Hal Young didn’t know everything, but he knew plenty. After sharing all the details with Dean Goddard and Smith Garnes he appeared sallow-eyed and gray-faced. He was beginning to realize he was looking at serious time.
Hank Gunderson was the next to fall.
Bill Grebs refused to answer any of their questions and had requested a lawyer. Angus Moon was belligerent and threatening and would have likely killed someone, or something, if given the chance.
On Monday morning Sam received a call from Sheriff Goddard.
“Enjoying our warm spell?” the Sheriff asked.
The Canadian cold front had retreated and it was a balmy 25 degrees Fahrenheit, swimsuit weather by Defiance standards.
“Feels like Colorado.”
“Where are you?” the Sheriff asked.
“Ranger’s Café, having a little breakfast, plotting my future.”
Sam was up to his usual habits, compiling a list of advantages and disadvantages. The college ruled notebook lay open in front of him, next to the cup of coffee the waitress kept filling. There were several items listed on both sides of the ledger. A few crossed out. A few had lines indicating order changes, while others had been rephrased. He was trying to determine if he should move forward with the national field agent job and the Interagency Task Force. It was Monday and Sam Rivers owed Kay Magdalen a call. But he wasn’t ready to make it. Not yet. After considering his list he noticed Diane’s name wasn’t on it. That was interesting. It led him to remember the previous evening, in which they both spent a good long while with the sex, making up for lost time. This morning, too.
Sam appreciated Diane. The sex was... well... the sex caused him to remember what had been missing from his life. Diane made him remember a person’s skin was the body’s largest organ, though she brought all of him alive. Still, the reason she wasn’t on his list was because she wasn’t part of his long-term equation. She was part of something, but Sam wasn’t sure what. And he knew this decision he had to make alone.
Dean knew all about Sam’s employment opportunity with the USFW. “Take the job,” he advised. “You’re a natural.”
“Uh-huh.” He appreciated the comment, though it wouldn’t impact his decision.
“I wonder if you can do me a favor?” Dean asked.
“Name it.”
“Can you go out to Angus Moon’s cabin? I need some physical evidence of those kennels and his work breeding hybrids. And we need some samples we can tie to those hybrids and the calf kill.”
“No problem, Sheriff. I’ll head out now. I don’t seem to be making much headway here.”
The Sheriff gave him directions. It was at least a half hour drive involving plenty of remote turns. Sam Rivers looked forward to cruising through the Northern Minnesota woods. It would give him time to think.
Angus Moon’s place was set so far back into a stand of Norway pines it was invisible from the road. The entrance was marked by a lone, rusted mailbox with “R.R. 8” scrawled on its side. If you’d been moving down the road with any speed you would have passed it. The driveway turned up through the trees and disappeared.
Sam turned up the drive, genuinely interested in what he was going to find. He couldn’t imagine Angus Moon’s place. Or rather, none of what he imagined was pleasant.
After a couple hundred feet his jeep topped a tree-covered hill. At the bottom of the hill rested the dilapidated double-wide. There was a small clearing with two rusted-out cars almost completely covered with snow. There was a small path to some steps that climbed to a scarred white metal door. An antenna stuck out like a skeletal hand above the trailer’s faded brown trim. Sam followed the driveway down to a closed garage. To the right of the garage there was another snow-covered vehicle, sitting like an old carcass. The fresh snow made it all appear clean and preternaturally white. But Sam could easily imagine the scene in deep summer, dirty and unkempt.
None of what he found at Angus Moon’s surprised him. It was a northwoods hideout more than a cabin. The rusting hulks, the battered, faded double-wide, even the small antenna reaching out of its roof reminded Sam of the desultory woodsman’s life. He was a wild, dangerous man and if a woman had ever seen this place she would have turned and run screaming through the trees.
As soon as Sam got out of his jeep he could smell the pungent odor of the kennel. Judging from the absence of a single whine or rustle the kennels were empty, or their inhabitants dead. He pulled a few baggies off the front seat, stuffed them into his coat pocket and walked up through the snow to examine the trailer’s front door. The aluminum doorknob was locked. He peered through the front door window, but the frosted glass was opaque. He knocked, though knew no one would answer. While he waited, just to be sure, he took a closer look at the door. If he wanted, he could easily enter the place. A simple shoulder in the top center would break it open. But he didn’t have a warrant, and he didn’t want to jeopardize any evidence, and besides, the breeding operation was up in the woods behind the trailer. Dean Goddard asked him to check out the kennel, not the man’s living space, though Sam was curious.
The trail into the woods was easy to find. He climbed up the icy path through the trees. Fifty yards back he saw the small shelters and three or four fenced-in outdoor pens. As he approached, even in the cold, the fetid reek of the hybrids’ confinement was strong. It was feces, wolf urine, with maybe a subtext of glandular fear, if such a thing was possible; it became more overpowering the closer he came to the dilapidated compound.
