“Silver. It’s the only thing that’ll kill a shifter. A silver knife works, even a letter opener, provided it’s genuine silver.”
Serena heard Mike suppress what might have been a laugh with a fit of coughing. But Callahan held her eyes, and she saw in them he was serious, deadly serious.
She held out her hand and hoped to hell no one saw that it was trembling. He held her gaze for a beat and then took her hand.
“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Callahan. It’s been an…interesting conversation.”
“Thanks for hearing me out. I’ll be looking forward to your call.” He nodded briefly at Mike before he turned and walked out of the office.
Serena sank back into her chair, watching the door even after he was out of sight. She thought she could hear the sound of his boots in the hall but knew it was just her imagination. It seemed something vital was missing, something Wes Callahan had taken with him when he left the room. She picked up the bullet, running her fingers over the smooth finish.
“So what do you think that was about?”
Mike was back in his chair across from her. She glanced up, her brows furrowed, and dropped the bullet back onto her desk.
“I have no frigging clue what that was about.”
“Do you believe that stuff about wolves or shifters, or whatever the hell they’re called?”
She regarded Mike for a minute. “You ever heard of the Beast of Bray Road? Down by Elkhorn? People claim to have seen what they described as a werewolf like…thing. There have been reports east of here, out toward Watertown, of a pack of wild dogs, big wild dogs, attacking and mutilating cattle. There’s a whole lot of unexplained shit that happens. But hearing reports of a shifter or a werewolf in some remote section of desolate woods is far different from hearing we have one taking up residence in downtown Madison.”
Mike nodded. “We had kindly the same back home.”
Serena smiled. He was still in his Kentucky mode of speaking, the odd word usage popping up every now and then. He’d finally stopped adding dear and honey to the end of every sentence after someone had complained about it to the Lieutenant. Serena knew he’d worked hard to lose the regional accent when he’d moved north. The only time it was really present these days was when he was home with his wife Robin, or now, when he’d played it up on purpose, or when his temper got the best of him, which wasn’t often.
“One report turned out to be a bear that’d come down from the mountains and frightened some older folks who’d moved from New York. Once it was a coyote that ate someone’s dog. There’s even a story about a wild man who lived in the woods in Estill County who had moss growing in his hair when they finally caught him. Then there’s the Waddy werewolf and something kindly like that up near Erlanger.”
Mike watched her, and for the second time that day Serena felt like she was being scrutinized. She glanced at the names she’d scribbled on her notepad, avoiding his gaze as she spoke.
“So you believe this guy? You believe what he says, that these things are real, but this isn’t their territory? And the silver bullet theory?”
“I don’t know what I believe right now, Mike.” Her mind was churning, trying to process everything all at once. Images of the man on the ice, the crimson blood frozen in graceful arcs on the snow. And now Wes Callahan, appearing out of the blue, sitting in a chair in her office explaining how a shifter had been responsible for murdering the man.
The truth was, the meeting with Wes Callahan was almost more disturbing than everything else. He’d affected her, threw her off balance, made her edgy, and left her feeling unfocused.
But he’d also intrigued her in a way few men ever had. Thinking of him sitting across from her, his gray eyes locked with hers, the feel of his hand on top of hers. She thought about the gesture he’d made, running his hand through his black hair, pushing it away from his forehead.
Serena shook her head. This was no way to start a Monday and no way to begin a potential murder investigation. She forced herself to pick up the receiver, dialing the first number on the list of names Callahan had provided.
“I know a couple of these guys. I’ll give them a call. Maybe at least we can find out who Mr. Wes Callahan really is.”
Chapter Two
Mike hung up the phone. “I got a call back from that guy at the university. He said we can meet him in about an hour and he’ll take a look at the photos of the prints.”
“Great. Thanks, Mike.” She pulled on her jacket and hat and stuffed the photos into the far too slender case file. Her cell phone chirped and she flipped it open.
“Daniels.”
The gravelly voice on the other end needed no introduction, and the man to whom it belonged to rarely bothered with one. Chief Medical Examiner Chad Morgan was arrogant enough to believe everyone knew who he was. And he was right.
“We have your John Doe. I have some preliminary findings if you’re interested.”
“I am.” She waved at Mike and mouthed ME. He sat back down, eyes on her, and by the way he hunched forward in his chair, his hands flat on his desk, Serena knew he was anticipating this just as much as she was.
“Time of death is sometime between midnight and 5:00 a.m. as a rough estimate. Cause of death is blood loss due to massive injuries, primarily those to the neck and chest. He exsanguinated.”
“The same as your thoughts at the scene. Do you know what caused those injuries?”
“Someone said something about dogs at the scene. I’d hazard a guess, unconfirmed, that he was savaged by a pack of dogs…big dogs…by the extent of the injuries and the nature of the wounds.”
“We found only one set of tracks. But it didn’t appear the dog had any interest in the body, other than making a cursory circle before heading back the way it came. There were no signs of struggle at the scene either, no signs that he was attacked by wild dogs.”
“I see. Then I can’t comment further on that until I do the autopsy.”
