“I thought you were going to do all the talking.”Carl rose. “Fine, let me take a crack at it. Fourteen men and women were killed by the Manhattan Werewolf. They were ripped to pieces as if by a real werewolf. Stalk was a policeman on an Indian reservation upstate, and he just happened to show up in the middle of this. On the night Patty Lane—one of your detectives—was murdered while undercover trying to nab this mad dog killer, you arrested Stalk in the Astor Place subway station. Then the National Guard rolled into town, the killings stopped, and you wound up on doggy duty.”
“It sounds like a story that would make a great book. Too bad nobody wrote one.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“My publisher rushed me to write it, so they could put it out before anyone else did one. As a result, it’s more incomplete than I would have liked. The missing pieces didn’t really fit together until these last few weeks.” Carl counted on his fingers. “A boy is decapitated by a sword and a girl kidnapped in the Dominis’ bookstore, then the boys’ parents are killed and their house is torched. You get called back into the field to lead a joint NYPD and FBI task force. Why the hell would you be put in charge of anything after you were punished for some unpardonable crime? And why would the FBI answer to you? Because you had valuable experience and information related to the case.
“But nobody had heard of the Brotherhood of Torquemada before . . . except for a guy named Terrence Glenzer, an eccentric NYU professor. He wrote several books on the occult, and in one he self-published, he wrote about this Brotherhood. The book went out of print, but guess who laid his hands on a copy?” He tapped his chest. “This guy. According to Glenzer, the Brotherhood was made up of werewolf hunters during the Spanish Inquisition. Glenzer was the Manhattan Werewolf’s first victim. One of the pieces of evidence you found in his apartment was half of a broken sword that belonged to the Brotherhood. The Vatican claimed the sword, and now they’re denying any knowledge of the Brotherhood. The two cases are linked tighter than virgins on their honeymoon.”
Mace stood. “You’ve had more than five minutes.”
“One hour after Rodrigo Gomez told your wife he’s a werewolf, she was kidnapped by the Brotherhood. Then you and the gang here rode to the rescue, and all the Brotherhood and two of your own people got dead. The Brotherhood is related to the Manhattan Werewolf, and the Manhattan Werewolf is related to Rodrigo Gomez.”
“Are you hoping to write another book?”
“I need another installment to make it a trilogy.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t tell anyone your theory until you have conclusive evidence.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hell, no, it’s friendly advice. You may not like where your bosses send you if you overstep the boundaries of common sense.”
Carl chuckled. “I’m between bosses. I write these books because no legitimate news organization will have me. I burned my bridges and my rep years ago, but if I can crack this story—real news—I’ll get another shot.”
For a moment, Mace felt sorry for him. “I can’t help you.”
“I can go live with what I have now.”
Mace opened his door. “You could, but who would believe you?”
Five
As soon as Carl left, Mace turned to his detectives. “Ken, make sure Rice leaves the building. Candice, man the fort. Karol, I’d like to speak to you outside for a moment.”
Candice returned her attention to her monitor, and Ken, Mace, and Karol filed into the hallway and waited for the elevator. When the door opened, Landry boarded the car and held the door.
“Go on without us,” Mace said.
Landry released the door, and the elevator descended.
“Let’s go onto the roof,” Mace said.
He and Karol entered the emergency stairwell and climbed the stairs, their footsteps echoing. Mace opened the door and stepped outside, and Karol followed. He set a splintered block of wood between the door and its frame, so it wouldn’t latch. Wind blew Karol’s hair as they scanned the skyline around them.
“How are you doing?” Mace said.
“I can’t really articulate how I feel right now. Like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest and won’t stop beating is just the start.”
“You should have taken more time off.”
“What good would that do? I’d still feel the same way, and the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security would all still be hounding me for statements about what went down.”
“What you really mean is, Gabriel wants you to keep an eye on everything here, right?”
Karol exhaled. “I can’t exactly say my loyalties are torn. I am what I am before I’m who I am.”
“This puts me in a difficult position.”
“Are you going to turn me in?”
“Of course not, but if anyone finds out, I don’t know anything about it. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“How’s Rhonda?”
Karol seemed to consider her words before speaking. “Worse than me, I think. She’s angry, but that’s to be expected. The Brotherhood killed Jason and spent days torturing her. We’re both licking our wounds.”
Mace had taken Rhonda’s full account before Kathy Norton had taped an official version for the FBI. Both accounts neglected to mention torture, because Rhonda’s wounds had healed and her severed arm had even regenerated. It also skipped the part of her transforming into a Wolf and ripping off the head of one of her captors.
“Mint brought her name up when I went to see him. You’d better find her a sublet to solidify her cover.”
Karol digested this news.
“I’m going to have to partner you with Candice starting tomorrow. Legwork to determine the associates of the Lourdeses. It might be a good time for some sloppy police work.”
“Is that it?”
