“We got a suggestion from Evans,” Wilson said by way of explaining their presence to the Captain.
“Evans pulled rank on the Bronx Medical Examiner and got those cadavers down to Manhattan. We don’t know why he did that.” There was acid in the man’s voice. He didn’t like a case being taken from him without a good reason. And it was obvious that so far nobody had given him one.
“He did that because the marks on them were similar to the marks on the DiFalco-Houlihan remains.”
The Precinct Captain stared. “That case still open?”
“It is now. We’ve got a new lead.”
“Jesus. No wonder you guys are all over us.” He stood up from his desk. “We got the scene in good shape,” he said. “You want to go over there?”
Wilson nodded. As they followed the Captain out of his office, Becky was exultant. The man had never thought to call downtown to check on Neff and Wilson. If he had he would have found out that they weren’t even on the case anymore. But why should he? It would never even occur to him.
The area where the bodies had been found was roped off and plastered with Crime Scene stickers. It was guarded by two patrolmen. “The bodies were found by a gypsy cab driver who stopped to fix a flat and smelled something. He came to us, we were lucky.
Usually those guys don’t even bother.”
The bodies had been found in the basement of an abandoned apartment house. Becky took her flashlight out of her bag and went in under the decaying stoop. Lights had been set up in the dirty room, but the rest of the building was in boarded-up darkness. The flashlight played along the floor, in the unlit corners, up the stairs that led to the first floor. “Door locked?” Wilson asked as Becky shone her light on its blackened surface.
“Haven’t been up there,” the Captain said. “Remember, we thought this was routine until this morning when the Bronx M. E. told us that Evans had snatched his bodies.”
“Ha ha, that was funny,” Wilson said tonelessly. The Captain glowered. “Let’s go up, partner. We might as well make the search.”
They all heard it; a footstep on the stair. They looked to their leader. His hair rose and theirs did too. They functioned with one emotion, one will, one heart. What did the footsteps mean? Obviously, the ones in the basement had decided to come upstairs. And they were familiar. The sound of their tread, their rising smell, their voices were remembered from the dump. As the elders had feared, the killings of young humans had caused an investigation. And these two had been at that investigation. Now they were here, obviously following the pack.
Their scent became more powerful as they drew nearer: an old man and a young woman. No danger, they would be an easy kill.
The leader made a sound that sent the pack into motion.
They were hungry, the children were cold and hungry. Food was needed. Today a new hunt would have begun. Maybe it would be unnecessary, this kill would both remove danger and provide meat But the strong young woman would have to be separated from the weak old man. How to do that? Their scents revealed the fact that they were partners, and the way their voices sounded as they talked to one another said that they had worked together a long time. How do you separate such people even for a moment, especially when both recognize danger? The scents became sharp with the smell of fear as the two humans groped through the darkness. It made digestive juices flow and hearts beat faster with lust for the hunt. The leader warned, hold back, hold back. In this situation he sensed hidden dangers. Suddenly he hated the place. He loathed it, despised it. It was thick with humanity. There were strong, young ones outside and these two inside and another old one in the basement Before there had been many more in the basement. “Our young must not kill their young,” he thought fiercely. He found himself moving slowly toward the door of the room they inhabited, moving against his judgment, attracted by the need to kill the two who knew enough of the pack to follow it here. Now the others moved behind him, stealthy, efficient, padding quickly down the darkened hall, down the black stairway toward the wonderful scents, moving too close to humanity and yet only close enough to get what they needed. “Must find a way to split them up,” the leader thought. Then he stopped. His whole body seethed with desire to go on, to finish the attack, to feel the death of the prey in his mouth. But he thought carefully, his mind turning over the problem and coming to the solution.
Certain sounds attracted humans. This fact was often used in hunting. A little cry, like one of their children, would bring even the most fearful within range of attack. And the child’s cry was most easily heard by the women.
“Sh!”
“What?”
“Listen.” It came again, the unmistakable groan of a child. “You hear that?”
