Along Comes a Wolfe

by Angie Counios

  The time-stamp skips forward a day. Women’s feet shuffle across the screen and the lights flick off periodically. Nothing out of the ordinary. I know we should speed ahead to when the attack likely occurred, but I’m tense, keeping an eye on the time, waiting uncomfortably as it moves toward yesterday. Charlie’s sandwich rests uneaten on his lap as he waits. When it jumps to Friday, we both sit intently, focused on the screen. The clock zips past noon, then three, then six.

  “Soon,” Charlie says quietly.

  I look at him, expecting anticipation, but am surprised to see sadness. On the screen, there are more feet, then something on the floor, then the image freezes on an empty room.

  I’m confused. “What happened?”

  Charlie taps the rewind button frame by frame until he and I are staring at the swollen, red face of a girl that I assume is Bonnie McCallum. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Tears have run down her face, ruining her makeup; her eyes are wide but relaxed, her face calm.

  Because she’s already dead.

  Charlie doesn’t immediately go back to the previous frame and I have to look away. Out the window, a man rakes leaves across the street. A pink bike lies in the driveway. These ordinary things make me feel sick. Poor Bonnie.

  “He’s choking them.”

  I look back at Charlie.

  “Looks like a piece of cloth or fabric. I can’t tell from this.” He’s tapping the images backwards and forwards.

  I’m not in the mood to watch. Our sensationalized world has apparently not desensitized me.

  “Dammit, there’s only a few pictures.” He must realize what that sounds like because he adds, “It’s hard to see him.”

  He turns the phone to me, but I refuse to watch.

  “There’s this one of her, post-mortem.” Sometimes I wonder if he really thinks he’s a crime scene investigator. “Then, this one, but her body’s turned around and he’s kneeling. Then here are her feet and his knees and hands. Then, him standing behind her. The last one is her feet, standing at the sink.”

  He goes quiet. I look over at him, and he’s studying the image. Then suddenly he grabs my arm. “Wait. Look.”

  Reluctantly, I do. I see her feet—she’s wearing jeans and running shoes, at the sink. “What?”

  He points. I don’t see it. “That’s him.”

  Then it registers. Caught on the top edge of the still frame is a pair of feet in the stall behind the girl.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Waiting for his prey…”

  chapter 73

  I stare at the pair of sneakers in the corner stall. Charlie skips the image backwards and the feet disappear. He skips forward and they reappear, and then the killer is behind her before he pulls her down. I remember the day at the trails with Charlie and my mind fills in the blanks. He waited in the bathroom for Sheri, hiding in a stall until she arrived. He likely stood on the toilet seat with the door cracked open, and when she was at the sink, he lowered himself down and came up behind her. He wrapped something around her throat and choked her until—

  I can see Sheri staring at me, smiling; I swear I can even smell her.

  Charlie interrupts the memory, “Something doesn’t make sense.”

  “What?”

  “Well, he’s here behind her and he pulls her down backwards. And she struggles against it.”

  “So?”

  He clicks ahead to the image of her face in the camera. “How does she end up here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How does she get here? He’s got her. She’s on her back and he’s got the full weight and force of his body on top of her. Unless…” He doesn’t finish and starts skipping backwards through the frames again.

  He might finish that sentence, but he’ll do it in his own sweet time.

  He keeps flipping backwards, then stops. “There.”

  The camera is in infrared mode and in the corner stall are the splayed-out feet of the killer.

  “He waited in the corner like he did at the school. If he sat low enough, long enough, then maybe… maybe…”

  He seems to have forgotten I’m here.

  “Finish your thought!” I yell.

  He jumps. “Geez, Shepherd, relax.” He sighs and smiles. “Maybe he saw the camera. Maybe it made some sound and he heard it. Either way, he knew we were there. And he left the SD card for us to find.”

  “So?”

  “He’s performing for us.”

  chapter 74

  I watch the footage again, frame by frame, watching the steps of the action. I’ve tuned Bonnie out of the image—it helps me deal with the horror of her death. “He did this on purpose?”

  “Not the murder. He planned that long ago. But once he knew we were watching, he made sure we saw her.”

  “And him killing her?”

  Charlie nods.

  “We need to take this to Gekas.”

  He snatches it out of my hands. “What? No way. We’re not going through that again.”

  “You have something that could directly help her case.”

  “That I did illegally and you helped to retrieve. Don’t forget, you’re an accomplice now.”

  “Wait, you did this on purpose?”

  “No—well, maybe—but that’s not the point. We show this and they’ll toss us in jail. For real.” He drops the phone into a pocket inside his jacket, but doesn’t seem to notice that he’s left the reader with the memory card on the console between us.

  I set the bag with the energy drink and bananas on top of it.

  “Besides, it wouldn’t help with the case. The same reason we’d get tossed in jail is the same reason they couldn’t use it. It’s inadmissible evidence.”

  He’s got a point, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the energy drink and knocking the memory card into my other hand beside the console.

  “The only good that comes out of this is we work through the other days and see if he makes an appearance and shows his face.”

