The Wolf

by Alex Grecian

  Dr. Iversen was called in to deal with the corpses of Heinrich Goodman and Lou-Ellen Quinlan. The doctor greeted Skottie and gave Maddy a lollipop from his pocket.

  “You are a very brave girl,” he said.

  When he left to examine Heinrich’s body, Maddy put the lollipop in her pocket and shook her head. “A lollipop?”

  “Hush,” Skottie said.

  “But a lollipop, Mom.”

  Skottie laughed. “Maddy!”

  “What am I, five years old?”

  All of them—Skottie, Maddy, Travis, Sheriff Goodman, and Quincy—were taken to the sheriff’s office in Paradise Flats, where the KBI had set up a temporary base. A canine control officer was called in, but Travis persuaded the agent in charge to let him keep control of Bear. They put Bear in the enclosure behind the offices with the three German shepherds. The other dogs retreated to the far corner of their pen while Bear ate their food.

  All Thanksgiving day, they sat in plastic chairs in the waiting room, were called into the back offices one at a time for questioning, then brought back out and left waiting until they were called back again to confirm answers they had already given. When they were finally released, they were too tired to talk.

  Skottie took Maddy home, and Emmaline fed them soup and put them to bed.

  2

  Skottie slept until the following afternoon and woke with a splitting headache. She stumbled out into the living room, surprised to see Sheriff Goodman dozing on the couch in front of the television. Maddy sat on the floor in front of him, braiding Bear’s mane. The house smelled like cranberries and roasting turkey.

  Emmaline was in the kitchen, cooking a late Thanksgiving feast. Skottie tried to help, but Emmaline pushed her out of the kitchen.

  “You just tell everybody to wash up,” Emmaline said. “Five minutes till we eat.”

  Skottie delivered the message. Bear rolled his big mournful eyes up at Skottie as if asking to be rescued, but he didn’t move from Maddy’s side.

  Goodman yawned and stood up. He grabbed his hat from the back of the couch.

  “Just checkin’ in on you today,” he said. He looked like he had aged a decade since Skottie had first met him. “I don’t mean to be underfoot.”

  “I’m sure my mom cooked way more than we can eat.”

  “Thanks, but I got plans to eat Thanksgiving leftovers with my girls and Quincy.”

  “Listen, I really am sorry about your dad.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t claim to be any relation to that monster. What they’re finding in that place of his, the things he was doing … I had no idea, but this has been comin’ for him since before I was born.”

  “Any word from the KBI?”

  “They ain’t gonna tell me anything. I’m not exactly their kinda lawman.” He sighed. “I think I’m gonna hang up the badge. After I fire Puckett.”

  “Can I watch you do that?”

  “Front-row seat,” Goodman said. “Got a lot I wanna do. The church’ll drift apart, now that my dad and brother are gone, but I wanna speed up the process some. I’m gonna tear down what’s left of the fence, fix up the hole in the wall, and turn that place into something useful. Maybe serve lunches in there.” He shrugged. “Enough harm got done to folks out there, be nice if the place was good for somebody.”

  “If Heinrich was selling weapons and … well, people …”

  “Yeah, he had some money, but the KBI’s gonna seize that. Too bad, too.”

  “You think it’ll be easy to quit being sheriff?”

  “You think I oughta stay? After everything goin’ on under my nose?”

  “You think you should take all the responsibility?”

  Goodman grinned at her. “I was never much good at it anyway. My aim was running folks off if I thought they might be trouble. Turns out the trouble was already there. But this way I get to go out on a high note, a blaze of glory. I rescued the damsel in distress, you know?”

  Skottie laughed.

  “Anyway, I’m the only Goodman left, and it’d be nice if that name could stand for something.”

  “People are gonna need a sheriff.”

  “I got an idea one of my deputies can do the job better’n me.” He winked. “Gonna talk to Quincy about running. Think he’ll go for it?”

  “He’d be good for it,” Skottie said.

  “I think so, too. And I’d be around if he needs advice.”

  “He shot that woman, though.”

  “It was a righteous kill,” Goodman said.

  “Doesn’t matter. He shot a white woman at her church.”

  “Well, since his rifle disappeared, I don’t see how anyone’s gonna prove that ever happened.”

  “Where …?”

