Dedication
For Norma, who shared her love of mysteries with me and always wanted me to write one
For Jason, whose never-ending encouragement and support are unparalleled
And for all the activists and conservationists out there who are fighting to preserve endangered species and the wildlands they call home
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Map
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Afterword
To Learn More About Wolverines
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Map
One
The wetlands dedication ceremony was a resounding success until the gunman showed up. Alex Carter had felt happy, blinking in the bright sunlight, gazing out over the green marshy area. The gold and scarlet of fall touched a handful of trees. Where the blue sky reflected in patches of visible water, a great blue heron stood vigil, gazing down for a glimpse of fish. It was sunny now, but huge cumulus clouds were building on the horizon, and she knew that a thunderstorm would descend over the city before the day was out.
Boston councilman Mike Stevens stood on a temporary stage, giving a speech to a gathering of outdoor enthusiasts who happily sampled the provided wine and cheese. From one corner of the stage, a perfectly coiffed TV reporter in a spotless white suit signaled to her cameraman to get sound bites. Her styled blond hair glowed around her pink face. Later, Alex had to do an interview with the woman, and nervousness churned in her stomach.
Alex looked down at her own outfit—worn jeans, a black thermal top under a black fleece jacket. Hiking boots covered in mud. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a quick ponytail. Alex couldn’t remember if she’d brushed it that morning, and suspected she hadn’t. While Alex’s best friend, Zoe, always insisted that eyeliner made Alex’s blue eyes pop, Alex had also neglected to apply any today. Ditto for any tinted moisturizer on her face, which she suspected was looking particularly pale and nervous.
Christine Mendoza, the founder of Save Our Wetlands Now, approached Alex, grinning as she tucked her wind-tossed hair behind her ear. She touched Alex’s elbow affectionately and whispered, “Thanks for coming.”
“My pleasure.”
Last year Christine had approached Alex, asking if she’d do a pro bono environmental impact assessment for the area. A development company had announced plans to build luxury condominiums and retail spaces on the spot, which would displace more than a hundred species of birds. For the last year, Alex had lived in downtown Boston, a far cry from the wild places her heart longed for. Helping to save a small corner of surviving wilderness was a delight.
After her report was submitted, the green-leaning community spoke its mind, attending town hall meetings and sending in petitions. In the end, the city designated the habitat a protected space and the development company withdrew its proposal.
And today was the big day of celebration.
Now she and Christine looked toward the mic, where Stevens was currently pontificating on civic responsibility, droning on about how providing open spaces for the public’s well-being was of utmost importance. Stevens had actually been one of the driving forces behind the condo project after getting a hefty kickback from the development company. Now he desperately tried to save face, pretending as if he’d been supportive of the wetlands protection from the start.
“Can you believe this joker?” Christine said quietly to Alex, nodding toward the councilman. “He fought us all the way. Even sent me hate mail. Now he’s pretending like the whole plan to save the wetlands was his idea.” She shook her head. “Sheesh. I know who I’m not voting for next election.”
Alex watched the man’s perma-grin. “I wonder if he had to give back all that money.”
Christine crossed her arms, her wavy brown hair framing her tawny face as she squinted into the bright sun. “He was pretty mad when the development fell through.”
A few more people had been upset, too, including the construction company who won the contract for the condos.
But now this beautiful place would be protected, providing sanctuary for wildlife and a place of reflection for residents. It wasn’t often that environmental issues swung this way, and Alex’s heart swelled.
After Stevens had droned on for ten minutes, Christine approached the councilman and looked at him meaningfully, signaling that he should wrap up his speech. “Enjoy your new park!” he announced to a smattering of applause, which grew more enthusiastic when they realized he was done talking.
As he left the stage, the reporter waved Christine over. “Are you the biologist? I’m supposed to interview a biologist.”
Christine pointed to Alex. “That’s her.”
Great, Alex thought. Thrown to the wolves. She forced a smile as the reporter gestured impatiently to her. “You’re Carter? Come up here. I don’t want my heels to sink into that muck.”
Alex stepped up onto the stage.
“Right. Roll it, Fred.” The cameraman clicked record and Alex found herself staring blankly at the camera. A few people lingered around the stage to listen to the interview.
A complete change took over the reporter, who went from surly to irrepressibly bubbly. “This is Michelle Kramer, reporting from the dedication ceremony for the new wetlands park.” She gestured around her. “This area will be set aside as valuable habitat for wildlife.” She turned toward Alex. “Dr. Carter, your study was instrumental in gaining protections for this area. What kinds of wildlife will use this space?”
“In addition to year-round species, many migratory birds use this as a stopover area after flying hundreds of miles.”
Michelle gave a very fake-sounding giggle. “Hundreds of miles! I hope their kids aren’t in the back seat, asking, ‘Are we there yet?’”
Alex was taken aback, momentarily derailed. She managed a little chuckle.
