Wolf Slayer Page 7

  He faced a dilemma. Should he mention this latest development to his team? He got a sense that Maria was already viewed as an unreliable witness by several of his officers. It wasn’t surprising. No one who had undergone the sort of trauma Maria had could be expected to have total recall of events. Madden had to repeatedly ask himself if she actually did. When he was with her, he had no question about her clarity. When he was away from her? That was when the doubts crept in.

  None of his officers had the benefit of the same extensive immersion in Maria’s company that he had. He didn’t want to waste valuable time explaining why they should trust his word on this. Damn it, he would be asking them to trust his feelings on this.

  No, he decided he wouldn’t mention this new information. Not yet. It wasn’t fully formed enough to be of use. Instead he would talk about how he wanted to take the case back to basics. Start looking at each murder again in detail. They must be missing a common denominator, something simple. He didn’t know what it was, but they had to keep plowing on until they found it. Or until he strikes again. The voice at the back of his mind refused to be silenced.

  The briefing took the same format as always. Each partnership fed back their findings from the last few days. Closed-circuit television images from the hospital showed a man prowling the grounds just prior to the intruder getting into Maria’s room. They were working on getting the images enhanced. A forensic artist would be coming out to work with Maria on producing a sketch of the suspect. He was hopeful that, together with the images from the hospital, they might finally have a face with which they could go public.

  “I want to take a fresh look at each case. Let’s go right back to the start.” Madden flipped through his notes as he opened the meeting. “With Maria, we have thirteen victims. The first was David Barnes. He went missing from his home in Ketchikan eighteen months ago. We found his body ten days later when I got a call from the Cage Killer giving me the details of the location. The cage was in a disused mine shaft. Barnes was the southernmost victim. Age thirty-five and single, he ran a coffee shop in the art district.”

  “There are similarities with Maria. She is single and she runs her own business.” Rick Tyler, one of the detectives based in Anchorage, pointed out.

  “That’s the sort of connection I want you to look out for. Anything that can link these victims together, or connect them to the killer. They didn’t live close to each other, but did they use the same website designer, accountant, any other services that might have brought them into contact with the same person?”

  “But the next victim, Kristie Eden, was only eight-years-old. She didn’t have an accountant.” Callie Monroe’s pedantic voice acted like a bucket of ice water thrown over any optimism that may have begun to rise within them.

  “We are looking for any link. Something we could have overlooked the first time. A mobile salesperson who sold them all the same type of cleaning product. I don’t know . . .” Madden ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Maybe they all had a craving for the same chocolate-coated peanuts from one specific place. I’ve got a feeling it will be simpler than that. Let’s do whatever it takes to nail this guy.”

  He signed off to the background chatter of his team arguing over the best places to get chocolate-coated peanuts. Madden glanced at the clock. The forensic artist was due any minute to work with Maria on the sketch of the suspect.

  We are missing something simple. He was sure of it. Until they found it, the killer was going to stay one step ahead of them.

  * * *

  “He looks ordinary.” Madden viewed the forensic artist’s sketch with frustration. The guy it depicted could have been anyone. Boy next door. Favorite uncle. The guy who advertised the leading brand of soap. He had a pleasant, forgettable face.

  “He was ordinary,” Maria said, her own voice dispirited. “The most unremarkable, uninteresting person you could imagine.”

  “What we’re aiming for is a good composite sketch, based on all the information Maria has given me.” The artist, who had been sitting behind an easel, rose and held out his hand to Madden. “Redmond Wilkes. This is an exclusionary tool. Something that will tell us who we are not looking for. But we are also trying to tap in to the recognition of others, to make someone sit up and take notice. We want to catch the eye of that one person who will say ‘That looks a lot like . . .’”

  “This looks like almost anyone,” Madden said.

  “It doesn’t look like a tattooed Hell’s Angel, does it? So, if someone comes forward with a suspect who is a member of a biker gang, you need to consider whether pursuing that lead is a useful deployment of your resources.”

