Each human’s distinctive odor separated him from all the others, and the pack separated these three from the great mass of odors around them. And they settled down to wait. Waiting was easy for them. It added the excitement of anticipation.
Sam Garner pulled his car to a stop in front of the Museum of Natural History. He got out, relying on his press ID in the window to ward off the tow-away patrol. He paused before the imposing building, looking up at the statue of Teddy Roosevelt. The Great White Hunter with a guilt complex. Sweet guy. Sam trotted up the stairs. Two detectives were in there whom he wanted to see. He didn’t know exactly why he wanted to do this. He didn’t especially like detectives, and it hadn’t been easy to track these two down. But here he was and here they were, and he wanted very much to find out how they would react when he gave them a certain piece of information.
He had it planned. He would say, “You understand that Medical Examiner Evans was mauled to death in the park this morning.” They would say yes to that. Then he would say, “The incident occurred in your car.” He was very interested in watching their reaction to that. Somewhere along through here there was some kind of a story, maybe big. And these two just might have some idea what it was.
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Carl Ferguson’s phone rang. He picked it up, then handed it to Wilson. “For you. Underwood.”
Wilson took the phone. “Jesus, Herb, how’d you know I was here?”
“Lucky guess. Actually I’ve made about six calls. This was a last resort.”
“That’s accurate. What’s on your mind?”
“Evans. What killed him?”
“You know perfectly well, Herbie-boy.”
“Wolves?”
“Werewolves. Same as killed the other six.”
“Six?”
“Sure. The bloody bench we found this morning was all that remained of number six. O-negative blood. No ID as yet beyond that.”
“Look, I gotta tell you there’s a hell of a lot of press out pounding the pavements on this one. We’re crawlin’ with ’em down here, plus the park’s full of ’em . Reporters from every damn where—Evans was a famous man. So far nobody’s made the connection between his death and the other murders. I mean, obviously there’re similarities. So don’t, if you know what I mean.“
“Oh, I won’t. I haven’t got enough proof so it might not embarrass you as much as it should. There’s a cake, but I ain’t got icing.”
“Like what?”
“Like evidence that will convince even you. When I’ve got that, I’ll go to the papers, but not before. That much you can count on.”
“Goddamn you, George. If it weren’t for Old One Forty-seven I’d sign your fuckin’ walking papers.”
“Well, Herbie, now what can you expect? You were a dumb kid and you’re a dumb grown-up. You should have given in a long time ago, when you first knew I was right.”
“Which was?”
“The first time you heard my story. It’s dead right and you know it. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it, or too dumb. Probably both.”
This was followed by a silence at the other end of the line that lengthened until Wilson thought that Underwood had hung up on him. Finally he spoke. “Detective Wilson,” he said, “have you ever considered, if your story is true, what kind of public reaction it will cause?”
“Panic, mayhem, blood in the streets. Plus heads will roll. The heads of the people who didn’t do anything about it when they could.”
“My head. You’d sacrifice this city for that? Can you imagine the economic loss, the destruction? Thousands of people would pour the hell out of the city. Mass exodus. Looting. This is a great city, Detective Wilson, but I think that would break it”
“Yeah. And you along with it. People will come back when they realize that the werewolves aren’t just a local attraction. But you won’t come back, Herbie. You’ll be completely retired.”
Underwood’s voice was bitter. “I must say, I hope to hell you’re wrong. Right now I can’t think of anything that’ll give me more pleasure than kicking your ass off the force. Now that would be a hell of a good feeling.” This time Wilson was sure that he had hung up because of the bang the phone made.
“Good God,” Becky said, “what in hell ever possessed you to talk to him like that!”
“He’s a jerk. He was always a fuckin’ jerk. Hell, he was a jerk when he was runnin’ around in a dirty bathing suit half the summer. A fuckin’ two-bit jerk.”
“That doesn’t give you the right… I mean, I know you grew up together and all that… but my God, you’ll destroy both of us!”
“What in the world are you two talking about?”
They turned, surprised at the strange voice. A small man in a cheap raincoat stood there smiling more than he should. “Name’s Garner. New York Post. You folks Detectives Neff and Wilson?”
“Come back later. We don’t want any right now.”
“Oh, come on, Wilson, let him—”
“We don’t want any now!”
“Just one question—how come Doctor Evans was murdered in your car? You have any comment on that?” His eyes watched them. Of course he didn’t expect a straight answer. It was how they looked that counted. One way, he would know there was a story. Another way, he would know zip.
“Get the hell out of here!! Whassamatter, you deaf! Move!”
He scurried away, down the hall and up the stairs, smiling from ear to ear. He loved it! There was going to be a damn good story! As soon as he got back to his car he called in for a photographer. A couple of pictures of them as they left the museum wouldn’t hurt. Nice pictures, come in handy later.
“Sometimes I think maybe we should tell them something,” Ferguson asked when the reporter was gone. “I think it’ll help us if we got more people involved.”
“You tell them.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I haven’t got enough—”
“Evidence. Neither have we, and that’s why we can’t tell them either. We’ve got to wait until we get that clincher. Once we have it, we can blow the story from here to Moscow for all I care, but I’m certainly not going to break it early. Can you imagine—detective alleges werewolf killed M. E.? Underwood would dearly love that.”
His own voice made Wilson suddenly very tired. The long night ahead was bearing down remorselessly; he felt a knot growing in his stomach. Already the light in the room had changed. This time of year the days were quick, the nights long. And tonight moonrise would be late. Despite the lights of the city there would be shadows everywhere in just a few hours. The world around him seemed to be frowning, looming down at him, revealing within its softness a savagery he had never suspected. You think that the world is one thing, it turns out to be another. What appeared to be a flower is actually a gaping wound. The fact that time was passing ate at him, drove him closer and closer to—the truth, and the truth was they were going to die. Soon he would feel it, he knew it. He would feel what Evans had felt, the sensation of those things pulling him apart with their teeth. And Becky too, that beautiful skin torn open—he could hardly tolerate the thought
He had always had a knack for prophecy—now he had a premonition. He was standing in the middle of Becky’s bedroom when one of them jumped out of the curtains and buried its head in his stomach. As the sheer pain killed, he saw its tail wagging.