Carol's face went ashen, as if she had just received news that her parents had both died. "What do you want to know?"
"You know, or suspect, that Bernard is involved in embezzling Free State. Do you think he has anything to do with the deaths of the board members over the past few months?"
Carol looked like she had just been slapped. "How ... how do you know about those?"
"I know. Now please answer my question. Do you think Bernard has anything to do at all with those deaths?"
Carol looked too afraid to answer, but she nodded. She licked her lips. "Yes, I ... I don't have proof, but I've been suspecting it."
"What do you suspect?"
Carol shrugged. "I don't know. Just that ... after the second ... death, Bernard's mood changed. Before, he had been very worried about the merger. He would constantly rave to me about the board and the decisions they made. And while he never came right out and explained why he felt that way, I began suspecting it had something to do with those funds. If they merged they would demand an audit and his fraud would be exposed. He could be arrested, face prison." Carol looked down at the floor, squeezed his hands, then resumed. "Mind you, this is all based on observation. I saw a lot and he told me more than most people at Free State know."
"You never let on to him what you thought?"
Carol shook her head. "Not on your life."
The next question was going to be hard on both of them. "How ... how did you suspect that Bernard might have something to do with the deaths of the board members, especially concerning the way they were killed?"
Carol was silent for a moment, but Mark could sense that she was struggling for an answer. She sighed and looked at him. "I don't know. It's just ... a gut feeling I have. Each time there was another ... death ... Bernard reacted ... differently than I would have expected. It was almost like he didn't care. I mean, under normal circumstances I could understand why; after all, his job was in danger of being eliminated. But ... well, he just seemed different. As if he knew what was going on. It was just something I could sense about him."
"Your feelings about this are correct," Mark said. He felt flushed; his hands were trembling.
"What do you mean?" Carol asked, her eyes growing wide. "Do you know more than you're telling me, Mark?"
Mark took a deep breath. "There was another incident ... an attempted murder." Carol gasped. Mark nodded. "Another board member. A guy named George Fielding from Las Vegas."
"When?" Carol asked, her hands darting up to her mouth in shock.
"Yesterday ... last night," Mark said, avoiding her gaze. He could feel Carol's demeanor change.
"You know what you know because you had something to do with it," Carol said, her face blank with shock. "You killed them didn't you?"
Mark avoided the question. He reached for Carol's hands again. "Before I tell you what I know, I want to tell you that I love you very much." His voice threatened to break. He forced himself to look at her, and he could feel tears springing to his eyes. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never loved anybody the way I love you. You mean so much to me, more than you can ever imagine. I don't want to lose you."
His words seemed to have the right effect. Carol's expression softened. "Oh Mark, I love you too." She swept him up in a hug and for a moment they held each other, taking comfort in each other. Mark held her close with such ferocity he felt if he let her go he would lose her. Carol kissed his cheek, his earlobe. "You're the most incredible man I've ever met," she whispered.
Mark gently extracted himself from her embrace. He took her hands again, and her eyes met his. "I would do anything for you, Carol. I want you to know that. I would do anything for us."
Carol kissed him. "So would I."
"What I have to tell you is about Bernard," he began. "You'll find yourself believing it. He is an utterly evil man, Carol. Utterly evil."
"I know," Carol whispered.
"The other thing I have to tell you is ... how I've come to know about this ... my role in it. All I ask is that you remember three things: I love you very much, Bernard set me up, and ... I haven't been totally honest with you about my past ..."
It took forty minutes to tell her and through it all she remained entranced by the story, her eyes growing wide in horror and shock at Mark's revelations. He started at the beginning, when he was a seventeenyear-old kid, the only son of two brutal alcoholics, the living hell he had endured both at home and away from it. He told her about the brutal murders of his parents. He told her that he was suspected in their deaths even though evidence clearly pointed at them being attacked by a wolf. He told her about being cleared and his proclamations of innocence. He didn't dare tell her about the curse; he was going to, but decided not to at the last minute. It would be hard enough for her to accept the fact that he had killed people for Bernard.