“No.”
Becky went to the stairwell. She heard it more clearly, coming from above. “Wilson, there’s a kid up there.” She shone her light into the dimness. “I’m telling you I hear a child.”
“So go investigate. I’m not going up there.”
The sound came again, full of imperative need.
She found herself standing on the first step, moving upward almost against her own will. Above her the decoy put his heart into the sounds, making them as plaintive and compelling as he could. He imagined himself a helpless little human child lying on the cold floor weeping, and the sound that came out of him was like such a child.
The others moved swiftly to the opposite stairwell and started down. They sensed the positions of the prey. The strong young woman starting up the stairs, the weak old man standing in the dark hallway behind her. “Come up, come up,” the decoy pleaded to her in his mind, and made the little sound. It had to be right, to be perfect, just enough to attract her, not enough to let her decide what she wanted to decide—that it was the wind, a creaking board, or something dangerous.
As she reached one landing the hunters reached its twin at the opposite end of the hall.
As she rose toward the decoy they descended toward Wilson. As they got closer they became more careful. Hidden strength under the smells of fear and decay. They would have to hit this man with devastating force to get him, hit as hard as they had hit the two young ones at the dump. But their prize would be great; he was heavy and well-fed, unlike the ones they had found among these empty buildings. There was no starvation in him and no sickness to make him dangerous to consume. They loved him, lusted after him, moved closer to him. And they saw his dim shadow, his heavy slow body standing in the dark.
Then standing in a flickering blaze of light.
“What are you doing, George?”
“Lighting a Goddamn cigarette.”
Becky came down toward him flashing her light in his face. “You are lighting a cigarette. I’ll be damned. Where did you get a cigarette?”
“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
“And now is a special occasion?”
He nodded, his face like stone. “I’ll be frank with you, Becky, I’ve got the creeps. I’m scared to death. I won’t get out of here without you but I think we ought to leave—now.”
“But there’s a child—”
“Now! Come on.” He grabbed her wrist, pulled her toward the basement door.
“There’s something upstairs,” he said to the Precinct Captain, who was standing in the middle of the basement as if he had been undecided about whether or not to follow the two detectives upstairs.
“I’m not surprised. The building is probably full of junkies.”
“It sounded like a child,” Becky said. “I’m sure that’s what it was.”
“That’s possible too,” the Captain said mildly. “I’ll order up a search party if you think I should. But don’t do it with just two people. It’ll take ten men with carbines, I think that ought to do it”
Becky acknowledged the wisdom of this plan. No doubt there had been a pack of junkies at the top of the stairs waiting to jump her. Or perhaps there was actually a child.
If that was so the ten minutes i
t would take to assemble the search party would make little difference.
They went outside and got into the Captain’s car. As soon as they left, the two patrolmen who had been guarding the scene moved swiftly to their own car and got in to shield themselves from the cold. They turned on their radio so that they would again have advance warning of visits from the precinct and settled back in the warmth.
For this reason they did not hear the howl of rage and frustration that rose from the upper reaches of the tenement. Nor did they see the exodus that took place, a line of gray shadows jumping one by one across the six feet of space that separated this building from the next one.
It didn’t take long to assemble the search party. It was now four o’clock and the night men were coming on duty. Three patrol cars returned to the building. With the two men on duty there plus Wilson and Neff there would be exactly ten officers for the search. Of course as soon as the cars drew up to the front of the building you could assume that any junkies in it slipped out the back. But murder had been done here and the precinct so far hadn’t mounted a proper search. Pictures had been taken of the victims and a cursory dusting of the area for fingerprints, but that was all. In this part of the city a committed crime was just another statistic. Nobody bothered to find out the circumstances that led to the deaths of a few derelicts. And nobody doubted that the blind man had gotten mugged and then dragged off the street to die. And nobody was right about what happened.
