Wolfman - Art Bourgeau (30 page)

Erin remained while they went out of earshot.
Mercanto took out the wallet. "You know Frank better than
anyone, me included. What does this mean?" he said, handing it
to him.

DeBray looked at the wallet. "I promised I
wouldn't tell . . . I guess in the end he couldn't stand to get rid
of it."

"Don't do this to me. I have to know. . ."

"On one condition . . . when you see Frank you
can't let on you know. You have to do that or there's nothing you can
do that will make me tell."

"All right, I promise . . ."

DeBray sighed. "He and Stanley, they were . . .
were real close."

"I don't believe that, not Frank — "

"They met while Frank was working on his car. He
showed him his paintings and I guess it went from there . . . Who do
you think paid his doctor bills and his chemotherapy and — "

"His insurance."

"Frank didn't have insurance. Stanley paid them,
that's who." He paused, then: "Being straight, you wouldn't
understand — "

"He had me . . ."

"
Not the same. It was something he needed. When
he found it he recognized it."

"What about the wallet, how'd he get that."

"The chemotherapy wasn’t working. You know it,
he was getting worse by the day. Stanley called late one night and
asked Frank to meet him in the park. It was one of Frank's good days
when he could get around. When he got there they must have had a
scene. Stanley couldn’t face the idea of a life without Frank. I
mean, he’d divorced his wife, changed his life around to be with
him, then this. Frank tried to talk some sense into him but it was no
good. He pulled out that little derringer and shot himself before
Frank could stop him. It's true, Frank told me . . ."

Mercanto was numb, but knew it had to be like he said
. . . it explained Hightower's mood change, the withdrawals,
everything, except the mutilation that must have happened after Frank
left and the . . .whatever it was . . . found the body.

"Why did Frank take the wallet and gun?"

"The wallet because he wanted something of
Stanley’s to keep near him. They were so careful they didn't even
have a picture of each other. The gun because he was going to use it
on himself when he couldn’t stand the pain anymore. But he
couldn't, he was too much of a Catholic for that."

"Why did he tell you this, not me? I’m his
brother, damn it . . ."

DeBray looked down at the floor. "There was a
whole side, that side of Frank, you didn't know about. He was afraid
he would lose your respect if you knew. That would have killed him
quicker than the cancer. Why me? We were friends for a long time. He
gave me a job, got me out of the ghetto. I would have done anything
for him."

Erin came down to them then: "The doctor wants
you."

They turned and followed her. The doctor, a tall
gray-haired man, looked tired. "It won’t be long . . . I’m
sorry. . ."

Frank died less than an
hour later.

* * *

"I work at midnight. Be here for me when I get
home in the morning."

His words were what she
wanted to hear. "I will, but now sleep, and as he rolled over on
his side she fitted herself to him, savoring the feel and strength of
him, marveling that this had happened to her, and grateful for it.

* * *

The sound of the telephone woke them. Mercanto
reached for it. "Hello," in a voice thick with sleep.
"Okay, I’ll be there," he said, sleep suddenly gone from
his voice.

"What is it," Erin said, resting on one
elbow, the covers around her waist.

Mercanto was up and pulling on his clothes. "It
was Sloan. They've just found another body. Catherine Poydras, the
owner of the Maison Catherine."
 

CHAPTER 25

RAIN BEGAN to fall as Loring sat in his car and
watched Margaret’s house. It was a familiar sight. He had driven by
it many times, imagining her inside with him . . . The rain
splattering on the windshield brought back the night he found the
man’s body in the park. How their paths crossed had been a mystery
to him, though now he assumed Abaddon led him there. The man was
sitting in the black BMW alone. A dark presence in a dark place, a
servant of the devil preying on the unsuspecting.

It was the first time he had tasted human flesh, and
had blacked out completely afterward. Not now, though. Now he
remembered, and understood. . .

Finally he got out of the car, walked up the street
and around the house. At the rear was a glassed-in porch with wicker
furniture. A nice room. We could have had such nice evenings here, he
thought as he broke a pane of glass in the door with his fist and
reached through to open it. The glass cut his hand but he took no
notice of it as he went from room to room, taking his time, touching
things, taking in the feeling of Margaret.

He came to the study, and stood there for a moment,
unsure. Something was wrong with this room. It wasn’t Margaret at
all. Nothing about it spoke of her. Why?

He heard the front door open. No, it was not her
room. It was his . . . the one who had hurt her at the party. The one
he felt in the house now. His heart began to pound, he stepped behind
the door, out of sight. And saw the sofa, and remembered the night,
his mother's nudity. . .

Desire, fear, quickly displaced by overriding anger.
But this time he was not helpless. This time he was the one with
power . . . the power of the bottomless pit . . . Wolf, his boyhood
friend and protector part of him now . . .

He picked up a liquor bottle from the top of the
bookcase, waited to hear footsteps in the hallway. He looked down at
his hand holding the bottle . . . a thorny claw. It reassured him.
The man, the stepfather, came through the doorway. Loring stepped
into his view, swung the bottle with all his might. It exploded
against his old enemy’s face, shattering, and as it did, opening
bloody zippers in the flesh.

Adam Priest sank to the carpet. With a low snarl
Loring was on top of him, his teeth bared, feeling the ecstasy of
revenge finally come. He sank his teeth in, ripping, tearing, the
face, the throat, the stomach, skin coming away with the sound of
cheap cloth. Childhood memories tinged in red played across his mind
like a flickering, grainy home movie.

When it was over, Adam's life dissolving in sticky
puddles around him, Loring moved back and looked on. He was
satisfied, it was deserved. . .

