

Siege of Duval County

Perry Jewell

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places. And incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright 2018 Perry Jewell

Smashworks Edition

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

# Prologue

Darkness. It lay like a shroud over the small patch of woods. It was late night, usually a quiet time. The muted rumble of an occasional car filtered through the brush. Tonight, even the buzz of the insects was strangely silent. The only other sound was the soft moaning sob from the angular student leaning against the rough barked bole of an oak tree near the road.

Moments later a siren began its wailing cry off in the distance. It swelled in volume as the police car sped up University Boulevard until its flashing blue lights were visible. It slammed to a halt on the sandy shoulder near the youth but the boy seemed not to notice. Two officers in blue jumped out, slipping billys into their belt rings. Both had large flashlights.

The boy pointed back into the woods in response to their questions.

Walter Prieto, a twenty year veteran of the Sheriff's department, motioned for his partner to check the woods out while he helped the white faced student. In the glare of the squad car's headlights he could see the front of the boy's sweatshirt was stained. The sharp sickening smell of vomit hit him and his throat muscles fought the strong gag reflex. The boy, scarcely 18 by the looks of him, was trembling violently. As he was sitting the boy down in the open back seat he heard a strangled cry from the woods.

Years of training made him move without thinking in the direction of the sound. His service revolver came to his hand. He moved through the loose brush. Ahead he could see his partner's light. Prieto was an old pro. His ears sifted through the sounds in the humid night air. One sound was quiet yet familiar. It took Prieto only an instant to realize it was crying. Much like the boys.

He could make out his partner, a black silhouette against a mottled background. Patrolman Ted Becker was standing motionless, his face averted from the scene under the bright light of his flash. Prieto felt his stomach clench as he moved to where he could see.

As he got closer he realized the crying sound was coming from his partner. Then he cleared a palmetto and got a look at the scene under the harsh white light. He started for a moment, a hushed Mother of God escaping his lips before the hot rush of bile pushed wildly up his throat.

#  Chapter 1

Even after fifteen years of living in north Florida, I still couldn't look at the trees without feeling out of something. Phase? As if they belonged and were perfectly natural yet it was almost as if they tolerated me in their colossal indifference. They knew I didn't belong. Or longed to be somewhere else. Some when else.

I set off for home at a dogtrot, falling into jogger nirvana in just a few steps. Somewhere I felt the legs rise and fall, the lungs pump, the heart pound. My eyes saw the sidewalk, guiding my feet but I was gone.

My latest story and illustrations were wrapped tightly and in the hands of the modern Pony Express heading for New York and Dan Boling. The check would come and I would have it deposited in my account. Rent, groceries, and beer for another few months. Sometimes I thought it was too easy.

I swung onto Kingsley and headed west.

Was that what it was Dad? Too easy? Is that why you had to go? I had been twelve when he had quit his job as a salesman and headed for South America. When he had deserted Mom and me. When he felt the urge to be somewhere else. Be someone else. Was this what you were feeling Pop? Things you didn't want dropping in your lap like fish from the sky. And those you needed always outside the touch of your fingers? Like the son of a poor candy store owner with chocolate in his pocket staring at the toy train in the neighboring store window willing to trade all the sweets for one minute at the switch. But the candy wasn't worth near enough. Not to the owner yet all the other kids not understanding the tears in the eyes of a kid lucky enough to live in a candy store.

I took the steps two at a time, puffing hard as I opened the door and went inside. Mom never really saw it. She had taken it as a personal affront. Right up to the night my stepfather drove in between the headlights of an oncoming semi, she had believed Frank Belanger had run out of weakness. Out of fear. She had never seen the aching emptiness in my father. They had married right out of high school, right before Dad had gone to Korea. Mom had stayed home with her parents on the farm while Dad waded through the blood and muck of the war torn Orient. She lived in the security of home and hearth while he killed and butchered, froze and fought his way to survival. I had been almost four when I first saw the man who had sired me. And less than twelve when he left. All I could remember was a quiet man, a big man.

Hindsight is great, I thought as I stripped and climbed into the shower. He scared hell out of you when you were a kid and that's all you really remember. The rest is a blank. But not a blank. You can still feel the night air echo with their arguments downstairs where you couldn't hear words but even the wood and distance couldn't mask the tone. Maybe there are no detailed, precise memories but the feelings are there. All the peripheral unease and hate. You still feel it even if you can't remember. And it scares you still. For all your fancy logic and self-evaluation you still go cold, freeze solid when she starts an argument. There's nothing in the grayness that comes up and covers your heart until even you don't know if it's still beating or if Nance is right. Maybe you are heartless, no, not heartless but de-hearted, gutted of the warmth most people manage to hold on to.

No, she isn't right. Not with the salt in the shower water running over your face. Nor the twisting in your belly when you try to face something. Like Nance.

Was that it Dad? Did you feel as if there was a dragon churning his talons, belching his fires inside you when you tried to tell Mom about yourself? Did you hide the pain behind your indifference rather than cry out? Was your cold exterior to protect us or you?

As I shaved my neck I looked at my eyes in the mirror. Bottle green chips of glass looked back. Mom had called them his eyes, his bane. I think towards the end she was beginning to hate them. And me. In a drunken anger one night she had cursed me and called me Frank when I had refused to tell her where I was going. Said I was as bad as my father, as cold and as heartless, and she would be glad when I was old enough to be on my own. The more I thought of it the more convinced I was I had scared her. She had remarried William Henry Stasson III as soon as her divorce had been finalized hoping his influence on me would bury my own fathers. What she hadn't realized was it wasn't Dad's influence so much anymore as it was my own rising in puberty. Not that William Henry wasn't a good man. Hell, I even liked him. He was an amiable sort; ambling through life in whatever direction he was pointed. Mom was good at pointing. It was all she lived for. After eight years of trying to forge Dad into something he wasn't and couldn't ever be, all her frustrated need focused on the first man she found she could manipulate.

Poor William Henry was a fresh widower wandering aimlessly through life like some huge Brahma bull lost in the heart of the city. He blundered continually through china shop after china shop looking for something to do. Then Mother had found him at a cocktail party. I can almost see Mom marshalling her forces; scouting the terrain then descending on William Henry like the charge of the Light Brigade. She was a damn fine looking woman and a hell of an actress. William Henry stood as little chance of escaping as the proverbial fish in a barrel. I can remember the change in Mother during that whirlwind onslaught. She sang around the house, was extremely tolerant of me, favoring me with enigmatic looks and words whenever I did anything she didn't like.

Maybe if I had been a little older I would have realized what she was doing, maybe even warned William Henry. He might have stayed back long enough to learn what Mom was really like. I doubt it. In the few years he was around, William Henry impressed me with two things. One was a gentle benevolence that made him incapable of value judgments. The other was a mild, barely hidden death wish. He spoke to me often of Emma, his first wife, as a gentle loving woman he still loved immensely and longed to be with. It was in his last year he withdrew towards Emma more and more which maddened Mother to no end. The more she noticed it the more shrewish she became, getting into long howling tirades about betrayal and such.

Thinking back I can see it was Mother's crying insecurity that alienated her from my dad and William Henry. For the first few years after Dad left she tried to make me believe his desertion was all his fault and his weakness. And I believed her, being hurt and confused by a man I feared and idolized. It wasn't until much later I learned differently from William Henry. Not as much from as through.

I shut the shower off and toweled dry. It was getting late. There was no doubt in my mind Nance would be late for the lunch date she had asked for but just as surely if I were to let that knowledge allow me to be fashionably tardy Nance would be there on time and in a hurry, so I dressed quickly and went down to my bike. I grinned to myself as I strapped my helmet on and straddled my little scooter. Seven hundred and fifty cc's of rompin, stompin power, all of them fervently hated by my ex-wife. And dearly loved by me. I kicked it to life and swung out of the parking lot, its header pipes roaring throatily as I gunned the throttle. Poor Nance was terrified of motorcycles and believed anyone who even thought of riding one was psychologically deficient and would quite probably develop other aberrant behavior.

As I had done.

The Gator Bowl Restaurant was just beginning to fill with its usual lunch crowd when I jumped the curb and wheeled my bike up on the grass by the door. Inside it was dark and gloomy until I took off my sunglasses. Then I could see the restaurant was about half full. I was looking for Nance when Tony looked up from behind the cash Register and spotted me.

"Hey Phil, long time! How you doing?"

"Just fine Tony. Came up for lunch with Nance. Is she here yet?"

Tony laughed and shook his head. "You on time?"

I nodded.

"Then do you have to ask?"

"I guess not." I tossed him my helmet. "Watch that for me, will you? And send her upstairs when she comes in. Ok?"

"Right Phil."

I started to turn for the stairs.

"Hey Phil!"

"Yeah?"

"You're looking good kid."

"Thanks Tony."

Upstairs it was still pretty empty. There were a few business types on the far side of the bar, regulars holding down their regular spots. Behind the bar Diane was mixing drinks so I pulled up a stool by the waitress station. Diane was in the middle of a half dozen highballs and didn't even look up.

"Be with you in a second." She picked up three glasses and headed off so I went behind the bar, slid open the cooler and fished out a Heineken. As I popped the cap she heard me and started to say something when she saw who it was.

"Phillip!"

She forgot the drinks and came over to give me a hug. "Where have you been hiding? It's been ages."

"I moved down to OP. Better atmosphere."

She was watching my face and I could almost hear her thoughts change. "We're all sorry about it, Phil."

I gave her a wry grin. "Ain't it the truth. But that's life in the fast lane. How's business doing?"

She jumped a little. "Better, if I serve drinks. Go grab a stool. I'll be right back."

As I sat down a loud group came in. There were five men in suits and they were making a lot of noise. A while back there would have been six. They moved some tables together while one came over to the bar. He stood next to me waiting for Diane to come over.

"Hey barkeep!"

"In a second Dill." Diane answered from the register, then threw a nervous look at me. I couldn't help shaking my head. Dill Dunbar looked down at me.

"Howdy Dill. How's tricks?"

"Phil. What are you doing up here? We heard you went suburbia way."

"I did Dill. Moved down to Orange Park last month."

"Just visiting?"

"Nance asked me up."

He glanced nervously over his shoulder, then back at me.

"Is it still bad around the shop?"

"Come on Phil, give the guys a break."

I chuckled around the neck of my beer.

"Give them a break."

Dill shifted nervously. "You know what I mean. Half the guys would have given their hands for the breaks you got, and you throw it away. Did you expect them to love you for it?"

"What about you Dill?"

"I don't understand it any better than any one. Shit, Phil, it isn't every day a cop gets commendations, civic awards and a promotion then resigns. You gave the department a hell of a black eye."

I stared down at the bar. "I never told anyone anything bad about the department."

"You were damned lucky there, in a way. If you had your life would have been hell. But as it is Phil, it might be worse. No one knows why you quit. No one has any reason they can say, 'Ah Belanger was yellow,' or 'he went soft' or even 'he knew he wasn't going anywhere so he ditched." Hell, no. Everybody on the force knows what kind of cop you were and none of the reasons fit. Not even wife trouble."

I stiffened a little, and he stopped. For a long minute we sat there in a kind of tableau. Dylan Dunbar had been one of my best friends in the shop. He knew more of what my divorce had done than most of the others, and he knew he had hit a real sensitive spot.

"Look, Phil, I've got to get the beers. I'm sorry."

"No problem. Maybe I'm a little too sensitive about it."

He managed a half assed smile. "Anybody else would have torn my head off and shit in my neck for running my mouth. Not ol' Ironman Belanger.

I had to laugh. "Thanks, Dill. I needed that. By the way, where's Sandy?"

"Out on a case. Number two on a rape murder thing out on Fort Caroline with B.J. Hodson."

"Sounds nasty."

"Probably is. It got called in on the graveyard and B.J. took over when he came on this morning. Word is it was pretty rough."

"Yuck. No details. I'm supposed to have lunch with Nance and I don't want my appetite turned."

"Oh yeah?" His tone echoed the hope I had been fighting to squelch ever since Nance's call.

"Nix, Diller. It's just a friendly lunch. Probably business."

"You know Phil, I know you still love her yet how you can sit there cool and collected is beyond me. I'll never understand guys like you Belanger."

Diane put a tray of beers in front of him.

"Come on over and say hi before you split."

"Earth calling Belanger. Come in Phil."

"What?"

"That's better. You were off in the ozone Philip."

"Sorry Diane, just thinking."

Diane smiled and leaned on the bar edge. "I gathered that. So how are things going? I hear you're writing for a living now."

"That's right."

"What?"

"Kiddy books."

"Kiddy books?"

"Kiddy books."

"Like Dick and Jane?"

"No, more like Peter Rabbit and Pan. Dragons, fairies and elves with magic castles and black knights. Its great fun."

I could see the laughter building behind her eyes and that she wouldn't be able to hold it back much longer. "I know, Go ahead and laugh. I do. All the way to the bank."

"Really?"

