“Ah, yes.” The policeman switched his attention to Chris. “And you, sir, have you any opinions about this tragedy?”
“I don’t know any more than Mrs. Richter,” Chris said.
Vasquez held Chris for a long moment with his somber gaze, then turned it on Karyn. When neither of them reacted the sergeant relaxed a little and gave them a cool smile. “It was just a thought. The truth is we are fairly certain who the killer is, but I do not wish to overlook other possibilities.”
“You know who did it?” Chris said.
“In a crime of passion such as this, we look first for the husband. In this case we have no husband, but we do have a former lover of the girl. A man given to violent acts, I am told. He worked here at the hotel and was discharged a month ago.”
Karyn bit her lip. “Are you certain this was done by a man?”
“It is not a woman’s crime, Señora,” said Vasquez.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” The policeman assumed an expression of polite attention.
Karyn felt her face growing warm. She looked to Chris for help, but he gave her only a tiny shake of his head. “I just wondered,” she said, “Whether it could have been… an animal.”
“Impossible,” the policeman said at once. “I do not wish to make light of your suggestion, Señora, but there is no animal capable of doing what was done to those two young people.”
A uniformed policeman entered the office. He looked quickly at Karyn and Chris, then spoke to Vasquez. “Con perdon…”
“Què?”
The policeman spoke rapidly in Spanish as Vasquez listened and nodded. The man placed an envelope on the desk in front of the sergeant as he spoke. Vasquez opened it and peered inside. From a pocket he produced a pair of tweezers, which he used to withdraw the contents of the envelope. He held it up to the light and examined it, then set it down carefully on the desk. A thick tuft of coarse tan fur. He said something to the man in uniform, who saluted and went out.
“It seems the killer left something behind when he went out the window,” said Vasquez. He picked up the tuft of fur again in the tweezers and displayed it proudly, like it was a rare butterfly. “One of the men found this caught on the torn window screen.”
Karyn and Chris stared at the bit of fur. Neither of them spoke.
Vasquez smiled thinly at Karyn. “I’m sure it is not what you think, Señora. Torn from a fur-lined jacket, I would guess. It will be most helpful when we pick up our man.”
Karyn started to speak, but caught a warning glance from Chris, and held back.
“There is something. Señora?” said Vasquez.
Karyn shook her head. “No, nothing. Is it all right if we go now?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you both for your time.”
They walked out of the manager’s office and across the lobby. Most of the guests by this time had drifted off to their rooms.
“We can’t let them arrest an innocent man,” Karyn said.
“What do you suggest? Going up to Sergeant Vasquez and saying, ‘Hey, I think those people were killed by a werewolf who used to be my husband’?”
“Please don’t be sarcastic.”
Chris passed a hand over his brow. “I’m sorry. Getting tired, I guess. But I don’t think you have to worry about an innocent man being locked up. Despite what you might have read, the Mexican system of criminal justice is reasonably competent.”
“I suppose so,” Karyn said wearily. “And you’re right. There really is nothing we could do.” Without warning she yawned.
“We’d all better get some sleep,” Chris said.
“Let’s find the manager and arrange for a room for you.”
Señor Davila, now fully dressed, but still unshaven, said yes, a room in the main building could be made ready at once for Señora Richter, since a number of guests had suddenly checked out.
As Karyn filled out a new registration card, Chris snapped his fingers.
“Damn, I forgot about Audrey. She’s still waiting in the bar.”
“You’d better go and get her,” Karyn said. “I can handle things from here on.”
“I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” Chris said. He hurried away toward the bar.
Karyn finished signing in for the new room while Señora Davila sent a boy out to see about bringing her things in from Cabana 12. She sat down in a chair in the lobby to wait, and massaged her eyes.
“Señora?”
She looked up, and for a moment could not place the stocky man with the luxuriant moustache who had spoken.
“Luis Zarate?” he said with a rising inflection. “The taxi from the airport yesterday?”
“Oh, yes,” Karyn said. She waited for the man to speak.
“If the Señora will permit, I think I can be of assistance.”
“Thank you, but I won’t be needing a taxi tonight.”
“No, Señora, not a taxi, but you do need help, maybe, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“The young Blanca, and her novio, Roberto, they died tonight, I think, in your place.”
“How do you know this?” Karyn asked. She watched the man intently.
“There is much I know. Remember, I told you I have gypsy blood. I know it was no man who killed Roberto and Blanca.”
“Who, then?”
“Not who, Señora, what. These killings carry the mark of lobombre. The werewolf.”
22
In the part of Mazatlán away from the sparkling beaches and bright new streets was a section of the city called La Ratonera, the rathole. It was a neighborhood where the sightseeing buses never came, and only a foolhardy tourist ventured. The streets were cracked and pitted, the buildings crusted with the filth of decades. Doors were always closed, windows covered. The air was heavy with the smell of human feces and human despair.