He told her that despite a lack of physical and circumstantial evidence, he was still a suspect in his parents' deaths. "They could never charge me," he said. "There was no way I could have done it. I wasn't even at the cabin that weekend. I had stayed home. I hated them, but I could never have killed them. Their deaths were devastating to me, but ... of course they would believe I did it. After all, I had reported them both for domestic abuse, and the neighbors ... they had known what was going on for years. Of course it was simple to think that I killed them." He looked up at her, wide eyed. "But I didn't. Honest to God, I didn't." He said that with as straight a face as possible; he knew that was only partially true.
He concluded with Bernard's entrapment of blackmail, his threats, and what the executive had told Mark. "I don't know how he found out about my past, but he did," Mark said. "And that's what gave him leverage. Either I do what he told me to do, or he will provide enough planted evidence to tie me to my parents' deaths. There was no way I could get out of it; if I were to go to the authorities, he would kill me. And if I left town..." He shuddered. "Whatever information he had would be released to the authorities."
"I still don't understand," she said. At the confession of murder, Carol had withdrawn slightly; she had released her grip on him and settled back, her eyes a little wary. Mark noticed-his heart broke at the sight of it-but made no move to compensate for the damage done. "If what you're telling me is correct-that he's doing this to eliminate influence on the board so the secret of his crimes can remain hidden-why didn't he just hire a professional hit man?"
"The marks of a professional hit man would be obvious," Mark said. He rose from the couch and began pacing the floor. "I ... I can't go into it anymore than that Carol, but the bottom line is he knew I'd be capable of it. And he knew about my past troubles. He blackmailed me, pure and simple."
"Did you even try going to the police?"
"I ... yeah, once," Mark lied, running a hand through his still damp hair. "Bernard found out and ... well, he had a gun. He came over here and threatened me. Said he'd kill me if I talked to the police again." He looked at her pleadingly. "You've got to believe me, Carol. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to get involved with him, but he..." His voice rose to a cry and it cracked as he stifled a sob. His throat hurt. He turned away from her, his breath hitching. "I just kept hoping he would go away, that he ... he would be found out, that ... I don't know, that something would happen. It was ... it was so horrible every time I had to ... go and ... do this for him. It..."
"How did you do it?" Carol asked. She appeared to have regained her composure. She was looking up at him with an open expression, her features calm. "The official police reports all said that they had been mauled by animals."
Mark's mind raced. "That's how Bernard knew I would be capable of it," he said, quickly. "I ... don't want to go into it." He turned to her. "Let's just say that ... I have certain ... certain..."
"Connections?" Carol looked at him curiously. "What did you do? Borrow a wolf or a mountain lion from the Santa Ana Zoo for the night?"
Mark didn't know how to answer that. He turned and walked t
oward the kitchen.
Carol stood up and walked toward him. Mark was afraid to turn around and face her, afraid of what he might find. His body trembled as she approached him tentatively, and then it erupted into gooseflesh as he felt her arms encircle him from behind. "You're telling me the truth?"
Mark grasped her hands. "Yes."
She was silent for a moment. He thought he could sense her holding back tears. Then: "You know, if it was anybody else I would be out the door in a second."
"What's keeping you here?"
"You," Carol said. Her grip around his waist tightened. Mark felt the tenseness that had developed between them dissipate. "And the fact that what you said sounds like something Bernard would be capable of."
He turned around. "Then you believe me?"
Carol nodded and Mark put his arms around her. She still looked a trifle apprehensive. "Believe me, Mark, I'm very ... very scared about what you told me. I mean ... you murdered three people in cold blood."
"I know." He swallowed a dry lump in his throat.
"I know you probably felt trapped by Bernard's blackmail," she continued. "But ... there had to have been a way out. No matter what the circumstances, there had to have been another way to deal with this."