"Really Diane. You can laugh all you want but the money is good."

"I'm sorry. It's just that it's so out of character. I can't see you writing kiddy books. My god, I mean I can still remember the night you stopped that fight in here without batting an eye, just stepped in and decked the both of them."

"They were drunk."

"So were you."

"Ka-ka."

"You were. I've seen drunks every day of my life mister and you were blasted. And now you write stories about faggots."

"Fairies, magical creatures."

"And dragons and other silly shit."

"But lucrative."

She cocked her head and looked at me with that knowing look psychologists and bartenders are so good at. "I don't remember money meaning that much to you before."

"That was pre-alimony."

"Ka-ka."

"Go serve customers."

I was in the middle of my second beer when I felt warm girl flesh press into my back and hands come around my waist. There were warm lips and a teasing tongue at my ear as I raised my bottle for a drink."

"Hello Debbie."

"Bastard."

"My parents were married."

She bit my earlobe then came around the side of my stool. "There are other forms of bastardy, you bastard."

"How've you been?"

"Neglected."

"Other than that."

"Rejected."

"Deb."

"Just fine. How come you never call?"

I smiled my best shot. "I have. The lines always busy."

"You are an incorrigible liar."

I laughed. Debbie Coalson hadn't changed in the three years I had been coming in the Gator Bowl. Medium height she always wore high heels of some sort and jeans so tight I used to threaten to arrest her for indecent exposure. Her rear view could be rated as a classic. And she kept herself in beautiful shape. Almost like a dancer. Her face wasn't beautiful in any sense of the word. Striking, intense, handsome fit much better. Her cheekbones were high and broad giving her face an Indian cast. Or maybe Egyptian. I could never decide which. The eyes were fantastic grey-green and wide with an incredible life of their own. Her brown hair was always in windswept disarray that fit her random vitality perfectly.

I was attracted to her incredibly and leery of her justifiably. I never was much of a lion tamer.

"What's new?"

"Nothing except that you're here."

"Waiting for Nance."

She pulled back just a bit and gave me a searching predatory look. "You going back to the shop?"

"No."

"Then she'll have to wait in line."

"Why do you say that?"

Something in my voice or eyes reached her. She pulled free and tried a smile.

"Got to wait tables. I'll be back."

When my third beer came and went and the fourth was almost a memory I began to wonder if Nance was going to show. Or if I was just drinking too fast. I had been sitting at the bar for better than an hour and a half. The place had packed and was just beginning to thin out keeping Diane and Debbie busy. Debbie had been back dozens of times, flirting tentatively to see if I had cooled down. I had but I wasn't letting her know yet. Call it a mix of protective coloration and chicken. Probably mostly chicken.

I knew exactly what she had meant by her question about the shop. And it was true. As long as I 'persisted in this foolishness' Nance was lost to me. It had something to do with respect. Or rather the lack of it. As a police officer I was performing a vital, necessary function, being a productive member of society. And being a good cop was an indication it was something I enjoyed. At least it was to Nance. She couldn't begin to believe I could do anything so well and not enjoy it.

What the real kicker was I did enjoy it. I had the knack for building a case, ferreting out the obscure, weaving a net of logic and relationship from seemingly unrelated facts. When I had started on an investigation I had felt more alive than at anytime in my life. So alive that I began to feel the lives of those I investigated. The shallowness, the fear, the weakness and petty viciousness that permeated the stuff of violent crime. Maybe it was a protective defense, quitting, running. Maybe it was my own fear of becoming jaded. Or like them.

My rambling thoughts were interrupted by a rough slap on my shoulder.

"Hey, Belanger, how's things in kiddy land?"

"Just dandy Harry. How's tricks at the shop?"

"Pretty good. We're managing to get along without you."

"I'm happy."

"'Course, we've got to work harder without the wunder kid, but we get by."

"That's great."

"You haven't been very social boy. Too good to come over and say hi to your old buddies?"

"Sorry Harry. I've got a lot on my mind. I'm expecting Nance."

"That a fact? Hell, she's probably forgotten to come. Darrow over in IA has been hustling after her lately. Maybe they decided on a quickie over lunch."

I turned slowly on my stool and looked directly at Detective 3rd grade Harry Jones. He was ten years my senior and outweighed me by forty pounds but he was a juvenile slob. My attention was focused on his little piggy eyes yet I could feel and half see the others beyond him. Dill was getting up, the guy next to him trying to tell him to wait. They were almost licking their chops in anticipation. My mind registered each of them, their expression and their names even as I stood up.

"What's wrong Belanger? Did I say something wrong?"

Jones stepped back, shifting his weight as he waited for me. My whole body was tingling as the hairs rose in primeval readiness. Ever the beast ready to attack.

"No Jones, you didn't. Whatever Nance does is her business now. What you're doing is making a mistake. I won't be baited into a fight. Not by you or any one else. You're a good cop, quit acting like some two bit punk."

I had spoken quietly, barely loud enough for Jones to hear.

"No yellow quitter talks to me like that."

"You're right. A yellow quitter wouldn't talk that way. But I will. Harry, we've backed each other up enough to know what both of us are like."

"What you were like Belanger. I think you're a spineless worm. A maggot."

"It won't work Harry. I won't throw the first punch."

"Yellow!" He yelled, turning the heads of the few people who hadn't noticed the growing confrontation.

"You say."

Harry was ready and so was I. I knew if it came to a fight it would be ugly. I wasn't afraid of getting hurt. I had been hurt before and healed. What I didn't want was the trouble Harry would get into. It was out of my hands. There were enough witnesses, cops included, that Internal Affairs would get involved even if no charges were pressed.

Even as Harry was drawing his fist back Dill was there, holding his arm.

"Damn it Harry, have you lost your mind?"

"No fucking hotshot smart ass talks to me like ...l"

"Can it Harry. You're out of line. You started it. Back off now."

Jones turned on Dill. "You defending him?"

"I'm telling you I'll slap cuffs on you if you don't back off."

"You and who else?" Harry sneered.

"Me, Harry." Jake Souther answered.

"And me." Chico Riverieuz said.

"All of us Harry." Bob White put in, coming around the other side.

"I don't believe what I'm hearing. You guys are siding with this quitter over me?"

White looked him dead in the eye and answered in flat tone meant for me.

"No Harry, not over or against. Whatever Belanger is, is his own damn business. What ours is, is why we're telling you to pull your horns in. We're cops not vigilantes. All right, none of us are happy with him and what he's done but it's just that, done. You want a piece of him; get it on your own time. Don't make us look bad like this. Now, let's get back to work."

They all began to file out when I called to White at the door.

"Thanks Bob."

"Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you."

"I know. Thanks anyway."

He opened his mouth to say something more, then thought better of it and left.

#  Chapter 2

The shakes were almost stilled when Diane set up my fifth beer. Damn Jones anyway.

"You ok?"

"Just dandy."

"Phil."

I looked up from the bar. Both ladies were near and watching.

"Word is Harry's having trouble at home."

"Tough on him."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"No, it doesn't."

"You're starting to sound bitter."

"No shit."

Debbie was about to say something when Diane looked past her with something like relief. "Hello Nancy."

"Oh shit." I mumbled under my breath. Debbie gave me a hug then moved back as Nance came up.

"Hello Diane, Debbie."

The tension flared palatably in the air at Debbie's name. I knew the chilly tone in Nance's voice.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Nothing that can't be picked up later. See you Phil."

In a better mood I might have chuckled at Debbie's net shot. Nance had catted herself into position against a real pro. In a legal office there weren't many who could match Nance but she couldn't hold a candle to pure female cattiness like Debbie could use.

And it showed. Nance was almost bristling when I turned to say hello. It showed in the tone of her voice.

"We can talk later if you want."

"Come on Nance, Debbie is an old friend."

"Really?"

"Really. And even if she was more it's my life now. Remember?"

It was cheap, low and dirty and just how I was feeling. It got inside and hurt. I could feel it myself and instantly regretted I had said it that way. She was getting ready to say good-bye. And mean it.

Not like this, fool.

"Nance, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Look, I just had a run in with Harry Jones and I'm not feeling real proud of myself right now. Could we try again?"

"Harry? What kind of run in?"

"Could we get a table and discuss it over lunch?"

She watched me for a minute, her thoughts running through her eyes like pictures on a movie screen. Most others wouldn't have seen them but I knew Nance like my own self. Better maybe. Those golden eyes ran the gamut of wonder, distrust, suspicion, caring, uncertainty and finally with a cocker spaniel turn of her honey blonde head she smiled and said everything was ok.

I don't know what it is. Even now the divorce was final but watching her, just doing ordinary things, made my stomach twist. To me there was a magic in her walk. She swayed just a little. The proper schools had put chains on the way she moved but even the best training couldn't hide the natural woman in her. As she crossed the dining room, I knew she would catch the thought in my look. And she would give me that half frown of disapproval while her eyes sparkled in appreciation.

"Phil."

The same rising inflection of warning meant to tell me to behave. Forgotten was the fact she was two hours late. I stood up, tearing my eyes from her body and my mind from what was pushed aside.

"Lo Nance."

"Philip Belanger, you are an exasperating man."

"Why's that?"

Eyes of a dryad, a wood nymph.

"Stop it."

"What?"

"You know damn well."

Her eyes were flashing but not in anger. The blush in her cheeks wasn't from the Max Factor nor was the shine on her lips.

"Please?"

Damn beer. I blinked my eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn't easy. I pulled myself back together and tried a wry smile. "Sorry. Hungry?"

"Famished." She answered flashing me a smile. Down, damn it. The rapport was gone. She was back in her glossy, professional shell, fighting down the awareness of a moment ago with maddening ease.

I waved Diane over as she sat down. Anger flashed for a moment. No, she wouldn't let me hold her chair. Not now. I sat down.

She was looking at my beer as I reached for it. Damn her. My hand hesitated as I felt those eyes reflect their disapproval. I picked up the bottle. She watched as I sipped it and I knew I was doing it in defiance, even defense.

"How many?"

Please Nance, not again, not now. Not that flat tone, not the sad angry disapproval. Don't make me defend myself.

But I was. I felt the coolness rise, the indifference she found so maddening. And I could see she felt it. Hurry boys, get up those bulwarks, huzzah the battle is joined.

"You're late."

"So you've been drinking without eating again."

"I was waiting for you."

"Was that why you had your run in with Harry?"

"You mean did I do something because I was drinking?"

"You know how you get when you're drinking."

No, Nance, please not like this. Don't pick, don't make the walls come up. "No I don't. Tell me how I get."

"Belligerent, nasty, like...."

I jumped at her hesitation. "Like I am now."

"Yes. I'm sorry Philip. I'd better go."

She gathered her purse and started to rise. I let her go until she was almost upright before I reached over and took her wrist. I wasn't any too gentle.

"Sit down Nance."

She looked down at my hand in surprise. It was the first time I had ever laid my hand on her in anger. The fire in her eyes as she looked back at me was snapping anger but I didn't feel it. And I spoke before she could form the order for me to let her go.

"Harry started it. Just like you started this. Now sit down for a minute and for once give me a break."

It took her by surprise. She sat down out of reflex and I knew I only had a short time to cool her off before she realized what I had done.

"I came up today because you asked me to come. And because I wanted to see you. Do we have to fight every time we meet? I don't want to fight with you Nance. I never did."

"I don't want to fight with you either Philip."

"Great. Then what do you say we kind of start this lunch date right here. How've you been? You're looking fabulous."

"You are amazing, do you know that?" She smiled and her face lit up, her wide smile very few people ever saw because it showed the dead crooked tooth way over on one side.

"I'm fine. The main reason I called was I haven't seen you or heard from you since the divorce was final and well..."

"You missed me?"

"Philip."

"Alright, I should know better. You were worried about me, right?"

Her eyes softened for a moment. "Maybe a little of both."

"Like pulling teeth." I said squeezing her hand. "Thanks but I've been doing ok. I've got a nice apartment with a lousy view and even worse maid service but I think I've got a line on a trailer on the edge of town. I miss Duke. How is he?"

"As weird as ever."

"Is he behaving?"

"Very well. He was well trained. Phil, are you sure you don't want him with you?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No way. That Airedale stays with you."

"You never told me why."

Diane interrupted with lunch and a message for Nance to call the office. She excused herself and went to the phone. Diane waited until she was out of earshot.

"Close?"

"Right to the wire. Tell Debbie I'm sorry."

Diane smiled.

"You tell her. When you pick her up for dinner tonight."

"What?"

"She said something classy. And something about penance."

"Alright."

I started in on my sandwich before Nance got back. Drinking on an empty stomach is bad enough without having to spar with Nance making it harder. I was only into my second bite when she came back, a puzzled look on her face.

"Trouble?"

"Maybe. That was Alex. He's in charge of the murder case last night."

"The one Sandy's on?"

It brought her back sharply.

"I thought you weren't in touch anymore?"

"I'm not. I just talked with Dill earlier and he mentioned it."

