“I’m going to do it,” she declared. An expectant smile crossed her face.
“Good for you, kid. See you tomorrow.”
Meeker turned to the cross the lobby while Trakes pushed the up button and took in a deep breath as the doors closed.
Excited, nervous, maybe a touch fearful, she knocked on the door. She waited. No answer.
She knocked again. No answer.
Had he gone to bed already? Was he in the shower? Was he hurt?
She used her cellphone to call the front desk. A few moments later, a clerk arrived, and she asked him to open the door. She explained she wanted a welfare check on the resident. He looked at her with question. She showed him her FBI credentials, and he opened the door.
Lloyd was gone.
Chapter 8
The following morning, Trakes and Meeker found Lloyd in the hotel dining room. The professor was making short work of sausage patties and a couple slices of ham. As always, he drank water.
“What,” Meeker wanted to know, “no waffles or hash browns?”
Lloyd nodded in the direction of the buffet and said, “Help yourself. Sign it to my room.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Meeker said and walked across the room. Trakes sat down and when a server offered coffee, asked for her chocolate.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much better,” he answered. “The world is brighter after a good night’s sleep. Don’t you think?”
“I’ve always thought that,” she said, hiding the touch of anger.
The alley smelled of urine and spoiled food. The odors were heavy, and oppressive. They were a mixture of sweet and sour, sharp and sulfuric, mold and rot. Musk and bitterness swirled on the minimal current of air.
“This place is one huge rotten egg,” Meeker complained.
The space was claustrophobic. The current, not strong enough to be a breeze managed only to stir the stink. Sweat broke out on Trakes, and she wondered if the stink would cling to her clothes. She toyed with the idea of just throwing the clothes away and replacing them. How would she explain the stench to her laundry?
Large metal dumpsters lined the graffiti scared walls. Once they had been a forest green, but now they were covered with the tags of the local youth. Both the dumpsters and the refuse had been forgotten, and they overflowed, as garbage piles leaned against all sides of the huge metal boxes as if they wanted to be allowed entry. The building to their left had been abandoned, and services as well.
Lloyd seemed not to notice the smell. He walked not down the center of the alley, but from side to side, as if he were a bloodhound searching for a scent. Trakes noticed that twice the man stopped and lifted his face to the sky. Each time, he inhaled sharply several times. She shook her head. He was a strange man, she concluded, not to mention a liar.
“Okay,” Lloyd said, “we can leave now.”
Trakes and Meeker looked at each other, shock on their faces visible.
“Don’t you want to see where the boy was killed?” Meeker asked.
“He was killed right here,” Lloyd said, pointing to a spot at the side of the alley.
“No,” Meeker corrected, “he was farther down the alley, a good thirty yards down.”
Lloyd studied the detective, then shrugged, “I guess you are right. You know more about this kind of thing than I do. My mistake.”
He turned to walk out of the alley.
Trakes and Meeker looked at each other.
“We can go now,” he called over his shoulder, as if the other two were nothing more than drivers to get him to and from.
“Wait,” Trakes asked, “you asked to come here. Don’t you want to see where the boy was killed?”
“That won’t be necessary,” the professor shook his head. “I have learned what there is to learn, and you are uncomfortable. Detective Meeker is as well.”
“Screw that,” Meeker barked. “Why did you have us bring you here? Don’t be shortchanging this because you think you’re doing us a favor.”
Lloyd’s expression had frozen into the same mask he wore when confronted by Ferreira at the university. He looked at Meeker, then Trakes.
“Okay, then,” He shrugged. “I am uncomfortable. There’s nothing more to learn.”
He turned again and walked toward the car parked at the mouth of the alley. Under his breath, Meeker called the man a few choice names. Trakes wondered what was going on.
The wolf, stood in a deserted room three floors above the trio, away from the breeze, and kept to the shadows. He watched the three. He recognized the big one. He was a cop. The female acted important and the other, well, he had to be the Unum. He smiled.
At the mouth of the alley, Trakes turned to Meeker and asked, “Is there any way you can have a patrol car take me to my office? I need to brief my SAC, and as the professor says, there is nothing more to be learned here.”
“Of course,” Meeker said and he spoke into his handheld radio. By the time the message was carried, a marked unit pulled to the side of the street. The driver turned on the overhead flashers and stepped out.
Over the roof of the unit, a male voice asked, “Did someone say there is a lady in distress and in need of a ride?”
Trakes looked at the unit, which read “K-9” along the rear door. In the caged window, she saw Rosco leaving nose prints on the rear passenger window. She gazed over the car into Harrison’s smiling face. She smiled back.
“My lucky day,” she muttered.
Trakes sighed and turned back to Meeker, “I’ll call you later, after the brief. Would you see the professor back to the heliport?”
“Of course,” Meeker answered.
Trakes turned and walked to the K-9 unit. Without a farewell word to Lloyd, she opened the front passenger door, sat down and separated herself from the two with a metal “thunk.” Harrison, grinning, waved a salute at the two and lowered himself into the driver’s space.