The reporter glanced down at some notes on her phone. “So we understand, Dr. Carter, that in addition to protecting areas like this, we can do other things to help our local birds.”
Alex smiled and nodded, feeling herself grow numb with nervousness, but she plowed on. “Many people don’t know that migratory birds actually use the stars to navigate.”
“Oooh! I love stars. The birds must have a stargazing app like the one I have on my phone.” She tittered again.
More of the crowd had moved over toward the stage, listening in on the interview.
“While I’m sure that would be convenient, unfortunately, they rely on having dark skies to see the North Star,” Alex said lamely, trying to keep on target. “But with so much light pollution in our cities, birds are struggling. You can help by turning off your porch light at night or installing a simple motion detector to turn the light on only when you need
it. A light that snaps on when someone approaches is a better alert system, too, than one that burns constantly.”
Michelle laughed. “Well, why don’t we just do some remodeling and rewiring while we’re at it?” She grinned at the camera and cut Alex off. “And that’s our report from the field. Be sure to come out, Bostonians, and enjoy your new park.” Then she lowered the mic and Fred turned off the camera.
A murmur spread through the crowd, and Alex noticed that most people had turned and were looking in the opposite direction from the stage. People began backing away, staring at someone moving among them. Then a woman screamed and a man turned and sprinted away, fear on his face. He left the firm ground and splashed into the water, tripping and going down hard in the mud.
Then everyone got eerily quiet and backed away from the stage. A man strode forward, shoving two startled people out of the way. His hand, thrust toward Alex, held a gun.
Alex froze as he leveled the gun at her, stopping at the edge of the stage. She recognized him—had seen him at some of the community meetings. His construction company had won the bid to build the condos. Her mind raced through the possibilities. Should she dive down? Run? Try to tackle the guy? He waved the gun around, pointing it at the councilman, then at Christine, then back to Alex.
“You people ruined my life!” he shouted, spinning and pointing the gun into the crowd. People cried out and ran toward the back, pushing through the crowd to get away. “And you’re out here celebrating?”
The gunman pivoted back, aiming at Alex. The reporter signaled for the cameraman to get a close-up, and the gunman turned on her, eyes ignited with rage. “You’re filming this? You think this is entertainment?” he boomed.
The gun went off so suddenly that Alex jumped backward, her ears ringing. Red bloomed in the stomach of the reporter’s pristine white suit, and the woman stood for a moment in shock, mouth hanging open, before she crumpled forward. The cameraman flung his equipment down and rushed to her side, bending over her. He whipped out his phone and called 911.
People screamed and ran, and the gunman spun, firing off several rounds into the crowd. They scattered, and Alex couldn’t tell if anyone had been hit. A few people dove down on the ground and cowered there, looking frantically over their shoulders. One man in a black cap ran off at a fast clip, managing to reach the nearest clump of trees.
The councilman, who’d been standing in shock next to Christine, looked on, his eyes wide and unblinking. Then he spoke. “David, I’m sorry the project didn’t go through. But there’ll be other jobs.”
“What difference would that make?” David spat. “I already lost my company! Went bankrupt when this didn’t go through. My wife left me for some rich-ass golf pro.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the councilman said, “but these good people didn’t do anything to hurt you.”
Alex just wanted to slink down and away, take cover behind the stage, but was worried the sudden movement might draw his fire. But she was beginning to like Mr. Two-Faced Politician. At least he was brave enough to confront the man.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” David fumed. “These are exactly the people who did this to me. They get all worked up over a bunch of fucking birds. My business was ruined!” His gun hand shook with rage.
“Not me,” the councilman assured him. “I wanted the development to go through. I fought very hard for it.”
And now he’s back to saving his own ass, Alex thought.
“Not hard enough.” He pivoted, pointing the gun into the crowd. “And now I’m going to take out as many of you assholes as I can.”
The councilman leapt off the stage and sprinted away as the gunman pivoted and took aim at him. Christine froze in terror as the gun went off with a cacophonous boom, firing at the retreating politician. Stevens flinched and fell, then got up and kept running. The shot had missed. Christine trembled and stared at Alex, her face starting to crumple. Then she ran to Alex’s side. David tracked her movement and leveled his gun at them.
Alex dove behind the stage, pulling Christine with her. They fell hard, hunkering down beneath the minuscule eighteen inches of cover provided by the height of the small stage. She heard David’s boots step up onto the platform. He was coming toward them. Soon he’d be right over them, firing the gun downward.
Alex grabbed Christine’s hand and whispered, “Run!” From her belly, Alex got to her knees and took off for the nearest trees, which were more than a hundred yards away. Her hiking boots squished on the moist ground and she zigged and zagged, trying to make a difficult target. Tough clumps of grass threatened to trip her, and the ground sucked at her boots each time she planted a foot. Christine ran as well, and they were a third of the way to the trees when another deafening boom rang out.