I took a french fry and stuck it in my mouth end first. She glared at me in mock anger. It bothered her when I knew something she didn't think I knew.

"Its weird, Phil. The coroner's report was just called in. It's just a preliminary really but it's strange."

"What's FDLE say?"

She came back from her thoughts and gave me a gamin grin.

Elf eyes in the sun.

"I thought you weren't interested in that stuff anymore?"

"Witch. But you are right. Forget I asked."

We both laughed. It felt good. It was natural and easy, almost like she understood. Suddenly she discovered her sandwich and then mine, half devoured.

"Pig! You started without me!"

She fell on her sandwich with dainty gusto and proceeded to close the gap. We talked of little things, office gossip, my writing, and the weather. When we finished she picked up the martini Diane had brought and sipped it tentatively.

"Protection."

"What?" she asked.

"I want Duke with you for protection."

"For who? If someone breaks in the worst that would happen to him is he might be slobbered to death."

"Cute."

"I didn't think you would notice."

I stopped the warm rush of feeling before it reached my eyes.

Not like this boy.

"Also cute. But I'm serious. Duke is well trained. You say attack and he will."

"I know. I was only teasing."

"Besides," I grinned and toyed with my beer bottle "they say like dog, like master. Maybe he'll keep reminding you of me."

Nance set her glass down slowly, her eyes fixed on the olive.

"He already does that." She said in a small husky voice. "Too much."

Her eyes meeting mine were like a summer storm, warm wind whipping my heart, its thunder pounding in my ears. It was a fall day seven years past when a green rookie met a law student at a legal seminar and the rest of the world went on holiday. I was drowning in twin golden pools of love and warmth.

"Phil?"

Her voice caressed me, filled me, made me ache to hold her again and see the world through two eyes instead of the cyclopean vantage of bruised self.

Why Nance, why now? The pain is over. Don't bring it back unless...

"I won't go back to the shop, Nance."

It was spoken quietly and still it crushed her as sure as a steamroller would have. Her eyes clouded and the tears began to flow before she could hide her face in her hands. There was a small sob then she was looking at me again. The summer lightening was there as I knew it would be. And her words I could have recited for her.

"Damn it Philip. Damn you and all your principles. Why do you do this to me? Why do you build up my hopes and then smash them down? Why are you so cruel?"

And she was gone, leaving me with a bill and a bad case of the guilts.

#  Chapter 3

Balls.

Of paper.

Everywhere.

I sat back in my lounger, a cup of coffee balanced on my belt buckle, staring at the white patterned plaster of the ceiling. I had been studying the pattern trying to imagine it into the snow covered fields of home where William Henry had taught me hunting but the little ridges remained plaster and my attempt to escape to the happier times was thwarted by my own traitorous mind. When I had gotten back from lunch I had tried to throw myself into writing on the novel I had started. To no avail. Nance wouldn't leave me be. The afternoon's conversation kept replaying through my mind blocking out all other conscious thought. Every time I grabbed my train and sent it down a new track of thought I would chug along until I got to a siding that my subconscious would recognize and switch me back to the confrontation.

It was Nance's problem. I hadn't asked to see her for the reason that had surfaced at lunch. I still loved her and in loving her I was lost. My throat closed down whenever I tried to explain to her the vague reasons in me for my resignation. There was something in me telling me my reasons couldn't be explained in words without sounding utterly foolish and if I had to explain them they were beyond the comprehension of the listener. Hell, most of them were grey to me, lost in a fog yet like the fog they blanketed me, wearing down on me, making me ache to the heart of my soul's bones.

And my apartment was filled with wadded up balls of frustration and wasted effort, making the place look like a driving range. I was getting tired of looking at it so I grabbed my windbreaker and helmet and walked out into the night.

As I rode my cycle off into the warm night that heckling logical part of my mind that stood back and watched fed me more reasons for my restlessness. I had picked up the Times-Union, something I rarely did and read the paper's account of the murder the night before. There were the nominal rationalizations made at which my cynical watcher laughed. My curiosity was hooked and the more I read the more I called myself the worst kind of fool.

Dill had been right, it was nasty. The papers "mutilated and bloody" was a pretty stock phrase but I put it together with Nance's puzzled reaction to the FDLE report and it came up flags. The old instinct wouldn't lay dead. I wanted to know more of the details and yet I didn't. A powerful urge, a longing, grew in me so strongly I was surprised at its force. And angered. It was police work, digging into the shallow muck of humanity and it was something I didn't need. With a savage twist of the wrist, I sent my bike racing ahead, weaving recklessly in and out of traffic. Up ahead I saw the light for the Village Saloon. On a last second impulse, I turned in and parked. I was shaking, literally trembling through my whole body. Part of it was the caffeine rush from all the coffee I had drunk. The rest was nerves.

Inside the bar was reasonably quiet. One group at the far side was supplying all the noise. When I saw who it was I cursed quietly under my breath and tried to turn to leave until one of the looked across the bar and recognized me.

"Hey Phil! Come on over and join us."

A simple greeting and I was trapped. Badly. I wanted to leave because three of them were blue suits from Jacksonville, rookies I had worked with. But I couldn't leave without hurting them and my already bruised image at the shop so I put on a grin and waved as I walked over.

"Hi Ted, Greg, Andy. What brings you to O.P.?"

"Skeet club meeting Phil. Hey man, how've you been lately? No one's heard from you in a while."

"Getting by, Ted. How's the rookie business?"

Greg Wilson grunted. "You're asking? Jeezus Phil, you should know."

"Come on Greg." Al said.

"What's up?" I asked Andy. Andy Walcott had been the most promising rookie I had ever worked with. A good sensitive cop with real street feel. He looked at me with a look like he'd eaten something sour.

"What's up is we haven't got anyone to give a damn about what we're learning. We get our morning pep talk and briefing, hit the streets and make our reports at the end of the shift. We ride the streets with vets who think we'll learn through osmosis. Shit."

"Right." Greg picked up the story. "They're all like clams. Christ you'd think we were invading their god given territories."

I looked at the almost empty pitcher of beer on the bar. It was looking like the boys had been at it for a while with no signs of wanting to stop, so I signaled the bartender for another as I topped off their glasses.

"Maybe they do guys."

Ted fixed me with bleary eyes. "Damn right they do. We're Belanger clones and they don't like it."

"Maybe."

"Maybe shit." Andy said disgustingly. He took the pitcher from the bartender and refilled his glass. Greg picked up his cigarettes and lit one. Ted drew circles in the water under his beer glass.

"Ok, say you are right. It will pass. Believe me. Another few months and you guys will be able to show them what you can do on your own. That's one of the reasons I moved down here, so no one would be seeing me much and the whole thing would die down."

"It's not going to die down." Andy said. "Right guys?"

"S'right."

"Absolutely."

"Crap."

"No crap Belanger." Greg said.

"Or ka-ka" Ted put in.

"Or anything."

"Come on guys, they'll forget." I said, feeling foolish.

They were silent for a long minute then Andy broke it with a non sequitor.

"Heard about the kill out on St. John's?"

"Read it in the paper. Why?"

"Just curious." He shrugged.

I sipped at my beer. There was more coming and I knew I should put a stop to it but I didn't want to. There was a feeling of camaraderie with these guys, something I hadn't felt with the older crew. My methods were too unorthodox for those old warhorses. These three had taken to them right off, in some cases going one up on me, catching me getting stodgy in my thinking.

"You know Andy," Greg said matter of factly, "that kill out there is going to drive Hodson bonkers."

"Ain't it the truth. Did you hear him at that press conference?"

Ted raised himself on his stool. He began to clear his throat repeatedly, pulling in his chin and puffing out his chest in his classic mimic of Captain B.J. Hodson. I had seen it dozens of times before. He could imitate the illustrious man with hilarious accuracy.

"No, ladies and gentlemen of the press, there is no major cause for alarm. The heinous crime last night, though the work of an obviously sick mind is nothing to warrant a large-scale public panic. We have several excellent leads and I am confident we will have the perpetrator very soon. Even as I speak our forensics lab is perusing every bit of evidence gathered at the scene of the crime. By morning we should have sufficient tangible evidence to locate the murderer. Now you will excuse me as I have to consult with my team on the Ouija Board."

I laughed and shook my head. "That bad?"

"Worse, Phil."

"Why?"

"Because Hodson is a pompous ass. If they break the case it will be from one of two things. Either the guy gives himself up or Sandy finds something. Which isn't easy working under Hodson."

"But Sandy is good. He's worked around B.J. before."

"Maybe so." Andy said. "But it might be over his head."

"Sandy's?"

Ted roused himself from his game of water circles again.

"Even Sandy's, Phil. I was out there this morning, got there just before they took the body in."

He shuddered and then drained his beer. When he looked at me I almost flinched at the intensity of the horror in his eyes.

"Her throat was torn to ribbons, barely enough left to connect her head to the body. It looked like she had been scalped with a pair of pliers. And her belly. It was ripped open bad."

"Easy Ted." I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes as he continued in a blurred monotone.

"It was like an animal had been at her. Blood everywhere. Whatever did it had to be soaked in it. Shit."

He lurched off the stool and headed for the bathroom. Greg went after him. Andy sat looking after the pair.

"He's hurting pretty bad, Andy."

"Been like that since he came in at lunch. Wouldn't say shit, just sit there and stare. He wouldn't even tell us what had happened."

He turned back to look at me.

"The other guys aren't going to forget about you, Sarge. Or that you trained us because we aren't going to let them."

I was taken back by the shift and the intensity of Andy's feelings, but I couldn't let it go like it was.

"Let it die, Andy. Let life go on."

"Like hell. You know, we tried all day to get Ted to let go. We knew something was tearing him up inside. Greg and I even tried to get one of the older guys to talk to him. You know what? They wouldn't even try, said he had to do it himself. Svalda even had the balls to say if he hadn't listened so much to a lily livered pussy like you he wouldn't be so shook up. We didn't come down here for any skeet club. We came looking for you but Ted was afraid you would think he was a baby if we went over so we stopped here. I was getting ready to call you when you came in, Sarge. He needed someone who cared, who would understand. It came up you."

I started to say something in denial but the look in Andy's eyes stopped me. He was dead serious. Just like when they had started calling me Sarge. I wasn't a sergeant but they had put the tag on me one day during an arrest on the north side. Greg and his partner had called in for back up after a family squabble had turned ugly. Andy had shown up first with his partner then Ted and his. The situation had progressed to the point where the husband had barricaded himself in the house with his family. Greg's partner had taken a few pellets from a shotgun in his leg and the sun was going down fast. When I got there, they had called for riot gear. Andy's partner, Pete Emerson, had fanned them out and was waiting for assistance. I knew it would only get harder to stop so I handed a bullhorn to Vic Tarnow, Greg's wounded partner and told him to try and talk the guy out.

When he did I sent Greg to one side, Ted's partner and Ted around the other. While they made their distractions Andy and I went in through the front. It had been close but it worked. Afterwards they told me I had run them like an Army squad and Sarge became my new name.

It had been hard for me to step out on those guys. After hours we had spent a lot of time going over things. Like procedure in gathering evidence and questioning suspects. And how to read situations as they developed. They had always been eager to learn and amazingly quick on the uptake. The rest of the department had called them my puppies. Maybe they were but they were a pretty formidable pack in their own right.

This was the first time any of them had said anything of it though and it was unsettling.

"I'm sorry Andy." I said quietly then looked up at him. "I should have known what you guys would get into when I left."

"Cut the crap Sarge. You knew, just like you know right now."

He raised his hand to cut off my protest. "There's no use trying to deny it. Just like there's no need to apologize. We aren't your kids, we're your friends. We saw what you were going through. Maybe we don't understand it but we don't have to Sarge. If you feel strongly enough about it to hang it up, that's enough for us. No matter what happens we're with you."

"Thanks Andy."

"No problem."

Ted and Greg came out of the bathroom. Ted looked whiter and shaky inside Greg's beefy arm. He looked at me feeling embarrassed. I smiled and shook my head.

"Going to have to cut you off, wasting good beer like that."

He tried a shaky smile but it faltered, threatened to slide into tears. I got up quickly and took him by the shoulders.

"Hold on Ted. You can do it."

I turned to the others. "Andy, here's my bike key. Follow us to my place. Let's go guys."

By the time we all got settled in amongst the paper hailstones Ted had calmed down. His color wasn't good though and he would shake like a wet dog from time to time.

"Ok Ted, we're all friends here. What's riding you?"

Ted was still sitting in the love seat with his face buried in his hands. He hadn't said a word since we had left the saloon. I knew he had been fairly drunk before but his session in the bar john plus the pressure of what was bothering him had sobered him quickly. As it was, I had the feeling he was on the verge of breaking down.

Andy and Greg were over on the couch drinking beer. They were looking from me to Ted. It struck me they were a good team. And as much as I would like to deny it, I was their 'Sarge'.

