Wolfman is Back

by Dwayne Clayden

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tuesday

  Brad was sitting at their shared desk when Devlin burst in.

  “I have a good tip. I leaned on a couple of high-end drug dealers. At first, they didn’t want to cooperate, but then—with some friendly persuasion—they remembered some stuff.”

  “Do the paramedics have them now?” Brad asked.

  “That hurts. That you think I would resort to violence to get the information I want.”

  “Remember the snitch, Lenny, two years ago?”

  Devlin smirked. “Oh, yeah. The clumsy one. Kept hitting my fist with his face.”

  “Funny, that’s not how I remember it,” Brad said.

  “Anyway, they eventually gave me the location where those three shitheads are hiding. I took a drive by, and the van was there. I checked a gas station close by. The manager said the van stops every day. Three guys get out and buy smokes and year-old sandwiches. The manager wrote down the van’s license number. He thought it might be stolen, which it was.”

  “But he didn’t think to call us?”

  Devlin shrugged. “Minimum wage gets you minimum information. But we’ve got a problem. The house is in Springbank, outside the city limits.”

  “I’ll get the warrants,” Brad said. “You call TSU.”

  “We have to call the Mounties.”

  “Screw the Mounties,” Brad said. “They don’t respect our jurisdiction, why should we respect theirs.”

  “You know they were wrong,” Devlin said. “We accomplish nothing by shutting them out. Our relationship with them will get worse.”

  “We give them the location of the suspects, and they get the credit.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, it’s bullshit. I say we don’t tell them anything unless they include us on the raid.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll buy into that.”

  “Screw them,” Brad said. “They don’t buy in, we’ll do it ourselves.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two hours later, Brad was back with the warrants. When he entered the detective bullpen, he saw Archer and Devlin—and Sergeant Stinson and his team.

  Ah shit.

  “Do you have the warrants?” Archer asked.

  Brad held them up. “What’re they doing here?”

  “I called their inspector and we came to an agreement,” Archer said. “Since the suspects are hiding in RCMP territory, they’re lead.”

  Stinson grinned. Brad wanted to punch the smirk off Stinson’s stupid face.

  “Fine,” Brad said. “But we use our tactical team.”

  “Not a chance,” Stinson said. “I already have our Emergency Response Team on the way.”

  “I’ve seen Stinson’s team in action.” Brad looked at Archer. “Can we have a pre-raid briefing where we discuss whom we can shoot and whom we should never shoot?”

  Before Stinson could reply, Archer said, “Enough, Coulter. Stinson has agreed that you and Devlin will accompany them during the raid. After the suspects are arrested, with your assistance, it’s no longer your case and Griffin runs with it. No arguments or you’re not on the raid.”

  Brad and Devlin hunched in the trees at the back of the house. Once Archer was gone, Stinson’s attitude changed. Brad and Devlin were on the raid, but they’d been assigned security at the back door in case anyone escaped. Stinson said that was unlikely. Brad cradled an AR15 and Devlin held a shotgun.

  So, Brad and Devlin waited as the RCMP ERT got ready. They heard the countdown on the RCMP portable radio Stinson had given Devlin.

  ERT took positions around the house. The radio announced “execute.”

  Wood cracked as doors were kicked open. “RCMP, get on the floor,” sounded throughout the house.

  Brad and Devlin stepped out of the trees. Devlin took a position to the side of the back door, Brad to the side of a large window.

  Shouting came from inside the house. It was hard to decipher the words. Then two shotgun blasts. Over the radio someone yelled, “Officer down. Officer down.”

  The shouts grew louder, then, “Stop. Stop. He’s on the run.”

  The back window shattered as a suspect dove out the window onto the porch, rolled several times, then stood.

  “On your fucking knees.” Brad pointed the rifle. The suspect looked toward the front of the house.

  Stinson ran around the corner of the house, gun at his side. The suspect raised his pistol. Two gunshots echoed through the trees.

  The suspect fell to the ground—the pistol tumbled harmlessly beside him.