From La Ratonera came the used-up prostitutes, the burned-out thieves, the hopeless drunkards and the dying dopers. At night they moved like shadows along the broken streets, in the light of day they shut themselves inside.
Here, in a musty room behind a nameless cantina, Roy Beatty lay face down on the thin mattress of a rusted iron bed. The wallpaper of the room had long ago peeled away to the brown-stained plaster. Vermin scuttled through piles of debris in the corner.
Marcia Lura stood with her arms folded, looking down at Roy. She was oblivious to the squalor around her. The grace of her body and her fierce beauty made her seem an alien being in this lowly place. The green fires in her eyes snapped with suppressed rage.
“You failed again,” she said. Her voice was low and vibrant like a taut cello string, “Three times now you have set out to kill, and three times you have blundered. First there was the boy in Seattle. Simple enough, but instead of him, you killed a useless old woman. Then in Los Angeles you had a chance at your Karyn, but you let her get away. And now you have missed her again. After last night she will be more on her guard than ever, and it will be still more difficult for us.”
Roy groaned softly where he lay, but did not turn his head to look at her.
“You know that I have to rely on you,” Marcia went on. “I would give anything if it were possible for me to make the kill. You know that. And you know why I cannot. I have put all my faith in you, Roy, and you have failed me. Not once, but three times.”
“Enough!”
Marcia started, shocked by the unexpected strength in Roy’s voice. He sat up in the bed and faced her.
“I don’t want to hear any more about failure,” he said. “Two young people died last night. Two people who had done you no harm. Nor me. And yet I killed them. With the woman in Seattle, that makes three. Three innocent people I have killed for you.”
Marcia’s eyes met his, and she slowly recovered her poise. It was Roy who looked away first.
“You killed them for me, did you?” Her voice was dangerously soft. “Just for me. Look at me, Roy. Tell me you did not enjoy the killing.
Tell me you did not exult in the power of your muscles as you ripped the throat from the old woman who foolishly stood in your way. Tell me that as you savaged the naked bodies of the couple on the bed that you did not feel a sexual thrill of your own. Can you tell me this?”
Roy’s gaze returned to her, but when he spoke much of the power was gone from his voice. “No, I can’t deny those things. Because of what I am, the killing excites me. I need it. But because of what I used to be, it disgusts me.”
Marcia walked to the bed. She sat next to Roy on the threadbare mattress and eased his head down onto her large, firm breasts.
“I know the pain you feel, my Roy,” she said. “I understand. As the time passes, the pain will grow less. One day all memories of the man you were––that weak, shallow, ignorant man––will fade to shadows. You will glory in what you are. The strength of the wolf will be your joy, and you will know only joy. Then you and I will truly be together. That is what you want, isn’t it, my Roy?”
“Yes.” His words were muffled against the silk of her blouse. “That’s what I want.”
Gently Marcia opened the buttons down the front of her blouse, freeing her breasts. They glowed pale and smooth in the faint light that filtered into the room. Roy took her nipple into his mouth. She stroked the shaggy blond hair at the back of his head and spoke in a low, caressing tone.
“Our mission here will soon be ended. Time is short for us now because the woman has an ally. Her lover, your one-time friend. We must separate them. Together they are dangerous because they know what they are fighting. They know our strength, and will not be taken by surprise.”
She was silent for a moment and pressed Roy’s head tight against her. “And worse, they know our weakness.”
Roy brushed his lips over the upper curve of her breast and kissed her ivory-smooth throat. He pulled back from her and reached out to touch the silver streak in her hair.
“My poor Marcia,” he murmured. “They hurt you so.”
The blazing green eyes stared into the past. “Never will I forget the pain of that silver bullet. There is no pain to compare.”
“I promise they will pay for that,” Roy said. “I won’t fail you again.”
Marcia stroked his broad back. Her fingers caressed the smooth, powerful muscles. “I know you won’t,” she said. “But it will be difficult. They will seek help against us.”
“How can we stop them?”
“There are many gypsies in Mazatlán, people who have come down from the mountains. People who remember the old laws. We will spread the word among them. We cannot allow the woman and her lover to arm themselves against us as they did before. We must strike first.”
“Will the gypsies help us?”
“We don’t need their help. All we will ask of the gypsies is that they give no help to our enemies. They will not deny us that. They will not act against lobombre.”
Roy’s body tensed, but he began to relax as Marcia used her fingers on him, then her mouth. In a little while there was no more rebellion in him.
23
In the morning after the bloody business in Cabana 12, the sun had barely cleared the mountains behind the Palacio del Mar, but the grounds and the lobby were alive with people. There were members of the Mazatlán police force along with people from the State of Sinaloa and the Mexican government. The sightseers had not started to arrive yet, since the morning papers were not out with the news.
At a table in the dining room, Karyn sat over sweet rolls and coffee with Chris Halloran and a worried-looking Luis Zarate. They looked around furtively, like conspirators, and talked in low, guarded voices.