"Come on Ted. It was the kill out on Caroline Road. I've read the account in the paper and Andy's told me it didn't cover the worst of it. Ted, its part of the territory. Every cop in the world has to face the possibility he's going to run into a gory one. You've got to face it kid, get a handle on it."

Ted raised his face and looked at me. I was shocked at the haunted pain in his eyes, the pale waxen color of his face.

"Sarge, it..." he started but couldn't go on.

I should have known. It was in me, the instinct, the need to solve. My nerves were jumping, the hair on my neck was standing on end and little electric tingles were racing along my skin.

I was a cop, first, last and now I knew always.

There were too many things in Ted's manner that told me there was more to this than the police were letting on. It was being buried. And I had to know why.

"Ted, its not the girl is it?"

He hesitated, then shook his head.

"How bad was it?"

"Bad. Sarge, she was torn apart. Not just cut up. There was nothing left of her throat. Christ Sarge, no human could have done that."

"Easy, Ted. We don't know the limits of the human body. Strength can be relative to the situation."

"Right Ted. Look at what Milly did that time her kid was trapped behind that car. Shit she's no bigger than a kid herself and she moved that big Pontiac uphill to get Billy out."

Ted glanced at Andy. He tried to smile but only managed it for an instant. "Would that make a person eat..."

I saw the gag reflex work Ted's throat, cutting off his words.

Eat?

The chills got worse.

"Eat what Ted?"

"Her belly was ripped apart. Her insides were scattered but... God Sarge, there was no liver!"

"Judas!"

"That wasn't all."

I turned quickly to the door at the sound of the new voice. He was framed there in the doorway looking rougher than I had ever seen him.

"Hey Sandy. Come on in partner."

"Thanks Phil."

As he came into the light I realized my first impression had been light. He had the same haunted look in his eyes Ted had only his was magnified by their red-rimmed condition. He was trembling as he came in, walking right to Ted. Sandy stopped in front of him, his eyes fixed on the rookie.

"I know Sandy. I couldn't take it." Ted said sheepishly.

Sandy continued to look then turned and walked stiffly into the kitchen. He was operating on pure nerve. When he came back he had a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, a glass in the other. He looked at Ted again then at me.

"B.J.'s put the lid on this one Phil. Real hard."

"Hard enough that you two could get in trouble for talking?"

Sandy nodded shortly then poured himself a stiff belt. He threw it down then poured another.

"What's the reason?"

Sandy flashed a bitter smile.

"Because B.J. is stumped. 100%."

"Why?"

"Because he can't get it through that damned thick head that it just might be something we haven't run into before. He keeps insisting its some kind of loony."

"And?" I had worked enough with Sandy to know he had an idea. One he had presented to the Lieutenant. And had shot down. I wasn't ready for his next question.

"Phil, you grew up in Wisconsin. Have you ever seen a wolf?"

"A couple of times. My stepfather even took me to Isle Royale once. Why?"

"Phil, I've been over that whole murder scene. There aren't any foot prints within forty yards of the body."

"Okay." I answered my mind racing over what I remembered of the area. "If I remember right that area's mostly sand. Sand doesn't hold tracks worth a damn."

"I know but it does hold impressions. Except for hers there aren't any impressions large enough to be a man's."

I thought for a minute. It was obvious what Sandy was driving at and I could envision the reaction it would have evoked from the honorable B.J. Hodson. But I knew Sandy. I knew he wouldn't fly off on a tangent without good reason.

A wolf. Or wild dog. The latter made more sense. As far as I knew there were no wolves in northern Florida. None that I had heard of any way. But I had heard of bears. It might be possible. I struggled to recall what William Henry had taught me about wolves.

Pack oriented as a rule yet they spent much of their time roaming alone or in pairs depending on the season. No known attacks on a human in the century. Highly intelligent as animals go. Generally known to have retreated before man into the wilds up north.

It didn't match up.

I said as much.

"Maybe not a wolf. How about a big wild dog? Maybe rabid?"

"Maybe. Is FDLE checking for rabies in the victim?"

"It wouldn't show. I think rabies virus needs incubation time in a living organism. If we had flagged them right away they might have been able to find it. Now? Hodson won't even suggest it."

Sandy took another swallow of whiskey. I looked at the three rookies. Ted was looking better now that Sandy was carrying the load. Greg and Andy were looking confused but Andy was getting angry.

"So Hodson is going to ignore the possibilities of animal attack?"

"Easy, Andy."

"Bullshit."

"Not totally." I answered unconsciously using my instructor tone. It brought the three around quickly. It was their challenge to think. I was ahead of them and now they were rushing to catch up. I had taught them to think on their feet if necessary. To step outside themselves and their perceptions and put themselves in the other person's shoes. To be able to understand how another mind works and why so they could move ahead of them, wait for them to reach their spot. It was like old times.

"Ok, exercise. Greg; define."

The burly rookie hesitated. "Hodson doesn't want the public to know what's really happened."

"Ted?"

"Its gruesome, could cause a panic."

"Andy?"

"There are several apartment complexes, a shopping center, and a pretty posh neighborhood nearby."

"Not to mention the University." Greg put in.

"Not bad. Now why the hush?"

Andy smiled cockily.

"It's easy Sarge. He doesn't want to freak out the locals."

"An axe murdering rapist isn't going to scare them." Sandy interjected.

"Some it will." Ted continued. "But not like a rabid wild dog. There's quite a bit of wild country out there. And probably quite a few dogs that could fill the bill. People would feel the police could handle an axe-murdering loony a lot easier than a killer dog. Plus if it was let out it was a dog or wolf there would be men out beating the brush shooting anything that moved."

Sandy stood watching until a wry smile curled his mouth.

"My compliments, gentlemen. But you've left out one thing."

The three looked at one and other then at me. I knew what they had forgotten. And they knew I knew it. Sandy and I let them sweat awhile before I grinned at them.

"How fast can B.J. get promoted with catching a wild dog?"

"Shit."

I sat in my easy chair with a cup of coffee steaming next to me. Sandy was standing in front of my patio doors. The guys had left after the brainstorming session with a promise they would keep their eyes open and their mouths shut. Sandy hadn't said anything since but kept sipping at his whiskey. I felt sorry for him. We had been partners for seven years, which is to say we had been as close as brothers if not closer. He had seen the changes in me and was probably the only person on the force who really understood why I had quit. It gave me mixed feelings, his coming to me like he had tonight.

I knew I wanted back in the harness. So did Sandy. But I also knew I couldn't do it yet. It wasn't a decision I could rush and to myself I thanked Sandy for not pressing the issue.

"Ok, Sandy. What's the caper on this?"

He turned and gave me a wry grin. "Officially, we are putting as many men we can spare on canvassing the area, starting tomorrow morning. They plan on hitting every house in the area to see if any one saw or heard anything at all. B.J. is giving a statement to the PR people. I've read the first draft. Evidently the press is willing to go along with the crazy theory. There won't be anything more on the physical condition of the girl. I guess there's pressure from the local businessmen as well as the regents at Jacksonville University. Patrols in the Arlington area are going to be beefed up. B.J.'s trying to have a couple of mounted put in too."

"Sounds like they're covering it pretty well. So why the long face?"

Sandy looked down at his glass.

"Phil," he said, pain and regret in a husky whisper. He looked up at me. "We've hunted together. I know you can track a snake across a parking lot at midnight. There isn't anyone in the department who can match that and come tomorrow morning that area is going to be trampled by a dozen flatfooted idiots who wouldn't know a clue or a track from a box of Wheaties."

He paused and took a quick slug of his whiskey.

"I know it's a big favor and I know how you feel but this one scares me, Phil. Could you take a look around there? You'd have to go in at dawn and move fast. There isn't any way I can give you official backing but the guys know you."

"Sandy, I had a run in with Jones today."

He waved his hand in an impatient gesture.

"I heard about it. So you aren't popular with some of the guys. They still respect your ability."

I finished my coffee and took the empty cup over to Sandy. He tried to read my eyes but I kept my thoughts hidden as I help my cup out to him. He hesitated then splashed some whiskey in it. I sipped at it then went to where Sandy had been standing at the patio doors.

There hadn't been any doubt in me that I wanted to do what Sandy asked. It was just that I wanted to see if there was a way I could do it without getting either of us in trouble.

"Who's in charge out there?"

"Chico has the graveyard. You going to do it?"

I turned back to face him.

"Did you really think I wouldn't, partner?"

The temperature had dropped into the high sixties during the night. The 11 o'clock weather had said a front was coming in and it would probably be raining by noon. I wheeled my bike into the parking lot at the gazebo apartments just as the sky was starting to turn to grey over towards the beaches. I unstrapped the big thermos of coffee from the back of the seat and headed for the kill site. Sandy had said it was off a jogging path so I hit an easy stride up the hard packed sand keeping my eyes and ears open.

I slowed as I approached the area. Just ahead was a set of ropes stretched across the trail. I stopped there and waited. I could feel someone was near. I cleared my throat and called softly.

"Chico? You there, amigo?"

There was a chuckle off to my right and a figure detached itself from the shadows.

"Hey Belanger, you're a long way from home."

Chico Riveriuez walked over to where I was standing. He was a full head shorter than me, whip lean and cat quick. We had worked together a few times and I had a genuine respect for the Mexican's ability.

"Just out jogging, Chico."

He chuckled again.

"Yeah? You always carry a thermos when you run twenty miles from home? Wouldn't happen to be coffee in there, now would it?"

"Might be. Chico, could we get off this trail?"

"No problem amigo. Follow me."

We walked back into the brush about ten yards to where the police had set up a little base camp. There was a small folding chair and a walkie-talkie. Surrounded by cigarette butts and Styrofoam coffee cups, Chico took a cup off the arm of the chair and held it out. I poured us each a cup. Dawn was beginning to filter in through the trees and I could see him better.

He was looking at me.

"I was expecting you, Phil."

"Why?"

"Because I'm one who thinks Sandy may have something in his wild dog hunch." He sipped his coffee. It was hot and strong. "That's why I volunteered for this shift. I had a hunch Sandy would talk to you."

"You could get into some trouble if Hodson finds out I was here."

"Hah!" he snorted. "I'm not going to say anything. Man as far as I'm concerned there ain't been a soul out here all night. But you'd better get hustling. My relief comes in an hour or so and he won't be so blind. Not to you."

I looked up sharply.

"Harry."

"You got it amigo so get hot, hot shot. You ain't got much time."

"Gracias. I'll be long gone in an hour."

Sandy had been right about the tracks. What hadn't been obliterated in the investigation left quite a bit to be desired. They were little more than indentations in the soft sand. I made a quick check of the attack site. It looked like the girl had realized she was being followed and turned off the regular path. I shook my head. She might not have been any better off on the path but I would have guessed differently.

There was one handy thing about the foliage. It was palmetto, sharp as knives. There was a spot where I found two partial prints side-by-side, almost wiped out by other tracks. They were just about off the partial path she had followed. A close check on the palmettos showed some blood on one of the blades.

So she had squatted down behind the bush to hide and cut herself on its sharp leaves. Had she cut herself when she jumped up? My guess was yes. There were a couple of deeper prints back to another palmetto and more blood. Not much but enough to spot. Then the prints changed to a normal type.

She had turned to run.

I went out to the path. From what I could see in the growing light she should have been well hidden. Unless some one knew she had slipped into the palmettos they shouldn't have spotted her.

Had she been seen leaving the path? Possible. Had she made a noise? Also possible. There was an opening in the brush she and her attacker must have taken. I started over it going over every inch of it as carefully as I could. There were two partial prints about the size of saucers, the rest of the tracks wiped away or buried under others.

Satisfied Sandy was guessing right I took it a step farther. William Henry had been an avid hunter in his younger days and he had spent quite a bit of time teaching me to hunt and track. The key, he had said, was to know what you hunted. Deer would act differently on the trail under different circumstances. And a rabbit moved for reasons known to the hunted while the fox followed the rules of a hunter. Each animal left its signs in ways conducive to its size and habits.

If Sandy's guess was right and I was beginning to think it was, I was looking for signs left by a large canine. Anywhere over seventy pounds, probably higher from the description Sandy had given me on the extent of the damage done to the girl. So a big dog with saucer sized paws. It depended on the breed but I guessed its shoulder height to be somewhere around mid thigh on a six foot man. Say thirty inches.

I hunkered down and began a slow search of the palmetto fronds. Ten minutes of painstaking checking yielded nothing. I glanced at my watch. Time was running dangerously low. I cursed under my breath and sped up the search. I was about to give it up when something caught my eye on the last bush. Quickly I took an envelope out of my pocket and plucked several longish hairs from an old frayed frond. I put them inside and called to Chico. He came over as silent as a shadow.

"Something?"

"Not much I'm afraid." I gave him everything I had found including the hairs.

"There's nothing conclusive, Chico. The place is too churned up. My best scenario is the girl realized someone or something was behind her. She tried to hide. If it was a man, god only knows what tipped him. Maybe he was close enough and saw her leave the path. Or maybe she made some noise. At any rate her assailant spotted her. She panicked and ran. Not fast enough though I'm afraid."

