by Kevin Hearne
Orlaith preened at the praise.
The detective squatted on the edge of the landing and looked at me face to face. “Are you looking for your man? Do you know what led him up here?”
I cocked my head at her. What was she talking about? As far as I knew, we had led him up here. Or would, anyway. I could hear him calling my name in my head and I told him where we were. I wished I could ask Detective Ibarra if she’d make sure the squirrel didn’t get away upstairs, but she wasn’t bound to us, so all I could do was woof at her gently.
“Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, but I’ll try to make sure you get placed with someone kind.”
That made no sense at all. Come to think of it, what was the detective doing here? Weren’t they supposed to be in police stations, unless they’re at the scene of a…crime? Something didn’t smell right. And I didn’t mean the terrible coffee on her breath.
Atticus came through the door behind us and said, “There you are!” and then he pulled up short when the police officer who’d come behind us put a hand on his chest. “Detective Ibarra?”
The detective rose and her face did that thing that humans do sometimes when you lick their toes unexpectedly: The eyes get real big and the mouth drops open.
“Connor Molloy? What are you doing here?”
“Chasing after my dogs. Sorry if they gave you any trouble.”
The detective recovered from her surprise and squinted at him even though there wasn’t any sunlight shining in her eyes. Atticus said people do that when they don’t trust someone. “Let him by, Sergeant.” The cop stepped aside and Atticus took a couple of steps behind us. “Do you have a twin brother?”
“Nope. Only child.”
“Huh. Interesting. I don’t believe you, of course. Come here but don’t step on the landing.”
Atticus kept coming and squeezed next to us as the detective pointed at a body on the landing with red curly hair and—great big bears!
“If you’ll excuse the pun, Mr. Molloy,” the detective said, “he’s a dead ringer.”
Chapter 2:
Bearing Up
Under
Pressure
“Is that thing in his head made of plastic?”
“Yes. We’re pretty sure it’s from a 3D printer but won’t know for sure until we get it to the lab.”
“But that’s not a stabbing weapon. It looks like someone shot it into him. A blowgun wouldn’t necessarily have the force to penetrate bone, so I’d say a miniature crossbow, probably also 3D printed.”
“Quite possible.”
“So who is he?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“No, I told you, I don’t have any siblings or even cousins. This is just an uncanny resemblance. A really disturbing resemblance.”
Hey, hounds, Atticus said to all three of us, please start sniffing around. See if you pick up anything weird on the stairs where the shot came from, a scent that doesn’t belong to any of the police officers here.
I know. But this stairwell is probably not used by everyone. Just see if anything stands out.
“So he had no ID?” he asked the detective.
“No, and no keys, no phone, no receipts in his pockets to help us reconstruct his last hours. Somebody rolled him good.”
“Do you know if he was killed here or somewhere else, and dragged here?”
“I know I should be asking you some questions. Why are you in Portland right now?”
“The dogs like to smell stuff and Portland has lots of stuff.”
“This isn’t a time to be flippant,” Ibarra said, her voice taking on a tone of irritation, but I didn’t understand why. Atticus was telling her the truth! “Has it occurred to you that, considering your resemblance, maybe you were the target here and this guy got killed by mistake?”
“Yeah, it has.” It hadn’t occurred to me, but now I was worried. Atticus had lots of enemies. And it was a chilly morning, so the dead guy had bundled up with coat and gloves, covering up the arm and hand that would have Druidic tattoos on it. Easy to mistake their identities.
“So why are you in Portland? Are you up to something that might make you a target?”
“Not at the moment; I’m honestly here to have fun with the hounds, and we just got here on the train from Eugene. But my past as an animal rights activist may have angered some people.”
“Can you list them for me?” the detective asked.
“Sure, but I can already tell you they’re not the kind of people who would think of using 3D printed weapons. They’re ranchers and have plenty of old-school weapons, plus those little flags with a coiled snake on it, you know, the kind of people who complain about ‘the gubbermint’ and like to quote that Jefferson line about watering the tree of liberty with the blood of tyrants.”