“Me thinks the lady is pissed,” Meeker observed.
“So it would seem,” Lloyd agreed.
“She’s been moody since I picked her up this morning. Didn’t you guys have a good time last night?”
“What are you talking about? The two of you left together.”
Meeker allowed an amused smile.
“Either you’re being cagey,” he answered, “or the two of you didn’t meet up. She came back upstairs, brother.”
Lloyd watched the patrol unit as it slowly made its way with the traffic. He nodded in the direction of Meeker.
“I see,” he said.
“Got time for a cup of…water?” Meeker asked.
“I’m sure I do,” Lloyd said. “You’re the one controlling my departure.”
“Good. We got to talk.”
Meeker drove to an out-of-the-way coffee shop, and each man ordered.
Lloyd waited, and after a couple of sips of coffee, the detective started the discussion with a challenge.
“Are you for real?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Am I for real?”
Meeker pointed a big meaty finger, “You know what I mean. This world is overflowing with con artists and fakes. My question is simple. Are you for real?”
Lloyd studied Meeker for several seconds and then asked, “Why are you asking this? I am nobody to you.”
“That may well be true, but you’re important to Andee.”
“I…”
“Look, I get it,” Meeker interrupted. “You’re a good-looking professor at a small college. You, no doubt, have a drawer full of panties you’ve collected over the years from your conquests of female students. I couldn’t care less about them. If their daddies can pay enough to put them in your playpen, they’re on their own.”
“You think very little of me.”
Meeker shrugged and sipped his coffee.
“I am called upon to study, investigate and find people who kill other people. What I do has consequence. If I do it poorly, people get away with murder. Literally. I
f I do it right, then justice is served, closure can be given, and the debt to society is paid. You, I’m guessing, make a ton more money than me to spout nonsense that, last time I checked, was little more than fairy tales. You can say anything you want, and there is no accountability. You can pass off any crap you like as your interpretation.”
Meeker stopped, sipped his coffee and waited to Lloyd to rise to the bait. The professor sat still, his expression passive, his thoughts and feelings hidden.
“I’ll ask you to remember that it was you who sought me out, not the other way around,” he finally replied. “I did not come to your office and offer my services. Whatever you think of me and my world, is of no consequence.”
“That may be true,” the detective shot back, “but don’t sit there full of pomp and tell me if we solve this thing, you won’t be writing a book about it to make another million.”
Lloyd sat and studied the detective. He watched the man a long time, and then started to smile. Meeker scowled.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” Lloyd said, “not at all. The operative word is if you solve this and honestly I put those odds at less than one in ten. You bluster and fume about, but you don’t even recognize what you are looking for. You won’t solve this, you’ll never make an arrest and the killings will stop only after the wolf has completed what he came here for.”
“What,” Meeker challenged, “how do you know he’s a wolf?”
Lloyd’s expression grew hard and intense.
“Because I smelled him in the alley. He was there. He watched us.”
Meeker paled and cleared his throat.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Would you have believed me? Or would you have argued and given the wolf something to laugh about?”
“You expect me to believe a man, can turn into a wolf, at will and he, fort some reason is killing misbehaving sons of diplomats and street creations?”
“I am no longer interested in what you believe detective. You see only what you want to see, and in this case, that means you are operating blind. You choose to believe werewolves are not real. You want them to be no more than an idea for a scary movie or possibly a good book. Fine, I don’t care, and at the end of the day, hopefully, what you think or believe will remain completely immaterial.”
Lloyd stopped and sipped his water. Meeker started to speak. Lloyd’s expression stopped the man. The professor continued.
“You fail to grasp what is important here. Let me help you. It does not matter if the wolves are real or not. What matters is that there are people in your city who not only think werewolves are real, but they believe they are that very beast. You have a murder that in every way imaginable mimics the execution of a wolf. Whether you find solace in my particular field of expertise or not is immaterial to me, but I have studied hundreds of accounts of wolf executions. Central Park qualifies.”
“Now, a couple of days later, you have that poor boy in the alley. By every—note that detective, I said every—account of a werewolf attack, that boy was killed by such an animal.”
“Oh, come on,” Meeker broke in, “whatever happened in the alley, more than one animal did it.”
Lloyd shook his head.
“You say that only because you don’t like what is presented you. Your witness said, “One animal.” The bite marks on the body indicate one animal. I asked for DNA swabs to verify one animal.”
Meeker huffed, “There is no animal, except maybe a bear, that can do that kind of damage to a person. I don’t see any bears around here.”
Lloyd shook his head, “There is a legendary shape-shifting animal who is reported to have close to, if not, actual superhuman strength. That’s the animal that did it.”
Meeker looked at Lloyd as if the professor had two heads. Finally, he said, “You’re serious. You actually think a werewolf killed Rose.”
“You brought me here for my opinion. I have given it to you.”
Meeker studied the man, then said, “Earlier you said maybe what I think or believe will remain immaterial.”