“No. I want you to contact Gabriel. Tell him not to underestimate what’s coming. I think he should come in ASAP to give a hair sample and deflect attention from himself. It will buy him some time. Don’t use a phone. Get word to him in person. Do it on the clock if you have to, but get back here before anyone asks questions.”
Karol stared at him as if weighing his words, then turned and walked to the door. In a moment she was gone.
Mace walked to the edge of the roof and looked at the mass of people below. Failing to see Carl Rice, he shivered in the cold.
“Warden Strand speaking.”
“Hello, Jeff.” Carl spoke into his smartphone while attempting to light a cigarette outside on the sidewalk. A man walking ahead of him carried a dead pig over one shoulder, and Carl found himself staring into the carcass’s empty eye sockets.
“Why do you keep calling, Mr. Rice?”
“Because I want to speak to Rodrigo Gomez.”
“I keep telling you that isn’t possible. He’s in solitary confinement.”
“He didn’t kill anyone. Lately, I mean.”
“Mr. Gomez misbehaved. He isn’t speaking to anyone. When he becomes available, I’ll be sure to notify you. Now please stop calling.”
“Is it possible you’re keeping him under lockdown because he really is a werewolf?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“So you think he was just making that up?”
“Of course I do.”
“Isn’t it true that since his incarceration at your fine institution, Gomez is suspected of killing three other inmates and maiming six others?”
“We have many violent offenders here. None of them are werewolves. Good-bye, Mr. Rice.”
“Just one more question—”
Click.
Carl contemplated how to place Warden Strand’s words into a new context.
Karol drove her department issue SUV to Booth Street in Rego Park, Queens. Parking at the curb, she walked to the front doors of a pre–World War II building, entered the vestibule, and pushed the buzzer for the superintendent.
“Yes?” a man s
aid over the speaker.
“Karol Williams.”
A moment passed. The door buzzed, and Karol entered the deep lobby. She followed the green tile floor to the elevator, which she rode to the basement. When the door opened, a tall Hispanic man waited for her.
“I’m here to see the man,” Karol said.
The man looked her up and down, then turned on one heel and led her through a long corridor. They turned right and entered a spacious office with an old desk. The super knocked on another door, which he unlocked. Karol entered a smaller office with a newer desk and a cot. Gabriel rose from a seat at the desk. Karol didn’t know the man who sat beside him.
“Karol, what brings you out here?” Gabriel said.
The super closed the door.
“I have a message from Mace.”
Gabriel gestured to his companion. “I don’t believe you’ve met George Allen.”
“I know the name. It’s an honor.”
George smiled. “Charmed.”
“Have a seat,” Gabriel said.
Karol sat in his chair, and Gabriel sat on the cot. She looked around the office.
“I’m moving from safe house to safe house. Some are fancier than others.”
“You don’t have any bodyguards.”
“I don’t need them. The Brotherhood is finished.”
“But Raphael—”
“Raphael and his men aren’t going to sneak attack me. Right now, I want to keep as low a profile as I can. What does Mace want?”
Karol glanced at George.
“Speak freely in front of George. We have no secrets.”
“Tony told me to tell you not to underestimate what’s coming. He wants you to stop in right away to give a hair sample. He thinks that will take the heat off you.”
“Anything else?”
“We have to find a sublet for Rhonda, something that can be verified. Mace says our boss is starting to ask questions.”
Gabriel looked at George.
“I’ll take care of it,” George said. “Anyplace in particular?”
“Not the Bronx; that’s too close to home,” Karol said.
“It will be easy for me to find a place in Staten Island,” George said. “You can get the address from your Bronx rep tomorrow.”
“Carl Rice discovered the task force’s location.”
“Mace will have to deal with him.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. He’s down with the cause, but his hands are tied. Once Rice blabs about the task force, it will be even harder for Tony to do anything without scrutiny.”
“Better him than us.” Gabriel turned to George. “Give her a burner. Make it two.”
George opened a desk drawer and took out two disposable phones, which he handed to Karol. “For emergencies. Use them once and throw them out.” He handed her a slip of paper with several phone numbers on it. “A different number for each day of the week.”
Karol slid the phones and numbers into one coat pocket.
“Thanks for coming,” Gabriel said. “I won’t keep you from your duties.”
Karol stood.
“How’s Rhonda?”
Karol hesitated. “Troubled. She’s desperate to leave the apartment, but the minute she shows her face in public the press will be all over her.”
“Give her my best. Tell her we’re thinking about her.”
“I will.”
“And how are you?”
She shrugged.
“I’ll respect your privacy, but I’m thinking about you too.”
“Thanks.” Karol bowed and exited the office, and the door closed behind her.
When Carl arrived at the two-family home on Eighty-fourth Street in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, he registered the black bars over the door and the first-floor windows. It surprised him more to see bars over the second-floor windows as well, an unusual security measure. Carl wondered if the bars had been in place prior to Cheryl Mace’s abduction. He mounted the concrete steps and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he rang it again. He knew better than to leave.
