“Stranger? You mean like some guy up there?”
He shook his head.
“No. It was a wolf, and I’m sure it was the wolf who attacked Miranda. You’ve got to help me keep the family safe. Don’t let the little ones play on the far side of the garden. Keep them closer to the house.”
Her eyes went wide and round. Her lips drew tight. Had it not been for the determination on her face, he would have worried. She was frightened, but she was also brave. She was a Lloyd. He smiled at her.
“Anna, I will do all I can to keep this danger from our house. Knowing you are here and on guard, will allow me to focus on finding him and destroying him before he gets to the ones we love.”
She smiled and sat a little taller.
“You really think I can help?”
“I’m counting on it. If he gets past me, I need to know you will have the house locked up and be in the process of getting the little ones away from here. I need to know you will be making the proper calls and notifications.”
Her smile vanished. “You can count on me, Uncle Alwyn, Unum.”
He winked at her, “I know I can.”
Chapter 15
Special Agent Trakes was surprised when Hubbard’s assistant directed her immediately into the supervisor’s office.
“They’ve been waiting for you,” she had been warned.
Trakes should have known trouble was behind the door, but walked into the room thinking she was finally being accepted. Hubbard stood up when she entered.
“Special Agent Trakes, allow me to introduce Homicide Detective Canton, of the NYPD. He is now in charge of the Meeker and Ferreira investigations.”
A short, stocky black man stood and extended a hand. His smile was easy, and his hair, what was left of it, was white. His eyes, robin’s egg blue, showed the experience he would need to solve the homicides he had been assigned.
“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Trakes.”
His voice was deep, rumbling up from his chest, and carried a slight tilt of the West Indies.
Andee took his hand and found the grasp firm, but not obnoxious.
“It’s good to meet you, Detective,” she said. “If I can be of any help, just ask.”
Introductions over, everyone sat, and Canton studied Trakes.
After a couple of moments, he asked, “Weren’t you close to Jerry Meeker?”
Andee nodded.
“Yeah, I’ve known him all my life, it seems like. He and my father served in the Navy and after they were discharged, Jerry, or ‘Uncle Jerry,’ as I called him at the time, came home to New York. My dad went into the FBI.”
“Jerry was a good man,” Canton nodded. “He helped show me the ropes when I first came up through the ranks. He damn sure deserved a better exit than what he got.”
Andee blinked and stemmed her tears. Now would not be the time to cry, and she returned a grim smile.
“I know the case is yours, and I’ll respect that,” she said, “but if there is anything I can do, let me know. I want to help. Losing Jerry is losing family.”
“I do understand, and I feel the same way,” he said solemnly, before abruptly changing the subject. “I’d like you to walk me through the Ferreira killing. I’ve read the reports, and I’ve reviewed all the photos. I even walked the ground where the man was killed, but I feel like I’m missing something.”
The man’s lopsided grin that hid the intelligence behind the eyes. Andee felt a touch of pity for any suspect foolish enough to waive his rights and talk to the man.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, returning the grin. “I’ll try to help.”
“Good for you, Special Agent Trakes,” Hubbard broke in. “There’s nothing better than departmental coordination. That’s what I always say. Nothing better.”
Canton nodded, “I agree, Special Agent in Charge Hubbard. You will not mind then if I monopolize your agent for the rest of the day?”
“Mind? Heavens no, I don’t mind. That’s what we’re here for.”
The detective smiled, and his expression conveyed he liked getting his own way. He turned to Andee.
“Agent Trakes, where would you be most comfortable working? We can go to your office, maybe you have a canteen on site, or, if you prefer, we can go to a coffee shop.”
“Well, I’m not much of a coffee drinker, so why don’t we go to the canteen? It’s downstairs.”
“That sounds great. I heard that about you, hot chocolate, I believe. How do you stay in shape? Isn’t chocolate heavy on calories?”
“You’re right there, detective...”
“Rollo.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Rollo, call me Rollo. It’s the name I grew up with, not my actual name, mind you, but one my mother liked.”
Andee nodded, smiled, and said, “Rollo it is, for your mother.”
She thought of Alwyn Lloyd.
Four hours later, the two investigators had reviewed photos and diagrams of the scenes. Andee had briefed Canton about Professor Alwyn Lloyd and was surprised when the detective didn’t laugh. He didn’t even chuckle. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, placed a hand on his chin, and held his lips. Andee wondered if he was physically holding any comment until she was finished.
As she finished the brief about the Lloyds and a verbal sketch of the family and their practices, Andee still failed to notice any of the expected put-downs or insults, not even a joke.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, “but if I didn’t know better, I’d think you are taking the werewolf angle of this pretty serious.”
Canton shrugged.
“Maybe it’s being new to this case, but I’m trying not to disregard an avenue of investigation just out of hand. No matter how weird it might sound.”
“Good approach,” Andee nodded. “That attitude says a lot about your method of investigation.”
He shrugged again and his grin appeared.