  Madden decided he didn’t like Redmond Wilkes. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was about the other man. Maybe it was the pompous, slightly lecturing tone he adopted when he told Madden how to do his job. Possibly, it was the way he leaned a little too close to Maria as he said goodbye. Either way, he was glad to close the door on the other man’s departing back.

  When he returned to Maria, she was regarding the picture with an expression of dismay. “The features and the coloring are right, but it just doesn’t capture anything about him.” She raised her eyes to Madden’s face. “If only I could draw him myself, I’m sure I could do a better job of catching the nuances of his expressions.”

  “In a day or two those dressings are coming off. It’s possible you’ll be able to use your right hand then.”

  She didn’t look hopeful. “Maybe.”

  “In the meantime, do you feel up to getting some fresh air?”

  Maria cast a thoughtful glance in his direction. “I thought we were going to do that at midnight?”

  “You look like you could use a change of scene. I know I could.” It was always the same. Too much time spent trying to get inside the head of the Cage Killer always made him a little stir crazy.

  They followed a trail away from the elegant landscaping of Lowell’s gardens. Although Madden was careful to watch Maria for signs of fatigue, she matched his pace as they followed unusual geologic formations created when molten rock had been forced upward from the deeper layers of the earth. After cooling and hardening close to the surface, these granite pillars were stark and unmistakable.

  Pine trees topped the hillside above the imposing rocks and blueberry bushes grew in abundance along the sides of the rough path they followed.

  “I love blueberries,” Maria said. “Can we come back with a basket another time and gather some?”

  “Only if we also come back with a gun or with me in wolf form.” She raised questioning brows. “Bears love blueberries, too. I wouldn’t want to linger on their territory and take their favorite treat without some kind of protection.”

  When they reached the top of the incline, Maria’s cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright, but Madden judged the walk had done her good. They sat on a rocky ridge and he pointed to the distant peaks. “On a clear day like today, you can see the Alaska Range, Chena Dome, Far Mountain, and Bear Paw Butte.”

  He didn’t add that across there, near Two Rivers, was the area where a pivotal part of his life had been spent. It was where Ivan Joseph had found Madden when he was a half-starved, lonely wolf cub. Madden owed his life to the taciturn man who had brought him back from the brink of death. Ivan didn’t have much time for people, but he loved animals, rescuing and rehabilitating many sick and injured wild creatures.

  “It’s incredible.” Maria sighed as she drank in the view.

  She turned her head to look at him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to lean closer and kiss her. His hands closed around Maria’s upper arms, pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck. The gods pressed a pause button on time. Her lips parted beneath his and his tongue tangled with hers. She tasted as heady as the pure, clear air around them. Madden wondered how the hell he was ever going to find the strength to stop kissing her.

  The feeling hit them both at the same time, rousing them from the
sweet stupor of the kiss. As he broke reluctantly away from Maria, Madden couldn’t say exactly what it was that alerted him, only that he somehow knew they were not alone.

  Hikers occasionally used this trail, but he knew at once that the presence he felt was not human. He also knew it wasn’t a bear or another wolf. It was dark and malignant. Whatever it was, it was watching them. Somehow feeding on, while at the same time loathing, the passion they shared.

  “Can you feel it?” Maria shivered, staying as close as she could to the shelter of his frame.

  “Yes.” Madden’s keen eyes scanned the area around them. Although he could feel it, he couldn’t see anything.

  “That’s what I felt when I was in captivity. It’s the same presence.” She lifted frightened eyes to his face. “It followed me here. The Cage Killer knows where I am.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You can’t leave the grounds again,” Samson said when they told him about their experience up on the ridge. “Not until he is caught.”

  “Okay.” Madden was pacing the kitchen floor, draining half a bottle of water in one gulp. “But what bothers me most is that I’m a cop in my day job. I’m searching for a living breathing killer. Yet what I felt up there on that trail was not human. No wonder the Alaskan Frontier Force is not getting any results.”