  Brad ran to the suspect, knelt, and reached for a pulse. One of the guys they were looking for. Blood oozed from two holes in his chest. Brad glanced at Devlin and shook his head. Stinson stood frozen to the spot, eyes wide.

  “You good, Stinson?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah, ah, thanks, Coulter. You got this?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Brad said.

  Stinson stumbled away.

  “Nice shooting,” Devlin said. “Stinson’s fricken’ lucky. What was he thinking, racing around the corner?”

  “He wasn’t thinking.” Brad rolled the gunman onto his stomach and cuffed him. They weren’t needed, but protocol was protocol. He rolled the gunman onto his back. Brad glanced at the pistol, looked around, grabbed the gun, and slid it into an evidence bag.

  “You need to leave that here,” Devlin said.

  “My shooting, my evidence. Besides, this might be the murder weapon. If I let the RCMP have it, we’ll never know.”

  Devlin grinned. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “I’ll give it to Griffin. He can take it for ballistics testing. He can deal with the RCMP.”

  They walked to the front of the house as two ambulances arrived. The RCMP were in a full-blown panic and practically dragged Dixon and Thompson over to their injured member. They were seasoned paramedics and wouldn’t take any crap from the Mounties. If Brad was hurt, he’d want them to take care of him. Not that Maggie wasn’t a good paramedic, she was great, but she didn’t need the stress of treating him.

  The second ambulance came to a stop near him. Maggie got out of the passenger seat, looked over, raised an eyebrow, grabbed her kits and caught up to her partner, Rick Fola. They followed a Mountie to the house.

  Stinson met them at the door. “Inside.”

  “Who’s hurt?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ve got one cop shot. He’s not too bad. The first paramedics are looking after him.”

  “And the bad guys?”

  “One scumbag is dead. Another with a gunshot wound to the shoulder.”

  “That’s it?” Maggie asked.

  “The third guy shot my cop,” Stinson said. “He’s under arrest. He won’t need paramedics.”

  “Do you want me to check him out?”

  Stinson shook his head. “He’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Maggie asked.

  “Yup.”

  “What about the guy you say is dead?”

  “Ask the detective.” Stinson pointed at Brad. “He’s the one who plugged him.”

  Maggie glanced at Brad, then disappeared into the house.

  “Hey, Stinson. I want to interview the two surviving suspects,” Brad said.

  “Not a chance in hell, Coulter. It’s different now, they shot one of ours. Wait in line.”

  A few minutes later, Fola jogged out of the house and asked for a hand taking the stretcher inside. Brad waited until the stretcher came out of the house. The suspect had both arms handcuffed to the stretcher. An intravenous hung from a pole and an oxygen mask covered his face. When the suspect was inside the ambulance and the back door was shut, the Mounties walked away. Brad turned to Devlin. “Follow the ambulance.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to interview our suspect.”

  “What—” But Brad was already sprinting to the ambulance.

  The ambulance was pulling away as Brad reached
the side door, flung it open ,and jumped inside.

  “Jesus, Brad.” Maggie was injecting something into the intravenous line. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I need to interview this guy.”

  “I thought he was the Mounties’ suspect?”

  “Technically he was my suspect first,” Brad said.

  “Technically?” Maggie grinned.

  “We had a warrant for him. But he was hiding outside the city limits.”

  “So, technically he’s theirs, too,” Maggie said. “There’s going to be hell to pay, isn’t there.”

  Brad grinned. “Yup. Can I talk to him?”

  “Go easy,” Maggie said. “He’s shot in the shoulder. I just gave him morphine and I’ll probably give more as the pain gets worse. So, get your questions in quick.”

  “You bet.” Brad slid to the bench seat beside the stretcher and stared at the suspect. “How you doing, Oscar?”

  “Mounties shot me.”

  “Yeah, they do that sometimes. Did you shoot at them first?”

  “That wasn’t me. No way. You gotta believe me.”

  “Shooting at a Mountie will get you big time in prison. Fifteen years. Maybe twenty-five.”

  “Jeez, man, I didn’t shoot no Mountie.”

  “Convince me.”