“I thank you for your vote of confidence, but my attitude might also stem from the fact my family came from Haiti, and growing up with stories about voodoo, evil spirits and dead returned to the living makes werewolves sound a little tame.”
She canted her head and watched the man. She waited for the “I gotcha” moment. It came and went.
“You think I’m joking,” Canton said.
“I think we’re on weird ground, that’s true,” Andee replied.
“Well,” he said, sipping from his cup, “I watched a show on television a few weeks ago, and they found some long lost lizard in the South American jungle they thought had gone extinct some 5,000 years ago. Nope, it’s still there.”
Andee eyed him.
“You think the lizard did the crime?” she deadpanned.
He didn’t smile or acknowledge her attempted humor. She stared into the eyes and found them slightly hypnotic. The men’s ebony skin contrasted with the medium blue of his eyes. The effect was comparable to Alwyn’s lighter skin and his ice-blue eyes. She wondered if Canton was an alpha. She silently cursed her foolishness.
“No, Agent Trakes,” the detective was saying, “I don’t believe the lizards did it. But I submit there are things about this world we know nothing about. Maybe voodoo, the waking dead, and werewolves are some of those things.”
Andee smiled.
“You and Alwyn, I mean Professor Lloyd, will get along just great.”
His eyebrow arched, and he canted his head just slightly. He recognized the slip, but said nothing. His silence flustered her all the more, and she suddenly felt the need to clear the air.
“Professor Lloyd and I do not have a personal relationship, if that’s what you think,” she blurted.
Canton scowled, but his eyes sparkled, “Why would I think such a thing as that?”
“Well,” Andee stuttered, “not that you would, but if you did, you need to know, we don’t.”
“I see,” the detective nodded, “and this Lloyd, he’s an old academic kind of guy? Has grey
hair and a paunch around his middle?”
“No. He’s not like that. Not at all. He’s, well, his hair does have some grey, but not old man grey, if you know what I mean. He’s in great shape. He runs like six or seven miles a day, I think. He’s, well… most women would think him a handsome man.”
“I see,” the detective said.
Andee felt the blood rushing to her face, and she was desperate to find a reason to leave the table, at least for a short period of time. She was saved by the chirp of Detective Canton’s cell phone.
“Detective Canton,” the man said into the phone.
Andee smiled, grateful for the interruption.
“I see,” the detective said.
As he listened to the phone, he moved photos, papers and patted his pockets. Andee handed him her pen. He nodded a quick thanks.
“Say that again.”
He wrote on a pad of paper.
Andee watched, said nothing, and was trying to figure out what the conversation was about.
“Give me that address again. Thanks, got it.”
He wrote it down.
“Victim, one white male. No? … One Hispanic male? Got it… Uh huh. The world is getting crazier by the minute. Used to be by the day, but we’ve picked up speed… I got it. I’m rolling now. Who’s the crime scene commander?”
He wrote down a name.
“Captain Styles, got it. I’m on my phone. Radio him and tell him I’ll be there in twenty.”
He hung up.
Canton slipped his phone back into his pocket, returned the pen and spun a notepad without lifting it from the table.
“You know this address?”
Andee stopped breathing. Her color paled.
Canton shook his head, continuing, “Some crazy bastard just offed a guy about a block from this address. This is where the victim lived.”
Canton stood and started to gather the many papers, photos, and crime scene diagrams that had been scattered on the table. Andee sat, unable to move. Canton raised his eyes from the table to her.
“You’re welcome to come along, if you want. Messed up world. Guy’s walking his dog, and someone kills them both. Go figure.”
Tears started to well in her eyes. Her breathing became ragged.
“You okay, Trakes?”
Canton took her arm and sat down beside her.
“You okay?” he asked again. “Do I need to call a paramedic?”
She shook her head as her chest started to spasm.
“What is it?”
She looked at the detective, who was blurred by her tears.
“That’s my address. That’s my neighbor and my dog.”
Canton stopped talking. He looked at the woman. He inhaled.
“I’m sorry,” he said and shook his head. “I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. Let me call upstairs and get one of your people to come down and sit...”
“No,” she interrupted. She shook her head, and the detective saw anger in the dark eyes.
“No,” she said again and blinked several times. She refused to wipe her face, and the tears that had escaped stayed on her cheeks. She huffed a chest full of air and sniffed her nose.
“I’m going with you,” she said.
“I don’t think...”
“Did I ask what you think? You invited me.”
Canton shook his head, “That was before I knew who the victim was. You know the rules; you can’t investigate a major crime with family or friends involved.”
She again blinked her eyes several times. The tears were shutting down. Her chest worked smooth, again.
“I’m not the investigating officer, you are. I am only along as support and diplomatic coordination.”
“Andee, if I may call you Andee, please. You don’t want to see what’s waiting for us. You don’t want to walk through this one.”
“Unless you forbid me from going with you, I’m coming. If you won’t let me ride with you, I’ll meet you there.”
She sat, her breathing still exaggerated, but that was due to anger, not shock.
