Wolf's Deal: A Nick Lupo Novella (The Nick Lupo Series)

by W. D. Gagliani

“Yeah, it’s like Smith over there. She was off the boat, maybe three years.”

  “So… you figure it’s a Russian mob thing?”

  Charlie Bear smiled crookedly and tilted his head. “This guy for real?” he said to Lupo.

  Lupo grinned. “He’s educated by way of TV cop shows.”

  “Very funny,” DiSanto said. “You watch, I’ll be right. Wanna bet?”

  “Let’s take a look.” Lupo led the way, and they filed over along the well-traveled route that would contaminate the scene the least.

  Rosskov was a looker, at least under the lights. Her hair was a rich blond, maybe enhanced or maybe not, and it fanned out around her tilted head as if she were taking a nap. Her face was composed, just a bit stunned, eyes half open. A tiny grimace on her lips indicated quick, sudden pain and quicker end. Her chest was soaked where the wound had bled out along the shaft of the thick bolt that protruded from her chest wall. A perfect heart shot, apparently. The ground beneath her was a pasty pool of coagulating blood. The longer you looked at her features, the more you realized she was pale, bloodless.

  “From how far?” Lupo turned to look at the blocked-off street.

  “Maybe thirty, thirty-five feet. Maybe less. Twenty-five?”

  “Car?”

  Bear nodded. “I think so. That’s why I doubt they’ll find anything out there.”

  “Damn good shot.”

  “Or lucky,” DiSanto added. “But who walks around with a crossbow? Kinda hard to hide.”

  “They make smaller ones, ’bout the size of a handgun. This one did a lot of damage, so I’d say it’s a hunting model with a heavy pull.”

  Lupo straightened and looked around. “Surveillance cameras?”

  “Yes and no,” Bear said. “Got’em, but this is a dead area. There’s cameras in the parking lot, and there’s cameras sweeping the employee entrance – actually all entrances – but right here, right here’s a spot not covered by any. And she was unlucky enough to have been assigned this faraway lot, not one of the closer ones.”

  “Still should be able to spot a car traveling the route, maybe going from camera to camera,” DiSanto mused. “Got time code on the recordings, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Bear nodded. “Yeah, I figure we should be able to piece together something from when she left her car to when she got hit. I’ve already got my tech guy piecing it together. Might take him a couple hours. Don’t worry, we’ll share.”

  Lupo raised an eyebrow. “You want the case? Usually from my experience you people — um, tribal councils, want to get as far away from crime as they can.”

  Bear grinned humorlessly. “They don’t usually have me in charge. See, I take responsibility for everyone in the tribe, including every employee whether they’re Native or not. This happened on my watch. I take it personally. We just wanna catch this asshole before he hurts anyone else.”

  Lupo agreed. This one felt like a beginning rather than an ending.

  No idea why, but it does, doesn’t it?

  Almost like a voice was whispering in his ear, but that was ridiculous.

  Lupo surveyed the scene.

  The Milwaukee PD lab guys had finished setting up and were descending on the body, going through the usual routines. Bagging hands, checking for obvious fibers, taking photographs. Lupo figured none of it would help, because the shooter never came close enough. Unless there was something on the bolt, the body would yield next to nothing. Then again…

  Lupo nodded at one of the lab guys. “You have any ideas, Brian?”

  Brian nodded. “Hey, Detective Lupo.” He was tall and lanky and hunched over the body like a geeky vulture. “We’re probably wasting our time doing the close sweep,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Looks like the guy with the crossbow was definitely too far away to leave anything here, unless he walked up afterwards.”

  Lupo tilted his head. “I was just thinking the same. But maybe – just maybe – they knew each other and had contact before.”

  “Right, if it’s not random. Anyway we’ll do the usual bit.” Brian said. “We’re sweeping wider, too, just in case. It looks like he was in a car, though…”

  Lupo turned to Bear. “We're gonna want a list of her coworkers. All shifts, and a list of her friends you know of.”