"And if her killer wasn't a man?"

I smiled grimly.

"Then it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if she had hidden. There are some hairs in that envelope. I found them there," I pointed at the palmetto, "about two foot and some off the ground. See if you can slide them through the lab. They should be able to tell you what they are."

"It's not much, Belanger."

"Maybe not but its more than you had. And all I can find. The boys messed the place up pretty bad."

Chico was watching me, his face empty except for those damn black eyes of his. I had seen that icy look before. Like right before he puts the cuffs on some one. I felt a chill of fear run down my back.

"They're out of their league on this one." His eyes softened. "It would have been yours, if you had stayed."

"Chico..." I started.

"Por nada Belanger. One does what one must do. At least you are trying. Now haul your gringo ass out of here before Jones gets here. Sandy and I will do what we can."

I took the empty thermos from him and headed off when he called to me.

"Gracias, amigo."

"Por nada, old buddy."

Chico Riverieuz wheeled his unmarked squad car into the parking lot under the station. He headed directly upstairs to check in. If he was quick and lucky he could get out of the shop before Lt. Hodson got in but as he walked into the squad room he saw the Lieutenant's broad back disappearing into his office. He also spotted Sandy Shaw already at his desk. Chico broke into an offbeat flamenco whistle to get Sandy's attention. Unfortunately it also brought Hodson back to his door.

"Riverieuz, get in here and report." he growled.

"Right, Lieutenant."

He looked over to where Sandy was watching him. The slim blonde detective was giving away nothing in his look but Chico gave him a solemn wink by way of a signal. A small smile pulled at Shaw's mouth then was gone. Chico went on in to Hodson's office.

"Report."

Chico stood at loose attention in front of the lieutenant's painfully neat desk. Like most of the squad he didn't have much affection for the man behind the desk. He glanced down at the bronze nameplate on the desk. B.J. Hodson. Everyone knew it stood for Billy Jim but Chico wondered if Hodson knew almost everyone referred to him as Blow Job. He doubted it.

"All quiet, sir. Nothing unusual for the shift."

Hodson looked up at the thin Mexican.

"Did you stay awake the whole shift?" he asked sarcastically.

Chico lowered his eyes until he was looking into the lieutenant's brown ones. "Yes sir."

Hodson didn't like the Mexican's insolence. As he looked down at the papers in his hands he made a mental note to see if he couldn't get the man transferred.

"Very well. I expect a written report. And I want you back this afternoon to help with the canvassing. Dismissed."

Chico turned to leave.

"Close the door behind you."

Riverieuz stormed over to his desk. He pulled a report form from his drawer and slapped it viciously into his typewriter. He was muttering to himself in Spanish and hammering at the keys when Sandy perched a hip on the edge of his desk.

"Cheery this morning, aren't we?"

"Someday that pig is going to get..."

Chico finished his sentence with a hard staccato on the keys that ended with the keys jamming. He looked up at Sandy and took a deep breath. Slowly a smile crossed his face. "I don't think Blow Job likes Mexicans."

Sandy laughed.

"Nor most of the rest of the world. How'd the watch go?"

"How else?" he shrugged. "Real quiet."

"Real quiet."

"Si. So quiet I had time to do a little detective work." Quickly Chico went over the new evidence. When he got to the hair he tapped the envelope in his shirt pocket.

"It's not much but ..." he finished with a straight face.

"It's more than we had. You do pretty good for a barrio boy."

"I get by."

"Are you going to take that envelope down to the lab?"

"As soon as I finish here. I think Holloway will run the tests on the Q.T."

Sandy nodded solemnly, then stood up.

"Let me know what you find out."

"Right."

Sandy was almost at his desk when Chico talked to his typewriter as he unjammed the keys.

"He makes pretty good coffee."

Sandy smiled to himself as he sat down. He had all the reports to date on the killing but his mind was on the new evidence Chico had 'found".

Maybe, just maybe, he thought as he began to shuffle through the papers to the coroners report.

#  Chapter 4

"Pull!"

The machine chunked and the clay pigeon flew off on a low sweeping flight to my left. I shifted my aim and let my eyes follow it. Without conscious thought my finger squeezed the trigger and I felt the shotgun buck against my shoulder. From the cheers I knew it was a hit.

"Nice shot, Belanger. Perfect score."

I looked up at the announcer's booth and waved to Bob White. He shook his head and grinned back. Andy Wolcott came up and slapped me on the shoulder. "Dead eye as usual, Sarge."

"Thanks Andy. How do we stand?"

"On top again. Only B.J. has to shoot yet. He needs a 21 to tie us."

I knew B.J. had only shot a single 20 in tournament. I stepped aside as B.J. came up to the mark. He was dressed to the hilt. Shooting jacket from Abercrombie and Fitch, neat Irish tweed hat from an import shop in Maryland. Whipcord slacks and handmade boots all set off by his beautiful Browning Diana with its gold inlay work. The perfect image of a shooter.

He looked me over, taking in my faded jeans, "I'm just here for the beer" t-shirt, Bean Rubber moccasins and ball cap sitting backwards on my head in a disapproving glance. I grinned at him as I peeled off my shooting glasses.

"Take heart, B.J., this is my last competition. You won't have to shoot against Betsy again."

It was a pretty cheap shot but there was a little devil in me that wanted to twist the knife of envy in him. He hated my ratty old Fox side by side. With its fading bluing and scarred stock it didn't belong on the same shooting line with his high price Diana. I knew it but my father had owned the Fox and she naturally fit to my shoulder when I threw it for a shot. The Diana had too much drop for Hodson. We all knew an afternoon of shooting left him black and blue. He tried to hide it but I knew he was already hurting.

He managed a pained smile for me.

"That's too bad Belanger, though I can't say I'll miss you."

"You know B.J., I think the feelings mutual."

I walked off as the color rose up from his collar, chuckling to myself. The boys were waiting in the gallery so I rolled my eyes at them and made a show of turning my hat around. Everyone there knew what that meant. My "Fuck'em Bucky" cap stayed backwards as long as I was shooting. When I put it on right it meant its Miller Time.

I racked the cap on the back of my head at a jaunty angle and headed for the clubhouse. Inside I hooked my mug off the ceiling rack and looked at it. Someone had carved it out of a big hunk of oak, 24 ounces worth of empty. The bottom was brass bound so it looked like a big shotgun shell. And engraved all around it were my titles. Seven years of championships, team and solo. The guys were joking about having to get me a bigger mug because there was only room for one more entry. I felt a twinge of melancholy that today's would be that last one.

I walked behind the bar and put it under the tap. As it was filling, the clubhouse door opened and a trio of ladies came in. They all carried insulated mugs and wore fatigue green t-shirts. Names were stenciled on the front and I knew all the backs said THE SQUAD. They took up stools opposite the tap, an unfinished quartet. Mugs slammed the counter in unison.

"Beer, beertender." Lisa Becker demanded in a comic baritone.

"Let's see some ID."

JoAnn Wolcott reached for the hem of her t-shirt and started to pull it up. "How about that birthmark..."

I grabbed her mug and slid it under the tap as I took mine out. Andy's wife was the craziest of the pack, a natural flirt. She had a model perfect body and a gamin face. Her auburn hair was for real as were the millions of freckles all over her.

"You haven't got any damn birthmark, hussy." I growled as I set her beer in front of her.

"Bet? You just haven't looked close enough."

"Nor am I about to."

"Beast." She chided then stuck out her tongue.

"Not nearly as much as you are a tease, Jo." Becky quipped. She picked up her freshly filled mug and tried it. She came away with a foam moustache. "Too much head, Belanger."

I raised my best Groucho eyebrow. She met my look then blushed furiously. She was the smallest of the bunch and her coloring came with her Black Irish ancestry. Black hair, blue eyes, fair skin and wicked temper. Soaking wet she couldn't have cleared 100 pounds yet it was all packed like a cougar, sleek and sassy as they come.

"Maybe Jo's right." She said in the voice she used when it was time to head for the hills. Or batten the hatches. Only I knew there was a smile behind it so I laughed.

After I finished pumping Lisa's brew I pulled a five spot from my pocket and rang up the sale. When I turned back they all toasted me and said thanks.

I pointed at the tip jar.

They gave me a chorus of Bronx cheers.

Outside I could hear B.J. blasting away. From the sounds of the crowd I could tell he wasn't doing well.

"Hey Phil!"

I turned to Lisa. She was probably the most interesting of my rookie's wives. Her voice could run a gamut from whiskey rough baritone to bell clear soprano and it was made to mimic. Whenever there was a party Lisa was invariably in the thick of it. She could sing and wasn't shy about it. For that matter they were all pretty good and had done some madrigal singing together.

"What's up, kid?"

She made a face at my pet name but smiled through it. "Little Teddy liked that book of yours."

Even though she was the youngest of the wives, twenty two, by last count, she had a four year old boy. He was the cement that finished Ted Becker's college football career. Ted and Lisa had married before they graduated high school, just steps ahead of Poppa's shotgun.

"Great. Does he want it autographed?"

"If you can find a spot that is clean enough to write on. The little monster takes it everywhere with him."

"I've got a couple stored away. I'll save one for the bear."

The talk was interrupted by a garbled announcement over the PA followed by a raucous cheer. I took three mugs down from the rack and started on filling them just as the boys broke from the gallery and raced for the clubhouse. I had them on the bar when they burst through the door, cheering and waving their caps.

"Jesus, Sarge, I don't know what you said to Hodson but he sure was shook!" Andy grabbed his beer in one hand and his wife's t-shirted breast with the other. Jo swatted him and guided his hand to a safer spot.

"Yeah. Missed his first six." Greg said around a mouthful of foam.

"What was his final score?"

They looked at each other then burst out laughing again. Greg finally quieted enough to choke it out.

My eyebrows went up and my jaw dropped. "Fourteen? I didn't mean to choke him up that bad."

"Well you sure did, Sarge."

I looked over their shoulders and saw Hodson and his team heading for the door, the honorable lieutenant in the lead.

"At ease boys, here they come."

Hodson came in, walking stiff as a tin soldier, his pot belly pushing his jacket out in front of him. His eyes locked on my face as soon as he cleared the door but I couldn't read anything in his look. He marched right up to the bar and stuck his hand out to me. I caught the sudden flinch in his face muscles that said his shoulder was hurting worse than he was letting on. I took his hand quickly and gave it a brief shake.

"Good match Belanger." He turned to the others. "Boys."

Like the good martinet he was he pivoted on his heel and headed for a table. The clubhouse began to fill quickly with everyone wanting a drink. The regular bartender came around and we kept busy for a while getting everyone set up. When the flow tapered off to where one man could handle it I mixed a martini and put it on my tab.

Making my way through the press wasn't easy. Everyone wanted to congratulate me and I did my best at answering. B.J. was sitting with Bob White and his wife when I got through and put the martini in front of him.

B.J. looked up quickly. At first his look was his usual disdaining glare. I was surprised to see it waver.

"Lieutenant, I hope you'll accept this drink and my apology. My remarks out on the line weren't exactly sportsman like."

"What? Oh, thank you Belanger."

It was the first time I had ever heard Hodson sound so distracted. He was the kind of man who gave his complete attention to whatever was in front of him. In all things. Now it seemed as if he was barely aware of my presence.

"Sir, if you would like to reshoot that last round sometime I'd be willing to go along with it. And so will the rest of the team. We realize you were at a disadvantage, not having Sandy here. It wasn't fair of me to take advantage of our situation the way I did."

Hodson looked up at me, finally focusing his attention. At first he was suspicious. I expected a pompous remark but at the last instant something changed his mind. "It's not necessary, but thank you for the offer."

I started to leave when I heard him chuckle.

"As a matter of fact Phil, your razzing helped me concentrate. If you hadn't said anything I probably would have shot a ten. If that."

It was the first time I had ever heard anything so human from my ex-commander. I hesitated, half turned away. It felt as if Hodson wanted to say more but evidently he decided against it. I said so long and headed over to where the rest of the squad was guzzling beer. Ten minutes later I had about put the incident out of my mind when I felt someone tap on my shoulder.

It was Bob White.

"You want to go over the score sheets?"

"Now?"

He nodded.

"Ok. I'll meet you in the office as soon as I get a refill."

Bob disappeared into the crowd.

"What's up Sarge?"

I looked around at the three rookies while my mug was being filled. They had caught the action. I shook my head. "I'm not sure. Bob says he wants to go over the score sheets."

"Why?" Andy asked.

"You've got me. You boys sit tight and I'll go find out."

I picked up my mug.

"And keep an eye on Hodson. There's something going on here, something mighty fishy. Let me know if anything happens."

"That was might sporting of you to offer them the rematch."

I sat back in the PVC chair and shrugged at Bob. He was sitting behind the desk shuffling through the score sheets.

"Doesn't cost us anything. We can beat Hodson and his boys even when they're shooting with their full first string."