Now Atticus was just making stuff up, I could tell. But I didn’t hear the detective’s reply because Orlaith called me and Starbuck from a few steps down.
Orlaith was snuffling around the handrail on the fourth step, and our nails clicked on the cement as we went to join her. We snuffled around where her nose was and sure enough, mixed in with all the random human scents was something else. Not very old, either.
What is it, buddy? he asked me privately.
Soupçon.
Atticus frowned. You’re absolutely positive about that? You’re sure it’s a bear?
And you’re sure it’s a female?
I think you mean menstruation.
Atticus turned to look over his shoulder at the police, and they all had their backs to us, considering the body. He pulled leashes out of his jacket.
Okay, you three. I think you may have found a genuine clue. I want you to follow that scent out of here, taking your time. We’re going at a walking pace until we’re out of
the station so that no one gets alarmed. We can speed up after that if you’re confident of the trail.
Yes, if you don’t mind. I’d like to know who murdered my doppelgänger.
It’s a German word coined by Johann Paul Richter. Doppel means “double” and gänger means “goer,” and originally it was meant to refer to a spirit self that’s invisible but identical to you. Now it can mean anyone who appears to be a copy of you, like a clone, or sometimes it refers to an evil twin.
We can only hope. If so, she’s invisible.
Maybe. It’s nice to think so, isn’t it?
He clipped leashes to our collars and we slinked past the police sergeant at the bottom of the stairs and set off on the trail, which doubled back on itself and then forked.
Let’s follow the one out of the station, Atticus replied, and then we were out in Portland, land of many smells, but following the Great Big Bear That Did Not Belong.
We had ourselves a good long trek after that, following the scent to the West Hills and Washington Park, breaking into a pretty decent jog. We were catching up, in fact; the scent got fresher and stronger as we went.
Inside Washington Park there are smaller parks laid out. There’s an International Rose Test Garden, though I’m not sure how well roses can be expected to score on a test. There’s an arboretum too, which I’ve never been to before but which sounds magical, because it’s full of strange and wonderful trees to pee on! But there’s also a Japanese Garden, five and a half acres of lush vegetation and stone paths around ponds, bridges and waterfalls and stone lanterns, all of it contributing to a sense of serenity. The bear scent led us there. It led us straight to a stone bench, in fact, overlooking a calm expanse of water. It was still pretty chilly out so the park wasn’t all green and humming with insects like it would be in summer, but it still had a wintry beauty to it.
There was a large person sitting on the bench wearing a big poufy black coat, and with their head down it seemed from a distance like we were looking at a giant gumdrop. I couldn’t tell if the person was actually large or if their poufy coat was providing all the bulk. Atticus stopped us well before I could figure it out, though, and called a name. Did he already know who we were tracking?
“Suluk?” he said, and the person turned around. There wasn’t a trace of whiskers so I was going to guess it was a woman, especially since we had been tracking a woman. She blinked dark eyes in a broad face a few times. “Suluk Black? Is that you?”
“Are you a ghost, come to haunt me?” she said.
“I’m your old friend, Siodhachan. That man in the train station wasn’t me.”
She blinked a couple of times more and then she stood, turned fully in our direction, and her face broke into a hopeful grin. “You’re still alive?”
“For the moment. You’re not out to get me, are you?”
Her smile disappeared and she shook her head violently. “No, no! That wasn’t me!”
“Okay to come closer?”
“Yeah, sure. Your dogs won’t come after me, will they?”
“Nah. Give me a second to make sure, though.” And then Atticus’s voice was in our heads. Listen, Suluk Black is the daughter of Kodiak Black. She’s a bear shifter, and that’s what you were smelling. Which means, yes, she is at times a great big bear and not your favorite animal in the world. But she is a good friend of mine and will be a good friend of yours. So not a single growl in her direction, hear me? Be very polite.
No. It’s a name she chose and held onto, like I chose Atticus. I don’t know her real name.
We trotted over there and I only sniffed at the air a couple of times to confirm that this was the person we had been following.