  “Shit, coworkers, that’s probably a couple-three hundred names. But yeah. I’ve already asked around about friends and she didn’t seem to have any on staff.”

  “None at all?” DiSanto said. “Not even guys who liked her looks?”

  “She was known as a cold one. Rumor mill stuff. But the customers liked her. She always had people backed up at her tables, waiting to get a seat. Looked good dealing, you know.”

  Lupo stroked his chin. He examined her face, the stunned look somehow making her seem more alive than the typical corpse. He could see why they’d liked her.

  “Disgruntled gamblers. She clean anybody out lately? Disgruntled coworkers?”

  Bear shook his head. “I'm not aware of any incidents. I’ll check the logs again, but nothing comes to mind. And she usually worked the lower stakes tables.”

  Brian straightened and came over to where they were standing. He hulked over all of them except Bear. “We’re being careful with that arrow,” he said. “Not removing it until we have her in the morgue. It’d be too easy for us to mess up any evidence left on it.”

  “It’s called a bolt,” DiSanto said. Brian stared at him.

  Lupo grinned. “He’s a stickler.”

  “Whatever.” Brian stepped back to the body. “We’ll flip her halfway, if you wanna get a look at her back.”

  “Let’s do it,” Lupo said, not sure they would learn anything.

  Brian directed his three gloved assistants, and carefully they took hold of Rosskov's body and gently rolled her onto her left side. Lupo, Bear and DiSanto leaned over to stare. Sticky blood had soaked her clothing. Now it looked like tar.

  DiSanto whistled. “Shit, the fuckin’ thing went through her.”

  The bolt’s tip, blood-flecked metal that was probably steel, protruded obscenely from Rosskov’s coat. The fall backward had likely driven the bolt partially back forward through her chest, but it was hard to tell. There was a slight indentation in the sidewalk where the tip had struck, her body almost enveloping it.

  “What about tracing the bolt?” DiSanto said. “See where it was bought?”

  “Not gonna work,” said Bear. “Crossbows are popular with hunters. You can buy bolts in hundreds of shops and on-line. Nothing much to distinguish a factory made one. Now, if it was handmade…”

  “Or if it had prints,” Lupo added. “But you can bet he handled it with gloves.”

  Brian nodded.

  Lupo tried to visualize the sequence, but he was starting to feel distracted. He hated to see the vic treated like meat. But he felt the usual terrible itch beginning in his palms. He found himself suppressing a growl that wanted to work its way up his throat. Lupo told them to let her body back down.

  “Gently,” he said, almost in a growl.

  He turned away quickly, before the Creature could make its presence known.

  DiSanto turned with him, touched his arm. “Gets you every time, eh? I know, man. I still hate seeing this stuff.”

  Lupo grunted and half-nodded, looking away. Rich DiSanto was his most recent partner, after Ben Sabatini had been murdered by the psychopath Martin Stewart. DiSanto was a good guy, but a little on the naïve side, and Lupo’s secret was just too far out there. It was best to let the young cop think Lupo was growing weary of seeing the result of senseless violence. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

  But in reality the Creature had been awakened by the scent of bloody meat. It was hard to work with the wolf lurking so close to the surface, and the blood was calling. Plus Lupo always had a tough time suppressing the monster’s instincts anyway.

  His own instincts.

  For he was the monster, and the monster was him.

>   He gave DiSanto a half-grin, mostly so he wouldn't growl at him.

  Charlie Bear watched the two of them interact, and Lupo thought he showed a bit too much interest. In Lupo.

  Hmmm, he thought. He squinted at the big Indian.

  JESSIE

  It was her day off from the clinic this week, and since it was a Friday and she was not on call for the weekend, she saw the three days stretch out before her, a welcome respite from the daily routine of cuts and bruises and colds and broken arms and diabetes and hypertension and…

  She shook her head to clear it of the racing thoughts. Too much of that and she’d just end up going back to her office and helping out until the free days were but a hazy memory.

  No, this time she was going to take the three days. Three days off.

