The Children of the Wolf

by Karl Tutt

  Chapter Eight

  Priss sat at her desk shuffling paperwork, filling out arrest reports, and generally trying to get organized. Don and Pete were on the street checking out a liquor store robbery near South Beach, and a reported assault. Hey . . . the city never sleeps, especially when the thugs are as thick as they are in a place like Miami. The office was nearly empty.

  The woman came in. Priss guessed her to be in her early thirties. She was pale and thin, but Priss could imagine her quite attractive with a bit of attention and some decent clothes. A threadbare dress hung on her hips like a much used sack, faded, even dirty. The hair was like dried straw. There were trails of mascara below her eyes. Her movements were like those of a cornered doe, quick and wary. Priss stood and pointed. The woman fell into the metal chair and clutched bony hands in her lap. They shook in spastic waves.

  “I’m Detective Maybry, can I help you?”

  “It’s probably too late,” she uttered, “I’ve been raped.”

  Priss picked up the phone and dialed quickly. She got a recorded message. Elaine Merit, the head of the rape squad, was not in the office at the moment. The soulless voice requested a brief message and a call-back number. She did as instructed, then turned to the damaged victim.

  “Can I get you some coffee or a soft drink?” The scarecrow shook her head. Priss reached slowly to pat a trembling hand.

  “Okay, I need to ask you some questions.”

  She got the name, Madison “Maddy” Elson, the address, the account of the sexual assault, a brief description that could have been any one of a hundred guys in the neighborhood, and a bunch of subjective . . . and probably worthless information. She ordered a rape test and tried to keep the woman as calm as possible.

  “I’ve never seen him before. He was big and strong and he held a knife to my throat. The kids were at school. It was in my apartment. I don’t know why the hell I let him in. He talked . . . told me he’d kill little Joey and Jill if I didn’t let him do what he wanted. I guess he’d seen them . . . had probably been watching.”

  “Maddy, did he say anything at all that might give us a link?”

  “No, not really. He just scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want him to hurt me, or the kids. Something crazy in his eyes. Talked quiet, but mean and dirty . . . told me that it was long, thick, and hard. Said he’d fill me up. Said I’d like it. Told me it would be the best fuck I’d ever had. Maybe I should have fought, but I couldn’t. I felt so helpless. I did what he told me.”

  Priss dropped the pen. It clattered to the floor, hollow and lifeless. Her body froze for a moment. A steel rod ran up her back. She’d heard those words before. She put her quaking hand on her belly. It was still growing . . . and so was the hatred, the sense of shame, and the infamy of the violation. But Priss commanded herself to slow down . . . be rational . . . tune her mind, and her instincts. At least now there was a thread. She promised herself she would find some sort of path that would lead her to this monster.

  Elaine Merit came into the office and sat beside the woman. She introduced herself, smiled, and tenderly patted the frightened creature on the knee.

  “We are going to the Counseling Center, Maddy. You’ve done nothing wrong. I assure you that you are safe. No intimidation. No accusations. It’s not your fault. It is our job to understand, and to help identify this individual so he cannot do this again. You can trust us.”

  Priss liked Elaine. She was damned good, her voice quiet and comforting. The detectives lifted the victim out of the chair. Elaine moved her hand onto the victim’s, then clutched it and led her down the hall.

  Priss sat and tried to clear her mind. The bastard had been in the woman’s apartment. That meant forensics, DNA, possibly even fingerprints. It couldn’t have happened without him leaving something. And if he did, they would find it. It wasn’t her usual territory, but now she was involved . . . much deeper than anyone else knew. She’d attend the sweep, make sure nothing was missed. Her hand shook on the desk. She stared at it for a moment, then hid it in her lap. Now she heard Don and Pete as they entered the office. Their voices were low. Pete shook his head as they approached Priss’s desk.

  “Nobody saw nothing,” he said dejectedly.

  “It’s okay. We’ve got a priority item. Just came in. A rape. The scene is fresh and the victim is cooperating. I suspect it’s a serial perp. Drop everything else . . . at least for now . . . and let’s hit this sonovabitch while the trail is hot.”

  “Yeah,” Don said, “but isn’t that Elaine’s beat?”

  “I said drop everything. What don’t you understand about the word priority?”

  She knew she’d snapped. She regretted it instantly, but it was a fight to keep the rage out of her voice . . . and the fear. She just hoped it was working. Pete and Don glanced at each other. Pete gave a slight shake of his head. This wasn’t the time to question the boss-lady. Neither of her partners has seen her like this since the shooting death of that child in the drive-by a few months ago. Don made a quick copy of the info Priss had gathered. Then he called Forensics. Within fifteen minutes, they were on their way to the apartment.