  “You see how many rifles them people had out there? Shotguns, machine guns, you name it. If somebody dropped one or two more in there, it’d be like needles in a haystack.” He tipped his hat and winked.

  Travis was on the front porch smoking a cigarette when they went out.

  “I am only having one,” he said. “Then I will throw the pack away.”

  “Hell, smoke ’em all, Doc,” Goodman said. “We ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Travis said.

  They were quiet for a while after Goodman drove away. The rain had turned into a light snowfall that dusted the hedges and the porch railing. At last Skottie broke the silence.

  “Any news about your dad?”

  “No good news,” Travis said. “But my mother is on her way. I will take her to the hospital when she arrives. My father has some motor control, and his mind appears to be his own.”

  “Must be frustrating for him.”

  “I imagine so.”

  Skottie realized Brandon was probably still in the hospital, too, still recovering from a concussion and worrying about their daughter. Skottie decided she would take him some turkey and pie later in the day.

  “I think my father was on a suicide mission, ramming the church the way he did.”

  “What he did was heroic.”

  “Perhaps,” Travis said. “I cannot decide whether he truly wanted to die after what was done to him, but I believe he thought his death would bring attention to the church and get the authorities to take a look at what was happening there.” He didn’t look at her, but stared out across the low rooftops, where snow was gathering along the gutters and eaves. The air smelled clean. “Either way, he will not be coming back to the Foundation.”

  Skottie touched his arm and he shook his head.

  “It was time anyway,” he said. “He can retire knowing he found Rudolph Bormann and helped bring him to some kind of justice.” He ground his cigarette out against the railing. “You know, I have spent the past few days wondering why someone would choose to exile herself in this place. Kansas, at least this part of it, is so quiet.”

  They stood and listened to the patter of snow all around them and the muted sounds of Emmaline bustling about inside the house.

  “But that is why you like it, am I right? I think I understand it now.”

  “You could stay here,” Skottie said. “Real estate’s cheap.”

  Travis smiled. “Perhaps when I am my father’s age. I still have work to do. The Foundation always has work to do. But we will be shorthanded now. I spoke to my mother about you, and she trusts my judgment. Should you wish to move on from the Highway Patrol at some point, leave all this peace and quiet behind, you would be welcome to join us.”

  “I don’t know anything about hunting Nazis.”

  “It is not an exact science. And hunting Nazis is not all we do. I told you when we met that I am kept busy ferreting out all manner of bad people. In fact, I plan to go after a different sort of evil man as soon as I can.”

  “Joseph Odek?”

  Before he could reply, the screen door banged open and Maddy grabbed her by the hand, pulling her toward the house.

  “C’mon,” Maddy said. “Grandma’s putting out the food.�
�

  “Turkey time?”

  “Yup.” Maddy cleared her throat and looked at Travis, then looked quickly away.

  “Do you know what a flock of turkeys is called, Maddy?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do they.” He smiled.

  Maddy grinned back at him. They went inside, where Emmaline was setting a huge bowl of potatoes in the middle of the table. The turkey was already there, plump and golden on a silver platter, waiting to be carved. Around it were dishes overflowing with pearl onions, greens, yams, soft white butter, tiny pickles and olives, a tray of cornbread, and a plate holding a rare steak for Bear. Emmaline wiped her hands on her apron and sat down at the head of the table, prompting everyone else to sit, too. Bear padded over and plunked down under the table at Travis’s feet. Travis winced when he saw the colorful beads Maddy had put in the dog’s mane.

  “Skottie,” Emmaline said, “why don’t you say a few words to start us off?”

  “Okay.” Skottie looked around the table and cleared her throat. “I guess … well, I guess I have a lot to be thankful for,” she began.

  And she realized as she said it that it was true.

  December 2018

  He was released from the hospital and was transferred by bus to a federal prison camp in Minnesota. He had nothing with him but a small overnight bag and the clothes on his back.

  He was issued a green one-piece uniform, a towel, and a washcloth, then escorted to an eight-by-eight-foot cubicle that contained a cot, a small table, and a shelf for books. He had arrived late in the day and was warned that he had only ten minutes before lights-out. Then he was left alone.

  Other inmates milled about in the narrow walkway outside his cubicle. Some of them looked at him with open curiosity, but no one spoke to him. He folded his towel and set it on the bookshelf with his washcloth, changed into the green jumpsuit, and lay down on the cot. He did not think about anything at all, and soon he drifted to sleep.

