Way of the Wolf: Shifter Legacies 1

by Mark E. Cooper

  Carol was slim, blue eyed, in her forties but still good looking. Her face was open and friendly though she looked puzzled about why the police were visiting her. Chris tried to clothe Carol in Jenny Lovett’s barely there miniskirt and tank but it didn’t work. Carol was too clean cut—a veritable Suzie Homemaker.

  “Can we come in?” Baxter said putting his badge away.

  “My husband will be home at five—”

  “It’s you we came to see, Carol,” Chris said. “I can call you Carol can’t I?”

  Carol looked from Baxter to Chris and back. “I suppose so. What’s this about?”

  “It would be better said in private.”

  “I’m not letting you inside until I know what this is about.”

  Ah, stubbornness. They could do that. She stepped close to Carol, crowding her and keeping her voice low. “Do you remember what it felt like when John—you remember John O’Neal your husband… excuse me, ex-husband? Do you remember what it felt like when he put the knife inside you? Do you remember the fear, the terror of it?”

  Baxter hissed as he drew in a sharp breath, but his protest died stillborn.

  Carol eyes brimmed. “Why are you saying this to me? Go away!”

  “John is back, Carol. He’s out there killing women that look just like you. Now can we come in?”

  Carol stepped back inside, defeated.

  In the living room, Carol took a seat not inviting either of them to join her. Chris sat anyway and chose the seat opposite. Baxter wandered the room a moment and peered outside through the curtains before sitting at the opposite end of the sofa. Chris opened the folder she carried and gave the artist’s sketch to Carol without a word. Baxter tensed and held his breath.

  Carol covered her mouth as she stared at the artist’s impression of the man that had come to be called the South Central Ghost. “He’s lost weight.”

  Chris closed her eyes in abject relief. Inside she was screaming in exultation.

  Baxter took up the slack. “We believe he was living on the streets for a time.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. He had trouble getting a job after he got out of hospital. I know that because he kept calling us and asking for money. I gave him some at first but James—that’s my husband. James said I should stop. He was right. John stopped calling after the first couple of times that I turned him down. If I hadn’t he would have bled us dry.”

  That sounded like something James the lawyer would say rather that Carol, but whoever said it was right to Chris’ way of thinking. Paying someone like John O’Neal would simply encourage him to ask for more. They would never have gotten rid of him.

  Carol looked up from the photo. “You said he killed someone?”

  “He’s a suspect in a number of ongoing investigations,” Baxter said diplomatically.

  “Ever hear of the South Central Ghost?” Chris said, piling in with the full horror.

  Carol gasped and looked quickly at the picture again. “Oh no, oh John, what have you done?” she whispered with a pained look in her eyes. “I’ve heard the reports. I should have thought. The albinism… why didn’t I put it together? Oh those poor girls.”

  “Why didn’t you contact us about John?”

  “I didn’t think. I haven’t seen him for years, Detective. I tried to forget about him. I didn’t know where he was. He could have been on the other side of the country for all I know. I didn’t think…”

  She didn’t think. Chris sighed. How many times had she heard that during one of these sessions? Why didn’t you call the police, sir? I didn’t think, Detective. Why didn’t you call someone when you heard the screams? I didn’t think he would really hurt her you know? Why didn’t you call when you heard the shots? I didn’t think. I thought it was the vid. People could be so stupid sometimes!

  “You know,” Carol said, still studying the picture, “John could never see it, but he was a handsome man. We married young and it was the biggest mistake of my life, but I did love him. He was a big man physically; tall, broad shouldered, he had very strong hands. I didn’t learn how much he hated the way he looked until after Louise was born.”

  “The albinism?” Chris guessed.

  Carol nodded. “He hated it. It’s hereditary; there’s nothing anyone can do about it. When we first got married, everything seemed fine. He was happy, I was happy, but then I got pregnant. He started to brood and worry. He put on weight and let himself go. He used to be a very physical man, played soccer, and worked out in the gym. The doctor prescribed antidepressants and they seemed to help, but then Louise was born with ocular albinism. Her hair and skin are near normal, but her eyes are very pale blue almost colourless. She has to wear strong glasses to correct her vision.”

  “And John blamed himself,” Chris said.

  “Of course he did! And he was to blame genetically, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I love my daughter, Detective. I would do anything for her, but when I first got pregnant, we talked about an abortion. John wanted children, but he didn’t want to risk the albinism. I decided to keep the baby and it drove him nuts with worry. When Louise was born, he lost it. He went missing for almost a week, but when he came back, he seemed better. Things seemed fine for a year or so and then one day he attacked us. The rest you must know already. It’s all in the report and psych evaluation.”

  “Why did you testify on his behalf?”

  “I loved him.”

  “Then why divorce him?”

  “Because I love my daughter more!” Carol said angrily. “You weren’t there; you didn’t see the rage on his face when he looked at Louise. She wasn’t his perfect little girl, the one he dreamed of having. She was flawed so he tried to kill her. I got in the way and he nearly killed me. I couldn’t let him near Louise ever again, so I divorced him.”