White looked up over his glasses. "I know. That's not why I asked you in here." He fidgeted with his papers some more and I knew I was going to wait him out. My instincts told me B.J. Hodson and company was getting ready to set down to a crow dinner. Served up by me.

"Phil, we both know there's a lot of hard feelings floating around the department because of you."

I kept my face empty in spite of the feeling of triumph welling up inside me. Sorry Bob, no help here. He waited for me to say something even though he knew me well enough to realize I wouldn't. Finally he broke.

"All right. Damnit, we don't know why you quit. We're only human, Phil. Can you blame the guys for feeling let down?"

"Yes. If that was my way but its not and you know it, Bob."

"Yeah. That's one of the things that gets most of them. You're a cocky arrogant son of a bitch."

I gave him a wry grin. "Bob, you aren't putting yourself through all these gyrations just to tell me something we've already been over."

"Damn you, Belanger. If you weren't such a good cop."

"Ex-cop." I interrupted.

He glared at me with his best supervisor look.

"Cop, Belanger. You may not be in harness but you'll always be a cop. And we both know it so don't bullshit an old bullshitter. Like I was saying, if you weren't one of the best investigators around I wouldn't even be talking to you."

"You haven't said why you are."

"You know damn well why."

I was tempted to turn the blade, make him say it but he was right. I was still a cop. "Ok, you guys have come up empty on the Arlington thing. Why come to me now?"

"Because of that off beat logic of yours. We've run this thing through all the regular routes and come up with a big fat nothing."

I couldn't resist it. "All the routes?"

It was a direct hit. His eyes narrowed and his lips got tight. An angry retort was on his lips when I leaned forward.

"Don't try it, Bob. We'll both know its so much crap. I've got half a dozen ways of knowing what's been going down on this kill, most legitimate and none I'll ever talk about. There's a gag on it but it doesn't apply to me. Nor anybody else with a few contacts. I've kept my trap shut and I figure to keep it that way unless you want to play cute with me."

He sat back and looked at me over steepled fingers.

"Revenge, Phil? You want to blast someone in particular?"

I returned his look and let the wave of frustrated anger wash through me. One slow ten count passed then part of a second before I could answer. "You don't want my help bad enough Bob if you figure on making a deal with me."

"We don't want your help at all. We need it. The city does. There's a woman who went into the ground today and we don't have a bit of evidence that is leading us anywhere. All we're asking is some help."

"And a closed mouth."

He hesitated weighing his answer. "Essentially."

"No."

"Damn it, Belanger..."

"Forget it Bob. You know me. You know I'll cover when it's necessary. But I won't protect pride. Not mine, not yours, not anyone's. The reason your ass is in a crack is shoddy police work. Maybe you'll cover that but I won't. I won't be put in a position where I have to choose. So count me out until you're ready to take the heat."

I got up to leave, trembling through out my whole body. I had my hand on the doorknob when he said my name.

"Phil, think of that girl. And the next one."

"Maybe you'd do well to remember that too."

I kept moving and just barely heard his last words. Everything in me wanted to slam the door but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd reached me. I closed it quietly and went towards the bar and a drink.

What would I do if it was Nance?

"So what happened, Sarge?" Andy asked as soon as I was in earshot.

"Keep it down, rookie."

I didn't realize I had spoken as sharply as I had until I looked around at their shocked expressions. My stomach was knotted up and the beer in my mug all of a sudden looked pretty unappetizing. I looked around at the squad and tried to smile.

"Sorry, Andy. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's ok, Phil. You don't look too happy. What did Bob have to say?"

I looked down at my mug. The little part of me that liked to watch was beginning to see the ironic humor in the situation. Was I out to hang Hodson? Was that more important than finding a killer? Maybe I could fool some people but there was one I could never fool for long. And he was laughing at me now.

But the boys were waiting to hear and it was time to let them in on the joke "Bob offered me access to the investigation. Hodson wants me on it."

First they were shocked. Jaws dropped and eyes widened except one set of Irish blues. Andy was the first to recover. His gape became a grin with a wicked twist.

"You got them. You'll show them how it runs."

"Hot damn Sarge, when do you start?" Ted asked. The whole six-pack picked up the excitement. All but Becky. She had those damned blue eyes locked on me and they flashed fire like summer heat lightening. Greg noticed the tension and looked at her.

"Hey Beck, what's wrong. The Sarge has got the chance now to show the whole department how to run an investigation. What's the matter with you anyhow?"

Her eyes never wavered. There was enough contempt in them to shame the Pope in St. Peters. I felt the grin start.

"Ask him."

"Ask him what?" Ted asked looking from Becky to me.

Andy and Jo looked at each other. If they knew what Becky was driving at they didn't show it. Andy's grin dropped.

"What's she trying to say?"

"Let her say it."

All eyes went to Becky. She stood up and looked around at them quickly.

"Are you all blind? He isn't god. Did you ever stop to see him for what he really is?"

There was a bad silence as every eye ran its own gamut of emotion. Disbelief, suspicion, anger, the whole works. And the women were the worst. Becky was the newest addition to the group that used to include Nance and I as the fourth couple. She had only been with Greg a few months before Nance and I had split but in that time she had gotten to be closer to Nance than the other two. Of the whole Squad, only Becky held our divorce against me. She was still in close touch with Nance. If she noticed she was getting into trouble she was too mad to pay it any mind.

"My God, are you all so blind and loyal to even think he accepted Hodson's offer?"

It brought them up short. Andy recovered first.

"So what's your point?"

I almost smiled at his calm professional tone. Andy was going to make a good police officer. The madder he became the cooler he responded.

"My point is he turned the offer down to inflate his ego. He wants the lieutenant to crawl and squirm so he can tell him what a worm he is. Your "Sarge" is playing a game with some girl's life in the balance. Just to make himself feel big!"

She turned, pushed out of the group and disappeared in the direction of the ladies room. They all watched her retreat then looked at me. The women and Greg were angry; Ted ashamed and puzzled, only Andy was noncommittal.

"The little snot!" Jo snapped. Then she looked at me. "Don't take it too hard Phil; she's still pissed about your divorce. She likes Nancy a lot."

I gave her a smile then looked at her husband. Andy was watching me.

"She's right, isn't she, Sarge?"

The others all jumped and stared at him, half muffled exclamations still on their lips.

"Is she?"

"You turned Hodson's offer down."

"Yes."

This time the shocked looks were directed at me.

"Phil?" Lisa asked.

"Easy group. Becky is right. And she's wrong. I turned the offer down but not for the reason she thinks." I smiled wryly. "And I've changed my mind. If you'll excuse me, I have to find Bob and B.J."

I found Bob standing outside the office door talking with Sandy's wife, Denise. We smiled at each other. Bob watched me warily so I decided to hit him with what I had to say without any preamble.

"If the offer is still open I'll take you up on it. Your terms."

"Thanks Phil." He grinned and offered his hand. "What made you change your mind? The crack about Nancy?"

I shook my head. "That might have been the kicker but it wasn't the reason."

"I'm glad."

Denise put her hand on my arm. "Thank you, Phil." Her waif big brown eyes were moist as I covered her hand with my own.

"I guess I'll never be far away from it all."

"This isn't an official position Belanger but I for one will be glad to have you back."

"Thanks Bob."

Then it hit me. "Denise, when did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago Phil. Sandy came home and said he had to talk to Lieutenant Hodson right away. He seemed upset about something."

I was going to push it when the office door opened and B.J. and Sandy came out. A glance told me it was all over. Hodson was grinning from ear to ear, a fatuously pompous leer. And Sandy looked like he had eaten a handful of shit. B.J. started to say something to Bob when he realized it was me standing there. His face took on a venomous look, his deep-set blue eyes glittering with malice.

"Too bad, Belanger. It's really too bad you didn't take Bob up on the offer. If you had I would have the immense please of laughing in your face. As it is all I can say is I am disappointed I can't. You see we have solved our little killing with an ironclad solution. Purely good police work. Something you are totally unacquainted with."

He gave me a final triumphant glare then pushed past. Bob gave me a pained look then realizing there was nothing to say he followed. My hands were clenching into fists as Sandy took me by the arm and guided me to the side door.

#  Chapter 5

The atmosphere in the Shaw town house had improved. During the ride up to Arlington I had managed to work out the worst of the murderous rage the Lieutenant had put in me so I was almost civil by the time I parked my cycle in the Rivers complex. What had helped was my curiosity at the 'ironclad solution'. The worst part was Sandy's attitude. I had never seen my friend in such a mood as he was in.

We were sitting on the small concrete patio outside his one bedroom townhouse sipping on beers. Nothing had been said on the subject of the murder case. Most of our conversation was on old times and my writing. All through it Sandy let me do most of the talking but I could tell he was leading me, waiting for the right moment. We could hear Denise back in the kitchen fixing dinner.

I knew Sandy and much of his background. He was a native of Jacksonville and a graduate of Florida State over in Tallahassee. He was almost three years younger than I was and had been lucky with the Vietnam draft. When his time had come his birthday had been number 364 so he hadn't been over in that jungle hell. I had. His older brother had been in my company in Nam. Theo Shaw had been a classical soldier in an avante garde war. Our company had taken fewer casualties and been more effective than most others. Theo had done his best and made it through his tour without a wound. I remembered we had all been sad to see the sergeant leave.

He had been bigger than Sandy. Theo took after his mother's side of the family, tall, heavily built towheads in the perfect Aryan mold. It had amazed the guys in the company that a moose like Theo could move like silent death in the jungle. I hadn't been. What had surprised me was his calm businesslike attitude towards the killing. At first I had thought him a cold murderous fiend, a machine without feeling. When I transferred in after my original outfit had been almost wiped out I had stayed clear of everyone. Especially Theo.

Until a dark night northwest of DaNang. I was sitting off by myself, sharpening my non-regulation Bowie knife when Theo materialized out of the brush next to me. He had all the inside poop on our mission and every man jack in the company knew we were going to see hell in the next few days. Most of the guys were still pretty green. I had heard many say it was their first real mission. The news had increased the fatalist attitude that had been growing since my company had been shot to doll rags around me. Something told me I wouldn't be coming back from this one and it fired my Celtic blood. If I was going to die, I would die well. And there would be a lot of little yellow men playing side boys at the gate to hell.

Theo squatted next to me. The other guys were awed by Theo. To a degree I was too but I knew in my own right I was as bad as he was. Street bad. He looked at my captured Kalishnikov then at my knife. From somewhere in his pockets he produced a bottle, an unopened pint of Jack Daniels. It was almost hidden in his huge hand as he stripped it open and took a long pull at its neck. Without a word he offered it to me.

"What's up Sarge?"

"I want you on point tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because you know what you're looking at. These damn kids." He took the bottle back and drank again. "Too many of them are going to die, Belanger. They aren't soldiers. We've got no business over here they say. Maybe we don't, but that doesn't mean you can't die just as dead. I want to live. I don't want a VC slug in my guts. Those kids still don't realize that right and wrong don't exist here. Only living and dying."

He locked those eyes on me so that even in the dark I could feel their intensity.

"You know it. Captain Cameron told me about you. Said you were damned good. And I believe him. That Kalishnikov tells me. They don't jam like our 16's. And your Bowie. Belanger, I want you out front because I can't be there. I can spot the traps but someone has to hold those asshole's hands. If I thought they would listen to you I'd put you with them. Since I can't you've got to take my point. I've only got a month left over here. I want to make it home so don't you let me down."

"Eighty-nine."

He looked at me.

"Days, Sarge. That's all I've got left. I'll take your point."

We survived that mission and another. In those thirty days, Theo and I became good friends. We kept most of the company alive. When he went back stateside I was given his stripe and the company. I got lucky. I found a Blackfoot with six months left who could be my point man. He wasn't so lucky. When I got back to the States I found out he had been killed. There was no one to run point for him. He was a good man.

I sat staring out over the St. John's. The close muggy air brought an involuntary chill to me. Too much like Da Nang. Denise handed a fresh beer over my shoulder. When I didn't take it right away she came around in front of me, a concerned look in her eyes.

"Phil?"

I blinked and refocused on now. "Sorry." I said with a smile, taking the beer.

"Where were you?"

"Da Nang. I was thinking about Theo."

"I wish I had known him."

Sandy lay his head back and stared up at the sky. "Theo. You know Phil I haven't thought about him in a long time."

"Neither have I."

Denise went over and sat in Sandy's lap. She snuggled against him burying her face in his neck. "What was he like Sandy? You've never really said."

"Like Phil."

I snorted in disbelief. "Me?"

"More than you realize Phil. He was always a bit of a hero to me. Hard as nails, cynical, tough, brave, and yet he didn't like to hurt anything. What I learned about him those last few months has stuck with me. I never knew a sweeter, gentler man."

"Hard as nails sweetheart." I scoffed. "You're contradicting yourself."

He rolled his head over and grinned at me.

"A frigging paradox." I muttered.

"Like you." Denise said from her burrow.