  “We was just hidin’ out here. Lorne said we’d be safe.”

  “Who’s Lorne? Did he shoot the Mountie?”

  “No, when the Mounties busted the door Lorne dove out the back window.”

  Ah, I shot Lorne.

  “Howie had the shotgun and fired at the cops. I heard one cop scream, then heard a shot and my shoulder was on fire, then I got tackled.”

  “Okay, Oscar. I believe you. Tell me about the night Alvarez was shot.”

  “No, no. I ain’t talking about that. No way.”

  “So, you were there when Alvarez got shot.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Well, you said you weren’t talking about that. Maybe you should have said I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Jeez, man. You’re twisting my words.”

  “What do you think is going to happen when the RCMP come to the hospital. Do you think they’ll believe you? Maybe they think you’re lying and decide to use some persuasion to get you to talk.”

  “No, man. You gotta help me.”

  “Why would I help you? You haven’t given me anything.” Brad turned to Maggie. “Stop the ambulance. I’m going to sit up front. I’m wasting my time with this shitrat.”

  “No! Wait. Promise you’ll keep the Mounties away from me.”

  “Not until I get something I can use.”

  “Okay. Alvarez owed Lorne a bunch of money. Alvarez bought drugs on credit with Lorne. Then he shot the profits into his arm. The debt kept getting bigger. Lorne offed him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why kill a guy who owes you? Make him hurt, sure. But killing him doesn’t get the drugs or money back.”

  “Lorne wanted to send a message to his dealers. Bad luck that Alvarez was the example.”

  “Who killed Alvarez?”

  “Lorne, man.”

  “How’d he do it?”

  “Took Alvarez to a park. Lorne made him kneel and beg for his life. Then boom. Lorne shot him in the back of the head. Me and Howie had to dig the grave. Jeez that was hard diggin’, roots everywhere. We went back the next morning and tidied it up.”

  “Where did you bury the body?” Brad asked.

  “In that park below CFCN hill.”

  Brad nodded. “What kind of gun did Lorne use?”

  “A pistol. I don’t know guns too well. The kind that can shoot twelve or thirteen times.”

  Fola called back saying they were pulling into the hospital.

  “Thanks for the help, Oscar. Good luck.”

  “Hey, we got a deal.”

  “The Mounties are mad at me. I’m not gonna be able to help you.” Brad winked at Maggie and opened the side door.

  “Coulter!”

  Brad glanced over his shoulder. Stinson.

  “What the hell are you doing in the ambulance?”

  “In the big city we don’t leave unarmed paramedics alone with possible killers—that’s a little rule we have. And in the big city, emergency services are a team—we have each other’s backs—and we rarely shoot each other.”

  “Screw you,” Stinson said. “You had no business being in that ambulance.”

  “Actually, I did,” Brad said. “Keeping continuity since none of your guys did. Gotta go. Good luck.” Brad sprinted to the ambulance bay door.

  “Coulter, damn you,” Stinson yelled. “Stop.”

  A car screeched to a halt. Brad opened the door and slid in. The car peeled away.

  “Did you get what we needed?” Devlin asked.

  “Yup. He told the whole sordid story.” Brad brought Devlin up to date.

  “You killed the suspect, who turned out to be Alvarez’s killer,” Devlin said. “We didn’t get to execute the warrants, but we solved a murder and pissed off the Mounties. That’s a good day.”

  “That’s a great day,” Brad said. “Let’s get a beer and pizza.”

  Brad walked over with three beers. He slid two across the table. Devlin and Griffin each grabbed one. “I ordered a pizza.”

  “I’m starving,” Devlin said. “And exhausted.”

  “I feel great,” Griffin said. “I solved a murder and didn’t have to lift a frickin’ finger. My kind of day.”

  “Are you forgetting who gave that to you gift-wrapped with bows?” Brad asked.

  “Funny thing, I don’t think that’s how I wrote the report. I’ve got a few more cases you can work on.”

  “What? And do all your work?”

  “You did just fine today. Tell Devlin to go to hell and come work with me.”

  “I’m not doing your work.”

