The howls came again, answered from the direction of the zoo. It was as though one of the wolves had broken free and the other was still in Dave’s compound.
The animals were speaking to him, though he couldn’t imagine how they knew where he was. The wound in his leg throbbed to remind him. Of course, they can smell my blood. He could see it was bleeding through the makeshift tourniquet.
He howled back.
And then, limping along, he navigated between their responses, as though they were his own personal GPS system, until he knew he was closing in on Androg.
Back across the meadow, back through the brambles-as the howling from both sides warned him he was almost upon his quarry.
Back to the bare circle above the cliff in the midst of the tangled brush-that was no longer empty.
The howling ceased.
Oblivious to the rain, Wade Hamilton was waiting for him, leaning against an oak tree. A flash of light illuminated the red-suited devil.
“I was going to give you another minute,” the man said in a voice that no longer sounded even remotely human. The smile he flashed at Cody was a blood-curdling glimpse into the heart of darkness. “Can’t get enough of me, hunh?” he taunted. “I thought I’d made you Number Seven back at the cave. So I guess that number is still up for grabs.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Cody said. “You killed my dog.”
“Yeah, I’m a real prick,” Hamilton said. “I figured the faithful sniffer was your only shot, but it was a helluva long shot. I congratulate you. I hate dogs.”
“You also killed your favorite Amazon.”
Hamilton shrugged. “I’m not surprised you’re not more observant. I always thought your investigatory skills were wildly exaggerated by the fawning press. She wasn’t an Amazon, dear boy, she was dressed as my private Cupid. Designed the costume herself, especially for tonight.”
“You’re under arrest,” Cody said. “You have the right to remain silent-“
Hamilton’s demonic laughter overrode Cody’s attempt to Mirandize him. “There’ll be plenty of time for silence later,” he scoffed.
Then, in a torrent of words, he rushed on to boast about Androg’s murderous exploits.
He confirmed that the original idea was for it to be a contest between them. The survivor would get to kill the ace detective-or be killed by him. Hamilton shook his head. “I’d planned it from the beginning that I would get her before she could get me. If you want something done right, better do it yourself.”
Cody had lost track of the madman’s logic but saw there were now actual tears in Hamilton’s eyes.
The writer stared at him and held out an arrow. “Turns out, I don’t have the heart to live without her either,” he said. “Please.”
“Well, I’m not about to do you any honors,” Cody said. This criminal egomaniac man needed one way or another to pay for the lives he’d taken, starting with Charley’s. “I’m taking you in.”
“Are you indeed?”
This time Cody was ready. Before Hamilton could move his hand toward his bow, the hunting knife was in flight.
Its aim dead-on, the sharp knife pierced through the palm of Hamilton’s hand and pinned it squarely to the oak.
As Cody reached for his cuffs, Hamilton howled in pain and, with his free hand, yanked the knife free. This time the sound he emitted was more like the savage grunt of a wounded bear.
Grimacing through his pain, Hamilton brandished the knife at Cody. “Want it back?” he asked, his hand dripping blood.
In a lightning move Cody whipped the cuffs toward the writer’s knife hand, causing him to wince and howl with pain as the metal connected with his wrist. Then Cody pulled the chain forward, wrenching the knife free.
It fell to the soggy ground and Hamilton bent to retrieve it.
But not before Cody made his move, head-butting him and knocking him backward.
Still reaching for the knife, Hamilton fell on his face with a grunt.
Cody kicked the knife five yards farther into the tiny clearing. Then he turned back to the supine writer, and grabbed his left hand to cuff it.
He’d managed to click shut the cuff when Hamilton, with preternatural strength, reached for Cody’s belt with his right hand and pulled himself to his feet.
He spit in Cody’s face.
Hamilton spun his body and managed to let loose a roundhouse that caught the detective square in the solar plexus.
Caught off guard, Cody doubled over with the pain and surprise of the blow.
But only for a moment.
Grabbing hold of the cuffs he wrenched with all his strength and turned Hamilton back around so his back was toward him.
Hamilton was ready for this, reached back to catch Cody’s butt, and flipped him over himself like a circus act.
Cody landed on his feet, gnashing his teeth from the pain from his wound.
Hamilton attacked, raining blows first into Cody’s abdomen then concentrating his fury on Cody’s wounded thigh.
Cody, holding on, turned Hamilton’s strength against him. He allowed himself to be backed up, inch at a time. He could hear the crack as his elbow broke one of Hamilton’s ribs.
Bellowing, Hamilton charged again-and the two men plummeted together from the cliff.
This time the surprise was Hamilton’s, and Cody had the advantage as he twisted the writer’s heavier torso so that he landed on his back-knocking the air from his lungs-but cushioning Cody’s fall on top of him.
Which further took away the killer’s breath.
As Hamilton lay gasping, Cody moved to grab the writer’s right arm and force his hand into the remaining cuff.
But Hamilton, despite his pain, was too fast. With a heroic contortion, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver and wielded it at Cody, causing the detective to roll off and keep his distance.
Before Cody could stop him, Hamilton placed the tip of the arrow into his mouth and sucked on it.
“You don’t think I’m giving you the last laugh?” he gasped. Then he stabbed himself in the side.
Well, Cody thought, in its own bizarre way, this was classic “depression phase,” the last of the serial killer’s psychological phases as defined by psychologist Joel Norris. He watched Ward Lee Hamilton’s paroxysms, making no effort to come to his assistance.
This time the howl was only yards away, making the hair on Cody’s arms stand up. But he was weyekin. He understood the language of animals.
This time it was a welcome howl.
Cody waited for the man’s paroxysms to end before he reached for his cell phone.
That was when he saw the wolf.
41
Thursday, November 1
Brother Wolf sat and watched, bemused. Then he looked up at the moon, then back at Cody and growled. Not a threatening growl, but stern.
The alpha male was crouching on its forelegs, snarling at the strangely-garbed man whose death throes he had just witnessed. When Hamilton’s paroxysms ended, and he was no longer a threat, the wolf acknowledged Cody, who used the weyekin language to thank it for its concern.
“Hey, boy,” Cody asked, “How the hell did you get out?”
“He jumped the fence,” came the voice of Dave Runningfox, as he ran into the tiny clearing beneath the cliff.
“Jesus, Dave. What the hell’s going on?”
“One might ask you the same thing. You look like you’ve just boxed with the devil.”
“I have.”
Dave’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Hamilton’s red-clad body. “The alpha was howling for you. I couldn’t shut him up-not even with that extra bone you left the other night.”
Cody was squatting next to the animal, which seemed subdued now that he saw Cody was not in danger. “Well, he’s obviously fully recuperated,” he said. Cody nodded for Frank to use the tranquilizer gun on the wolf so he could be transported back safely to the zoo.
As the alpha male slumped into unconsciousness, Cody looked at Dave. “They got Charley,” he whispered.
“Yeah, I know. The alpha led me to him. He’s already in my van.”?