  I think about it. “Wait. What about those time stamps? Are they accurate?”

  “Yeah, of course. Why?”

  “What if I call and tell Gekas to check surveillance cameras around the bathroom at those times?”

  “She’s gonna have questions. She’s gonna want to know how you knew and why.”

  “Who cares? She knows we’re snooping around. I’m sure she didn’t think we’d stop. She might say we’re obstructing justice, but in the end, we’re only helping her. She can’t get too mad about that.”

  “All right, Shepherd, let’s go with your plan.” I knew brazen disregard of the law would win him over. “Let’s just hope you’re right about her.”

  Yup, you and me both.

  chapter 75

  Charlie wants us to swing by the mall when I make the call. He hopes to see her outside and get a reaction. I think it’s childish, but the fact that he’s doing what’s right and not serving his own pride makes me go along with it. I find a spot close to the entrance where the forensic truck is parked and pull in. Gekas’s card is in my wallet and I pull it out and dial the number.

  She picks up on the second ring. “Anthony?”

  I’m a little surprised she knows it’s me. “Detective Gekas.”

  “I wondered if you’d be calling.”

  “Uh, really…?”

  “Every time there’s another attack, either you or your new friend, Charles Wolfe, seem to turn up.”

  I glance over at Charlie, uneasy with all she knows. “Detective—”

  “Anthony, relax. We know you aren’t part of this. I’ve already talked to several people who were at the party with you, and I’m sure Charles has told you all about his escapades.” She pauses, letting me process. “But I do have the distinct feeling you haven’t be
en listening to my advice.”

  “Uh, no,” I say, looking away from Charlie, “not really.”

  “You need to bring this to an end, or else I’m going to charge you with a felony—”

  I take a leap of faith and close both eyes. “Detective Gekas, you need to check mall surveillance.”

  “Anthony, stop. We’re doing—”

  “Our guy, the one you’re looking for, was in the women’s bathroom by the music store last night, a couple of hours before the murder.”

  She’s silent for a beat, then the questions start, “What do you mean ‘our’ guy? How do you—wait, do you know what he looks like? Have you seen him?”

  “No.” I want to tell her about the images we have of Bonnie but it will only make it worse.

  “How did you get this information?”

  I know it’s time to get out of this conversation but I’m not sure how.

  “Anthony?”

  Charlie’s gesturing at his phone.

  “Anthony?!”

  I muffle the speaker and look at him. “What?”

  Charlie whispers, “It’s my camera. The one the killer took.”

  “What about it?”

  “The gps just turned on.”

  That’s when I hang up on Gekas.

  chapter 76

  “Are you kidding?”

  Charlie shows me the indicator on his phone.

  I feel a rush and I almost can’t think. Charlie’s got a gps signal pointing to the killer’s possible location and I’ve just hung up on the lead detective on the case.

  “What do we do?”

  I think Charlie is wondering the exact same thing—what do we do? Maybe it’s not a dumb question.

  My phone rings. Gekas again.

  “No,” Charlie says in a strong, non-negotiable way.

  I play it out in my head. She’s got the training and an entire force behind her. They could catch this guy, bring him down, take him to jail.

  Or it could be a trap. And we don’t even know if this is the killer.

  What would I tell Gekas? How did we get here? How did we get to the point where Charlie’s duct-taping stolen cameras in washrooms after finding a clue at the likely expense of contaminating two crime scenes? Oh, and there’s also the little matter of me withholding evidence from Gekas while also messing up a third crime scene.

  Or is this no longer about Gekas? Am I after something else? Do I want to be one of the guys that take him down? Am I that much of a self-absorbed ass?

  Then I remember Sheri—and her smile and how it catches me off-guard when I close my eyes before I sleep. Most of it I remember, but some things, like the way she looks in profile, or the colour of her hair in the sunlight, have slipped into a shadowy corner of my mind. I struggle to connect my memories together into a whole, one I can hold onto, but the more I try, the more it falls away.

  It’s been less than two weeks. Only. What happens in a month? Or a year?

  The phone quits ringing and I know it’s gone to voicemail. I put it down while Charlie continues to stare at the screen.

  “It’s the construction site.”

  A small breath escapes me and I look at him. “Where Maggie died?”

  He nods.

  I see the tent surrounding Maggie’s body. I see Bonnie’s dead face staring at me. I try to remember Sheri, but I just can’t see her clearly enough.

  I make the decision.

  “Let’s go.”

  chapter 77

  I drive and Charlie navigates.

  “It should take us about fifteen minutes to get there.” He’s focused on the map on his phone.

  I kick around the idea of calling Gekas again but let the thought roll right out my head. With Gekas comes questions and a long sit-down in her office. We don’t have time for any kind of a sit-down, long or short. If he’s there—and I hope he’s there—this isn’t the time to wait around, wasting precious minutes trying to explain ourselves. We need to go now and sort things out later. If we get a face, or, better yet, we get him, we’ll have all the time in the world to answer Gekas’s questions.

