Detective Coverdale's heart raced. "I'll be right there." He hung up the phone. "Looks like we're in luck. George Fielding just woke up."
"Is he talking?" Allen Frey asked, rising to his feet.
Detective Coverdale stood up and put on his coat. "Yeah. In fact, I want you to come with me and tell me more about this case. I want to know everything."
Bernard Roberts was sitting in his study at home, the lights dark, the shades drawn, when the phone rang.
He looked at it for a moment as it sat there on his desk. It rang four times before he picked it up. "Yes?"
He listened for a moment. Then: "Christ ... No, no, I'm glad he's okay, it's just that ... Yes, yes, Wednesday morning, the boardroom ... Yes, yes, I'll be there ... Tell Ellen that I'm glad George pulled through." Ellen Brite was George Fielding's ex-wife; they had been divorced for the past fifteen years but were still close friends.
Bernard Roberts replaced the receiver in its cradle and rested his chin in his hands, staring at the blackness in front of him. He had been preparing himself for this news, hoping that it wouldn't happen.
His mind went over the possible scenarios that might take place because of this new development. The first, and the one he secretly hoped for, was that George had been too traumatized by the incident to remember it. If that was the case, he would probably take a permanent leave of absence from the board, thus bringing everything back on track. As long as his memory of the incident remained fragmented, Bernard was safe.
The second scenario, and the one that he feared, was the one that he was going to have to prepare for now. That scenario was that George Fielding remembered everything that happened to him. Closely related to that scenario was the possibility that George got a good look at Mark Wiseman during the attack. During the past few days since receiving news of the bungled attack and talking to that dipshit Mark Wiseman on the phone, he was drawing the conclusion that there was a strong possibility that Mark had been in partial human form during the attack. He might also have been in human form at some point while in the house. If that was the case, it was possible that George Fielding saw Mark. If he merely saw Mark in his wolfish state, well, then they were still safe. If he were to describe what he saw, his rantings would be dismissed as hallucinations resulting from his trauma.
But if he saw Mark in his human form ... if he was able to provide a good description ... if, by that description they were able to identify Mark by name ...
Bernard Roberts opened the right drawer of his desk and took out the Beretta and a full clip. He snapped the clip in place and set the weapon down on the desk. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.
He tried to retrace his steps over the past six months. He was fairly confident that he hadn't been seen with Mark; all of their meetings had been private, arranged via public pay phones. His mind went back to that night when he first saw Mark change in the security video camera. He remembered heading back upstairs to find out what the hell it was he had just seen. He remembered Mark's surprised look when he ran into him outside the bathroom, the look of guilt on his face. He remembered the research he had done, being excited at what he had found. He remembered paying the private detective he had found to do some snooping on Mark Wiseman, the information he had been able to dig up on Mark's parents, the background of abuse and neglect Mark had suffered at their hands. He remembered the excitement he felt when he had connected all those strange, unsolved deaths to Mark. And he remembered the look on Mark's face when he had called him up to that first meeting in his office, how pleased he had been with himself that his hunch had played off.
He frowned. That first meeting. There was something about it ...
It suddenly hit him. He visualized in his mind Mark walking into the executive suite, stopping at Carol's desk to say that he had received a call that Bernard wanted to see him. He had told her that he had called Mark to his office and that when he arrived that he was to come right in. She would be the only person he could think of that had seen the two of them together. The question was, would she remember?
Bernard frowned as he thought more about it. Carol had called in sick today and yesterday. He hadn't spoken to her personally, but Barbara Holmes, the secretary who sat at another desk in the executive suite, had taken the call. He hadn't thought much of it, but now it suddenly seemed significant.
Because he had overheard a conversation in the cafeteria this afternoon among Mark's coworkers that Mark had called in sick today and the day before as well.
Surely it had to be a coincidence. There was no way they could possibly know each other. They worked on separate floors, associated with different people. There was no way that-
But Carol had been acting different lately. She had been evasive when he called her at home, she hardly talked to him at work, and her demeanor was different. She had that look that suggested that she was preoccupied with something. While she had given him the cold shoulder, there was something about her that seemed light and bubbly and happy. As if she-
His mind flashed back to what she told him last week. That she couldn't see him anymore because she didn't think it was a good idea, that she had met another man.
No way! It couldn't be!
As hard as he tried to deny it, the more another part of him whispered that it was true. Somehow, against all odds, Mark Wiseman and Carol Emrich had met and gotten involved romantically. How much Mark might have told Carol he was afraid to think about, but it must have been plenty. After all, she had been calling in sick to work the past few days just like Mark, and-
Bernard reached for the phone and punched in Carol's number from memory. It rang five times, then went into her answering machine. He hung up.
He glanced at his desk clock. The dial read eightfifteen.
He picked up his phone again and dialed Mark's number, again from memory. He waited until the phone rang into Mark's answering machine; then he hung up.
Bad idea. Phone records can be traced ...
It was too much of a coincidence. It just couldn't be happening.
There was no way they could be together. There was no way they could have met, fallen in love, conspired against him.
There was no way they could have skipped town on him.
But somehow, Bernard was afraid they had.