  Chris took back the picture and took out a page of notes from her folder. “You said the doctor prescribed antidepressants for John.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you know he was diagnosed as a schizophrenic?”

  “Yes, but that was later. John had to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Doctor Rowan testified at the trial about John’s health and mental state. He prescribed Haloperidol. John was held in the hospital for two years and seemed much better for his time there.”

  “You visited him?”

  “Once or twice, no more than that. Can I ask you something?”

  Chris shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  “You don’t think he will come here do you? I mean, he won’t come after me will he?”

  She didn’t think so but why take chances? “Is there someone you can stay with for a couple of weeks?”

  “There’s my sister.”

  “Maybe you should call her. What about your daughter?”

  “She’s in Wisconsin.”

  “That’s probably best. Is there anyone you know of that might still be in contact with John? Any friends he might go to, family members?”

  “No family, and I don’t think he would go to his friends for help.” Carol frowned hard in thought. “He was a shy man. He didn’t like to push his troubles or himself on to people. It was very hard for him to ask me for money when he lost his job. Apart from me, he had no one. Here,” Carol said rising and getting a pen. She scribbled some names and numbers on a scrap of paper. “If he goes to anyone it will be one of two men, but I really doubt he will. He was a very private man.”

  Chris took the note and glanced at it. “It was too much to hope for I guess.” She stood to leave. “If you think of anything further, please call on this number,” she said handing Carol her card.

  “I will.”

  Carol saw them to the door and closed it behind them.

  Chris looked around then followed the path down to the sidewalk. The car washer had gone in and another two further along the street had come out to pay homage to the god of shiny paintwork. It was Baxter who pointed out the feds watching them. He grabbed her arm before she could sto
mp on over there.

  “It’s not Barrows,” Baxter said. “I noticed them pull up when we arrived.”

  “I don’t care who it is.”

  “What’s the point in chewing out one of his boys when it will do no good? They’re just following his orders. Barrows is the one you need to work over.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You know, you’re starting to sound like John.”

  Baxter snorted. “Let’s look at this logically shall we. What’s the common denominator here? Oh yeah, we’re both partnering you! QED, you’re the problem not us!”

  She grinned. “Heh, good one.”

  They drove in silence for a time with Chris frowning at the rear view mirror. The feds were keeping their distance this time. Feinstein had obviously warned them. Baxter wondered aloud whether Raz and Matt had gotten anywhere with Sykes and then wondered if the two vagrants might have seen O’Neal.

  “Don’t know,” she murmured each time Baxter raised a possibility. “Don’t know.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t know… what?” Chris glanced at Baxter. “Oh, I err…”

  “Give up, you don’t know do you? You were daydreaming.”

  “Was not!”

  “Was too!”

  “I know where I’m going,” she said quickly deciding that if she cut across Third and onto Shelby she could make it look as if she had been heading toward 104th Street the entire time. She made the turn. “I thought we could maybe flash O’Neal’s photo around.”

  “Chrisssss,” Baxter made her name sound like a whine. “We’ve done that a hundred times!”

  “Not the sketch, the photo. Once more for luck. What do you say?”

  “I say you’re the boss, but I think seeing his doctor might be a better bet.”

  She snorted, but made a note to do that too. “What, you think a guy like O’Neal, a guy living on the streets for who knows how long, is still taking his meds? Get real.”

  Baxter grimaced. “Okay, maybe not, but it might be worth talking to Rowan. He might be able to give us something.”

  “Maybe. You make an appointment to meet him when we get back to Central. He might have something.”

  Baxter nodded in satisfaction.

  They found a place to park outside Zero Gee and went in. It was a good time of day to start looking for certain people who would later be walking streets or standing on street corners. In here, they were off duty simply having a drink and waiting for night. They were more likely to talk to her here in the dark than outside on the street.

  They stopped just inside the doors letting eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The noise level took longer to get used to. Baxter tapped her on the shoulder and nodded toward a table in the corner. Chris frowned into the shadows and her lips thinned. A group of men and women wearing ragged jeans, boots, and an assortment of leather jackets over black tee shirts sat huddled around the table. She knew all of them sported an angel tattoo somewhere on their bodies. She knew because of who their leader was. Angel, the small dark skinned woman sitting in the corner, had one tattooed on her neck and the others used it like a badge.

  Angel used to be one of her kids, one of those she had helped in the past, but no longer was. They’d had a falling out. The last she had heard, the girl had left her old gang to found her own group. That was damned unusual because woman were rarely accepted in leadership positions among the gangs, but Angel was special. She was smart and had magic in her arsenal. That made all the difference in a world where fighting to hold what you had was common. Her people were fanatically loyal to her or they were gone. Chris didn’t want to know where they went, but she assumed that Angel had let them live. The bodies, if bodies there were hadn’t surfaced anyway.

  Chris stalked over and glared down at her. “Angel.”

  Angel looked up from her conversation. “Officer Humber, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “It’s detective now.”

  “Congratulations!” Angel said in mock surprise. “I think that’s great, I really do. I guess you must have finally caught a real live criminal huh? Is that why they made you a detective, Officer Humber, you went and caught a bad guy instead of shooting innocent kids?”

