Wolfsbane

by William W. Johnstone

  She still looks like a teen-ager, Edan thought. My God, she is beautiful. What’s been the matter with me all these years? Right here in front of me all the time.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Well, what?” Stella put her hands on her hips.

  “You going out with me tonight?”

  “Why should I?” She tossed her head.

  Edan leaned close. “ ’Cause you like me, that’s why?”

  She laughed and pushed him away. “Okay,” she said.

  “Pick you up at seven?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Edan watched her walk away, his eyes riveted on the sway of her hips. “I’m ready now,” he muttered.

  “Calm yourself, stud,” Doctor Lormand said, coming out of the drug store.

  Edan glanced at him. “Don,” he said, smiling.

  “That Stella now, she’s got to be one of the finest-looking women in Ducros Parish. Got a good job, too. Man could sure do worse.”

  “You in the marriage brokerage business now, Don?”

  The doctor laughed. “No. I’d just like to see you settled down, that’s all. Responsible lawman type like you needs a wife to look after him.”

  “You’re a great one to be talking. Nick’s gonna beat the shit outta you if he ever catches you jazzin’ Betty.”

  “Well, maybe so, maybe not. If he does, he won’t get a cherry. But my friend, I’m not elected to my job; need I remind you who is?”

  “I get your point.”

  “Anything new on the disappearance of Hal Callier?”

  Edan shook his head. “No, nothing. It’s as if he just stepped off the face of the earth.”

  “And you don’t want any FBI assistance on this one.” It was not put as a question.

  “I sure as hell don’t. Besides, there is nothing about this that could bring them in.” Except the mutterings of an old swamp woman. Then he felt guilty for thinking that, for he genuinely liked Annie Metrejean.

  “Some of our senior citizens are muttering about evil days and older ways now that Ray Campbell’s vanished,” Don reminded him.

  “That’s what I hear. But you know what’s funny about the whole thing?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Except for the older people—and damn few of them—no one seems to be concerned about it. Now you figure that out for me, wise one.”

  “I’d rather not think about it, if you don’t mind. Since I don’t believe in spooks and ghosts and the supernatural.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure. Just remember something, Don ole pal.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Why is that fence around that old building?” Pat pointed to a garçonnière.

  Late afternoon on the grounds of Amour.

  “Grand’mère says the building is unsafe. She put it up to keep people out until she makes up her mind whether to renovate or have the building torn down.”

  “Doesn’t look any different from any of the others. That where you think your . . . creatures might be hiding?”

  “It’s a possibility,” she replied tersely, knowing Pat did not believe her story.

  “Well, let’s take a look,” Pat said, taking her hand.

  But Janette pulled back as sudden fear gripped her. Or, she thought, is it simply the moment of truth? “It’s getting late, Pat. It’ll be dark in a few minutes. And I’m worried about grand’mère. I haven’t seen her in hours.”

  “Come on.” He pulled her along. “Let’s check out this joint.”

  She jerked her hand from his. “All right—all right. I’m coming.”

  He grinned at her. “Really? You don’t appear to be even breathing hard.”

  “Strange, you’re incorrigible!”

  The lock to the gate was hanging on the hasp, open. Only the chain wrapped around the metal gatepost and in-place rod gave the appearance of the gate being locked.

  “Ever seen it like this before?” Pat asked.

  “No.”

  “Well,” he said, pushing the gate open, “let’s go take a look-see.”

  “They walked to the old door of the garçonnière. A foul odor drifted to them.

  “Whew!” Janette waved a hand in front of her. “What in the world is that?”

  Pat knew what it was, having smelled that odor in a dozen countries around the globe. “Something dead—human, I’ll bet.”

  “Pat? Are you armed?”

  “Yeah.” He patted the butt of the .41 stuck under his shirt. “But I don’t imagine I’ll need this. Whatever’s in there has been dead for several days.”

  He pushed open the heavy door.