  The following morning he was taken to a large room filled with long cafeteria-style tables. Five minutes later he was joined by an attorney who introduced herself as Abbey Roth. She sat down across from him, opened her briefcase, and took out an iPad, which she glared at for a long moment, her eyes darting back and forth as she read. Finally she looked up at him.

  “I’m here on behalf of Morrison, Ellis, and Moore,” she said. “Your New York lawyers.”

  “They sent me a Jew?”

  “I can leave, but I can’t promise they’ll send anybody else for you.”

  “How long do I have to stay here?”

  She shook her head and looked back down at her tablet. “Probably quite a while.”

  “I entered this country illegally in 1951,” he said. “I’ve done my research. The Justice Department will want to deport me, won’t they?”

  “Since 1951, sir, you have apparently murdered and mutilated several people. Engaged in human trafficking and sold weapons overseas, using your church as both a base and a cover. Allegedly.”

  “My son was responsible for the human trafficking. And for the guns.”

  “Is that Heinrich?”

  “Yes,” Rudy said.

  “He’s dead.”

  Rudy sighed and looked up at the big clock over the door. “Heinrich was always weaker than his brother.”

  “Well, it’s not like he died of natural causes.”

  “They can’t prove I did anything. The same is true for the murder charges.”

  “They’re dragging the reservoir at Kirwin sanctuary,” she said. “And they’re finding bodies that have been there for … well, maybe for decades.”

  “Can those be traced back to me?”

  “They’re going to try. They’re building a case. And while they do, you’re going to have to wait in here.”

  “No bail?”

  “No bail.”

  “They can’t hold me indefinitely,” he said. “I know my rights.”

  Abbey Roth stared at him. Then she stood without a word and put the iPad back in her briefcase. She latched it and picked it up by the handle and walked away. When she reached the door, she turned back toward him, motioning for the guard to wait.

  “They can do whatever they want with you, sir. They’re going to run down the clock, wait until you die in here. And, frankly, I have a lot of other cases to deal with. I don’t think I’ll be very helpful to you.”

  The guard opened the door for her, and she walked out.

  He was led back to his cubicle. His towel and washcloth were gone, and he assumed they had been stolen by another inmate. He looked at his empty bookshelf, at the cot with its paper-thin mattress, then turned and left the cubicle. He walked through the maze of cubicles to the window, which was covered from top to bottom, side to side, with wire mesh.

  Rudolph Bormann, formerly Rudy Goodman of Kansas, was ninety-four years old that winter. He looked out the window at a chain-link fence that surrounded the building, beyond it a broad empty field. Clouds were gathering at the horizon, and Rudy could hear distant thunder.

  Acknowledgments

  The fictions in this book are entirely mine.

  I would like to thank the following people for the facts.

  Trooper Ryan Kufahl and the Kansas Highway Patrol, Aaron Breit-bart and the Simon Wiesenthal Center, Dr. Lyle Noordhoek, Tony Green, and Till and Alison Clayton.

  I am also grateful to my agent, Seth Fishman, and everyone at the Gernert Company; my editor Mark Tavani, Helen Richard, Ashley Hewlett, and all the wonderful people at Putnam; my copy editor, Kate Hurley; Jane Ashkar; Lindsay Kufahl; Melanie Worsley and Kevin O’Leary; Philip Grecian; Roxane White; Ande Parks; and the Bad Karma crew.

  And, of course, Christy and Graham.

  THE BEGINNING

  Let the conversation begin …

  Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinUKbooks

  Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks

  Pin ‘Penguin Books’ to your Pinterest

  Like ‘Penguin Books’ on Facebook.com/penguinbooks

  Listen to Penguin at SoundCloud.com/penguin-books

  Find out more about the author and

  discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.uk

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia

  India | New Zealand | South Africa

  Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published in the United States by G.P. Putnam’s Sons 2018

  Published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2018

  Copyright © Alexander Grecian, 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Design © blacksheep-uk.com

  Sky © Ryan McGinnis / Alamy

  Church © RSBPhoto / Alamy

  Man © plainpicture/Mark Owen

  Road © Carlos Alkmin/GettyImages

  ISBN: 978-1-405-92241-8