“It’s been a long time,” Atticus said. “I had no idea you were here.”
“Oh yes, I’ve been here fifteen years now. Great farmers’ markets in the summer.”
“Yeah, right? Listen, I’m very sorry about Kodiak.”
“Thank you. I heard his killer paid for it, though. The circle is closed.”
“Are you well?”
Suluk sighed before answering. “I’m shaken by what I saw, but relieved now that I know it wasn’t you.”
“Would you mind telling me what happened?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk to the police about it.”
“I won’t share anything with them. But it’s best that you leave town anyway, maybe spend some time as a bear. They might pull your image off of security cameras.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Sit with me?”
They sat on the stone bench, staring at the pond instead of each other, so we hounds all sat on the grass nearby, staring at the same pond. There weren’t any fish jumping in it, or even kissing the surface with their little fish lips and making ripples. But I knew they were there, invisible, just like all those sausages Atticus was talking about.
“Walk me through it,” he said to Suluk, and her voice changed a little bit, a storyteller’s cadence.
“I was in the station to see someone off to Eugene—the 6 a.m. Cascades line, same as yours, just going the other way. After the train rolled out I saw a flash of red hair across the platform and it reminded me of you. And then when I took a better look, I thought it was you. But he was moving away from me and there were too many people in between us to call out. So I hurried after, trying to keep him in sight, and he ducked into that stairwell—I don’t even know where it goes. But it felt like a place we could talk, at least, so I shouted after him to wait up. I caught up to him on the landing and I swear I thought he was you. I smiled at him and asked if he remembered me, but the door opened behind us and his eyes kind of slid off me and then widened at something over my shoulder. I turned to see what it was—rotated to my right so my back was against the wall—and gave the killer a clean shot. I can’t tell you much about whoever it was. Bulky winter jacket like mine, gloves, a balaclava and sunglasses covering the face. Can’t even tell you if it was a man or woman. They moved fast, though. They had a miniature crossbow already aimed, and they shot that man right in front of me. Once your twin hit the ground they were out of there.”
“They didn’t say anything first, just shot and ran?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t random mugging or anything. It was a targeted hit.”
“And they took off immediately? They didn’t go through his pockets?”
“No, that was me.”
“What?”
Suluk stuck a gloved hand into her jacket and pulled out a wallet. “I knew if it was you that you’d have an alias, but I didn’t know what you were calling yourself these days. I thought maybe I could do something, you know? Because whoever’s killing Druids sure isn’t on my side.” She handed over the wallet and Atticus just held it, considering.
“Okay, I need to amend what I said earlier: The police are definitely going to be looking for you. I mean, they’ll be looking for the man or woman with the balaclava too, but the
y’re going to see you coming out of that stairway after him and know you witnessed the murder.”
“I kept my hood up and my head down.”
“But not the entire time you were in the station, right? They’ll scroll backward and find you on the platform saying farewell to your friend. They might even be able to attach a name to your face, and your friend too—you should give them a heads-up that the police might drop by.”
She sighed a grumbly sigh. “Definitely time to bear up, then.”
“Indeed.” Atticus gave her one of his cards. “I’m Connor Molloy these days, and I’ve got a place on the McKenzie River.”
“So you’re close! That’s a nice area.”
“You’re welcome to visit anytime. Maybe we can work up a new identity for you.”
“I might just do that. I’ll call first, though. Wouldn’t want to upset the hounds.” She turned and spoke to us, correctly assuming we’d understand her. “Thank you for tolerating my presence. You’re fantastic hounds.”
All three of us stared back at her, ears up, utterly stunned until I could muster a mental whisper to Orlaith.
Suluk gave Atticus a set of keys also taken from the doppelgänger’s pockets and he asked if there was a phone. She shrugged, said she didn’t find one, and then they hugged and said human farewell things. She waved at us and we gave her a good-bye woof as she walked away into the park. I thought we would be leaving then too but Atticus sat back down on the bench.
“Now,” he said, opening the wallet to look at the ID. “Let’s find out who my look-alike was.”