“He was alive when he was killed, wasn’t he.” She saw Mike wince.
“Alive, but very likely unconscious. That was my primary reason for this call. We ran a series of x-rays. Your man has a massive subdural hematoma along with various other broken bones, mostly in the upper body region. You’re familiar with shaken baby syndrome?”
She frowned and looked at Mike. His brows drew together in a mute question.
“I am. But how does that apply to our John Doe?”
“Based on what I saw on the films, I’d say your man was shaken hard enough to cause massive cerebral bleeding. I anticipate I will find shredded and mushy brain tissue when I open his skull. Your man may have been alive, but only in the sense he was breathing and his heart was still beating. Regardless of the massive injuries he sustained, I suspect he would have died in a relatively short time from brain herniation – movement of the swollen brain – which would have compressed his brain stem. That would have stopped his breathing and his heart.”
“When are you planning to do the autopsy?”
“I would anticipate you are looking for sooner than later? I’ve scheduled it for tomorrow morning, first thing, eight o’clock.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there.”
“Fine.” The line went dead. Serena stared at the phone for a moment before flipping it shut.
“What is it? You have that line between your eyes again, that weird furrow you get when you don’t like what you’ve heard.”
She looked at Mike for a long moment. “Morgan says our John Doe was shaken hard enough to cause his brain to bleed and swell and maybe even break bones. He was unconscious when he was killed, probably wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway.”
Mike stood, hands still planted on the desk. “Who the hell is strong enough to shake a grown man like a rag doll?”
“I have no idea, Mike. No idea in hell.”
* * *
They were silent on the ride to the university campus. Serena watched the buildings through the truck window as
they rode up the gentle rise of Bascom Hill.
“We’re taking the scenic route today?” Mike had taken Observatory Drive. Muir Woods was on her right, the frozen expanse of Lake Mendota stretching northward. It was the oldest section of campus, the buildings carrying their age gracefully.
“It’s the only hill around here. I miss mountains sometimes.” He carefully navigated around a cluster of students at the crest of the hill.
“You didn’t graduate from here, did you?”
“No. I grew up in Wausau, went to the university there.” She glanced down at the case file. “That’s how I know the guy in Wausau, Decker, the one Callahan gave as a reference. I went to school with him. Local guy who stayed local. We’ve kept in touch.”
“You dated him, didn’t you?” Mike grinned at her.
“Why would you say that?” She scowled at him, fidgeting with the case file on her lap, finally setting it beside her on the seat. He just kept grinning at her.
“Serena, I interrogate suspects for a living. I know people. And I know you.”
She held up her hands in surrender, giving in to a brief laugh. “Fine, Mr. Detective. Yes, we dated. No, it wasn’t serious. Yes, we parted on good terms. No, I have no desire to go back and rekindle anything with Decker. Happy?”
“I wasn’t unhappy before.” Mike pulled up to a red light and turned to her. “I was really just fishing, Serena. You gave it all up on your own.”
She punched him in the arm even though there was no way he felt anything through his thick parka.
“You can be a real shit sometimes, Sparks.”
“What did he have to say about Callahan?” Mike turned south, the buildings becoming more modern in architecture, if less commanding in presence.
“He said he is what the claims he is; a tracker of shifters.”
“Does your guy believe in all that shifter lore?”
“Not sure. Didn’t ask. He did say they had a series of murders similar to our John Doe. Callahan had a lead on a guy, said he’d been following him from Minnesota, like he told us.”
“Did Decker say he thought the murders were committed by a shifter, by the guy Callahan says he’s tracking?”
Serena shifted in her seat, brows drawn together. “Well, not exactly. He never said he believed in shifters, but he didn’t say what he thought killed those people either. He did say Callahan had a lead, a guy Decker wanted to interview but didn’t really view as a suspect. But then the guy vanished. Callahan left to follow him south, through Point. There were another series of murders, college kids from the campus there. Decker lost track of Callahan after that.”
“Callahan thought they were done by the same guy?”
“Yeah, he’s convinced they’re the same.”
Mike signaled and swung the truck into a small parking lot. Serena glanced up at the building, a non-descript sand colored structure several stories tall. She made a face. In the weak midmorning sun, it looked bland and unappealing. Even though she hadn’t attended the University of Madison, she loved the Union and Bascom Hall, the century-old buildings full of tradition and history. The buildings constructed in the 70s all looked institutional and boring. Mike turned off the engine, pulled on his mittens, and yanked the hood of his parka over his face.
“Where’s our guy located?” Serena grabbed the case file and climbed out of the truck, following Mike toward the entrance. He waited until he was inside before pulling back the hood of his parka.
“He said meet him in room 108. I guess that way.” Mike pointed toward an open doorway, noises coming from within. “There’s some kind of exhibition he’s setting up.”
Serena looked past Mike into the room. Dozens of animal skeletons, in various stages of assembly, covered every horizontal surface. It took her a minute to realize there was someone working among the bones.
“Professor Beckley?”
A pleasant looking red-haired man popped up from behind a table laden with what looked like a lion skeleton.