“I understand you said last night you could help us,” Chris said.
Luis’ eyes darted around the room. “I did not say that exactly.”
“Well, what exactly did you say?”
“What I was going to say is that I know somebody who maybe can help you.”
“Damn it, man, get on with it. Do we have to drag every word out of you?”
Karyn laid a hand on Chris’s arm. “Please, Chris, let Luis tell us in his own way.”
“Gracias, Señora,” said the taxi driver. “The one I know, the one who may help you, lives in the mountains back of the city of Mazatlán. She is a gypsy. Very old. Her name is Philina.”
“What the hell good is an old gypsy lady going to do us?” Chris demanded. “We’re talking about werewolves, not tea leaves. I thought you understood that.”
Luis pushed his chair back from the table. With as much dignity as he could summon, he started to rise. “If the Señor is not interested, I will take no more of your time.”
“Please, Luis, sit down,” Karyn said. “We want very much to hear what you have to say.” She frowned at Chris.
“I’m sorry, Luis,” he said. “I’m just upset. We don’t want any more people to die. And we need all the help we can get, from anyone who will give it. I truly appreciate your offer.”
Luis eased back into the chair. “Muy bien. Philina is, like I told you, a very old gypsy. She is full-blooded gypsy, not just little part like me.” He blinked a smile on and off, then continued. “Philina sees things in your hand. She knows things that are going to happen. If there is anyone who can help you fight lobombre, it is Philina the gypsy.”
“Can you take us to her?” Karyn asked,
“I can take you some of the way––as far as the road goes. After that there is a mountain trail that leads to her cabin.”
“That’s no good,” Chris said. “We haven’t time to go hunting through strange mountain country for some old woman. If we are caught out after dark, we’ll be at the mercy of the werewolves.”
“The journey can be made in the daylight hours if one starts early,” said Luis. “I have a cousin who lives at the end of the road. He keeps burros for mountain travelers. He will let you have two of them for a small price. The burros know the way up the trail. It is the only one leading up the mountain.”
“If we started now, could we make it today before dark?” Karyn asked
Luis glanced through the window, checking the angle of the sun. He nodded.
Karyn and Chris looked at each other. “What do you think?” she said.
“To tell you the truth, I think it’s a waste of time, I can’t see what good an old gypsy fortuneteller can do us.”
“Chris, we have nothing else.”
“But palm-reading. Do you believe in that?”
“Do you believe in werewolves?” Karyn said quietly.
“Touché,” said Chris.
“Even if the old woman can do nothing for us, all we’ve lost is one day. And it’s just possible that she’s for real, and can somehow help us. I think it’s worth trying.”
Chris rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “I’m game if you are.” And to Luis: “How soon can you be ready to go?”
“I am ready now, Señor. My taxi is parked just outside.”
“Good. Karyn, I think it would be best if you stay here while I go check out the gypsy lady.”
“Not a chance,” Karyn said. “I’m going with you.” When Chris started to protest she held up a hand to stop him. “Please don’t go all macho and protective on me. This is more my fight than it is yours, and I’m not going to sit in my room wringing my hands while you’re out doing things.”
“All right then,” Chris said reluctantly. “We’ll both go. While you put on something suitable for burro-riding, I’ll go try to head off trouble with Audrey.”
* * *
Audrey Vance sat up in the bed and held the sheet wrapped tight around her lithe body as she listened to Chris tell her he was going to leave her this morning. Her gray eyes were like chips of granite.
“I know this isn’t a lot of fun for you,” he said. “But please believe me when I tell you it’s super important.”
Audrey stared at him coldly before answering. “And you have to be gone all day.”
“Most of it, probably.”
“With your ex-girlfriend.”
“Karyn is not my ex-girlfriend.”
“Whatever the hell you want to call her, then.”
Chris sighed heavily. “Yes, Karyn will be with me.”
“Very cozy.”
“I can’t help what you think.”
Audrey turned away, letting him see her best profile. “Maybe it would be better if I just went back to Los Angeles alone.”
After a moment Chris said, “As a matter of fact that might be the best thing to do.”
Audrey turned toward him quickly. She reached out her arms, letting the sheet fall away from her high, firm breasts. “I didn’t mean it, Chris. I don’t want to go back without you. Look at me, I promised you I’d never be jealous, and here I am doing exactly that. Look, if you’ve got something important you have to do with the woman, go ahead. I’ll find something around here to keep me busy today.”
Chris relaxed. He placed his hands flat against the girl’s sides, feeling the ribs outlined under the firm flesh. “Thanks, honey. I’ll tell you all about it sometime when there’s no pressure. If I tried to explain it now, take my word for it, you wouldn’t believe me.”
Audrey locked her hands behind his head and tried to pull him down with her on the bed. “At least you can leave me with a little something to think about.”
The Howling Trilogy Page 31