Wolfman is Back

by Dwayne Clayden

  Wolfe tried to shake the guard free.

  “I’m one of the most dangerous men in the world. Those fearful that I might someday be released, should be terrified. I will escape and you will all pay! My life is not important here.” Wolfe pointed at Tina. “You should fear for your life. I’ll come for you, bitch. You’ll die slow until you beg to be dead.”

  Wolfe smirked at Brad.

  “You can’t save everyone, Coulter,” Wolfe spat. “From the world of darkness, I loose demons and devils to torment and drive you crazy and then you will kill yourself.”

  “Jeter Wolfe, be silent or I will have you removed from the courtroom,” Judge Gray said.

  “I’ll have you removed if you don’t stop this circus,” Wolfe said. “You cannot hold me, you cannot punish me.”

  Judge Gray stood. “Remove the prisoner from my courtroom!”

  The guards dragged Wolfe toward an open door. Wolfe screamed in devilish laughter.

  Judge Gray sat and rubbed his eyes again. There was silence in the courtroom, the only sound a clock ticking on the wall.

  Brad’s heart pounded. He stared at Judge Gray and silently said to himself, “No, please no.”

  Judge Gray lifted his head and leaned forward. “Based on the report from three psychiatrists and Jeter Wolfe’s outburst, I have no choice but to refer him for a thirty-day psychiatric evaluation.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Late Afternoon

  Brad stood outside the door to the St. Louis Hotel bar. Run down as it was, four years ago TSU adopted it as their debrief bar. Probably the chicken and chips. The team had changed quite a bit, but Brad had remained friends with Steele and Zerr.

  He opened the door and headed down the stairs. Zerr and Steele were already there, a tray of draft on the table.

  “About time, boss,” Zerr said. “Thought you’d forgotten about us.”

  “Never.” He sat and grabbed a beer.

  “Well, that piece of shit is off the street, again,” Steele said. “Good work.” He held his glass out, and they tapped their glasses. “Do you know who shot the Mountie?”

  “The ballistics report hasn’t been released.” Brad took a fortifying gulp of his beer.

  “I have it on good authority,” Zerr said, “that the bullet is Mountie issue. None of us carry a Colt 1911.”

  “Well, that should shut the Mounties up,” Steele said.

  “I hear the Mounties have a new motto.” A big grin spread across Zerr’s face.

  Wait for it, Brad thought.

  “What’s that?” Steele asked.

  The comedy team. The straight man Steele and comedian Zerr.

  “Stop … or I shoot the Mountie.”

  Brad shook his head and laughed. Black humor was a mainstay of policing. Sometimes it was the only way you could distract yourself and avoid thinking about what you saw on the job. Brad knew about the demons stored in his brain. They came out at night, vivid and real.

  “That was a real cluster,” Brad said. “We’re lucky that first shot didn’t start everyone shooting.”

  “That was just dumb luck,” Steele said. “Dark railway tracks in the middle of the night. Bad enough we didn’t know who Devlin had there, let alone Mountie UC guys we didn’t even know were there.”

  “To dumb luck.” Zerr raised his glass and they clinked again.

  Brad looked at his friends. Over a beer it was fine to say dumb luck, but they were a good team. Well trained and disciplined. Even during an event that was in motion, they did their jobs, backed each other ,and didn’t get caught up in all the peripheral shit. He missed them, but they were doing fine without him.

  “Boss, hey, boss, you kinda zoned out there. You okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. What’d you say?”

  “We were wondering if they’d tied Wolfe to the two rapes and the murder yet?”

  “Not yet, but there isn’t much doubt. I talked to Blighe after court today. She’s going to prosecute for the escape from prison and then a preliminary hearing on the murder and rape. Then she’ll take her time constructing a solid case on the murder and rapes. Blighe wants to put him away for life, no chance of parole.”

  “Blighe, the cute blond with short hair?” Zerr asked.

  “Out of your league,” Steele said. “You’re playing single A ball and she’s in the big leagues.”

