The Frenzy War (12 page)

When he emerged from his shower, clad in a terry-cloth robe, Cheryl waited for him with Patty in her arms. “Jim Mint called. He says to call him back. It's important.”

Mace grunted. They hadn't spoken since he had been reassigned to the K-9 Unit.

Cheryl set Patty down on their bed and booted up her computer while Mace dialed a number stored in his cell phone.

“This is Jim Mint,” a familiar voice said on the other end.

“It's Tony.”

“I need to see you this morning. How's 0800?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mace drew a finger across Patty's stomach, eliciting laughter. “I still have a unit to run.”

“The dogs will run just fine without you.”

Mace pressed his teeth together. “Your office?”

“Make it the Bonaventure. I want to keep this meeting under the radar.”

Of course you do.
“Okay, I'll see you there.” Mace shut down his phone and stood.

“The parents of that kid who was decapitated died this morning.” Cheryl looked up from her laptop. “Their house burned down. Do you think it was arson?”

Quite a coincidence,
Tony thought. “I have to leave early.”

Cheryl smiled. “For a meeting at One PP?”

“Nope, for a meeting at a secret location. Jim doesn't want anyone to see me going into his office.”

“Wear a nice suit anyway.”

Willy parked the SUV he had signed out from the Detective Bureau a block away from the fire engines. The sun hadn't risen yet, and Karol yawned in the seat beside him.

“Welcome to the big leagues, where sleep is a rare commodity,” he said.

Karol said nothing.

“Are you that tired, or is this getting to you?”

She stared ahead through the windshield. “I've seen plenty of DOAs, but we were in that house yesterday. We spoke to those people.”

“It's unusual.”

They got out and walked to the smoking house. A dozen neighbors stood on the sidewalk across the street, and Willy spotted Sharon King, the woman who had comforted Jennifer Lourdes. She had tears in her eyes.

They stopped at a RMP car, and Willy spoke to the uniformed PO drinking coffee inside it. “I'm looking for Faherty from Arson.”

The PO nodded at the house. “Blond guy dressed like a fireman.”

“Thanks.”

Willy and Karol moved closer to the house, where they spotted Faherty standing with a pair of firefighters. Ashes covered the neighboring homes, and smoke continued to rise out of molten furniture.

“Diega?” Faherty said.

“Yeah. This is my partner, Detective Williams.”

“You made good time.”

“Can we go inside?”

“Follow me and watch your step.” Faherty led them through the frame where the front door had been.

The house had been reduced to cinder and ash, though the collapsed roof had protected the scorched stairway. Crime Scene Unit detectives photographed several objects on the floor. Karol coughed.

“We expected to find two DOAs. We found six. Only one of them was human.” Faherty pointed at the blackened remains on the floor. “I'm not a medical expert, but if you ask me, this one's missing an arm.” He jerked a gloved thumb at the ruined stairs. “And it's back there.” He stepped sideways. “Now these two look like they were dogs to me.”

Willy stared at the long black shapes, charred and headless, on the floor. “They're too big for dogs.”

“You ever seen an Irish wolfhound?” Faherty pointed at two smaller shapes. “Their heads were cut off.” He nodded at the CSU detectives. “There's three more over there.”

“We were here yesterday,” Willy said. “There were no dogs, and I'd have noticed five animals that big.”

“There's no kennels out back, either. I spoke to a few of the neighbors: the Lourdeses never owned any dogs or any other pets that anyone knows about. But last night one of them—Mr. Santino—says he heard a whole pack of dogs howling somewhere in the neighborhood. So you've got one DOA, who may or may not have been one of the two owners of this house, who lost his or her arm in here, and five dogs— or lions or tigers or bears or whatever the hell they were— with their heads cut off.” Using a metal pike, he poked at a blackened metal can. “Arson? You bet your ass.”

“Excuse me,” Karol said. “I need some air.”

Willy and Faherty followed Karol outside, where she sucked in her breath and covered her mouth.

Faherty counted on his fingers. “We got Arson, that's me; Homicide, that's you. And I wouldn't be surprised if we both have to answer to goddamned Animal Control.”

Willy raised his hands. “I appreciate you keeping me in the loop, and I want you to continue doing so as long as there's a possibility that this is related to my homicide—”

“But …”

“I'm Manhattan Homicide South, emphasis on
Manhattan.
In case you're tone-deaf and can't tell the difference between a Lower East Side accent and one from Long Island, this is Queens.”

“How did I know you were going to say something like that?”

Willy handed two business cards to Faherty. “Here's one for you and another for whatever Queens detective catches this case. Stay in touch.”

“Yeah, you two have a nice day in the big city.”

Rhonda awoke on her bed ofstraw, her brain feeling syrupy. She remained motionless for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Recalling that she had been in Wolf Form, all she had to do was wiggle her toes to realize she had changed back into her human shape.

Jason!

The bastards had murdered him at the store. How she wished she could sink her claws into one of the killers. No matter what happened as a consequence, the desire to tear one of the humans to shreds was greater than any emotion she had ever known. They had shocked her into transforming, then sedated her with their tranquilizer guns. Twice in one day they had pumped her full of their drug.