He stayed beside the body, squatting on his haunches.
Through the windows he could see the trees and the rain. What he had
done was the way of the wolf, he had obeyed the laws of nature, an
inviolate code to cleanse the herd by, to purge it. His stepfather
would no longer spread his sickness, tainting everyone that came too
close.

Now he noticed the picture on the table. It was of a
much younger Margaret leaning against a railing, wind blowing her
hair in her face, water in the background. She had been tainted, too,
but for her, through him, there was still hope. The happiness of that
time, gone now from her face, would return.
 

CHAPTER 26

AS HE drove he hoped Erin would keep her promise and
till be there when he came home. Now that he’d found her, even the
thought of losing her was not something he wanted to think about.

The rain made traffic worse, turning Kelly Drive into
a series of slick curves, slowing cars to a nightmarish crawl. He
tried to pick his spots, weaving in and out, moving ahead wherever
possible.

The phone call, Sloan's words . . . Catherine
Poydras? There was no way she should be a victim, not her. She was
too full of life. He remembered their last meeting, waking up in the
hospital after the shooting and seeing the worried look on her face.
The comfort it had given him.

The Valley Green parking lot was filled with
blue-and-whites. Policemen in slickers were milling about. He thought
of the night when it started, when he found Hightower’s body there,
then over near the steps to Maison Catherine he saw her old Ford
station wagon. A dumb witness.

He parked and got out, grief pushed aside by anger.
Unlike with Frank's death, he could do something about this one. See
that it was avenged. If he had anything to say about it her killer
would never make it to trial.

"Where did it happen?" he asked.

"On the other side, in the bushes right at
Devil's Pool," the cop said, pointing across the creek.

He started down Forbidden Drive, the rain pelting
him. At Devil's Pool he stopped. Across the creek he could see people
moving about in the trees. He knew there was direct access to that
spot from either side. After a moment he climbed down the steep
embankment and waded across the rocks of the falls, ice-cold water
soaking his feet and trouser legs to the knees. On the other side one
of the officers helped him up the slippery bank. "Nate, another
bad one. If you're looking for Sloan he's over there." The
officer pointed further into the bushes. "We've had a hell of a
time maneuvering down here.

Whoever did it had to know these woods like the back
of his hand."

Mercanto started toward the spot.

Sloan was watching as the Medical Examiner's people
wrestled with the body bag. When he saw Mercanto he nodded. No words.

"What have you got?" Mercanto asked.

"This morning just after you left we got a call
from one of the restaurant staff, said they found her car and she was
missing. We put out a search."

"That was mid-morning," said Mercanto. "Why
didn't they call sooner? She usually came to work early."

"Good question. Even I thought of it. They said
sometimes after she finished whatever she usually did she would walk
across the bridge and have breakfast with some friends who live on
the West Mt. Airy side. It was a routine thing for her, so when they
didn't find her, that's where they assumed she was. But after three
or four hours they began to get worried. That's when they called us .
. . It took us all day to find her."

"The same as the others?"

"Yeah, only worse," Sloan said, rain
dripping from the brim of his hat. "What he did to her makes the
others . . . He really tore her up. Jesus, one of her arms was
missing. What we talked about this morning, I’m a believer."

Sloan looked at his watch. "We’ve done all we
can here. We’re losing the light and it's too far to bring in
portables. The shift is due back at the station and I need to get
their reports. Come on."

"My car is in the parking lot," Mercanto
said.

"
I'll drop you off,
you can follow me."

* * *

At the station house they gathered on the second
floor, some taking coffee, some sodas. Sloan and Dr. Foster sat at
the head of the table that was the command post. The other officers
either sat or lounged wherever they could find a place, including
Captain Zinkowsky. Everyone was wet, tired, and disgusted.

"All right, let’s have it," Sloan said.

Team by team they gave their results. Busywork that
added to a big zero.

When Donovan and Kane’s turn came, it was Mary who
spoke for them. "Nothing, other than what we called in before
lunch," she said.

Sloan was about to move on to the next team, then her
words registered. "What did you call in before lunch?"

"I guess everybody was out on the search. That's
why you didn't hear. It might not be anything, but I'll go over it
again. This morning was moving along like everyone else’s. Nothing.
Then we stopped at a house and spoke to a Mrs.". . . she paused
to consult her notebook . . . "Mona Seidenberg."

"And . . ."

"She reported a prowler in her backyard sometime
near dawn this morning. She couldn't give a description, other than
that he was wearing dark clothes. When she woke up her husband the
man was gone. We checked the backyard and she was right. There were
signs that someone had gone into the woods there. We followed the
trail for a couple of hundred yards, then it petered out. But there
was definitely someone there."'

The room went quiet. "That was around the time
Catherine Poydras went to work," Sloan said, voicing everyone's
thoughts.

"Yes, right. After that we checked the
neighbors. Two houses down" . . . again she checked her notebook
. . . "a man named Loring Weatherby said he and his wife were
awakened around the same time by someone trying to break in. The
prowler smashed a glass bird feeder attached to the window. That's
what woke them, but they didn't get a look at him either."

Dr. Foster, who had been drawing doodles on a pad,
suddenly looked up. "Excuse me. What did you say this neighbor's
name was?"

Mary Kane checked again. "Loring Weatherby."

"Please describe him."

"
Early thirties, above medium height, slight
build. Wearing a charcoal business suit. Handsome, blond hair. . ."

Every eye in the room was on her now.

"You say he mentioned his wife . . . ?" Dr.
Foster said.