  “I said she was cute, that’s all.” Zerr smiled. “You can’t blame a guy for wishing. I’d let her cross-examine me.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Steele said.

  “You’d have to compete with Devlin,” Brad said.

  “Like that’s a challenge,” Zerr said.

  It was like watching a family dinner. The kids picking on each other. All in good fun.

  “So, I, um, have something to tell you.”

  “You and Maggie are getting married,” Steele said.

  “I knew it.” Zerr nodded.

  “Congratulations, boss,” Steele said.

  Brad held up his hands in surrender. “Slow down, that’s not it.”

  “You dying, boss?” Steele asked.

  “Would you guys shut up and listen. I got a letter today. I passed the bar. I’m officially a lawyer.”

  Steele grabbed a beer and raised his glass. “That’s great, boss, or should I say counselor? Will you still drink with us lowly cops?”

  “You guys are jerks. Yes, I’ll still let you buy me beer.”

  “Screw the beer,” Steele said. “We need to celebrate. Drinks, real drinks like rum, on me all night.”

  “I’d love to, guys, but I gotta get home.”

  “You might not be married, but you act like it,” Steele said. “Call Maggie and tell her you’re out with us, celebrating. She’ll understand.”

  “I gotta go, too.” Zerr stood.

  “What the—” Steele stared at Zerr.

  “Raincheck, guys,” Brad said. “I’ve been away a lot this last month. I promised Maggie I’d be home early. I’m exhausted. But I’ll hold you to the promise of rum. You guys stay safe.”

  “Will do, boss … counselor,” Steele said.

  Wednesday Evening

  Brad parked, walked up the sidewalk, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Lobo greeted him, tail wagging.

  “Hey, buddy. I’m glad to see you, too.” He stepped back and stared at Lobo. Black and white ribbons were tied around his neck. “What the hell is with the ribbons? Maggie, what did you do to my dog?”

  No answer. Lobo bounced happily at his side as he headed for the kitchen. Brad stopped. The blinds in the dining room were down and the lights off. Candles gave the room a soft glow. The dining room table was set with his grandmother’s China and silver cutlery.

  A set of court robes hung from the door. Then the stereo blasted Pomp and Circumstance. Lobo raced back into the room wearing a cape that looked like the robes hanging from the door.

  Maggie followed Lobo into the dining room. “Welcome back, counselor.” She stepped close for a kiss, then hugged Brad. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “How did you know? The letter came today. I was going to surprise you tonight. Oh, wait. Your father, right?” Maggie’s father had pushed Brad for three years to write the bar exam. It wasn’t surprising Ethan had a contact in the Bar Association who gave him the news.

  “Sit,” Maggie said. “I’ll bring you wine.”

  Lobo sat, tail wagging and eyes glued on Brad. “Were you in on this, buddy?” Lobo cocked his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you were.”

  Maggie came back with the wine. They clinked glasses and Maggie said, “You worked hard for this. I’ll be back with dinner.” She set plates of salad on the table along with Brad’s favorite meal—meat and potatoes.

  “This is great. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Maggie said. “Are things finally going to settle down?”

  “I think so. Wolfe will undergo a thirty-day psych assessment. If they find he’s crazy, he’ll be locked up in a mental
hospital for fifteen or twenty years. If they say he’s sane, then it’s life in prison—at least twenty-five years with no parole. Either way he’s out of our hair forever.”

  “Then what?” Maggie asked.

  “Then Devlin and I will go after some other scumbag and throw him in jail as well. But I doubt the next guy will be as violent and remorseless as Wolfe.”

  “I still get chills when I think of him,” Maggie said. “As long as this guy is still breathing, he’s a killer waiting to kill.”

  “We don’t have capital punishment. A life sentence is the biggest punishment we’ll get.”

  “I know,” Maggie said. “Annie’s still shook up. It’s going to take a while for her to get over this.”

  “I know. But she’s got Auntie Maggie to watch out for her.”