  She’d hired several nurses and a new doctor to the staff recently, and if there was ever a time she could afford to leave the place, it was now. The rez was doing better since the casino had opened. Business was starting to bloom, if not boom, and a small trickle of funds had begun to flow into her coffers as de facto senior hospital administrator. So she’d gone on a spree, purchasing some greatly needed medical equipment they’d been doing without. No more sending people down the road for easy x-rays or medium level surgery. The MRI machine was almost a reachable dream. Things were on an upswing.

  And she was taking the weekend off.

  Dammit, yes.

  Jessie Hawkins made sure everyone in the administrative offices knew she was gone, changed her phone and email messages, posted notes on her desk and her door, and then double-checked to make sure everyone understood that she would be gone. As in not available.

  Then she sat in her banged-up Pathfinder and let her breath out slowly.

  If she thought about what had happened to her and Nick, and so many people they knew…

  And what had happened to Sam Waters…

  Then she'd start to hyperventilate and the nausea would rise in her throat and she'd suddenly feel the headache wrap itself like a torturer’s helmet over her head to drive sharp screws into her temples. And maybe she’d have to lean out the car door and vomit her guts out.

  This sometimes happened, if she let herself relive the events of – well, those recent events. Happened more often than she’d let on to Nick, who had his own troubles.

  Man’s a werewolf, for Christ’s sake, she’d think. He has a lot more to worry about than I do. That's a real burden.

  But trauma is trauma, not recognizing relative levels among different people, so knowing his problems didn’t alleviate hers. Intellectually she was aware of that.

  Post-traumatic stress, she thought, while trying to let the sudden anxiety attack evaporate. She closed her eyes and grabbed the wheel and let it wash over her, and hopefully off. Her chest tightened and she wanted to gasp, except she knew not being able to breathe was an illusion.

  Ride it out…

  A few minutes later her breathing began to return to normal. She opened her eyes, experimenting, letting light in slowly because it hurt. She closed her eyes again. But the nausea seemed to be retreating along with the headache’s pounding rhythm, and she gave herself another few minutes with her eyes protected.

  When she opened them, she jumped, startled.

  A face hovered outside her window.

  LUPO

  DiSanto went off to question any of Rosskov’s coworkers who might be on shift or coming in. The casino was within walking distance, and one of Charlie Bear’s guys led him to where he could use a conference room in the administrative staff-only area. Lupo waited around, knowing the media would show up soon. The Milwaukee PD had recently stopped broadcasting over most scanner frequencies, so reporters were forced to rely on other ways to get the news – but they’d adapted.

  He figured he had about fifteen minutes, max, before the antenna-draped vans would start showing up, noses fixed on the story.

  The crime scene guys were mostly done with what they could do, and the ME’s guys were getting ready to bag the victim.

  He stood upwind and watched as the huddle around the body changed shape.

  Charlie Bear approached. “What’s your thought?”

  Lupo shook his head. “Hard to say. Doesn’t look like a crime of passion, you know? Too planned. Revenge maybe? But for what? Did she reject the guy? We’ll find out when we get a sense of her coworkers and friends. Why, what do you think?”

  Bear turned his face up, as if tasting the wind. “It looks like a statement. A message.”

  Lupo nodded, thinking about it. “Not a bad guess. A warning?”

  “Maybe. To who?”

  “Yeah. Too staged? Too studied?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean…”

  “Guy wants to be mentioned on TV?”

  Bear nodded slowly. “Yeah, I could see that psychology. He planned the weapon and the location, so not very spontaneous. I’d bet he wants the publicity of a strange crime.”

  “But you think he wants it for some kind of cause.”

  Bear nodded. “Seems right to me.”

  “What about the choice of weapon?” He watched Bear closely.

  The big man twitched his nose, probably unconsciously. “Either he’s a medievalist, or…”

  “Or?”

  Bear grinned sourly. “Or he just thinks he’s using an Indian-type weapon?”

  Lupo nodded. “I thought that. But don’t most people know the difference?”

  Bear barked a laugh. “When it comes to my culture, Detective, I doubt people know anything. Hell, my own people don’t always know their own culture. Too much television and movies, not enough reading of history.”