"Hah!"

Denise kissed her husband then got to her feet with a languid motion. "Face it Philip. You are a tin plated pussy cat." She waltzed serenely into the house, ignoring my baleful gaze.

Sandy was staring at the stars again. "You know she's right."

"Crapola."

Sandy chuckled. It was the first sign of emotion I had seen all evening. "Seriously Phil, when Theo was lying in that hospital bed with that cancer eating him alive, he never lost his sense of humor. He never let anyone see how much pain he was in."

I remembered the telegram. I had been in my second semester of school at UW-Platteville when it arrived. It was a week before the semester ended. Theo was lying in St. Lukes Hospital, diagnosis – terminal cancer. Six months outside.

It had been a short message.

"Taking point on the big one. The squad's too green. Come show them the traps."

The day after my last final I was at the hospital. It was after visiting hours and I was exhausted. Twenty-four hours of driving in a shade over twenty-seven real time hours. I needed a shower and a soft bed but I slipped into Theo Shaw's room instead. He had been out of Nam for almost 2 years. Theo was half doped out of his skull with painkillers but he woke up as soon as I opened the door.

"You look like hell, Belanger."

"You wouldn't exactly make a pin up yourself, Sarge." I answered dryly. In the dark I walked over to his bedside, the pint of J.D. in my hand.

We talked for half an hour before a nurse on rounds heard us and shagged me out.

No, Sandy you never saw him break. And I didn't either. But I saw the pain. And the spirit. It took him two months to die. He died well. He died with the kind of courage that inspires others to live well.

And thinking that I couldn't help but wonder again, was I living well? Was quitting the department and my marriage principle or fear. Was my thinking of values valid or was I running from the heavy responsibility. Sandy diverted my thoughts with a quiet question.

"Phil, do you think that Theo ever gave up on anything?"

I jumped a little. His question came too close to my own thoughts. It showed why Sandy and I had made such good partners. Our minds worked along the same lines.

"Not that I ever knew of, Sandy. Why?"

"About noon today we got a complaint from the Lake Villa apartments. Jake Sobol lives there and he checked it out for the landlord. Seems there was a pretty bad smell coming from one of the apartments. Jake recognized it before he even opened the door and called in an ambulance and the forensic boys. There was a guy in there, hanging in the bathroom. They called me when they found the note."

I began to get a bad feeling down in my stomach. Hodson had said iron clad.

"He was a part time bag boy at the Winn Dixie on Merrill Road. And he was a member of one of those half assed religious groups. The Sword of the Lord, maybe you've heard of them?"

"Didn't some of their boys beat up a couple of hookers near 8th and Main a year back?"

"The same. They're Old Testament, vengeful God types. Anyway this guy wrote a real pretty confession full of hellfire and damnation about how he had to kill that "whore of Babylon." God told him to do it."

"Dead man's confession. No wonder Hodson was so happy."

"Right."

Sandy was watching me and in the dusk on the river I couldn't see his face. I didn't have to.

"So it's solved."

"That's the way the papers will get it."

"Let it go, Sandy."

"Yeah."

I was coming out of the Regency Square Theatre when I spotted a familiar group just ahead of me. The old six pack. I was about to say something when I realized it wasn't a six pack. There was a fourth couple. And half of that couple had a tousled honey mane and a laugh like wind chime bells. All of a sudden the joy of seeing my old friends cooled and I tried to slip back into the crowd. But I was too close. Jo Wolcott caught sight of me and gave me a bright hello.

The reactions of the group cut me deeper than any knife. For an instant they were happy to see me then they remembered who else was there. Remembered and cooled. Shut down the happy smiles and flavored them with chagrin and embarrassment. Then Nance looked at me.

Gutted. For an instant we were alone before she glanced at her date and the hot embarrassment brought two bright spots to her cheeks. The feelings disappeared and the game began. It hurt to see the indecision in her elf eyes so I swallowed my pounding heart and turned down the thermostat on the ice water chiller. I smiled through the pain, laughed at the rat gnawing at my middle.

"Hi group. How's tricks?"

They recovered quickly, relief flooding all of their faces.

"Phil, where you been hiding?"

"The usual places. I've been working hard on a book and I guess I haven't had a chance to get out much. It finally got to me so I decided to treat myself to a night out."

"Where you headed?" Andy asked.

"Figured on a bowl of chili and a beer."

"We're headed for Annie Santa Fe's. Want to join us?"

I caught the angry look on Becky's face and the sudden paleness of Nance's from the corner of my eye so I smiled jovially and shook my head.

"Thanks for the offer but I've got previous plans."

The feeling of relief was almost too much to take. I was outside. And the rat said I wanted back in. They said their good byes and headed out.

Only Jo glanced back and caught the redness of my eyes.

I parked my cycles outside JoAnn's Chili Bordello and latched my helmet to the clip. The ride had dried my eyes and quieted my insides. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked up at the star scattered sky. The black sense of humor was working overtime. If I wanted back in all I had to do was go back to work. With that, Nance would follow and the rest of life. A simple choice. One visit to the Sheriff and it would become a leave of absence. One call and I could write about dragons in my spare time, live in my old comfortable house with a loving wife. Sheriff Theidens would assign me to a different division like he had originally wanted to when I handed him my resignation. No Hodson to content with.

So why couldn't I do it?

Or maybe, more correct, why wouldn't I do it?

A chill ran through me in spite of the warm humid air. The answer was there, locked somewhere within me but I didn't have access to it. Someday.

I walked into the restaurant before the black edges of frustration folded me in.

# Chapter 6

I shut off my typewriter and leaned back in my old oak office chair. At noon I had sat down with a fresh ream of paper, a pot of coffee and grim determination to hammer out at least one good chapter to my novel. The coffee was gone, the ream impressively depleted and I was feeling pretty pleased. Four full chapters sat stacked next to my machine, the pages filled with work I was proud of.

I looked up at my wall clock. 10:30. Almost twelve hours of butt numbing typing. I got up and stretched the kinks. Joints popped and muscles stretched in protest. My belly was rumbling. The sound made me think of an Eldorado sandwich up at Tom and Betty's on Casset. So with my mouth watering, I headed for my bike.

It was just about 11:30 when I walked out into the parking lot at Tom and Betty's, the inner man satisfied for the moment. It was a beautiful night. The temperature was around 75 and there was a brisk west wind that smelled of a storm. By morning we would have a real first class thunderstorm. A sharp gust of ozone laden wind slapped at me. Maybe sooner, I mentally amended my prediction. The logical side of me said head for the barn before you get soaked. But something in me has always responded to the power of a storm. I loved being out in them. Besides I had ridden in the rain before. I wouldn't melt and I needed the cleansing fury of the storm to clear the cobwebs from my skull.

I had been living a pretty low-key life style since my confrontation with Hodson a month ago. Besides, I told myself, it wouldn't be right to interfere with Nance's social life. We couldn't help it if all our friends were mutual and that they were connected with the shop in some way. I was keeping out of sight with good reason on that count. Hodson had made things rough for Sandy and my squad because they had brought me into that murder case.

But all of that didn't mean I couldn't put together some kind of social life. I started up my cycle and pulled out on Cassat Avenue. My wry inner self was clucking its tongue as the title of that song Burt Reynolds had done for one of his movies rolled through my mind. "Something Cheap and Superficial," was just what I had in mind as I headed for San Juan Liquors.

Why not? I sure as hell didn't want any deep and meaningful relationships. And maybe Toy was still dancing.

I walked in the front door of the bar and paused to let my eyes adjust. The last time I had been in the place was over 2 years ago investigating some complaints a couple of the dancers were soliciting. They had been. Green girls on the circuit who needed a little extra money to buy 'ludes. With the help of a few of the old timers Sandy and I had shut them down with a little pressure.

Rick was sitting on his usual bar stool by the door checking ID's. He was looking over a group of young sailors so I waited until he waved them by.

"Lo, Rick. How's it going?"

"Hey Phil, its good to see you. You haven't been around in a while. Where you been hiding?"

"Home. I've been working."

"Yeah. Hey I was sorry to hear you quit the force. You were one of the square ones."

"Thanks Rick."

"You hear about Lissa?"

"Lissa? Was she the blonde one with the hard case?"

Rick nodded then spit in the plastic glass in his hand. "That's the one. The 'lude freak."

"What happened?"

"She bought it down by Orlando. Got herself hooked up with some cowboy squid and one night they decided to run over to Cocoa. They were both stoned out of their skulls. Word has it that cowboy's 4 wheeler was doing over a hundred when they went off the side of the Beeline. Crashed and burned big time."

"Rough."

Rick shrugged.

"Just lucky they hit the ditch and not the divider. I hate it when those hopheads take someone with 'em. The world's a better off without 'em."

"You're probably right. Hey, any of the old crowd around?"

He gave me an evil knowing grin then leaned back and looked into the bar.

"There's a couple just hitting the stage now might remember you."

He caught the bartender's eye and nodded.

"Go on in and talk to Dottie. Have a brew on the house."

"Thanks Rick. Catch you later."

I walked through the tables glancing at the dancers as I did. They were new for the most part. Then I spotted a big brunette as she stood up in her dance. Kay's eyes found me and she gave me a smile and a bawdy wink. I grinned back at her. She had been around back when, freshly divorced from her Chief in the Navy. I made it to the bar and found Dottie waiting with a cold bottle of Miller. I took it and was about to say something when I noticed the two dancers up on the stage behind the bar.

One was a good-sized blonde in a fringed leather bikini. Unlike most of the girls, this one could dance and she was putting on a hell of a show for the drooling rubes. She was pure thoroughbred. Nice classical good looks with a smile that could dazzle a blind man. Next to her was a lady who played a perfect counterpoint to her Minnesota Valkyrie. A full head shorter, not nearly as buxom, she still could hold her own. Her moves were more sensual, her big brown eyes an invitation, her compact body rippling with smooth muscle as she danced. Her hair was dark and curly, her lips too full for her Latino coloring.

I felt an itch, a burn, start as I watched her dance to some clowns on the far side of the bar. From the corner of my eye I saw the blonde spot me. I gave her an absent minded wave and felt her check the direction of my stare. She sidled over and tapped the dark one on the ass. I couldn't hear their words over the music but I saw the happy light flash in Toy's eyes as she spotted me. I gave her my best Bogart smile and toasted her with my beer.

If she had been dancing before there wasn't a word to describe what she shifted to. Peggy Lee crooned a smooth bluesy song on the juke and Toy moved to it. It didn't take anyone long to figure out who she was homed in on either. I felt rather than saw heads swivel to check me out, but my attention was riveted on that dark little minx. And she knew it. I felt heat rise up from my collar that wasn't coming from any blush. She was making love to me across the crowded bar. There were no complaints on my part.

The song ended and the bar was silent for a second then it exploded in applause. There were catcalls and whistles as the girls got down off the stage. A minute later Donna, the blonde, walked by and gave me a kiss on the cheek. And a rough pinch on the ass. She stuck her tongue out then walked on, her head high and tail weaving a seductive pattern. I watched her go with an appreciative grin on my face. When I turned back, Toy was waiting.

"You have a short memory, Belanger."

I gave her a slow once over from the floor up and stopped at her flashing eyes. "Short but good."

"You never came back in."

"My wife wouldn't have understood"

She caught the past tense and brightened. "And now?"

I shrugged.

"So what brings you around now?"

"I remembered."

She reached out and put her hands on my chest. I put a hand on her slim hip and pulled her close against me. I could feel her stiffen a little at the intimate contact. Her eyes were cold as she looked into mine.

"You know the rules on touching. Are you working for vice now?"

I couldn't help smiling. It was a pretty common harassment arrest to use a new cop to get a dancer to violate the law about no touching when a girl was working. Sure there was always a little flirtatious contact to hustle a guy to buy another dance but no intimacy was allowed. Private parts were just that.

Toy hadn't resisted me but she was like a lead soldier leaning against me. If I had still been working she would have been safe. She hadn't really solicited the contact nor was she encouraging it. She was a pro. Four years on the circuit had done that and at 22 she was as sharp as they came. I did a quick scan of the place for any cops but there was no one I recognized so I turned us until her back was to the bar.

"Then maybe you would consider getting into your street clothes and having some breakfast. It's almost closing time."

Uncertainty flitted across her face chasing a growing hope. "Phil, you never played games before."

"And I'm not now. I'm asking a very saucy minx who I am very attracted to if she wants something to eat."

She blinked those doe soft eyes quickly. I was surprised to see tears in them as she gave me a subdued all right. She tried to step around me but I set my empty beer on the bar and held her where she was. "What's wrong?"

Her lip quivered as she fought to control her crying. "I thought you were different. I guess all you cops are alike."

She pulled away and stormed off to the dressing room to change. I signaled Dottie for another beer and gave her a buck before heading over to the front door. Rick gave me a questioning look so I told him what had happened. He shook his head.

"You got you a death wish, Belanger. That there's a real nice gal but she's got a temper on her. You best watch your ass."