Earlier, when he’d heard how Angus Moon had nailed each hybrid into a small house, he’d been outraged. He couldn’t imagine the hybrids’ lives, or the Arctic or Malamute who bred them. Or rather, he guessed it was similar to his own childhood, only worse. The thought of it made him hunger for a swifter and more exacting revenge than the slow wheels of the criminal justice system. But he would settle for prison, recognizing a cage would be the best punishment for a man like Angus Moon.
Still, to bring a living animal into this world, in these environs, and to know nothing but Angus Moon’s ugly perspective on the world, would be a living hell. Sam Rivers knew life was difficult enough without being handicapped by a man like Moon. He had to remind himself he was here to help put the man away forever, and try and be appeased, if not entirely satisfied with the effort.
He approached the nearest house and saw the plane of snow where it covered a plywood board. Probably the covering Angus nailed over the nearest house, Sam thought. He moved to the front of the house and saw hair along the scarred wooden edge. He bent down and started pulling a sample from the ragged wood.
Something stirred inside.
Sam jumped back. He thought maybe a wild creature had moved into the house to get out of the cold. But what kind of creature would dare venture into a wolf den, when the smell was overpowering and where it would be almost certain to be killed and eaten? Some snow shook loose across the threshold, surfacing a heavy chain, angled down over the worn wooden lip of the entrance.
There was another move from inside the house, though not hurried.
Sam stepped back a little further, peering inside. And then he saw the weak, small head turn and peer out of the dark opening. One of its eyes was cobalt blue. The other wolf yellow. Its head was in the shape of a wolf. Something between a wolf pup and a youngster, maybe just 4 months old? Weighted down by a chain, its head hung low as it peered suspiciously into the bright morning.
“Hey,” Sam said.
The chain hung from a makeshift rope collar. The animal peered up, but didn’t react to his voice. Its face was gaunt and its forward limb, at least what Sam could see, was thin and spindly. But its paw was big. If it was a pup, it was going to be a big hybrid, providing it survived the day.
“Come on out here,” Sam said, softly.
Something like a glint of recognition came into its tired eyes. Something like hope, though Sam c
ouldn’t see for sure. Sam looked around, wondering if the animal had water, wondering when it was last fed. He would have to get it some water and find out where Moon kept the dog food. He remembered the shed beside the garage and was about ready to retreat and get this creature some food when it moved forward, just a little. Its gaunt, large head came forward and peered out of the house opening. It eyed Sam with suspicion, clearly in a weakened state. But it came forward, one step out of the house with its head poised over its paw. Then it grew tired and lay down, unable to continue. Its chain pulled against the rope collar, but it could only lay in submission.
Sam came forward, cautious but feeling pity. He would have to determine if the dog could be saved. It appeared to have a gentle demeanor, which would have been incredible given its life until now. But the only way to tell for sure was to get it healthy and spend some time with the animal. Sam found the nearby water bowl turned over and covered with a dusting of snow. He kneeled down in front of the young dog. When he did, the dog managed to lift its head. From back in the house Sam heard a tail lift and drop, lift and drop. Then it was still.
Sam squinted to the back of the house and saw another dog’s body, unmoving, clearly dead.
“Let’s get you out of here. But first let me get you some water and food.”
On the way back to the trailer he banged the ice out of the bottom of the water bowl. It shattered against a tree. He retreated down the icy path, retracing his steps to the trailer’s front door. He didn’t know where Angus Moon kept fresh water, but he was certain he could find some in the double-wide. He did not pause on the front step, setting his shoulder into door’s top center. The latch shattered and the cheap metal entrance swung open.
It was a simple, surprisingly clean cabin, but he did not pause to consider it. He glanced to his right, found the small kitchen, walked across the threadbare carpet and started the sink spigot. He filled the bowl, returned up the path, and laid it in front of the young dog. As soon as it smelled water it raised its head and came out far enough to bend and drink. At first it was tentative and weak. But once it tasted the water its tongue seemed to strengthen from the refreshment. Its head bent in earnest and it lapped and lapped.
“Take it easy. You’re going to get sick.”
But the dog didn’t listen.
Sam retreated down the icy path to the shed. He opened the door and found three large bags of kibble, one of them opened. The shed was filled with an assortment of odds and ends, including several foothold traps hanging from nails in the sidewall. Sam found a scoop in the opened bag. There was a small stack of bowls. He took one and filled it with kibble. On his way out he grabbed a pair of bolt cutters. He wasn’t sure where that chain went, but he knew he was going to free the pup.
Back at the dog house the pup looked energized by the water. As soon as it got a whiff of the kibble it started whining. Sam set the bowl down in front of it and the dog took a lunging bite of the food, wolfing it down. Then another.
The chain impaired its ability to eat. Sam took the bolt cutters to where the last link disappeared into the house. He affixed the tip of the cutters into the link, closed the two handles and the link snapped, the chain freed. As if in answer the pup’s head came all the way up, but it didn’t hesitate or alter its focus. It returned to the bowl, hurriedly wolfing down mouthfuls of kibble.