  “Are you saying this is a job for the brotherhood?” Lowell asked.

  Maria, who was huddled into a large chair at the side of the range cooker, watched Madden’s face as he paused in his stride. The range of emotions that crossed his handsome features was difficult to interpret. She saw confusion, frustration, and anger in there. When his gaze swept in her direction, she also saw concern.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. Until now, nothing I’ve seen has led me to believe that this killer is not human.”

  “Let me help you out here.” Maria spoke up from the depths of her chair. “The man who shaved my head, who cut off my fingers, who punched and kicked me, who laughed as he did those things”—the look of sympathy and anger in the eyes of the three men as she spoke almost undid her resolve to continue—“he was human. He was a living, breathing person.”

  “How do you know that for sure?” Madden dropped to his knees beside her, taking hold of her wrists just above the bandages.

  “Because before I realized it was futile, I tried to fight him. I punched him in the face, kicked him in the balls, bit his hand, and scratched his face. He was flesh and blood. He squealed like a pig. There was nothing about him that wasn’t real.”

  Lowell raised his coffee cup in salute. “Here’s to every bite and kick.”

  Maria smiled. “I wish I’d landed a few more.”

  “So what are we talking about?” Samson frowned. “A human killer with a nonhuman sidekick? What are the chances of that?”

  The three men exchanged glances that Maria didn’t understand. Lowell spoke first. “Could it be?”

  “No.” Madden shook his head firmly. “We can’t see his shadow in every situation. This is a human serial killer. I’ve been hunting him for eighteen months.”

  “A serial killer who targets people with Arctic coloring,” Samson said. “We all know how much he hates Arctic werewolves.”

  “Would someone mind telling me what this conversation is about? Who is he?” Maria asked, becoming frustrated by undercurrents she didn’t understand.

  “There is a werewolf bounty hunter named Jean Chastel who has clashed with the brotherhood in the past,” Madden explained. “He has sworn to wipe out the entire species of Arctic werewolves. But the activities of the Cage Killer are not his style. Chastel prefers to do things on a grander scale.”

  “And is he human?” Maria couldn’t quite believe she was asking that question.

  “No. Chastel was born human, but he used the magic of a great sorceress to make himself immortal. Killing werewolves has become his mission in life.” Madden turned his head to look at his friends. “Until Maria, all of the Cage Killer’s victims have been human. I can’t believe Chastel would get it so wrong. If he decided to kill a werewolf, he would at least make sure he actually got himself a werewolf. He wouldn’t make a mistake by capturing a human with Arctic coloring.”

  There was silence for a minute or two, as the three men thought about what Madden had just said. It was Samson who broke the silence. “You don’t know if this mysterious, nonhuman presence was there during the other murders, is that right?”

  “Maria is the only survivor, so she is the only person who has been able to confirm that this other person—or being—was there during her captivity,” Madden said. His expression changed, as though a thought, horrible in its simplicity, had just occurred to him. “Unless the Cage Killer grew tired of getting it wrong and called in an expert . . .”

  “Chastel,” Samson supplied.

  “Chastel.” Madden nodded. “Then, under his guidance, the Cage Killer finally got it right and found himself a werewolf, even though Maria didn’t know she was a werewolf.”

  Maria swallowed hard. “So the presence I could sense wasn’t an observer. It was a tutor?”

  Samson slammed a fist into his palm in a gesture of frustration. “So now we have Chastel giving lessons to human murderers? Serial Killer 101?”

  “This is all supposition,” Lowell reminded him. “We have no proof that Chastel is involved and no one, least of all the human police, should be distracted by the suggestion of his involvement.”

  “We might not have any proof. But we do have a very strong hint.” Madden spoke slowly as he turned his head to look at Maria. “Would you mind showing Samson and Lowell the brand on your shoulder?”