"I wish there had been," Mark whispered. "But there wasn't. There still isn't."
She looked up at him. "You said that ... this latest one ... George whatever ..."
"George Fielding."
"Yes. You said that he was mauled? He's expected to live?"
Mark sighed. "I don't know. Bernard called me over an hour ago and told me. He was pretty pissed."
"I can imagine," Carol said, her lips pressed in a tight grimace. "I've seen him when he doesn't get his own way. He acts like a spoiled child."
"He practically threw a tantrum over the phone," Mark said. "Said that if George Fielding lived that he would kill me."
Carol's gaze never left his face. Mark looked down at her and she melted into his arms. She shuddered in his embrace. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?"
"Yes," Mark said, trying to suppress the chill racing through him.
"So am I," Carol said, her right cheek pressed against his upper chest. "I know what he can be capable of."
They were silent for a moment. They stood in the dark living room of Mark's apartment, holding each other. Finally, Carol said, "What are you going to do?"
"The only thing I can do. Pack up and get the hell out of here. I want you to come with me."
Carol looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "You mean it?"
"Yes." Mark looked down at her. "I want to leave tonight. Just take some clothes and a few things. If George dies, Bernard isn't even going to tell me. He's going to come straight here first and kill me."
Carol kissed him suddenly. "Not if I can help it," she said. "I'm not going to let that bastard do anything to hurt you."
Mark smiled. It felt good to hear Carol suddenly rally behind him. Any other woman would have been aghast at what he had done, but there was something about Carol that was different. It could be her unique perspective on Bernard, gained from both her position behind the secretarial desk and as his mistress, but he also felt that she might perceive both of them as underdogs. She could have empathized with his story due to the way other people at Free State perceived her. Part of the reason Mark initially felt such a strong bond with her was because of her underdog status; he wanted to protect her from further harm by the gossiping and the mistreatment she had suffered at the hands of Bernard. She obviously felt some of the same toward him.
"When are we leaving?" she asked.
"Soon as I get some stuff." He headed toward the bedroom. "Hang out here a bit with me, and then when I'm done we'll go to your place and get your things; then we'll split."
"Okay." She followed him into the bedroom and helped him gather a week's worth of clothes and toi letries in one large duffel bag. "Don't worry about money, either." He pulled out the manila envelope from beneath his mattress and stuck it into the duffel bag. "I've got enough to keep us going for awhile."
"Is that-" She didn't finish the sentence.
Mark nodded. "Yeah. Blood money. But fuck it, what else are we going to do? We can't go to the bank and withdraw our own money or use our credit cards. He'll find us if we do that."
Carol nodded in agreement. Mark donned his black leather jacket and with Carol in tow, they left the apartment together and headed to her place.
Chapter Nineteen
Las Vegas Police Detective Peter Coverdale was just returning to the station when a uniformed officer met him out in the lobby. "Detective Coverdale, there's a private dick waiting at your desk."
"A private dick?" Peter Coverdale was curious. "What's he want?"
"Don't know, but he wouldn't leave a message. He insisted on meeting you personally. He's over there."
Detective Coverdale headed into the bullpen and saw the man immediately. Sitting at a chair by his desk was a tall, slightly overweight man with thinning, sandy blond hair. He was sitting with his back turned to the entrance of the bullpen. "Thanks," Detective Coverdale said. He headed toward his desk.
Detective Peter Coverdale didn't have a lot of time to go chasing after missing persons today-every time a private dick came to see him, it had to do with a missing person. He used to do what he could to as sist in such investigations, but spreading himself so thin between his work at the station, and his volunteer time helping with private cases had cost him dearly. Mainly, three wives, and the various property squabbles that came with it. And those had led to a bleeding ulcer at the age of thirty-eight. He had put all that behind him ten years ago and now he tried to take it easy. He came to work, he did his nine to five, he went home. No sweat. And he never did remarry. He wanted to keep his stomach ulcer free.