  Angel’s gang mates laughed but Angel didn’t and neither did Chris. The pain Angel’s words caused was sharp and immediate, but it was an old hurt and had nothing to do with why she was here now.

  “We need to talk,” Chris said.

  “I don’t think we do.”

  “Okay, I need to talk to you. Privately.”

  Angel hesitated, but she nodded at her friends and they climbed reluctantly to their feet. One man, named Flex for his huge muscular arms, made a point of shouldering Chris aside. She staggered and Baxter made to intervene, but she and Flex had a history as much as she and Angel did. She gave Flex her patented ‘that one was free’ look and let him walk.

  Chris and Baxter sat opposite Angel who was just finishing her beer.

  “So talk,” Angel said reaching for Flex’s half-full glass and taking a sip.

  Chris tried to keep her voice even. “What happened to you, Angel? Why did you come back here, to this?”

  “Is that what you want to talk about, me?”

  “I found you a place, and people to look after you. What about school? You wanted to go to college. You said you did. You were happy.”

  Angel shrugged. “Things change. You should know all about that, Officer Humber, oh excuse me, Detective Humber. Got yourself a pretty new shield now eh? A gold one right? Can I see it?”

  Chris pulled her badge out and put it on the table between them in silence. Angel made a show of inspecting it closely. She shoved it this way and that with an extended finger before looking up and into Chris’ eyes.

  “Shiny, can’t see the blood on it or anything.”

  Chris flinched.

  Baxter slammed his hand down on the table making Angel jump. “That’s enough,” he said in a hard voice.

  Chris grabbed his arm. “Dave don’t, it’s okay.”

  “To the hells with that that, it’s not okay. Where does this little whore—”

  “Way to go sugar mouth,” Angel sneered.

  “—get off talking to you that way?” Baxter turned and his hand shot out to grab Angel’s collar. He yanked her across the table and pressed her cheek into the wood. “Listen to me, and listen close,” he growled through his teeth. “For some reason Chris thinks she owes you something—”

  “Dave don’t!” Chris said pulling on his arm but he didn’t let go.

  “—but I don’t owe you a damn thing. If you ever, I mean EVER speak to her like that in front of me again, I’ll splash that arrogant shit-eating grin of yours over the nearest wall. Do you hear me? Well do you?”

  “Yes,” Angel hissed. Baxter shoved her face hard into the table for a second then let her up. Angel’s eyes glittered at him for a long silent moment but then she raised her glass and drank a mouthful of beer as if nothing had happened. “Big bad cop.”

  This time Chris caught Baxter’s hand before he could move. “Not this time, Dave. If you can’t control it you can wait outside in the car.”

  Baxter shrugged her off. “Yeah, whatever,” he said but he didn’t get up. He sat back to listen.

  Chris eyed him for a long moment then turned her attention to Angel. “I didn’t come here to fight. Danny was a long time ago. I’m sorry he’s dead, I’m sorry I killed him, but you of all people know why he was there. He was trying to be like you, but he wasn’t like you was he? He wasn’t tough enough to walk away from his friends when he knew they were getting in over their heads. I pulled the trigger, I had no choice, but we killed him. It took both of us screwing up to kill him.”

  Angel shoved her glass away. “Tell me what you want or get out.”

  Chris retrieved her badge and put it away. She opened the folder, pulled out the photograph of O’Neal, and slid it across the table. Angel glanced down at it and froze. She covered it by taki
ng another drink, but Chris noticed all the same. She tapped a finger on the picture.

  “I want him.”

  “Yeah? What’s it got to do with me?”

  “You know people.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  That was a lie. Chris pulled out the artist sketch and slid it beside the photograph in silence. She sat back to watch Angel’s reaction.

  Angel’s eyes widened. “No fucking way!”

  “It’s him, Angel.”

  “It can’t be! He looks nothing like the Ghost; even you can see that. Look at these pictures. They’re nothing alike!”

  “Look closer. Look at the eyes, the nose.”

  “But I know this guy,” Angel protested pointing to the photo. “He’s just a bum. He’s a nice old man, a little soft in the head maybe, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly! Look, he pushes a cart up and down the alleys picking up crap looking for something worth trading. He owns nothing right? Nothing at all, but half the time he gives what he finds away! Does that sound like a crazy killer to you?”

  “You would be surprised,” Baxter said.

  “Yeah I would be, very surprised! Old John ain’t your Ghost. No way in hell!”

  Chris faltered at Angel’s certainty, but Baxter was firm in his belief. He took the folder out of her hands and opened it to give Angel a page of notes. “Read it,” he said in a hard voice.

  Angel scowled but she angled the page into the meagre light and read silently. When she was finished, she handed the page back to him. “So he tried to kill his kid, so what?”

  “So she was only three years old at the time.”

  Angel shrugged. “It don’t mean nothing, happens all the time.”

  “Whether you believe it or not,” Chris said. “John O’Neal is more than capable of murder. He is the Ghost, but even that doesn’t matter. What does is that I want to find him and you are going to help.”