During the search Wilson and Neff were silent. The rooms of the old tenement still bore the marks of the last residents—graffiti on the walls, shreds of curtains in the windows, yellowing wallpaper here and there. Even, in one room, the remains of a carpet.
But there was no child, and there were no traces of recent human habitation.
Wilson and Neff made the reluctant patrolmen scoop up some of the fecal matter that was found. They put it in a plastic bag.
“Empty upstairs,” a voice called as a group of five came from searching up to the roof.
“Nothing suspicious.”
What the hell did that mean? These men wouldn’t know evidence from cauliflower.
“Take us through,” Wilson growled. “We’ve gotta see for ourselves.”
The patrolmen went with them, the whole crowd going floor to floor. Becky saw the empty rooms in better light, but her mind could not blot out those plaintive cries.
Something was up here just a few minutes ago, something that had left without a trace.
They looked carefully in all the rooms but found nothing.
When they got back to the basement Wilson was shaking his head. “I don’t get it,” he said, “I know you heard something.”
“You do?”
“I heard it too, you think I’m deaf?”
Becky was surprised, she hadn’t realized that he also had heard the sound. “Why didn’t you go up with me then?”
“It wasn’t a child.”
She looked at him, at the cold fear in his face. “OK,” she said, swallowing her intended challenge, “it wasn’t a child. What was it?”
He shook his head and pulled out his cigarettes. “Let’s get the shit to the lab for analysis. That’s all we can do now.”
They left the house with the clomping horde of patrolmen. With their meager evidence tightly enclosed in plastic bags they headed back to Manhattan.
“You think this will reopen the DiFalco case?” Becky asked.
“Probably.”
“Good, then we won’t be moonlighting on it anymore.”
“As I recall we got taken off that case. Or do you recall something else?”
“Well, yeah, but in view of—”
“In view of nothing. We’re going to be the scapegoats now. Neff and Wilson get case.
Carbon monoxide and wild dogs. Neff and Wilson close case. New evidence comes in. Case reopened. Neff and Wilson scapegoats for closing it in the first place.” His throat rumbled in a suppressed cough. “Goddamn Luckies,” he said. “Goddamn, you know I could be resigning soon.”
“You won’t resign.”
“No, not voluntarily. But it depends on how hard Underwood wants to stick me with blame for misunderstanding the case.”
“But it’s only one damn case.”
“It’s police officers killed in the line of duty. If it gets out that Underwood himself closed the case he’ll lose his shot at Commissioner. Therefore you and yours truly are going to be blamed. Might as well relax and enjoy the fun.” His shoulders shook with mirthless laughter.
“Maybe there’s something more conclusive. If there is it’ll help a little.” She paused.
The silence grew. “Who do you think is doing it?” she asked.
“Not who—what. It’s not human.”
Now he had said the words, words they had previously been unwilling to face. Not human. Could not be human. “What makes you so sure?” Becky asked, half-knowing the answer.
Wilson looked at her in surprise. “Why, the noise, of course. It wasn’t human.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? It sounded perfectly human to me.” Or had it? Becky remembered it now like something that had taken place in a dream, a child’s voice or…
something else. Every few seconds it was as if she woke up and heard it again— horrible, inhuman parody full of snarling menace… then child again, soft, wounded, dying.
“Look out!”
She slammed on the brakes. She had been about to glide broadside into the traffic of Third Avenue. “Sorry. Sorry, George, I—”
“Pull over. You’re not in good shape.”
She obeyed him. Despite the. fact that she felt fine, there was no denying what she had almost done. Like the little cries were still taking place, but in a dream. “I feel OK, I don’t know what came over me.”
“You acted hypnotized,” he said.
She heard the noises again, feral, snarling, monstrous. Sweat popped out all over her.
She felt cold, her flesh crawling. Her mind turned back to the stair, to the terrible danger that had been waiting for her, the same as the torn, bloodied corpses, the jagged bones and skulls.
With her hands over her mouth she fought not to scream, to give up completely to the terror.
