“I thought the barrier between humans and Others would be more . . . substantial,” Monty said, shaken. “That’s really the Courtyard?”
“That’s it,” Kowalski said, studying Monty. “You didn’t work near the Courtyard in Toland?”
Monty shook his head. “Never got near it.” He noticed that Kowalski’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking. “You sure there’s nobody hurt on the other side of that fence?”
“I’m sure.” Kowalski tipped his head to indicate the open land on the other side of the four-lane avenue. “Once the tow truck arrives, we can check the cairn to find out who went over the fence.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Every Courtyard has its own policy when it comes to dealing with humans. The Wolfgard have been running this one for the past few years, and their rules are clear. Kids who hop the fence to look around on a dare get tossed back over the fence and sat on until we pick them up and arrest them for trespassing. Teenagers will get roughed up, maybe get a bad bite or a broken bone before they’re tossed back over the fence. But any adult who goes in without an invitation doesn’t come back out. And if any human—kid, teen, or adult—hops that fence and is carrying a weapon . . .” Kowalski shook his head. “The Others will leave wallets, keys, and other belongings at the cairn so we know that person isn’t coming back. We fill out a DLU form. You know about those?”
Monty shook his head.
“DLU. Deceased, Location Unknown. A family needs one of those to get the death certificates when a body can’t be produced.”
Monty stared at the bushes and thought about the trampled snow and the blood.
Kowalski nodded. “Yeah. With a DLU, we all try hard not to think about what happened to the body, because thinking about it doesn’t do anybody any good.”
How many people in Toland who had been listed as missing were actually DLU? “What’s so special about the cairn?”
Kowalski checked the trees and streetlight. Monty didn’t think there had been any change in the number of Others watching them, but his partner would have a better sense of that.
“Two years ago, Daphne Wolfgard and her young son were out running. Right around here, in fact. She was shot and killed by one man. The other man shot at her son but missed. They drove away before the Wolves reached her or had a chance to go after the men. But the Wolves found the spot in the park where the men had waited to take a shot at whatever might get within range. They followed the men’s scent, but lost the trail where a getaway vehicle must have been parked.
“That spring the Others planted all those junipers to limit the line of sight, and our mayor and Lakeside’s governing body changed the parkland directly across from the Courtyard to a wildlife sanctuary that is off-limits to people, except for guided walks and restricted hunting. Anyone caught in the park at night is arrested and fined. Anyone caught with a weapon at any time goes to jail unless it’s deer season and every person in that party has a permit for bow hunting.
“Captain Burke pushed hard to find the men who killed Daphne Wolfgard, but it looks like they left Lakeside right after that. Speculation was they weren’t from Lakeside to begin with—just came in for a trophy kill and then disappeared. It’s still an open case.”
“Why keep it open?”
Kowalski’s smile was grim. “Did you wonder about the water tax, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, I wondered.” He’d been shocked when his landlady explained her strict rules about water usage. Other tenants in his building told him about using the water in the rain barrels for washing cars and watering the little kitchen garden. It had struck him as odd that no one wanted to tell him why there was a tax on water when they lived right next to the lake that supplied it.
“The Others control all the fresh water. Rates for water and the lease for the farmland that supplies most of the food for Lakeside are negotiated with this Courtyard. The year Daphne Wolfgard died, a water tax was added to the standard rates. Nothing was said then, and nothing has been said since, but the captain keeps the case open because what also isn’t said is that if the men responsible for the murder are caught and punished, that tax will go away.”
Monty drew in a breath. “Is that why you took this assignment? For the hazard pay?”
Kowalski nodded. “I’m getting married in six months. That extra check each month will help us pay the bills. You take a risk every time you encounter one of the Others, because you never know if they’re going to look at you and see a meal. They’re dangerous, and that’s the truth of it, but a person can deal with them if he’s careful.”
“The fence is the boundary?” he asked.
“Nah, their land comes right up to the road. The fence is more a warning than a barricade. In between the road and fence is considered an access corridor for utilities and city workers.”
“Who are watched,” Monty said, looking at the Hawk who stared right back at him.
“Always. And they watch a lot more than the Courtyard and the park.” Kowalski checked his mirror. “There’s the tow truck and another patrol car. If that team can stay with the truck, we can leave.”
As Kowalski opened his door to go talk to the other officers, Monty thought of what would happen after they checked the cairn. “When there’s a DLU, who informs the families?” Please don’t let it be me.
Kowalski paused with the door open. “There are a special team of investigators and a grief counselor who take care of that.” He closed the door.
Monty blew out a sigh of relief.
We are the tenants, not the landlords, a temple priest once said at a weekly gathering. We only borrow the air we breathe and the food we eat and the water we drink.
That was easy enough to forget in Toland. He suspected the water tax helped everyone in Lakeside remember the truth of it.
Kowalski returned and drove up to the traffic light, then back around the wide median, pulling up almost directly across from where they had been parked a minute ago.
Even with all the snow that had fallen yesterday, the pile of stones and the discarded personal effects weren’t hard to find.
Three wallets with ID and credit cards. Three sets of keys.
“There’s some cash here,” Kowalski said. “Probably not all the cash that was in the wallets to start with, but the Others never take all of it.”
Not kids, Monty thought as he looked at the IDs. Young, sure, but old enough to have known better—which wasn’t going to help their families face the loss. “I would have thought young men would carry more in their pockets.”
“Probably did. The wallets and keys are usually all that’s left here. Jewelry, weapons, trinkets, stuff like that will end up in one of the Others’ stores here, in another Courtyard in the Northeast Region, or somewhere else on the continent. Even the weapons will get sold, although not back to any of us. The Others won’t kill to steal, but once the meat is dead, they make use of everything they can.”
A sick feeling churned in Monty. “Is that how you think of your own kind? As meat?”
“No, Lieutenant, I don’t. But the terra indigene do, and I’ve seen the results when humans—police officers or otherwise—forget that.”
Better not start wondering if you should have used one more bullet after you saw that young Wolf turn back into the girl you rescued. Better not start wondering. Not here. Not now.
“Let’s get these items back to the station,” Monty said. “Families may be starting to wonder why their boys didn’t come home last night.”
“Then what?” Kowalski asked.