Bernard picked up the Beretta and caressed it lovingly. He remained that way for a long time, sitting in the dark thinking and holding the firearm.
Thinking ...
Chapter Twenty
He remembered Pueblo, California from six years back when he had been angry at the world for the curse that had fallen upon him. He had spent a lot of time driving through the Southwest, and had fallen in love with the desert. The California desert was lonely, desolate country, but it could also be quite beautiful. Mark Wiseman used to think that he would like to retire in this part of the state; buy a small house in a small town, live out the rest of his life in this beautiful, peaceful community.
He never thought he would have to hide out in Pueblo. It made a poor town to hide out in. For one, it wasn't much of town; it consisted of two main streets with a gas station, a convenience store, a motel, and a small tourist center on another corner. Five hundred yards in either direction were small trailers, with large satellite dishes. Pueblo was barely a dot on the map. It was forty miles west of Needles and wasn't much to look at.
They drove nonstop from Newport Beach to the outskirts of Barstow that first night. They found a Motel 6 and checked in under their own namesthey were still too stunned by all the driving and the sudden change of events-and slept for ten hours; exhaustion just wouldn't permit them to drive further. They left the following morning, heading further east.
There was no clear destination in mind. Their only purpose had been to gain as much distance between them and Bernard Roberts. They stumbled on Pueblo the next morning quite by accident, but the minute they crossed into the town Mark insisted they pull over and stay. "I've been here,
" he had said, as Carol swung her Camaro into a motel parking lot. "It's so beautiful out here."
Once checked in they had breakfast at a roadside diner. They were ravenous. They spoke little during their meal-pancakes, eggs, and hashbrowns for Carol, French toast, eggs, sausage and English muffins for Mark-and when they had finished they found a small motel and checked in.
They spent most of the day in their room with the blinds closed. They napped, watched the small television in silence. As the afternoon bled into evening Carol turned the water on in the bathtub and let a bath run. Mark lounged on the lumpy king-sized bed and watched the news. When the bathtub was filled, Carol stripped off her clothes, told Mark she was taking a bath, and stepped into the bathroom.
Mark watched the news for a minute, then took his clothes off and joined her.
Once in the tub he kissed her softly. "I love you," he whispered, nuzzling her ear.
"I love you, too," she said.
Their foreplay began in the bathtub and wound its way into the bedroom. They made love slowly, languidly. She hugged him tightly as he moved within her, and when release came Carol bit his shoulder, stifling her cries. They lay in each others arms for a long time afterward, Mark's penis shrinking inside her.
Carol snuggled up close to him. "That was wonderful ..."
"But ... ?"
Carol paused. "I sensed you were ... holding back something."
Mark sighed. He had been fighting the curse the past three days; tomorrow was the last night of the full moon, and while the lunar effect was losing its strength, it still had a strong hold on Mark. Because of his mental state and the influence that alcohol had on his system three nights ago, he hadn't been able to let the beast run free completely. Now it was struggling to burst free.
Carol touched his face gently. "What is it, sweetie?"
Mark shook his head. He drew her close to him. He wanted to tell her about it, but he didn't want to lose her. If he could just fight the curse off for another day. "It's nothing," he said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't seem like nothing to me."
He turned to her. Her blue eyes were staring into his, deep and penetrating. Her hair lay wetly against the bed sheets. Her fingers traced lines across his chest. "I love you, Mark. And I will do anything for you. You mean more than anything to me, and I would never leave you. If you want to tell me something, you can."
Mark's heart swelled, and he pulled Carol close to him and kissed her. "I know, honey. I just..." It trailed off. He had no idea what he could say to her. How do you tell somebody that the full moon has an effect on you that most people regard as superstitious hogwash?
"Just what?"
"Nothing."
Carol frowned. He could sense the tension build between them. He didn't want to fight with her, but then he didn't want to put her in any danger, either. He just had one more night of the lunar cycle and then-
The pain in his stomach blossomed suddenly out of nowhere. It doubled him up so suddenly and forcefully that his elbow hit Carol's head as he lurched off the bed. "Oh, Christ!" Mark cried. He doubled over, hands clutching his stomach. He felt his skin grow suddenly warm and he gritted his teeth and tried to fight it off. Oh God, not now, not now, not now!
Carol sprang up, her hands clutching his shoulders, her features etched with worry. "Mark, what is it? What's wrong?"
Mark shook her hands off him. He scrambled off the bed, falling to the floor as another bolt of pain ripped through him. He moaned, his teeth clenched so tightly that they scraped together.
"Mark, what's happening?" Carol sounded panicked. "Oh God, Mark ... let me call the front desk, get a doctor-"
"No!" It came out of Mark's throat like a snarl. He gritted his teeth and tried to fight it as his body went into convulsions.
Carol stood by helplessly, her eyes growing wide in horror. She knelt down beside Mark hesitantly. "Mark, I'm going to call 911, okay? Just hang on-"
"Don't call anybody!" With a great amount of mental determination, Mark fought down the curse. He lurched to his feet and headed toward the front door. He stopped at the door, leaning against it with his head bowed down, as if he were fighting off a migraine headache. His eyes were closed tight. "I'll be okay."