Wilson came across the seat as if he had been waiting for this. He took her in his arms; her body rattled against his thick shoulders; she pressed her face into the warm, scruffy smell of his ancient white shirt, distantly she felt him kissing her hair, her ear, her neck, and felt waves of comfort and surprise overcoming and pushing back the panic. She wanted to pull away from him but she also wanted to do what she did, which was lift her face. He kissed her hard and she accepted it, passively at first, then giving in to the relief of it, and kissed him back.
Then they separated, propelled apart by the fact that they were in a car recognizable to any policeman. Becky put her hands on the steering wheel. She felt sick and sad, as if something had just been lost.
“I’ve been wanting to get that out of my system,” Wilson said gruffly. “I’ve been—”
Then his voice died away. He clutched the dashboard and laid his head on his arm. “Oh, hell, I love you, dammit.” She started to talk. “No, don’t say it. I know what you’ll say. But just let it be known and leave it like that. We go on like we were. Unrequited love won’t kill me.”
She looked at him, amazed that he could bring up something so… extraneous. She had always wondered if he loved her. She loved him in a way. But that wasn’t important, it had been accepted a long time ago. And their relationship was established. Certainly it shouldn’t intrude now. When he turned his face toward her he registered shock. She knew her mascara must be running with the tears, she knew her face must be twisted in fear.
“What happened to me?” she asked. Her voice was not her own, so distorted was it by the rush of emotions. “What was going on back there?”
“Becky, I don’t know. But I think we’d better find out.”
She laughed. �
�Oh, that’s for sure! I just don’t know if I can handle it. We’ve really got some problems here.”
“Yeah. One of them is you. I don’t mean that harshly, but I’m going to have to break my cardinal rule at this time. Let’s change sides, I’m going to drive.”
She hid her amazement. In all the years they had worked together, this was an absolute first. “I must be falling apart,” she said as she sank into Wilson’s usual seat. “This is really a big deal.”
“It’s no big deal. You’re rattled. But you know you shouldn’t be. I mean, you weren’t the one in danger. It was me.”
“You! I was being lured upstairs.”
“To get you away from me.”
“Why do you even say that? You’re a man, a lot heavier than me, not an obvious target.”
“I heard noises on the stairs at the other end of the hall. Breathing noises, like something hungry slavering over its food.” The tone of his voice frightened her. She laughed nervously in self defense, the sound pealing out so suddenly that it startled Wilson visibly. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye but kept the car moving.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re the last person I’d think of as one of their victims.”
“Why?”
“Well, they eat them, don’t they? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Everybody they’ve hit has been eaten.”
“Old men, junkies, two cops in a hell of a lonely place. The weak and the isolated. I fitted two key criteria in that house—older man, isolated from all except you. And they damn near lured you away upstairs. You ever go hunting?”
“I don’t like it. I’ve never been.”
“When I was a kid I hunted with my father. We went after moose up north. We used to track for days sometimes. One summer we tracked for a week. And finally we got on to our moose, a big old bull that moved with a slanty track. A wounded bull. Weak, ready for the slaughter. I’ll never forget it. There we were just getting ready to take a shot when wolves stole out of the shadows all around us. They went right past us into the clearing where the moose was grazing. My dad cursed under his breath—those wolves were going to scare our trophy away. But they didn’t. That big bull moose looked down at those scrawny wolves and just snorted. They moved in closer and he stopped grazing and stared at them. You’d never believe it. The damn wolves wagged their tails! And the moose let out a great roar and they jumped him. They tore at him, bled him to death. We were fascinated, we were rooted to the spot. But it was like they agreed together that the killing be done. The wolves and the moose agreed. He couldn’t make it anymore, they needed meat. So he let them take him. And those timber wolves are scrawny. They’re like German shepherds. They look like they’d never be able to bring down a full-grown bull moose. And they wouldn’t, unless he agreed to let them try.” He was watching her again, barely keeping an eye on traffic. He was no better a driver today than she was.
The Wolfen Page 6
