have seen either this footage or that creature?” Hollander said.
“Three besides myself,” Strand said.
“I hope they’re still on-site.”
“Yes.”
“Keep them in separate waiting areas. Grant will provide them with paperwork to sign and a verbal warning to keep quiet. You’ll have to do the same.”
“Someone will talk,” Mace said.
“Not in this economy.”
“Maybe someone will make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“Grant will make clear how unwise that would be.”
Strand rose. “You knew about this. All of you knew about this. You knew how dangerous Gomez was, knew what he really is. You should have relocated him somewhere else or warned me to keep more COs on him. Instead, you allowed his incarceration to go on like he was a normal human being. Because of your inaction, three good men are dead.”
Mace felt a pang of guilt. “We didn’t know—any of us. When I interviewed Gomez two years ago, he didn’t know.”
“But you suspected, didn’t you?”
“Yes. After that interview and certainly after my wife’s TV interview with him.”
Strand glared at Jim and Hollander. “And you did nothing. You just let me sit on him with blinders on.”
“We had no proof,” Jim said. “The genetic sample we took after his TV appearance last week shows no abnormalities.”
“You should have sent him to Guantanamo.”
“We needed to be careful,” Hollander said. “After his outburst, we couldn’t do anything that would show we gave his words credence. Besides, Gomez has rights.”
Strand’s face turned scarlet. “He’s a goddamned werewolf!”
Hollander stepped forward. “Check yourself, mister. The only thing that matters right now is that we apprehend this lunatic before anyone else gets killed and that we keep his animalistic nature under wraps. You can help us, or we’ll find someone else who can.”
“The Department of Corrections might have something to say about that,” Strand said.
“All it takes is one call,” Hollander said. “That’s how important this is.”
Strand reined himself in. “You mean keeping the truth from people?”
“I mean preventing panic.”
“There are others like him out there, aren’t there?” Strand looked at Mace. “The Manhattan Werewolf?”
Mace waited for Jim to step in.
“Tony can’t discuss this any more than the rest of us can,” Jim said. “Including you.”
The phone on Strand’s desk rang, and he answered it. “Yes?”
Someone knocked on the door.
Lowering the phone, Strand stared at Mace. “Williams is at the gate.”
“Send her in,” Mace said.
“She’s clear.” Strand hung up. “Come in.”
A state trooper strode into the office. “We just got word of three killings in Croton-on-Hudson. The first officer said it looked like a bear did the work.”
“How far is Croton-on-Hudson from here?” Mace said.
Strand paled. “Ten minutes.”
Twelve
Rhonda sat up in bed when she heard Karol leave the apartment.
Run like a dog when Mace snaps his fingers, she thought.
She went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had become famous since her abduction and infamous since her rescue. She couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. She felt cooped up—caged like a wild animal. She needed to get out. Opening the medicine cabinet, she searched its contents and located a pair of scissors. She took a deep breath, then raised the scissors to her hair.
Snip.
Clump by clump, her hair filled the sink. Then she put the scissors away and replaced them with a razor. Ten minutes later, she studied the reflection of a whole new person. Now she needed different clothes. Returning to her room, a half office really, she rummaged through the articles of clothing that had been donated to her by members of the pack. She set aside a pair of jeans, a denim jacket, and a thermal top. She inspected the jacket, then took it in both hands and tore off one sleeve with ease.
Ten minutes later, Rhonda emerged from the building. No one paid her any mind. She crossed the street to where three Hispanic boys loitered outside a bodega. One of them spat on the sidewalk. Another made a loud kissing sound as she passed them. The third said something in Spanish, and the other two laughed. They reeked of marijuana.
The Frenzy Wolves Page 8