After several minutes, the door opened, and a young woman with Mexican features and glasses stood before him.
“Is Cheryl home?” Carl said.
“Mrs. Mace isn’t seeing anyone.”
“Can you tell her it’s Carl Rice? I’m an old friend.”
“She isn’t seeing anyone.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I’ve told you politely that she isn’t seeing anyone. If you really are her friend, then you know she’s married to a police captain. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the local precinct and tell them you’re harassing her, and then I’ll call Captain Mace.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I think there is.” The young woman closed the door, and Carl heard locks turning louder than necessary.
Goddamn college students, he thought. She’s probably a journalism major.
Descending the steps, he stopped at the sidewalk and turned. In a second-floor window a woman looked down at him through the bars. Carl raised one hand to wave, but Cheryl dropped the curtain.
I had to try, he thought.
Mace’s office phone rang, and he picked it up.
“It’s Norton.”
He felt relieved to hear her voice. “How goes it in Washington?”
“My funeral was dark and depressing. How was yours?”
“The same.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He didn’t press her for information. His phone could be tapped or hers. “We can use the help. Do you need someone to pick you up?”
“That won’t be necessary. Expect me before lunch.”
“I’ll see you then.” Mace hung up.
Now that the FBI believed Class Ls existed, the bureau would want a much more active role in running the task force. He would be happy to turn the entire operation over to them, but then he would be in no position to protect Gabriel, Karol, Rhonda, and the other Class Ls.
He glanced at the bull pen: Karol, Landry, and Candice continued to key in reports requested by different government agencies, even though they had already given statements following the warehouse raid. He knew Karol held an even more difficult position than he did, with more to lose. He looked at the clock—4:40 pm. Disappointment that Gabriel had failed to present himself weighed heavy on his shoulders. Tomorrow the feds would be back, and covering for Gabriel would be more difficult.
He walked into the bull pen. “Let’s wrap it up and get out of here in an hour. I miss my family.”
“I hear that,” Candice said.
Mace entered the lavatory and relieved himself at the urinal, then washed his hands and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His short dark hair was turning salt-and-pepper. Sighing, he rotated each shoulder and winced. The right one had been bitten by Janus Farel. The Wolf bite had healed, but the sword wound in his other arm flared with pain.
This damn war, he thought, splashing cold water on his face. He exited the bathroom and found Landry standing in the bull pen with a visitor.
“Hello, Captain,” Gabriel Domini said.
Six
Mr. Domini,” Mace said, “thank you for coming in.”
Gabriel nodded. “Certainly.”
Landry and Candice stared at Gabriel, and Karol mimicked them. Mace had told all of them the Dominis were Wolves, and Karol had told Gabriel that. Both Mace and Gabriel depended on their sworn secrecy.
“Please come into the conference room. Ken, set up the camera. Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Domini? It’s not as bad as fictional depictions of police departments would have you believe.”
“No, thank you. I’d like to get this over as quickly as possible.”
“I understand. This way, please.” Mace led Gabriel into the conference room, where Landry mounted an HD camera to a tripod. Mace lowered the blinds, then sat on the far side of the table. Gabriel sat opposite him.
Landry switched on the camera, which be
eped, and set the focus. “Mr. Domini, would you mind saying something?”
“First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out because I was not a communist,” Gabriel said. “Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Finally, they came for me, and there was no one left to speak out.”
“Uh, great. We just need you to fill out that paperwork in front of you.”
Gabriel picked up the printed document, skimmed it, and signed it with a pen. He slid the paper over to Mace, who eased it aside.
“Thank you, Ken,” Mace said.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” Landry exited and closed the door behind him.
Mace and Gabriel stared at each other.
This is a farce, Mace thought. A stage play. He and Gabriel had confided in each other and had fought side by side. Cheryl never would have made it out of the Brotherhood’s lair if it hadn’t been for the Wolf. Now both men had to play a game for the camera. It has to be done.
“Please identify yourself for the camera,” Mace said.
“My name is Gabriel Domini.”
“Middle name?”
“None.”
“Do you have family?”
“A brother, Raphael, and a sister, Angela. Also, a wife, Melissa, and two boys, Damien and Gareth.”
“How old are the boys?”
“Six.”
“Twins?”
“Yes, and my brother and sister and I are triplets.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“And what’s your occupation?”
“I currently have none. Until recently, I co-owned the Domini Funeral Home and a bookstore called Synful Reading with my brother. Both businesses were destroyed.”
“By whom?”
Gabriel smiled. “According to the police and news media, they were destroyed by a terrorist organization called the Brotherhood of Torquemada.”
“Did you ever hear of the Brotherhood of Torquemada before?”
The Frenzy Wolves Page 4