  The radio plays quietly but I don’t recognize the song. We turn onto Lewvan Drive, leaving the residential neighbourhood behind us. We pass big box stores to Ring Road, and skirt the edge of the city. The streets are humming. People are out for Saturday shopping, brunch—all the ordinary things normal people do. I think about my parents, likely down at the Farmer’s Market, heading home, making lunch, maybe wondering where I am.

  A plane flies over the highway, coming in from the southeast for a landing at the airport.

  Yesterday, for a brief moment, I was a student again, not the boyfriend of a missing girl—a lost girl. A dead girl.

  A new thought forms: Sheri’s body, dead, cold, grey, lying in dirt and worms, her eyes gazing milky white at me. I can’t remember the way her smile looked or how her hair fell across her face, but this thought, this damn thought, sticks.

  “Turn at these office buildings.”

  I follow Charlie’s instructions.

  “Keep going ’til you hit the edge of the city.”

  I nod. “Do you think he’s waiting for us?” It’s a legitimate question. The camera didn’t get to the construction site by itself.

  “Probably.”

  “So, when we get there—?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re kidding! You don’t have a plan?”

  “No!” Charlie snaps. “I don’t have time to run all over the city, investigating every possible damn crime scene!”

  This is the first time I’ve seen even a sliver of nervousness.

  But I’m nervous too and I need some assurances. “So we don’t have a plan?”

  “No. No, we don’t, Shepherd.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, looking out the window. “We’re going to play it by ear, okay?”

  This is not reassuring, but the only thing that’s kept me on this course of action is that Charlie hasn’t led me astray—yet.

  We hit the end of the road and I take the last street. Charlie shuts the radio off, and I hear him let out a long and slow sigh. He leans forward in his seat, watching the construction site as we approach.

  “Keep driving.”

  He watches out the window as we move past a temporary blue fence that runs along the premises. The shells of houses rise before us in different stages of assembly. New ones with siding and yards of dirt give way to plastic-wrapped shells and plywood roofs, then wooden skeletons sprouting up from open cement forms.

  “’Kay, slow down along here…”

  We cruise in silence, scanning the buildings and empty lots as we pass, but it’s the weekend, so there is no sign of anyone. No truck, no car, no one in sight. If the killer is here, he didn’t drive, or if he did, he’s done a damn good job hiding his vehicle.

  We come to the end of the road, circle around, and pull over to the side. I’m staring out the windshield, waiting for our next move, when Charlie climbs out of the car. I undo my seatbelt and follow.

  The place is quiet, and there’s nothing discreet about the two of us wandering around here. I look over at him. “So, in the front, like we own it?”

  “Yup.”

  I shoot Charlie another look. Whether he got my dig or not, he doesn’t care—he isn’t going to hide.

  I sigh and lock the car door. It chirps.

  If the killer is here, he knows we’ve arrived.

  chapter 78

  Charlie checks his phone.

  “It’s somewhere inside there, halfway down the road.”

  We walk across the road and down the newly poured sidewalk to a gate in the temporary fencing. A heavy chain holds it shut. A big sign—keep out—hangs on it.

  “After you,” Charlie gestures.

 
; “D’you think there are guard dogs?”

  “If there are, you should be extra quiet.”

  I bend and wiggle through the space in the fence, hoping not to rattle the gate. Charlie follows and slides in much easier than I did.

  We walk between two rows of houses, down what looks like it’ll be the backyard. It’s an eerie, sound-less space, and although I try to shake it off, my imagination gets the best of me. I can’t help but think of the crime scene just beyond the last row of buildings, where they found Maggie. Charlie says the killer grabbed her at school—but what if he brought her here, for some ritual or something that we aren’t aware of. What if we’re the next victims?

  I’m almost convinced that whoever brought the camera out here is waiting for us, hiding in one of these buildings, just waiting for us to go past. He seems to kill people at close range—the news said Maggie was strangled and we know Bonnie was—so he doesn’t seem the kind who would shoot us with a gun. Then again, he is a killer—and I’m guessing that once you’ve done it a couple of times it doesn’t really matter how you do it.

  This is really stupid. “We should call Gekas.”

  “Wow, Shepherd, that’s a new record for fastest chickening out.”

  I’m trying to play this cool. I’d like him to agree. “It’s just common sense, right? We step out of this now, we call her, we wait, and make sure no one leaves.”

  “Fine,” Charlie says, “head back to the car.”

  But he keeps walking.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Good.”

  “How can you be so, so indifferent about this?”

  “What’s he gonna do? Attack us? If he’s here, he’s trying to figure us out as much as we’re trying to figure him out. Sure, he might attack, but he likely just wants to know who he’s dealing with.”

  “And then do what?”

  “Toy with us. Get inside our heads. Then, maybe, kill us.”

  “Oh, great—”

  “Relax, Shepherd. This is a meet-and-greet.” He stops.

  “What?”

  He stares at his gps, looking at the two nearly finished homes in front of us. He turns toward first one, then the other.