  “And you.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ll kill the next guy who messes with her.”

  “She knows that. That’s probably why she hasn’t told you about a guy at college she likes.”

  Brad dropped his fork onto the plate. “What? She never said anything to me.”

  “Of course not. She knows you’d react like you just said you would. You’d run his name, set up stakeouts. Then you’d get Steele and Zerr to go with you on a covert mission to scare him away.”

  “Okay, Mags, now you’re just exaggerating,” Brad said. “I’d just take Zerr.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Will you be that way with our kids?”

  “Worse. Locked room until they’re twenty-five. Maybe thirty. Have you ever heard of waterboarding? It would be perfect for ensuring any boyfriend would be respectful.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes.

  They finished dinner and cleaned. “Just leave the dishes, I’ll do them later.” Maggie poured two glasses of wine, took his hand and led him to the living room.

  “I have another surprise.”

  This room was lit with candles, too, with one addition: blue and pink balloons.

  Brad’s jaw dropped. “What … the balloons … does this mean …?”

  Maggie drew Brad tight. “You are not only a card-carrying, robe-wearing lawyer, but you’re also about to be a dad!”

  * * *

  One Month Later

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A Month Later

  Monday

  Edworthy Park was a half square mile of wilderness in the southwest part of the city. It was a favorite for hiking, biking, and dog walking.

  Brad parked at the top of a hill next to a half-dozen marked cruisers. He jogged down the hill toward the police tape and a mass of cops. Griffin stepped away from the group.

  “Dump site for some fuckwad,” Griffin said.

  “Nice to see you, too. What do you need me for?”

  “Oh, it’s what I’m doing for you.”

  “Cut the crap, tell me.”

  “You’ve got warrants out for three shitheads who jumped bail. You’ve got a missing dealer, Marcus Alvarez. I think this is your missing scumbag.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Excellent police work,” Griffin said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Okay, maybe a small part was good detectiving.”

  “Did you find ID?” Brad asked.

  “No ID, but the timeline fits. He’s been here about a week.” Griffin nodded toward a man talking to a uniformed cop. A dog sat impatiently watching the conversation. “He’s walking his dog this morning and the dog bolts. He chases the dog down here. The dog scrambles into the trees to a clearing and starts digging. The dog’s tugging on something. The guy looks—it’s a jacket—with an arm still in it. He hoofs it up the hill, drives home, and calls us. He meets the first cruiser, leads the cops down here. They confirm it’s a body. Fuckin’ amazing, the quality of guys on the street. Anyway, they protect the scene, I get the call and get Ident on the way.”

  “Makes sense,” Brad said.

  “What made you think Alvarez was missing and those three guys had something to do with it?” Griffin asked.

  “Good detectiving.” Brad grinned. “Devlin and I were looking for these three assholes after they skipped bail on aggravated assault charges two weeks ago. Last week, Alvarez went missing. His family was concerned but we didn’t put resources to it. Then witnesses, other drug dealers, told Devlin they saw Alvarez grabbed on the street and thrown in a van which sped away. They described the van as green, old, with a badly dented passenger fender and a peace sign on the window of the side door. They described two of the guys who hauled Alvarez into the van.”

  “Where’s Devlin?” Griffin asked.

  “He’s been skulking around the streets at night talking to his snitches, dealers, and hookers, trying to find out where those three are hiding.”

  “He takes the night shift and you take the day shift.”

  “Something like that,” Brad said. “Are you assigned to this homicide?”

  “Yup. Meet me tomorrow morning at the autopsy and I’ll fill you in on what we find today.”

  “Oh great, I get to watch a week-old corpse being filleted–let’s do it before breakfast.”

  Brad waited in the parking lot until the last minute, then strolled to the front door of the Medical Examiner’s Office. He could handle all other aspects of the job, but autopsies got to him, right from his first autopsy in recruit training. Blood and guts on the street were fine, but there was something about the slow pace, the dissection of a body, and the odors that sent his head spinning.