"Are you sure? You don't look okay, you look like you were ... having some sort of ... of seizure."
"I'm fine." Mark took a deep breath and raised his face to hers. The smile he mustered was a cruel caricature. "I'm fine, I just ... need to get out of here for awhile." He opened the front door. "I need some fresh air."
"Mark, wait, you can't-"
But he wasn't listening. He exited the room and began running through the parking lot toward the desert that lay beyond. "I'll be okay," he called out. "I'll be right back." And then he couldn't say anything more because he could feel it returning. He ignored her cries of protest that followed as he made a mad dash for the desert. He barely felt the sting of sand and rocks as his bare feet hit the desert floor and then he was putting distance between himself and the motel. The last vestiges of his rational mind were thinking I must look pretty foolish to Carol right now, sprinting out into the night stark naked. His primal self paid it no heed: he was reacting on pure instinct, under the power of the moon and the curse.
He was barely aware of the physical metamorphoses his body was undergoing as he made his way farther and farther into the desert.
Three minutes later, as Carol Emrich sat on the king-sized bed sobbing uncontrollably, the piercing howl of a wolf penetrated the din of her sorrow. She stopped crying and looked toward the window and the fear in her heart was the greatest she had ever felt in her life.
Chapter Twenty-one
On Wednesday morning, January 9, Allen Frey met with Detective Peter Coverdale of the Las Vegas Police Department at the office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Los Angeles, California.
They were in a conference room with three FBI agents, along with two detectives from the Costa Mesa Police Department. Also present was Frederick Johansen, the man who had hired Allen Frey last summer, and four members of the Board of Directors of Free State Insurance Corporation. The conference table was piled with papers, briefcases, and folders. They had been in a very animate discussion for the past forty-five minutes.
Frederick Johansen had been trying to place a call to Bernard Roberts for the past hour. Now he looked up at the circle of law enforcement men he was gathered with and replaced the receiver. "He isn't answering," he said, quietly. "His office said he hasn't even called in sick this morning and they're very curious; this just isn't like him."
The head FBI agent in the room, a man in his fifties with a barrel chest and steel gray hair named Paul Strong, turned to Frey and Coverdale. "I don't know ... the description George Fielding gave us doesn't resemble Bernard at all."
"But it does resemble a Free State employee," Allen Frey pointed out. "It bears a strong resemblance to a Mark Wiseman, a computer tape librarian. According to his shift supervisor he called in sick Monday and Tuesday, and they haven't heard from him this morning."
Special Agent Strong was shaking his head. "That's still not enough for us to go on. There's no proof that Roberts knew Wiseman, no way to connect them ..."
"But you can connect Roberts to Fielding, as well as the three board members who are now dead." Peter Coverdale sat back in his chair, appraising the agent with a steely gaze. "Myself and my colleagues have presented viable evidence that clearly shows that Bernard Roberts has, for the past seven years, been defrauding the company and using his position as a way to improperly influence others to commit illegal acts. Thanks to the help of Mr. Frey here, I've been able to uncover this. We wouldn't have discovered this for months if Frey hadn't suggested we comb through the business transactions of all Free State executives and board members. And as you can clearly see, we might not have discovered the indiscretion if the merger had been voted down. Had the merger gone through, Bernard Roberts wou
ld have not only been discovered, he would be facing criminal charges, which I'm sure you can use to press your case."
Special Agent Strong nodded. "It's true. This is enough to issue a warrant for Bernard Roberts's arrest on embezzlement. But you're going to have to do some more talking to convince me to charge him with murder."
"What about conspiracy to commit murder?" Allen Frey asked.
"It's not there," Special Agent Strong said. He picked up one of the files from the vast array of file folders and paperwork on the desk, put his reading glasses on, and perused the document. "According to your report, all you have to connect Mr. Roberts to these three deaths and the one attack on Mr. Fielding is circumstantial evidence. Mighty flimsy circumstantial evidence, I might add."
"What about the composite sketch of Mark Wiseman?" Allen Frey asked. This morning he had faxed a copy of Mark's photograph to the Houston PD, who had taken it over to Kelly Baker and Joe Tripp. They had identified the person in the photo as the man they had seen at David Samuels's lakeside cabin the night he was murdered.
Agent Strong sighed. He picked up the photo of Mark Wiseman and looked at it. He set it down with a sigh. "It's not strong enough. Mr. Tripp and Ms. Baker were under the influence of narcotics the night they claimed they witnessed Mr. Samuels's death. The man they saw that night was probably a figment of their imagination."
"Okay, granted you can't connect Mark Wiseman to any of these deaths, or the attack on Mr. Field ing." Detective Peter Coverdale was growing annoyed at the bureaucracy of this meeting. "You did say that you could issue a warrant for Mr. Roberts's arrest, correct?"
Agent Strong nodded. "I'll get the request down to the courthouse this morning."
"Fine." Detective Coverdale, Allen Frey, and the other men stood up. They shook hands. Coverdale handed Strong his business card. "Give me a call when you get him."
"Will do."
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