It sat on the desk in the office on a piece of plastic. “Ever seen anything like it?”
“What the hell is it?”
“A composite I constructed from the pawprint casts Tom Rilker gave me. Whatever made those prints has paws very much like this one.”
“My God. It looks so—”
“Lethal. And that’s exactly what it is. An efficient weapon. One of the best I’ve ever seen in nature, as a matter of fact.” He picked it up. “These long, jointed toes can grasp, I think, quite well. And the claw retracts. Very beautifully and very strange.” He shook his head. “Only one thing wrong with it.”
“Which is?”
“It can’t exist. Too perfect a mutation. No defects at all. Plus it’s at least three steps ahead of its canine ancestors. Maybe if it was a single mutation it would be acceptable, but there are the prints of five or six different animals in here. There must be a pack of these things.” He turned the plaster model in his hand. “The odds against this are billions—trillions— to one.”
“But not impossible?”
He held the model out to Wilson, who stared but didn’t touch. “We have the evidence right here. And I want to know more about the creatures that made these prints. Rilker couldn’t give me a damn bit of information. That’s why I called you. I didn’t want to get involved, but frankly I’m curious.”
Wilson put on a sickly smile. “You’re curious,” he said. “That’s very nice. We’re all curious. But we can’t help you. You’ve just told us a lot more than we knew. You’re the one who can answer questions.”
The scientist looked puzzled and a little sad. He took his glasses off, then dropped into his chair and put the plaster model back on the desk. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped you’d have more information for me. But I don’t think you realize how little I know. Where did the prints come from—can you tell me that?”
“The scene of a crime.”
“Oh come on, George, don’t be so close-mouthed. They came from the scene of the DiFalco-Houlihan murders out in Brooklyn.”
“The two policemen?”
“Right. They were found all around the bodies.”
“What’s being done about this?”
“Exactly nothing,” Wilson snapped. “At the moment the case is officially closed.”
“But what about these prints? I mean, here’s clear evidence that something out of the ordinary is at work. This is no dog or wolf paw, you realize that? Surely somebody must be doing something about it.”
Wilson shot Becky a glance and kept staring as if surprised. The feeling that she experienced confused and pleased her—not because of what the look communicated but because of the way his eyes lingered. “Nobody’s doing anything about it, Doctor,” she said. “That’s why we’re here. We are the only two police officers in New York on this case and we’re about to be reassigned.”
“You understand that this claw belongs to a fearsome killer.” He said it like it was a revelation.
“We know,” Becky replied patiently. In her mind’s eye she once again saw the faces of the dead.
Doctor Ferguson seemed to withdraw into himself. His hands hung down at his sides, his head bowed. Becky had seen this kind of reaction to stress before, usually in those who have been unexpectedly close to murderers. “How many have died?” he asked.
“Five so far that we know about,” Wilson replied.
“There’ve probably been more,” Ferguson said faintly, “maybe many more, if what I suspect is right.”
“Which is?”
He frowned. “I can’t say right now. I’m not sure about it. If I’m wrong it could harm my career. We could be dealing with some kind of murderers hoax. I don’t want to get taken in by a hoax.”
Wilson sighed. “You got any cigarettes?” he asked. Ferguson produced a pack. Wilson took one, tore off the filter and lit up. He did this all very quickly so that Becky wouldn’t have a chance to stop him. “You know, you shouldn’t clam up on us. If you don’t tell us what you think we aren’t going to be able to help you.”
The scientist stared at them. “Look, if I get tripped up by a hoax—if I go out on a limb about this thing and it turns out to be a fake—I would lose my reputation. I don’t know what would become of me. Or I guess I do. Teaching at some backwoods college and never quite reaching tenure.” He shook his head. “It’s not much of a career.”
“You’re not presenting a paper here. You’re talking confidentially to two New York City policemen. There’s a difference.”
“True enough. Maybe I’m exaggerating.”
“So tell us your theory. For God’s sake help us!” The words came out of Wilson like a bark, causing a sudden pause in the bustle of the workroom beyond the little office. “I’m sorry,” he said more softly, “I guess I’m a little upset. Me and my partner here, we’re the only ones who even suspect what we’re up against. And we’ve had some bad experiences.”
Becky broke in. “These things don’t just kill. They hunt. They nearly got us in a house up in the Bronx a few days ago. They hid on an upper floor. One of them tried to lure me with the cries of a baby while the others—”
“Stalked me. They tried to separate us.”
“And I think they might have been outside my apartment last night.”
The words had come in a rush out of both of them, driven by their rising sense of isolation. Now Ferguson was looking at them with unabashed horror, almost as if they themselves bore some loathsome mark.
“You must be mistaken. They can’t be as intelligent as all that.”
Becky blinked with surprise—she had never realized that. Not only were they deadly, they were smart! They had to be damn smart to lure her and Wilson into that stairway, and to seek out her apartment. They had to understand who the enemy was, and know the importance of destroying him before he revealed their presence to the world.
Wilson moved like a man in a dream, his hand gliding up to touch his cheek, the fingers running down the rough line of the throat, down to the seedy brown necktie and back to his lap. As the realization grew also in him his eyes hooded in a deep frown, his mouth opened almost sensually, as if he had fallen asleep and was dreaming of love. “I was beginning to suspect that they were intelligent, too. No matter what you say, Doctor Ferguson, what happened is what happened. You know something—I’ll bet they didn’t pop out of the ground yesterday either. If they’re that smart, they know how to stay well hidden—and they know how important that is, too. That’s my thought.”
“Well, that’s pretty much the theory I didn’t want to tell you, too. You’ve got to get me a cranium or a head, though. Then I can give you an idea of the intelligence. But don’t worry about it, I’m sure we’re much smarter.”
“Doctor, what would a chimp be like if it had the senses of a dog?”
“Lethal—oh God, I see what you mean. If their senses are highly developed enough they don’t need our intelligence to best us. I suppose that’s right. It’s very disturbing, the idea of canine senses and a primate brain.”
“And it’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus Christ, I thought she just told you she was hunted!” His vehemence surprised her. The layers of calm professionalism were stripped away, revealing a Wilson underneath that she had never seen before. Here was a man of intensity and great feeling, protective, angry, full of violence. The cynical surface was gone. What ran beneath was burning with pain.
“Please keep your voice down. I can’t have a disturbance in here. So I’ll agree that she was hunted. You do something about the problem, you’re the police.”