  Janette began screaming as a scurrying, rustling sound came rushing toward them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “How come you went to see my grandmother the other day?” Stella asked.

  “It wasn’t the other day, Stella,” Sheriff Vallot replied. “That was some time ago.”

  “I know when it was. Grandmomma told me. What’d you want with her?”

  “When’d you see Annie?” Edan glanced at her, curled up on the seat of his car. She looked good enough to eat; which is what the sheriff had in mind . . . later on.

  “The other day.” Stella smiled at him, playing with his words.

  The sun was only a tiny rim of red in the west, its rays casting shadows over the bayou country.

  They had stopped at a local club for a drink to go, and were heading out of town, toward Lafayette.

  “Annie come into town?” Edan persisted.

  “No, nosy. I went out to see her. I do every couple of weeks.”

  “By yourself?” Edan was shocked. He knew grown men who wouldn’t venture into Blind Swamp. Not alone.

  “Surel Why not? There’s nothing to be afraid of in there. You and I used to go up there all the time when we were kids—remember?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, remembering. Stella was the first girl he’d ever kissed.

  “I know, Edan,” she said, creeping into his brain. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Damn, Stella! Don’t do that.”

  She laughed at him. “You never did like for me to do that. That’s why I did it.”

  Before he could reply, his radio crackled. “Better get out to Amour House, Sheriff. Dead body in one of the outbuildings.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Rolling. Get Blaine on the way.”

  “Ten-four. But he’s out in the country, checking out a lead on Campbell.”

  “I’m going, too,” Stella said.

  “This could take some time, honey. You better let me take you home.”

  “Sorry, Edan. You’re mine for the evening.”

  He grinned. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Please do.”

  Sheriff Edan Vallot’s first impression of the big man standing beside Janette Simmons was one of violence under control. His second impression was: God! what a tough-lookin’ mother-humper!

  Then he wondered if he was getting into Janette’s panties? The way she looked at him, he guessed the big man was.

  “Sheriff Vallot,” Janette said. “This is Pat Strange. He’s visiting here for a time.”

  And getting some of the prime pussy in Ducros Parish while he’s at it, Edan thought. “You find the body, Mr Strange?”

  “We both did,” Pat replied, nodding his head toward Janette.

  “It was awful.” She shuddered. “There were . . . rats on the body.”

  Stella walked up to the group, and Edan introduced her all around. “Mrs. Simmons? Why don’t you and Stella stay here while Mr. Strange and I take a look inside the garçonnière?”

  “Come on, Stella,” Janette said. “Let’s get something cool to drink.”

  Dusk in Ducros Parish.

  The men walked toward the far garçonnière located at the rear of the estate. “You always go around armed, Mr. Strange?” Edan asked.

  “You’re ve
ry observant, Sheriff.”

  “In this business, I’d better be. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Jan . . . Mrs. Simmons has hired me as a bodyguard. If there are any procedures I need to go through to carry this weapon, please let me know.”

  Edan caught the chopped-off first name. I bet you guard her body, you lucky bastard. “Is the weapon registered?”

  “Hell, no!”

  Edan chuckled. “I don’t blame you for that. What do you do for a living, Mr. Strange? When you’re not guarding bodies, that is?”

  Pat smiled in the gloom. “Official, or off the record?”

  Edan grinned. He kind of liked this rough-lookin’ man. “Have to be off the record, I didn’t read you your rights.”

  “I would imagine that gets in the way of a good many lawmen just trying to do their jobs?”

  “Believe it.”

  “I was a soldier for a good many years, Sheriff. Got hurt. Got out. Then I was a mercenary in Africa for about five years after that. The State Department knows all about it. But for now, I’m clean.”

  “Ummm,” Sheriff Vallot said.

  Beside him, Pat smiled. Mercenary always conjures up images which are grossly distorted; pictures of the French Foreign Legion, Bluebeard, the Vikings, Attila the Hun, and Eric the Red.

  “What branch of the service were you in?” Sheriff Vallot asked.