“Rollo, this bastard has killed Jerry Meeker, two street punks, and raped a friend of mine. He as now killed another friend and my dog. My dog, of all things. For some reason he wants my attention, well, he’s got it. Take me with you, or not, I’m bringing him down. Hard.”
Canton studied her for several moments and then nodded his head.
“Get your gear, let’s get on the road.”
“Already packed,” the Special Agent replied.
The crime scene was, again, located in an alley. The alley once again was strewn with the refuse left by a city of moving, surging, sometimes careless humans. Two-thirds of the way back from the entrance, what had once been Ramon Lugo lay scattered about the alley floor.
Yellow crime scene tape marked off the area. Agent Trakes had no desire to enter and was silently grateful she was not allowed. She was not part of the investigation team, only the coordination team, as this crime might relate to the death of Eduardo Ferreira.
So she leaned against the wall of the alley and at that moment, didn’t care that the wall where she rested was filthy. It was a filthy job, in a filthy city, and hers was a filthy life. In her hands she held a report about her friend, Ramon. He had been arrested a couple of times, nothing major. Something the two of them had never talked about. Something they would never have the chance to talk about.
Rollo Canton bent underneath the tape and walked to her.
“I’m not sure I should have let you come here. I’m not sure there is anything gained by you being here.”
She looked at the man who replaced Meeker. He was so different from Jerry, and yet, she sensed he would be just as thorough and just as determined to find the man who committed this crime. It was their way.
“I didn’t know his name was Lugo,” she said.
She indicated the sheet with information about her neighbor and a photo.
Canton said nothing.
“I’m going to miss his cooking,” she said, and tears formed. “The man was a cook, and he would bring home leftovers from the restaurant. I’ll most likely starve to death now, or eat nothing but Ramon noodles.”
Canton said nothing.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She looked past the detective into the crime scene. She made no move to enter.
“Isn’t that strange,” she said, more to herself than him, “it’s not like we were best friends. I’d only known him about six months, but he was my first friend in the city. Not counting Jerry, of course, but Jerry was family. Know what I mean?”
Canton nodded, “I know what you mean.”
She continued to look past Canton and deeper into the alley.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“I know the guy six months and now that he’s gone, I realize how much I’m going to miss his cooking. It seems I am a very shallow person. He fed me, and he walked my dog.”
At the mention of the dog, her throat restricted and she fought against showing tears. Not here, she told herself, not in front of cops.
“I don’t think it’s strange,” Canton said, hoping to deflect her tears.
She looked at him. He shrugged.
“Outside activities in the bedroom, eating with someone is one of the most intimate things we humans do. Since the beginning or time, bringing someone food was a way of showing you cared for them. What was his best dish?”
The question caught her off guard and she hemmed a little, “I don’t know. He could do the most magical things with pasta.”
Canton nodded, “There you go. I’ll bet for the rest of your life, whenever you eat pasta, you have a memory of Ramon. That’s not a bad legacy, if you ask me.”
After a pause, Rollo shifted topics, pointing beyond the tape and saying, “I don’t know how much you want to know about what’s back in there.”
/> “I want to know it all,” she answered.
The detective allowed his eyebrows to arc.
“Mind if I ask what good that will do?”
She leveled her gaze at him.
“It’ll help me turn my shock, my sorrow, into anger, and that anger will see me through the coming days or maybe weeks until we catch this guy.”
Rollo nodded.
“The scene is a mess,” he said. “The damage done to the bodies is way past just violence. Whoever did this was in a rage of some kind. I don’t know what fueled the rage. Maybe insanity, maybe drugs, I don’t know, but it was past normal.”
Andee bit her lips and closed her eyes. She forced the images Rollo described from her mind and thought of Ramon’s laugh and his stupid jokes. She thought about the smell of food wafting from his apartment when she passed in the hallway. She remembered Kelsey’s bark and the way his entire body waged and not just his tail. And she got angry. The anger grew in her until her ears seemed to ring with the cries of Ramon, of Meeker, of Cat, Kelsey and the others demanding she avenge them. She thought of the attacks on Alwyn, on Miranda and the suffering caused to their family.
The need to get away from the scene churned in her stomach and turned the insides to acid. She felt the burning in her throat, and she started to pant for air.
“I’ve got to...” she said, and rushed behind a dumpster.
Canton stood on the far side, pulled his handkerchief from his pants pocket and waited until the retching stopped.
“Come on,” he said, as he handed Andee the handkerchief, “wipe your mouth and let’s go get some water or something. At least let’s get out of here.”
She nodded, but looked back at the crime scene.
“I know they will take Ramon to the lab for autopsy, but what about Kelsey?”
Canton looked back as well, “They’re going to take him as well. They won’t autopsy him, of course, but the techs wanted to take him back for at least a thorough examination. We don’t know, but the little guy might hold the clue that helps us nail this creep.”
“Will I be able to claim him there?”
The detective nodded. “Yeah, give the lab boys a few days, and if they don’t call you, let me know. I’ll light a fire.”
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 25