“Yes? Can I help you?” He held a jawbone in his hands, full of wicked looking teeth. Mike stepped forward.
“I’m Detective Sparks and this is my partner, Detective Daniels. I talked to you earlier today. We were wondering if you had a moment to look at some photographs.”
Professor Beckley set down the mandible and walked out from behind the table.
“I’d be happy to. What do you have?” He held out his hand and Serena slid one of the photographs of the dog prints from the folder.
“We were wondering if you could tell us what type of dog made these prints?”
Beckley walked to the window, holding the photo up in the pale sun. He immediately turned to Mike and Serena.
“This isn’t a dog track. It’s a wolf track.”
“A wolf? Are you sure?” Serena glanced at Mike, who looked as confused as she felt.
“Canus lupus…the gray wolf. But…” He squinted at the photo. “I don’t know. Something is off with the scale. Do you have more photos?”
“I do.” She shuffled through the photos, laying them out on a nearby table. Beckley walked down the row of photos, looking at each, occasionally holding one up.
“This is definitely a wolf. Look…” He walked to the back of the room, returning with a white blob in his hands. “This is a cast of a gray wolf track.”
Beckley placed the cast next to the photograph. Serena and Mike leaned forward. Mike let out a low whistle. Serena was silent but she saw what he did, what Beckley already knew.
“That’s not a gray wolf track. See here, and here…” Beckley pointed. “The width of the track is much greater, along with the length. You can clearly see that it is against the reference rules. And see how deep these impressions are? Male gray wolves top out close to a hundred pounds.”
Beckley looked at them, his eyes serious. “This animal is probably closer to one eighty, maybe two hundred pounds. Given the stride length, this animal is huge. This would be a super predator.”
“Would this…super predator as you call it, would this animal be able to take down a man?”
“Oh, easily, very easily. A man wouldn’t stand a chance, even someone your size, Detective.”
She glanced at Mike, but as usual his face was impassive. She turned to Beckley.
“Professor Beckley, thank you for your time.” She extended her hand and shook Beckley’s as Mike gathered the photos. They turned to leave.
“Detective Daniels? Can you tell me where these photos were taken?”
Serena turned back to Professor Beckley. “It’s part of an ongoing investigation, so I’m not free to disclose that information.”
Beckley regarded them for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was grave.
“Then let me just say this. In a populated area, this would be an extremely dangerous predator. Extremely dangerous.”
* * *
“What do you think?” They were sitting in the truck. Mike pulled off one thick mitten and started the engine. “A super predator? What the hell.”
“Yeah, not something I expected to hear. A wolf…a big one…would have been bad enough. But not a two hundred pound giant animal that can kill a man.” Serena shifted in her seat, turning to face Mike.
“I saw a wolf out on the lake. Late Friday night.”
Mike’s brows drew together. “You think it’s the same one?”
Serena shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It was big, but then again, I only saw it for a minute and then it was gone. Not a lot to compare its size to. Just snow and trees.”
“I just…” Mike’s cell phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
Serena looked out the window of the truck, watching the traffic on Johnson Street, mulling over what Professor Beckley had said. Mike was right. A big wolf with a taste for people was bad, but at least it was something she could understand. But a creature that big, something that probably weighed as much as Mike, that didn’t make sense. Maybe she’d take a look dow
n by the lake, see if she could get a picture of the tracks of the wolf she’d seen.
Her mind went back to Callahan, sitting by her desk, telling her with complete confidence that he was tracking a man who changed into a wolf, who could transform at will, and willingly. She thought what that would be like, what a human body would have to go through to become a wolf.
“You’re kidding? No…yeah. I heard you. I just don’t believe you.” Mike’s voice brought her back from her thoughts. There was an edge to it she rarely heard.
“Take photos…lots of photos. Daniels and I need to see this. Send them to my phone, now.” He flipped his phone shut and turned to her.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“Like I’m not going to believe we’re looking at some kind of mutant wolf?”
“More like Callahan’s shifter.”
Serena stared at Mike. “What the hell does that mean?”
Mike’s phone beeped again and he flipped it open. He looked at it for a long moment, scrolling slowly through images before he held it out to Serena.
“Here. Take a look.”
She took the phone, squinting at the tiny screen. What she saw made no sense at first. There was snow and tracks…the dog tracks…or mutant wolf tracks, based on what Beckley had said. But as she scrolled through the photos, her eyes went wide.
“Mike?” She held the phone toward him but he only shook his head.
“Yeah. I know.”
Serena looked back at the screen, scrolling back to the beginning, hoping somehow the images would make sense. The tracks she’d seen at the murder scene, the tracks that had circled the body and then left suddenly looked different.
They changed, elongated, narrowed, the depressions made by round pads replaced with the ball and arch and heel of a human foot. Bare human feet. First walking and then the stride lengthening, clearly breaking into a run. She shook her head in disbelief. The last photo showed the far southern shore of Lake Monona, the trail clear in the pristine white expanse of the frozen lake.
Fated Mates: The Alpha Shifter Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle) (Insatiable Reads) Page 3