Sam watched the dog eat. It was going to be a big dog, if it survived. He’d never seen such a scruffy animal. And its coat was matted and thick, dirty from being inside the filthy house. He watched it turn around the bowl, no longer impeded or held back by the chain. Sam leaned down and looked into the house and saw what appeared to be a pure bred Malamute. Probably the female Angus Moon used to breed the hybrids. This one’s mother, Sam guessed. It was dead, frozen in the house. The poor, hungry pup in front of him had been chained into the house beside his dying, then dead, mother.
It sickened Sam Rivers. It reminded him why he was here. He took out the baggies and while the pup finished the kibble Sam turned to the other houses and gathered more hair samples. If he hadn’t needed the samples and the evidence he would have returned to the shed, found some gasoline and torched the stinking houses.
When the pup finished the kibble it moved back to the bowl of water and finished it, too. Sam waited to see if he’d keep it down. It was a male and it peered at him with the most beautiful pair of mixed-colored eyes. If Sam was any judge of dogs this one’s demeanor conveyed cooperation. He considered it, and realized it was probably an offspring from a recent litter, but, he guessed Angus Moon had been unable to sell it since it appeared to be more Malamute than wolf and had heterochromia, two different-colored eyes, a relatively rare occurrence.
“Come here,” he said, bending a little and beckoning with his hand.
The dog came forward, shy, its head lowered, tail between its legs, wagging a little, uncertain.
Sam did not have to tell the pup to follow him. After gathering and marking the fur samples, Sam returned to the shed. The pup trailed a cautious distance behind him. Sam found some brushes in the shed. The dog was remarkably sweet for a hybrid. Perhaps he hadn’t yet come into his wolf heritage. Or maybe he had simply gotten more of his mother than his Arctic father. Whatever, Sam spent a half hour brushing the puppy, who seemed to know Sam meant no harm. He enjoyed being groomed. Unusually, he did not whine or turn away, but sat stoically while Sam brushed out the clumps, the matted fur, the pieces of god-knew-what, mixed in with hay and wood chips.
“You’re going to need a bath, for starters,” Sam said. “And a checkup.”
The dog’s tail wagged when Sam spoke. Sam smiled. “Your one eye is a lot like Charlie’s,” Sam said, a little wistful, remembering his friend. The dog’s tail wagged.
Back on the road the dog sat beside him on the passenger seat. Sam rolled down the two rear windows to provide ventilation. He had the heater blasting in the front. The dog sat still, happy to be in the jeep. Sam guessed it was the first time the pup had ever been in a car, had probably never been away from the compound. It was remarkably calm, had a kind of natural regal demeanor, watching the snowy world go by. It was gaunt but alert now, since it had eaten and drank.
Near town Sam phoned Diane.
“Sam,” she said.
“Finished with that article?”
“Finished the first one by noon. The editor’s damn happy about it. Now I’m working on some background pieces, for tomorrow and the day after. People are going to want to know about this. It’s a huge story and I have the exclusive. You couldn’t make up a story like this,” she said, happily.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Haven’t I proved that already?”
Sam smiled. “Do you know any vets in the area?”
“Sure. People tell me Dave O’Connor’s a good one. His office is on the edge of Vermilion Falls.”
“Can you get me a number?”
“Sure.”
He waited while she looked it up. When she found it he pulled over and wrote it down.
“Why do you want a vet?”
“Found a pup out at Moon’s place, needs some tending.”
“You coming now?”
“Figured I would. Then I need to go over to the Sheriff’s office.”
“What are you doing later?”
“Later?”
“After the Sheriff. I still owe you a drink and a meal. Maybe you should come over and I’ll fix you some dinner and we can celebrate?”
“I can do that.” He imagined her lips.
“Pick up some akvavit, would you?”
There was a pause. It’d been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of a woman’s intimate company. “That’s a dangerous mixture.”
“I wasn’t going to mix anything with it. Just going to have it straight up.”
He thought she smiled, over the phone. “I�
��ll pick it up.”
On the way to the vet’s office he finally phoned Kay Magdalen.
“Magdalen,” she answered, gravelly, her voice short.
“Kay. Sam Rivers.”
“Of course it’s Sam Rivers. I’ve already got them putting your nameplate on your new office. Don’t disappoint me.”
Sam smiled. “I want a raise and I need some special allowances.”
“Rivers,” she said, a little miffed. “Anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass and high maintenance?”
He could tell she was pleased. “Only you.”
“The raise is already in the works. That’s a given. What allowances?”
“I’m thinking the office needs a mascot. How do you think the Service would feel about me having a dog?”
“At the office?”
“Yeah. At the office? Like in Europe. And didn’t the Service once look at using dogs in the field?”
“This is Denver. Not Denmark. And I don’t remember the Service ever using dogs in the field.”
“I may need the allowance,” he said, matter of fact. So she would know he was serious.
There was a long pause. Finally, she said, “OK, Rivers. We’ll look into it. Just get your ass back here.”
“The Sheriff needs me to stay and clear up a few details. I suspect I’ll have to be here at least through next weekend.”
There was another pause. This time he could hear Kay’s exasperation over the phone.
“Consider it community-law enforcement relations,” Sam added, but he was thinking about Diane.
“Goddamnit, Rivers.” There was another pause. “Did you plan on doing any work when you returned?”
Wolves Page 32