  “Okay, so we’re back to square one. No obvious reason for the crossbow.”

  “Unless it has more to do with the motive…”

  “Like he’s got a broken heart? Arrow in the heart? Deadly valentine?”

  Bear tilted his head. “Possible, right?”

  “Anything is possible,” Lupo said, sighing. “I like it better when it’s not so wide open. But my guess is it's just because it'll get him on TV. You know, it's more exotic. All that slayer stuff the kids like. Maybe this guy wants ratings.”

  “You think he’s going to do it again, don’t you?”

  Lupo nodded.

  Although he could only admit it to himself, he rather liked the challenge of tracking down an adversary like this before he could strike again. At least, he liked the challenge until the department started getting pressure from the mayor or the common council, who would press for the strange and frightening to be rendered safe. And there was a point in each such case when this would happen, guaranteed.

  Until then, it was like a chess game.

  “I’m gonna need her home address,” he said.

  Bear nodded and called the casino human resources office. In about two minutes, he was showing up on his phone screen. “Text it to me,” Lupo said, and after it was done he stood and watched the ME’s attendants finish the body-bagging.

  DiSanto called and told Lupo he’d spoken to two immediate section coworkers who’d been in earlier, their whereabouts accounted for. That left a half-dozen who weren’t in yet. He had left two uniforms to get statements in case they arrived.

  “The change of shift is gonna mess this up, Nick,” DiSanto said.

  “Yeah.” Lupo didn't want to say it, but he had a feeling – no, he just knew – that the coworker angle was wrong. He couldn't tell DiSanto to abandon it just like that, but it was a waste of time.

  Why was he so certain?

  He wondered about the two of them discussing the killer’s profile so bluntly.

  Yeah, maybe we all watch too much TV.

  Time for real police work. The boring kind. The kind that might even prove useless in the end.

  Because the asshole would strike again, and that was how Lupo would catch him.

  JESSIE

  “You all right, Doc?”

  The face outside her window w
as speaking loudly, smiling and waving.

  It was Tommy, one of the security guards the new tribal council had hired after the brutal Wolfpaw mercenary murders. Concern was written all over his lined face. He was elderly, but it had turned out that he was one of the more efficient and alert guards. He'd done a tour or three in Nam.

  Jessie gasped as her lungs realized that she’d stopped breathing. Awkwardly she tried to smile, breathe, and roll down her window at the same time.

  She gasped, swallowed, gasped again. “Tommy, yes, thanks. I was just—” She forced herself to take regular breaths. “You startled me a little.”

  “Sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to. You just looked kinda lost, there.” His kindly face crinkled into a smile. “I got worried.”

  Jessie was breathing normally again. She nodded and smiled back. “Thanks, I really appreciate your concern…”

  They chatted briefly. In a minute she was driving away, his shape in her mirror, watching her.

  Sheesh, she was turning into a wreck.

  It wasn’t a long drive home, but halfway to her cottage she’d made a decision. It was early. If she started right after grabbing some clothes and a bite to eat, she could pull into Milwaukee about dinner time. A late, late dinner. Maybe Nick was free. Hell, he’d free up some time for her.

  It would be good for her to spend the weekend out of town, away from the memories of gunfire and death on that thin strip of beach.

  Poor Sam…

  She nodded decisively, mind made up.

  THE ARCHER

  He was sitting in the dark, his eyes closed, the images flashing past.

  He saw her again.

  Tanya.

  He saw her walking, and he remembered the feel of the crossbow’s pistol grip in his hand.

  He recalled the cold air entering the van as the window powered down, and he saw the bolt where it sat like a missile in its track, nocked to the stretched string. He remembered how the bow seemed to already vibrate in his grip, harnessed forward thrust, ready to be loosed. The feeling as he released the missile.

  Then he remembered her look of surprise as she took a half-step back, her head lowering as if in puzzlement at the wood and steel javelin protruding obscenely from her punctured flesh, the dark stain flowering under her coat. The pain suddenly building.