  “I’m more fun than Devlin. Think about it.” Griffin drank. “You guys got anything big to work on now?”

  “I’m going to sleep for two days,” Brad said.

  “Saying that is a jinx,” Devlin said. “Now we’ll be lucky to get a couple of hours of shut-eye.”

  “Why’re we sitting in a pizza shop in Bowness instead of The Cuff and Billy?” Griffin asked.

  “Brad pissed off the Mounties,” Devlin said. “He’s scared, so he’s hiding.”

  “Screw you,” Brad said. “I’m simply avoiding confrontation. I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover.”

  “That’s funny,” Griffin said. “You’ve got two others looking for you.”

  “What?”

  “Internal affairs detectives came to the bullpen looking for you. Deputy Chief Archer, too. You’ve got a day of meetings tomorrow. Archer’s office 8 A.M. I hear the RCMP internal affairs will be there, too.”

  “Ah, shit,” Brad said.

  “I’ll miss you.” Griffin raised his beer.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Tuesday Night

  Wolfe sat on the edge of his bed. It was almost dinner time. The orderly would be here soon with the crap they called food. The orderly, not as big as Wolfe, had been friendly, and especially curious about Wolfe’s crimes. Wolfe knew this presented an opportunity to escape. He’d been friendly to the orderly, who hung on every word of Wolfe’s fights, rapes, and murders. Wolfe described the rapes in detail. The orderly was clearly excited.

  The three weeks in the psych ward made Wolfe crazier, not better. He was a caged animal pacing around his cell, needing his freedom. Daily counseling sessions with the psychiatrist asking about Wolfe’s feelings, talking about his anger, the continual phrase, “How are you feeling today?” made his head ache with an overwhelming desire to reach out and choke the living shit out of the psychiatrist.

  The few weeks on the outside were invigorating. The freedom, the food, and the women. Especially women. This time the cops wouldn’t find him and he’d get revenge on everyone responsible for him being
here.

  There was a knock on the door. “Wolfe, step away from the door.”

  “I’m sitting on the bed.”

  Wolfe knew the orderly would look through the peephole to see where Wolfe was. The lock turned, the door opened, and the orderly stepped inside with a tray that he set on a night table.

  “What kind of swill did you bring?”

  “I think it’s meatloaf, fake mashed potatoes, and broccoli.”

  “That’s disgusting. Stay while I eat.”

  “I shouldn’t. I’ve got more food to deliver.”

  “Just a few minutes. I thought of another rape I haven’t told you about.”

  The orderly locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Just for a couple of minutes.”

  “I was hiding out at the Stampede barns. When I woke up, this girl, maybe late teens, blonde hair in pigtails, was at the barns. She was all alone. I snuck up on her and put my arm around her neck, pulled her close. I was already excited. Then I choked her and within seconds she was unconscious. I dragged her to the barn and tied her up with baling twine. I stuffed a rag in her mouth. I pulled her boots off, then pulled down her jeans.”

  The orderly was hanging on every word. He leaned close to Wolfe and said, “Go on. Don’t stop now.”

  Wolfe wrapped a big arm around the orderly’s neck and used his other arm to hold the orderly’s head. Then he squeezed. The orderly clawed at Wolfe’s arms for a few seconds, then his arms went limp. Wolfe struggled with the shirt. It wasn’t easy getting clothes off a dead person. With the women, he’d cut or rip the clothes, but he needed these.

  The orderly stirred. Wolfe choked him and twisted his neck until there was a loud pop. The orderly wasn’t breathing now. Oh, well. He’d served his purpose.

  Wolfe tugged and pulled and finally had the white uniform off the orderly. He stripped out of his baggy green pants and a pullover shirt. The orderly’s pants fit okay, but the shirt was tight, real tight. He heard seams rip.

  Wolfe checked the orderly—still no breathing. Unfortunate, but who cares. Wolfe rolled the orderly on his side on the bed facing the wall. He wouldn’t be able to get his patient clothes on the orderly. Instead, he laid the clothes over the body. To anyone looking through the small peephole, it would look like Wolfe was sleeping.