  “Army.”

  “Specifically.”

  “Special Forces.”

  “That’s what I would have guessed.”

  “Green Bennies get all the publicity, Sheriff, but don’t ever forget the SEALs, Marine Force Recon, Rangers, Air Force Commandos, and just plain old grunts.”

  The garçonnière came up quickly.

  “I disturbed nothing,” Pat said. “Neither of us went inside the building. Didn’t want to foul up any evidence.”

  “Thanks. That’s good presence of mind. Most people would have screwed something up.”

  “Dead bodies are nothing new to me, Sheriff.”

  Edan tossed him a quick glance. “No, I don’t suppose they are.” He clicked on his flashlight, cutting through the darkness, the beam settling on the pale body. Dried blood darkened the neck and the pubic area. Edan sighed. “Harold Callier. I figured it was either him or Ray Campbell. Hal’s been missing for a time.”

  “Bitten in the neck,” Pat observed. “By at least two different sets of teeth.” And what in the hell chewed on his cock? he wondered. And why?

  Edan felt a chill creep up his backbone. “Why do you say at least two sets of teeth, Strange?”

  Pat noticed the “mister” had been dropped. “Compare the teeth marks on either side of the neck. One bite is larger than the other.”

  And so pale, Edan thought. Drained of blood. Just like Eddie and Jenny.

  The beady eyes of a rat stared down at the men from a rafter.

  “Two,” Edan said, more to himself than to Pat. “Two of the bastards.”

  “At least,” Pat agreed. “And by bastards, I assume you mean the dogs that killed him?”

  Edan’s glance was not friendly. “Dogs didn’t kill him, Strange. And if you repeat that, I’ll swear you’re a liar and have you in the pokey before you can blink.”

  “Whoa, Sheriff!” Pat’s voice took on a harder tone. “Just back up a tad. I don’t know why you’re getting hard-nosed with me, but I don’t like it. If you’re thinking I had anything to do with that,” he pointed to the dead man, eyes open in a shockingly pale face, “forget it! That man’s been dead three, four days. And I can prove I was seven hundred miles from here three, four days ago. Now what in the hell is your problem?”

  “The problem is,” Doctor Lormand spoke from the darkness behind them, “I’m not sure I can slide this one by as a simple throat-cutting.” He stepped into the dimly lit garçonnière and stuck out his hand. “I’m Don Lormand.”

  “Pat Strange.” Pat shook the offered hand. “Okay—if dogs didn’t kill this guy, what did?”

  Chief Deputy Andrus pulled in, set up a drop light, and only then nodded at Pat. He then began taking pictures of the death scene.

  Now the rats above them had grown to a dozen or more, watching the action below them through shining eyes, tails moving in the harsh light.

  “Bold rats,” Pat observed. “You seldom see them act like that. But I’ve seen rats in Nam as big as dogs. Be careful and don’t get bit, they could be rabid.”

  “As big as dogs?!” Sheriff Vallot asked, horror in his voice.

  “Yeah,” Pat replied. “And leeches as big as your leg up in the mountains. Getting back to my question as to who or what killed this guy.”

  He was killed somewhere else, transported here, and the rats chewed on him,” Edan said flatly.

  “Right,” Deputy Andrus said. “And pigs can fly.”

  “Knock that off, Blaine!” Edan warned. “That’s the way it’s going in the report.”

  These are all professional men, Pat thought. But they’re jumpy and tight with each other. Even the doctor is nervous. Don’t tell me these people believe in ghosties?

  “I hope you people aren’t thinking some awful creatures of the night wasted this dude,” Pat said, a smile on his face.

  His smile was not returned as Sheriff Vallot said, “I didn’t hear that.”

  A small black dog appeared outside the garçonnière. It sat down on the grass and watched the activity through shining black eyes. The only white on the animal was a five-pointed star on its chest.

  The dog’s dark eyes never left Pat.

  The rats above the men made a sudden scurrying sound and vanished, their nails clicking as they disappeared.