The private dick stood up at Detective Coverdale's approach. He was dressed in dark slacks and a dark coat. "Detective Coverdale?"
"Officer Smith said you wanted to see me?"
"That's correct." He took out a billfold and presented his credentials. Detective Coverdale gave them a glance. The private dick's name was Allen Frey.
"Have a seat." Detective Coverdale crossed over to his desk and sat down. "What can I do for you, Mr. Fray?"
"It's pronounced Frey," Allen said. "As in french fry."
Detective Coverdale smiled. "Sorry."
"No apologies needed. It's not a common name."
Detective Coverdale nodded. "So what brings you here, Mr. Frey?"
"I'm told that you were just handed a case concerning the mauling of a man named George Fielding," Allen Frey said. "Is that correct?"
Detective Coverdale regarded Allen curiously. It was true, that case had just been opened, although God knew why. The doctors were all saying that George Fielding had been attacked by a wayward dog that had been crazy enough to smash through the plate glass window of his home. The forensic guys had retrieved a couple of hairs that turned out to be of canine origin, but his superiors still wanted an investigation on the case. Apparently Fielding was on the Board of Directors of a pretty big corporation and there was concern that this might have been some kind of weird assassination attempt. "It's true that I'm working on the Fielding case. What interest is it of yours?"
Allen Frey reached down to a black leather briefcase that had been resting by the legs of his chair. He opened the briefcase and took out a large folder stuffed with papers. He leaned forward as he handed the file over. "You might want to read these. I've been hired by a private party to investigate the deaths of three businessmen, all of whom sat on the same board Mr. Fielding sits on: Free State Insurance Corporation."
Detective Coverdale started in surprise. "Really? Do tell."
"The short end of it is that they weren't officially classified as murders," Allen Frey continued. "All three were killed and two of them partially devoured by animals."
"Animals? What kind?"
"Officially, I don't know," Allen sai
d. He looked excited. "But ... off the record ... in all three deaths the animals were noted as local; mountain lions, coyotes, bears, but in reality the coroner couldn't come up with an accurate description of the animal that had killed them. One of them retrieved several hairs that he identified as canine, but..." He smiled a sick smile. "If you had asked me that question when I was a kid, I would have told you a werewolf killed them."
Detective Coverdale smiled back. Surely this was too crazy to be a coincidence. "A werewolf, eh? You better not be fucking with me, Mr. Frey."
"Obviously, it can't be a real werewolf," Allen Frey said, remembering his interview with Joe Tripp and Kelly Baker the past summer. "But then ... think about this: When was Mr. Fielding attacked?"
"Two nights ago," Detective Coverdale said.
"Two nights ago was the first night of the lunar cycle."
Detective Coverdale frowned. "Okay..."
"The other three murders were also committed on the first night of the lunar cycle. The full moon." Allen Frey leaned closer to the detective, his voice a whisper. "Somebody, for whatever reason they have, is killing the board members of Free State Insurance Corporation. And it's my belief that whoever is doing it ... thinks he's a werewolf."
The two men looked at each other, their gazes unyielding. Detective Coverdale felt a slow feeling of intuition rise in him. As much as he didn't want to believe it, a part of him felt that the private dick was telling him the truth.
The phone ringing on his desk interrupted his thoughts.
"One moment," he said, picking up the receiver. "Coverdale here."
"Detective Coverdale, it's Officer Block, over at St. Luke's." St. Luke's Hospital was where George Field ing was receiving medical care; because of the ongoing investigation, the Las Vegas Police Department had an officer at the hospital in the hopes that Mr. Fielding would be able to talk when-or if-he emerged from his coma.
"What's happening?"
"George Fielding is doing okay. He came out of his coma about an hour ago. It's hard for him to talk, but he's talking. And he says that he can provide an accurate description of the suspect that attacked him."
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