  With reluctance, he opened the door and entered the reception area.

  “Detective Coulter for the John Doe autopsy. The Edworthy Park homicide—John Doe.”

  “Suite 2.”

  A door buzzed and Brad walked down a white hallway. Everything was white—the walls, the doors, even the floors. Griffin stood outside Suite 2. “You’re just in time.” Griffin pushed away from the wall and pulled open the door to Suite 2.

  The overpowering odor of antiseptic cleaner oozed from everywhere. His head spun.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here,” Sergeant Sturgeon said. “Let me get a padded mat for when you fall.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Brad said.

  “I’d never have picked you for a queasy stomach,” Griffin said.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Seriously, Coulter,” Griffin said. “If this is your guy, and you arrest those three dickheads, you clear this murder for me.”

  “I do the work and clear your case.”

  “Exactly–it’s perfect.”

  Sturgeon nodded to a man entering the room. “Medical examiner. Showtime.”

  Brad stared blankly as the ‘Y’ cut was made, closed his eyes when the ribs were cut, and plugged his nose when the bone saw cut the cap of the cranium. He was no expert, but the back of the brain was mush, that much he did know—not consistent with life. Consistent with a gunshot to the back of the head, though. The ME glanced at the X-rays illuminated on the wall, selected a pair of forceps, and extracted a piece of lead. He rinsed the lead with saline and deposited it in an evidence bag.

  “I’ll take that.” Brad was eager for the opportunity to leave. “I’ll get that over to forensics and put a rush on identification.”

  “Without a murder weapon, you won’t get much,” Sturgeon said. “I can take it after the autopsy.”

  “You’ve got enough to do. I don’t mind.”

  Sturgeon and Griffin glanced at each other and grinned.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Monday

  Jeter Wolfe lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was running out of time. His return to court was in two days. To make it worse, tonight was the fat orderly’s last shift until Wednesday—too late.

  Except for his mandatory counseling sessions, he was in this room. He exercised as best he could, push-ups, sit-ups, and stretching. He ate in this room. Prison had more freedom, and a gym. Mostly he stared at the ceiling, scheming.

  Getting sent to the psych war
d for a mandatory thirty-day assessment had been part of his plan. Now he wasn’t so sure; escaping would not be easy. Whenever he was out of his room, two orderlies accompanied him. Big guys. Not as big as he was, but the two of them would be a handful. One orderly wore a permanent scowl, and the only thing he ever said was, “Shut the fuck up.” He was Wolfe’s kinda guy.

  The other orderly was like a big teddy bear. He was in awe of Wolfe and begged him to tell stories of his biker days. Wolfe wasn’t sure how yet, but this orderly was the key to getting out. If he failed, he’d be back in maximum security, isolated in his cell twenty-three hours a day.

  Wolfe put the escape aside for now. He’d rather think about that bitch, Jenni Blighe. The fact she locked him up again made her more desirable. Somehow it added to the fantasy. Before, he planned to spend an hour or two with her, having his version of fun, then killing her. Now, he wanted to take his time, all day. Fridays she was home alone for at least six hours. He’d like a few days, but six hours was better than lying on this bed thinking about all the things he would do to her. The risk of moving her somewhere else was too high. He didn’t need the cops stopping him and finding her in the trunk.

  Wolfe had made big mistakes during his short freedom. Aside from the fact the cops got lucky finding him, he’d made it easy. What had he been thinking? Of course cops would check out a car with a single occupant in the park. Next time he’d find a place to call home.

  Changing vehicles was a good idea, but he needed to find vehicles that hadn’t been used for a long time. Downtown is good—lots of apartment buildings with underground parking. Once he got out, he’d fulfill his fantasy at the first opportunity. Then he’d leave the city. But then his mind wandered to the other bitches who’d had a part in his arrests. If the plan worked for Blighe, it would work for them, too. Wolfe liked that idea a lot. I have to get out of here.