  “That’s odd,” Pat said, watching the rats turn tails and race away. “Wonder what caused them to behave like that?”

  “They spotted the dog and took off,” Edan said.

  “What dog?” Doctor Lormand asked, looking up from his crouch beside the dead man.

  “That dog,” Edan said, pointing.

  But the small black dog was gone.

  “Well, there was one out there!” the sheriff insisted. “I saw it.”

  “Pat!” Janette’s voice cut through the darkness.

  “I saw the dog, too,” Pat said. “Yeah?” he called. “Don’t come in here, Janette.”

  “Pat? Grand’mere Bauterre is gone.”

  “Now, what the hell.” Edan muttered.

  “Hell, is right,” Blaine mumbled his reply.

  “Knock it off, Blaine,” Edan again warned.

  Pat stepped from the lights and into the gloom of night, walking to Janette’s side. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “She’s not in the house, and she’s not on the grounds. Both Stella and I have searched everywhere. She’s just gone.”

  Pat watched the dog dart from a bush to a huge live oak tree.

  “Anyone around here own a small black dog?” he asked. “With a white star on its chest?”

  “No,” Janette replied. She brushed back a lock of dark hair from her forehead. “I’ve never seen a dog that looked like that. Not around here. I’m not concerned about a damn dog, Pat! Where is my grand’mere?”

  Sheriff Vallot had seen the dog dart from the bush to the tree. Now he was watching and listening to Pat and Janette as he stood in the open door of the garçonnière. Chief Deputy Andrus was quietly cursing in Cajun French as he took his pictures.

  “Settle down, Blaine,” Doctor Lormand told the deputy. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Or they’ll get us,” Blaine whispered.

  “I’m warning you, Blaine,” Edan told him.

  “She’s old, Pat,” Janette said. “She might have fallen and hurt herself.”

  A figure stepped from behind the live oak and walked stately toward the garçonnière. “I assure you, Janette. I am quite all right. But I thank you for your concern.”

  Madame Bauterre.

  The old lady was dressed all in black, except for a p
earl brooch in the center of her dress. The pearls arranged in the shape of a five-pointed star.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Pat shifted his gaze to meet the eyes of Sheriff Edan Vallot. The tan of the man’s face had paled. “Neat trick,” Pat said. “Wonder what she does for an encore?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edan replied. He turned to Janette. “Take your grandmother back to the house,” he ordered. “I’ll be in to talk with you both in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t order me about on my own property, young man!l” Madame Bauterre snapped at Edan. She walked into the fence-enclosed area of the garçonnière and looked inside at sprawled, pale death. She did not flinch at the sight. “Who is he?”

  “Harold Callier,” Edan said. “Are you familiar with the name, Madame?”

  The old woman smiled. “Oh, yes, young man. I am very familiar with the name Callier. Trash, just like his father, and his father’s father. When do you intend to remove this garbage from the floor of my garçonnière?”

  Edan, Deputy Andrus, and Don Lormand stood in shock at her callousness. Only Pat wore a faint smile on his lips.

  “Soon,” Edan replied.

  “The sooner the better,” Madame Bauterre said, then put a heavily veined hand on Pat’s muscular arm. “How is your appetite, Strange?”

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  The others, including Janette, looked at him in open astonishment.

  Madame Bauterre smiled. “The cook has prepared poulet en Cocotte—it’s one of her specialties. Would you please escort me to the dining room?”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Come along, Janette. It’s a sin to allow good food to waste.” She looked at Sheriff Vallot. “I know nothing about this trash in the garçonnière, Sheriff. I have seen nothing, so I have nothing to discuss with you. Good evening.”

  Janette took one quick look at the elegantly prepared meal and fled the table, a hand over her mouth. Victoria Bauterre ate heartily, as did Pat.

  “Well, Strange,” the old lady smiled at him. “Much excitement on your first night in Louisiana, eh? Sure you want to stay?”