Alex braced herself to feel pain, but none came. Christine ran on to the left of her, utter panic on her face. But she was unharmed. Another shot had gone wild.
Alex dared a glance back. The gunman was fast on their tracks, his hand extended, the gun bouncing erratically as he ran. But it was trained on Alex. She zagged to the right and pushed herself to run faster as another shot rang out. Bracing again to feel a bullet tear through her, she realized this gun had fired from much farther away than where David was.
Confused, she chanced another glance back to see David standing still, his body drooping as he grabbed his right arm in a tight clench. Blood seeped through his fingers, and his gun lay on the ground next to him. Had someone in the crowd shot him? It sounded too far away for that. The shot had been more distant than from the stage.
Christine paused, staring back in confusion, and Alex ran over to her, hurrying her toward the trees. Staring around angrily, the gunman picked up the weapon in his left hand, then started toward them again.
Alex’s heart thumped painfully. Now that she was closer to the trees, she saw they were too thin to offer much protection. He’d easily shoot them there. Panic rose within her as she surveyed the area for cover.
“What do we do?” Christine cried, realizing their dilemma.
Behind them, the gunman was closing fast. He bared his teeth against the pain, blood streaming down his right arm, which hung limply at his side. His left hand shook on the weapon, but she knew he’d have no problem killing them at close range. He staggered forward, rage driving him on.
She sped to the right, gesturing for Christine to go the other way, splitting them up. She was almost at the trees when she saw about an inch of standing water pooling at their bases. She splashed into it, weaving between trunks.
David stopped at the tree line. He lifted his weapon, taking his time to aim.
Alex was only feet away. Her boots sank into the mud, slowing her progress. Only a six-inch trunk stood between her and a bullet.
Another distant crack of a gun rang out. Alex looked on in horror as a wound the size of a grapefruit exploded out of David’s forehead. He slumped forward, splashing onto the sodden ground, lying immobile. Blood pooled into the brown water.
Alex forced her body to move. Christine stood about fifty feet away, crouched down behind some trees. Alex reached her, struggling for a breath.
Alex looked back. The gunman lay still. He’d been shot in the back of the skull, the exit wound devastating. There was no way he had survived. But she wasn’t about to go check on him, either. She crouched down next to Christine and whispered, “There’s another shooter out there.” From the angle of the gunman’s wound, Alex guessed the person was firing from the clump of trees on the far side of the stage, where the man in the black cap had vanished to. “I think we better creep farther into the trees and lie down.”
They did so until the view of the other section of trees was obscured. Then they waited. From their position, Alex could see that the crowd had all scattered, fleeing toward the road on the opposite side of the wetlands. The cameraman had lain down next to the reporter and was looking around, his eyes wide with fear.
Alex’s mind reeled as her breath ca
me too fast. Who had fired the shot? A second gunman? Could it be the police? Had they been able to respond that quickly with a sniper?
A few minutes later, she heard police sirens in the distance. She looked out to see the councilman at the road waving police cruisers over. Two pulled up next to him and he pointed toward the body of the gunman. Then the police were running toward the man’s body cautiously, talking into their shoulder radios.
A man and a woman met them partway and pointed at the distant trees, to where Alex thought the other gunman had fired from. The police talked some more into their radios, then continued to move forward. Two officers escorted the man and woman back to the road.
Alex watched as the first two responding officers ran in a low crouch. One moved toward the gunman, and another ran along the tree line toward them. In a minute, he was crouching down over Alex and Christine, his comforting hand on Alex’s back. His name tag read Scott. He looked them both over. “Are you hurt?”
Alex shook her head, and Christine managed to whisper, “No.”
The other officer reached the body of the gunman and checked his carotid. He turned to his partner and shook his head.
For an indeterminable amount of time, Alex lay belly down in the wet mud, feeling like any minute a sniper’s bullet might tear right through her. Finally the officers announced an all clear. Alex and Christine struggled to their feet, shivering from the wet cold.
Paramedics rushed in to help the reporter, loading her onto a gurney. As they hurried toward the ambulance, the cameraman ran alongside them. The policemen escorted Alex and Christine out of the trees and back to the stage. Alex couldn’t help looking over at the dead gunman, such an average Joe with his thinning hair and beer gut, red T-shirt and faded jeans. She couldn’t stop staring at him. The police moved around her seemingly in slow motion. Her thoughts were hazy and sounds were muffled, as if her head were stuffed with cotton. More officers arrived, and Alex stood there shaking, her heart still pounding.
Christine moved next to her and grabbed her hand, and for a few minutes they sat side by side on the stage, trembling and trying to take it all in. At the far periphery of the wetlands, city life went on as usual. Cars honked. People shouted at one another. Planes and helicopters droned overhead. The stench of car exhaust reached her even out here.
A Solitude of Wolverines Page 1