Lloyd nodded.
“What did you mean by that?”
Lloyd looked into the soul of the detective and allowed a small sigh. He said, “I have no doubt you are a good detective, but you are not prepared for what awaits you out there. Ignore the beast. Let him do what he came here to do and then he will leave. You cannot stop him. You cannot catch him.”
Meeker met the man’s eyes, “I have a job to do.”
Lloyd nodded, “Keep Andee away from this mess. Have her reassigned, at least do that.”
Meeker smiled a grim smile, “How well do you know her?”
“How much do you care for her?” Lloyd replied.
As they stood, Meeker reached across the table and placed a hand on the professor’s arm. Meeker looked at his hand, felt the lean muscle underneath, and then allowed his gaze to rise. He looked into the shockingly blue-white eyes and felt a chill.
“You think there’s a chance Andee and I are in danger.”
“I do.” Lloyd said.
“Why us?”
“There is at least one wolf here. Probably more. There is a reason they’re killing. You’ll try to stop them. He or they will kill you for interfering.”
Meeker didn’t change expression, “You’re saying I need a bigger weapon. Maybe a silver bullet.”
“What you need, detective, is sharp eyes and focus. What you need is a touch of caution and humility. What you need is an understanding that all is not how you would have it. You’re just a cop; you’re not the overseer of this.”
Meeker’s eyes hardened and he said slowly, “I’m been trying to decide all day if I liked you or not.”
Lloyd said nothing.
“I’ve decided I don’t. Get in the car. It’ll take you to the heliport.”
It was dark when the helicopter left Lloyd on the back lawn of the history building. As the chopper had settled, motion detectors illuminated the patch of grass used to land, but as the helicopter lifted off, with a little hesitation, the lights extinguished. With the exception of a near full moon, a couple of security lights and two streetlights some hundred yards away, the area was dark. Even the building was dark, the result of efforts to cut expenses.
The professor stood tall and looked about. He was happy to be back. He was proud of his little college. He felt at home on campus. As he crossed the lawn to his office, Lloyd used his cellphone to call his mother and let her know he was back. He smiled into the phone as he reported in. His mother didn’t like helicopters and said she couldn’t understand how they could fly, what with having no wings. So she’d asked him to always call when he landed. He did.
He told her he had some work to do, but not to worry, as he would stop by to see her in a couple of hours.
“You sound tired,” she said.
“I guess I am,” he replied.
Gennie stood on the front entrance to the family house and looked into the night. She was comfortable in the darkness. She felt safe. Miranda, wearing a t-shirt her aunt thought was too tight, and a pair of running shorts, stepped up beside the older woman.
“Is that Alwyn?” the redhead asked.
Gennie nodded.
“Tell him hi for me.”
“Miranda says hi and welcome home.”
“I overheard,” he said. “Remind her it’s a work day tomorrow.”
He heard Miranda laugh in the background, her reply and his mother’s repetition.
“She says you are a slave driver.”
He laughed, an easy laugh, a laugh a mother liked to hear. It was a quick laugh that Gennie felt ended too abruptly.
“Mom, I need to go. I’ll call you in a few. Expect me around midnight.”
“Should I have dinner for you?”
“If you’d like. I really need to go.”
The phone disconnected.
“Miranda, Miranda darling?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Does Alwyn have a car at the school?”
“No, I don’t believe so. This late at night he usually runs, if he’s coming here. It’s only about eight miles. If he goes to his place, he usually takes a taxi.”
“Do you feel like taking a ride with your aunt?”
Miranda studied the woman before her and smiled.
Something was wrong.
Gennie would never admit she was worried, but Miranda could feel it.
“Of course, Auntie, let me get my keys.”
The woman turned to head upstairs.
“Miranda?”
“Yes?”
The woman turned back.
“Let’s take my car. Yours is so small, and we might need to carry three of us.”
“Of course, Auntie. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, my dear, but let’s hurry.”
It was not a time to debate, Miranda could hear the concern in her aunt’s voice. She nodded, stepped into the kitchen and took the keys from a pegboard. The keys were to a late model Chevrolet Camaro. The convertible wasn’t much bigger than her own, but it did have a rear seat. Miranda exited the side door, retrieved the car and found her aunt waiting at the front of the house.
“Come on, Miranda, we’ve got to go.”
“I’m coming.”
“Miranda?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Don’t worry about driving too fast.”
They found Lloyd on the rear lawn of the dark history building. Miranda, never one to worry about the rules anyway, had driven onto the lawn in order to speed the search and make use of the car’s headlights.
“There he is,” she pointed with one hand while steering in the direction of her fallen uncle.
Aunt Gennie said nothing, but gripped the top frame of the windshield and held herself taller.
Lloyd was on the verge of consciousness, but just so. He had been stabbed and was covered in blood. He bore the scrapes of boots that had kicked his face and his body. He was on his right side, curled into a C shape, and grunted when the women moved him.
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 12