  The brand. Maria shivered. The brand bothered her more than the loss of her fingers. It marked her as his. Whenever she looked at the mark on her shoulder, touched it, or thought about it, she was back in that cage, back in the moment when the red-hot metal was pressed against her flesh. No matter what she had to do, if she had to sell everything she owned, she was going to have that hateful mark removed as soon as possible.

  But she wasn’t going to hide it. If she acted like there was shame attached to the mark on her shoulder, she gave the Cage Killer another victory. She absorbed some of his guilt.

  Slowly, she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it down from her shoulder. She saw anger register on the faces of the two men who were looking at her damaged flesh for the first time. The brand, which was imprinted into the front part of her shoulder, was unmistakable. It was a stylized image of a snarling three-headed dog.

  “It’s a hellhound,” Madden said. “All of the victims were branded with this image. So far we’ve managed to keep this out of the press.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” Samson’s voice was a low-pitched growl.

  Maria pulled her blouse back up over her shoulder. “Does it mean something?”

  “Chastel’s human followers call themselves the Hellhounds,” Madden said. “They swear allegiance to the man they call their master and vow to hunt down and kill werewolves in his name. There are hundreds of them across the globe.”

  Maria felt light-headed. “If what you are saying is true and this Chastel is the one who is after me, then it sounds like I don’t stand a chance. He’ll hunt me down and kill me no matter what.”

  Madden drew her forward so that she could rest her head against his shoulder. “That’s not true. We’ve defeated Chastel before and we’ll do it again.” His voice had taken on a new note. It was hard and determined. “You are one of us . . . and we take care of our own.”

  * * *

  “Here, during the summer months, the sun just dips below the horizon at midnight, giving the impression that sunrise and sunset are happening at the same time.” Madden indicated the glorious golden glow that lit the horizon. “Farther north, deep inside the Arctic Circle, it doesn’t set at all. That is the true land of the midnight sun. The land of ice and snow, and the homeland of the Arctic werewolves.”

  The love and pride in his voice tug
ged at some deep, untouched chord inside Maria. She turned her face up to the sun allowing its rays to warm her. Could Lowell be right? Was the reason she had never known about her inner wolf simply because that, until now, she had never experienced this glorious sensation?

  She tried to shut out everything else, to just allow herself to feel. Closing her eyes, she tried to find that place deep inside herself, the place where she had always known something was different. Where there was something that set her apart from other people. That was where her inner wolf must reside. She was dimly aware of Madden’s protective presence close by.

  I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a werewolf.

  The thought was a panicky one, rising up and threatening to choke her. She opened her eyes quickly, seeking Madden’s reassuring gaze.

  “You don’t have to do anything. Just enjoy this moment.” It was incredible how he seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.

  Mindful of the dangers of straying beyond the boundaries of Lowell’s land, they had walked through the grounds, ending up at a small gazebo on the edge of the lake. From its circular, cushioned seat they had a perfect view across the wide expanse of water toward the forest.

  “Do you remember the first time you shifted?” Maria asked. “Was it something your parents taught you?”

  His face was shadowed, but she sensed a change in his expression. “They did, but it was one of the last things they did for me. They were killed by hunters when I was very young. I was cast out by the alpha of my pack and left to fend for myself. Without my family, I didn’t belong in the pack. I didn’t belong anywhere. I suppose I was meant to die.”

  Maria wished she could reach for his hand. Instead she moved closer and placed her head on his shoulder. “But you survived.”

  He ran a hand down her cheek and she shivered with pleasure at his touch. Was it her imagination, or were her senses heightened by the midnight sun? “I was found by a trapper. I’m a werewolf, so I don’t have an age in the same sense as a wolf or a human, but he’d have believed I was only a few months old. Half-starved and close to death, he took care of me and hand reared me. He had no idea, of course, that he was rearing a werewolf, and not a wild Arctic wolf cub. When I was old enough, he released me into the wild.”