Now her bladder threatened to explode. Rhonda did not wish to reveal to them that she had regained consciousness any more than she wished to urinate in one of the metal buckets, but she had no choice. Sitting up, she groaned. Her head felt so heavy. She stood, massaging the bridge of her nose and fighting for clarity. Then she staggered to the buckets, her chains clinking, squatted over one, and relieved herself, the sound of her piss striking the bucket's bottom filling the gloom. She gazed at a camera mounted near the ceiling, her humiliation curdling into anger. When she stood again, she saw they had given her no toilet paper.

Animals.

Refusing to wipe herself with the dirty straw, she allowed the urine drops to trickle down her legs and air dry.
She heard the metal bolt on the other side of the door slide into the unlocked position, and the door swung open. Three of her captors entered: the man with dark hair who had worn a beard in the store; the woman with blonde-streaked black hair; and the black man who now had a shaved head. They stood facing her with a few feet between them, their tranq guns held ready.

Rhonda swallowed. “What is this, an inquisition?” Maybe she could bait them into identifying themselves as Torquemadans, not that it would alter her circumstances.

“We just wanted to make sure you regained consciousness before we put you under again,” the man who no longer had a beard said. “We don't want you slipping into a coma.”

He raised his gun, and his comrades did the same.

Rhonda felt her resolve breaking down. “Why are you
doing
this?”

The man fired his weapon, and its dart drilled into Rhonda, above her left breast. Clenching her teeth and wincing, she reached up to grasp the dart, but before her fingers closed around its shaft, she sank to her knees. Jerking the dart out of her flesh and tossing it aside, she glared at the woman and the other man, waiting for them to fire.

They glared back, also waiting.

Then Rhonda pitched forward, embracing the darkness.

M
ace entered the lobby of the Bonaventure Hotel and gave his name to the front desk clerk, who directed him to a conference room on the second floor. He took the wide, carpeted stairs, opened the appropriate door, and froze in the doorway. Two FBI agents sat beside Jim Mint. “Who says there are no more surprises in the world?”

Mint gestured at the empty seat on his right, opposite E'he FBI agents. “Come in and close the door.”

Mace closed the door and walked over to the chair Jim had offered him.

Norton, an attractive woman who still wore her strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail, gave him a too cheerful smile. “Good morning, Captain.”

He nodded. “Special Agent Norton.” He turned to the .. bald-headed male FBI agent. “Special Agent Shelly.”

“It's Kathy,” Norton said.

Shelly wore glasses now. “Congratulations. Most people get us confused. Special Agent Shelly is fine.”

“How could I forget? The two of you could have helped me track down the Manhattan Werewolf and didn't.” He glanced at Jim. “I'm sorry. I can't discuss that with him in the room, can I?”

“You can discuss anything you want with Jim,” Norton said.

Mace sat. “That's a load off my mind.”

“Let us know when you're done,” Jim said.

“I honestly don't think I've even started. Why am I here?”

“Because your city needs you.”

Mace chuckled. “Really? Well, I am a civil servant, which means I live to serve the city. Tell me what I can do for it.”

Jim slid two stapled documents across the table and set a pen on them.

Mace picked up and examined the documents. “A nondisclosure agreement? I don't think so.” He tossed the paperwork back onto the table.

“Your country needs you too.”

“Thus the federales? I love this city. I love this country. But I don't trust the department, and I trust the government even less.” He rose. “I hate to pontificate and run, but I think I'll be on my way.”

“You know what this is about.”

Mace sighed. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“Then sit down.”

Mace descended into his seat. “What do you want from
my life? Haven't you guys done enough to me already?”

Jim nodded at the nondisclosure agreements.

Mace picked up the pen, flipped one document to the signature page, scrawled his name, then did the same with the second copy. Setting the pen down, he sat back.

“I never did anything to you. That was the previous administration.”

“You guys are all alike, with your politics and your machinations. Every one of you spends more time covering his ass than doing his job.”

“You sound like someone who's bitter because he wasn't invited to the party. Or maybe you were invited, and your invitation was rescinded.”

“Did you bring me here for a lecture?”

“Yesterday morning eighteen-year-old Jason Lourdes was decapitated in a bookstore called Synful Reading. I'm sure you know this because your wife reported the news ad nauseam. Synful Reading was once managed by Angela Domini, a person of interest in your Manhattan Werewolf case. As Special Agents Norton and Shelly have been kind enough to explain, they linked your Manhattan Werewolf slayings to a series of serial murders across the country.”

Mace glanced at his watch.

“The murders stopped soon after you were taken off the case.”

“I guess I was just getting in the way. I thought the murders stopped because the governor sent in the cavalry.”

“But the perp was never apprehended, and when the National Guard left, the murders didn't resume here or elsewhere.”

“Maybe the perp just needed a slap on the wrist.”

Norton folded her hands. “For a man who was obsessed with the case, you never discussed it in public. You could have had your say in Carl Rice's book, but you didn't.”

“The guy's a sleaze.”

“He made you famous in his previous book, didn't he?”