"I plan on it."

"You better be careful about something else too."

"What's that?"

"You know as well as I do that she's clean. Hell, Harry Jones has been in trying to hit on her since her and Donna got back from Cocoa Beach a couple of weeks ago. She's tough. Told the fatman to pound sand. It'd be pretty hard finding a lever big enough to pry those legs apart if she wanted em crossed. "Now, I remember how you two got along before. Shit, damn near needed a fire hose to cool you both off. Me, I know you was holding back because of your wife. And the only thing holding her back was you. You getting my drift?"

"I think so. I'm not with the department or my wife anymore so you're trying to play Smokey the Bear."

He gave me a disgusted look and spat tobacco juice in his cup. "I don't give a bucket of goat shit how many sheets you two burn up. What I do know is Toy wouldn't walk out of here because some screw puts on the pressure. She's going because she likes you and if you figure you can rip off an easy piece because she's a topless dancer you better think again. You play fast and loose when she don't want to and she'll cut your nuts off."

I was watching the powder room door as I listened to Rick's advice. It struck a sympathetic cord. My own little conscience was saying pretty much the same. Was I just using Toy? Was it because she danced, half naked, for a living that I felt I could hustle her into the sack to scratch an itch? The door opened and Toy came out. Donna was right behind her. I could tell they were arguing. Toy stopped, standing ramrod straight and listened to Donna for a moment. When she finished Toy spoke, quietly. I could see the anger in Donna's face soften to be replaced by concern. Toy gave her a wan smile then turned to look for me.

Her walk spoke volumes as she crossed the floor. Hellcat and spitfire, the lady was ready. She wore tight jeans, a sheer blouse, high-heeled boots and a leather jacket. A headband pulled her hair down at the temples. My blood began to pound as I watched her. Whatever doubts I had faded as I realized that it wasn't her occupation making me want her. There were at least half a dozen other girls in fewer clothes in sight, Donna included. The only one that made it hard for me to breathe or think was Toy.

Just before she was close enough to hear I glanced at Rick.

"I hear you, Rick."

I didn't trust myself to speak to Toy so I took her by the elbow and guided her outside.

"Your car?"

"Donna will take it."

She was watching me coolly. The disdain in her voice and carriage irritated me. My voice was coming out a hoarse whisper and my body was drawing up like a massive spring. She knew exactly what she was doing to me and she was laughing silently at my frustration. I wanted to crush her in my arms and wipe that knowing smirk from her beautiful sensual lips. Something told me that was what she expected and she was ready to resist. To submit passively and show no reaction. It was a dangerous game. Another man, more prone to heeding his baser animal instincts, would have tried. Tried until something gave.

But that wasn't me. Even in the strangling grasp of the palpable desire that hammered at my groin and temples my mind was functioning. In an instant an idea flared to life. Years of observation and one-ups-manship took over. I grabbed her arm and almost dragged her to my bike. She was surprised at first, then shocked as I forced her onto the bike. I turned on the switch and the cycle's pipes blared to life. I nailed the throttle and we shot out of the parking lot with a yelp of surprise and rubber.

Neither of us were wearing the required helmets as I ran up through the gears until I hit 60. Up ahead a light turned red, forcing me to downshift and grab for the brake. We skidded to a halt sideways in the lane. I could feel Toy's arms locked around my chest, her fingers digging at my ribs.

"Are you crazy?" was all she could manager to say before the light changed and I hit it again. As we roared down Blanding I could feel her pull herself hard against my back. By the time we reached 103rd Street her hands had shifted until they were like claws trying to dig out my collarbones. I wove a crazy path through the sparse traffic, ignoring traffic lights. On the stretch just before 295 I opened the Virago up and the speedometer needle jumped up to pin itself at 80. The bike sped on.

A part of me was telling me I was insane. I knew Blanding. It was a favorite hunting ground for bar hour patrol cars but I couldn't stop myself. I felt Toy's teeth sink into my flash where the neck muscle meets the shoulder and her legs were clasping and grinding at the small of my back. I kept my speed up until we started up the little hill by the O.P. Mall. As the wind howl died down I could hear Toy whimpering as she tried to pull herself into my skin. I was so distracted I almost missed the sheeting wall of rain two blocks ahead. I barely had time to slow to the speed limit before we were hit with the cold deluge.

The rain was coming down so hard I could hardly see the road. We were both drenched in seconds. I found my way to Kingsley and a few minutes later pulled into my apartment complex. Toy was shivering as I lifted her from the bike. The rain was still pelting us but I stood there, holding her cradled in my arms. Her sheer white blouse was clinging to her. It was like a pale translucent sheet that molded to her breasts. I covered one with my hand and felt a shudder course through her body. When I met her eyes, they were bright and glassy. She whispered my name and I felt a hot thrill race through me. The smug disdain was gone and in its place was a fire as intense as the one in me.

I carried her up to my apartment.

The rain rattled on the windows and rumbled on the roof above our heads. I lay quietly, absorbing the sounds of the storm. The rumble of thunder shook the building.

I felt relaxed. Toy was curled against me, her damp curly hair under my chin. My hand was stroking her back sending little shivers through her from time to time. My little voice was trying to make me feel guilty about the intense half hour of lovemaking but I felt too drained to listen. Bone melted mellow. I just felt good.

Toy stirred against my chest. "Phil?"

I kissed her tousled head.

"Why?"

I thought a minute.

Why?

My chuckle was lost in a rolling bellow of thunder. She tightened her grip on me. Whether it was in response to my chuckle or fear of the thunder I didn't know. Nor did I care. I felt too good.

"Why not? I'd be lying if I said I haven't wanted you since I met you. Before I couldn't do anything about it. Now I can."

"It's not just because I'm a dancer?"

"Kitten, I could have picked up on a dancer in half a dozen clubs anytime I wanted."

"I know." Her voice was small and quiet, muffled against my chest. "Most of the girls would have gone with you tonight." She paused. "Even Donna."

Donna? My mind played with that one for a second. Gorgeous blonde Donna. Tempting to think of but it didn't excite me. I moved my hand around Toy's waist and slipped it in between us.

"So?"

Toy moaned a small sound deep in her throat and shifted her weight. "I'm glad I came back."

Something in the way she said it made me stop. She lifted her head and searched my face; fear bright in her wild thing eyes. I didn't say anything.

"Phil, please. Don't be mad. One of the girls in Cocoa told me about your quitting and your divorce. I had to come back."

Her fingers traced my cheeks lightly as tears began to glitter in her eyes.

"I've wanted you for so long."

Her lips found mine and she kissed me with such aching tenderness I responded without conscious thought. When she stopped I knew the fire was back.

"Slowly, Phil. Slow and gentle."

# Chapter 7

Sandy Shaw tried to pull his upturned collar tighter around his neck. The wind had shifted and was blowing out of the northeast. The big waves crashing on the sand filled it with salty spray. He could taste its tang on his bushy moustache. He stood below the high tide line and watched as the cluster of policemen and paramedics worked over a still form they had pulled up above the surf line. Off to his right a pair was talking with an older woman while her dog sat patiently waiting.

The paramedics got the body in a rubberized bag and put it on a stretcher. They headed up the beach to where their ambulance waited. They put it in the back and slammed the doors shut. Sandy felt his stomach churn and his mouth watered as he thought of how easily they had done it. He remembered how little of the body had remained. His thoughts were interrupted as one of the interrogating pair walked over. He was Vic Petrino, chief of detectives for the Jacksonville Beach Police Department.

"Pretty nasty, Sandy. Mrs. Williams was out walking her dog just about dawn when he started barking and pulling her towards the surf line. She found the body. Pretty plucky old dame. After seeing that piece of hamburger she walked up to the nearest house and called us then came back down with one of the kids living there and fished it up onto the sand. It's a good thing she did or else we probably would have lost it."

"Christ Vic. How could she do it? That thing made me want to puke."

"You and me both, but the lady was a pathology nurse in Seattle for twenty three years. The kid that helped her is another story. I had one of my boys take him over to the hospital. They're treating him for shock."

The remaining officers filed off towards the dune talking amongst themselves. Sandy watched them go while Vic looked over the notes in his pad.

"What have you got?"

Vic made a disgusted noise.

"Shit. Deceased; black female. I'm guessing between 20 and 40. Lower body from the rib cage down gone. Minimum of 24 hours in the water. If it wasn't for the rough weather we never would have found the body. Maybe the forensics boys and FDLE can get an ID off the dental work. Or lift some prints but I wouldn't bet on it. There are a hell of a lot of people around who aren't registered or recorded anywhere. She'll probably end up an open Jane Doe file."

Sandy made some notations in his daybook. His throat felt tight and dry as he formed his next question. "What about the damage to her throat and scalp?"

"Seeing as how we've only got half a body I'd say shark. But that's just a guess. Why?"

Sandy managed a shrug. "Curious I guess. I've never dealt with a shark attack before. You get them often?"

"Not so's you would notice."

Sandy stared at his notes without seeing them.

"Sandy, you all right?"

He blinked then looked at Vic.

"I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about this and I can't put a finger on why. Vic, could you do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"Get me a copy of the lab report."

"No problem. I'll have them send one over to your attention."

"No, not to the department. Nothing official."

Vic watched Sandy closely. He was visibly thinner and there was a red sleepless look to his eyes. There was something riding him hard. Vic had known Sandy slightly for years. They had worked together on a few occasions.

"I'll Xerox mine and send it over to your place. Will that do?"

"I'd appreciate it, Vic."

"You want to talk about it?"

Sandy looked up and met Vic's eyes. He was tempted. "Not just yet Vic. It's just a hunch right now but if I get anywhere I'll let you know. Thanks for the help."

Vic watched Sandy's retreating back. Something big was weighing heavily on the detective. Vic wondered if he was having trouble at home. Whatever it was that was eating him it would have to let up soon or Shaw would find himself in big trouble.

A gust of wind buffeted Petrino's back bringing him back to the present problem. With a weary shake of his head, he trudged up the beach.

I lay back into the canvas of my beach chair enjoying the feel the hot sun on my skin. It was a beautiful hot April day, perfect for an afternoon on the beach. I opened my eyes, squinting in spite of my sunglasses. All around me were clusters of people enjoying the day at the beach. I was way up above the high tide mark. Behind me was a beach home that belonged to Toy's uncle and I was lounging in one of his chairs, a cold brew in its insulator balanced on my belly. Just about the best of all possible worlds.

As I scanned the crowds I couldn't help but appreciate the nubile sun bunnies cavorting about in various forms of legal semi nudity. I was so engrossed in a particularly fascinating trio tossing a Frisbee I didn't notice anything else until I was buried under a furry avalanche. My beer went flying and I bolted upright in surprise while a huge tongue slobbered my face.

"Duke, boy. How are you?"

It was my Airedale, big, wire haired and playful as a puppy. I grabbed the ruff at his neck and wrestled with him, enjoying his company until a pair of shadows fell across me.

I looked up to see Nance in a short white beach coat standing next to a tall man in designer trunks and Hawaiian shirt open to the waist. I vaguely remembered him from a long gone party. A lawyer in private practice.

Nance was looking as fabulous as ever.

"Hi."

Snappy, I thought to myself. Next I'd start dribbling spit down my chin.

"Hello Philip. Duke spotted you when we came onto the beach so I let him loose. Do you mind?"

I ruffed his scruffy hair and told him to sit and stay. "Not at all. I miss him."

"He misses you too. Philip, do you remember Allen Klieg?"

"Sure." I got to my feet and brushed myself off before offering my hand. "New Years, two years ago wasn't it?"

He laughed a nice nervous professional laugh and pumped my hand. I couldn't help but wonder if the sheen of perspiration on his face was from the sun.

"That's right. You've got a pretty good memory for faces."

"Sometimes. When I need it."

I gave his hand a quick squeeze, feeling a childish satisfaction as he flinched.

"Great tan you've got."

I glanced at Nance. "I've got a lot of free time."

I could feel her disapproval at my flip attitude. From the tight set of her mouth I knew she had caught the hand trick too.

"Allen and I don't get to spend much time at the beach."

"I can imagine. The legal business must be booming."

"Are you here alone, Philip?"

The strained tone in Nance's voice told me Toy had come from the house behind me. "No, I'm with a friend."

"Well, we don't want to keep you from your fun."

Not again, Nance. You're here with this paste pale Ivy League preppy so don't, please, get that Frigidaire tone. I could feel the grey defensive anger build in me. We are apart by your choice, not mine, so don't try and make me feel guilty.

Toy came up and molded herself against my side. When I put my arm around her I could tell the only thing under her Japanese silk happy coat was Toy. Nance looked her over with frosty eyes then gave me a wickedly sweet smile.

"I've been meaning to call you, Philip. Have you talked to Sandy lately?"

"The last time was about six weeks ago. I had dinner with him and Denise at their place after the last trap shoot."

"So long?"

I gave her my best droll smile. "I've been busy."

She gave Toy a catty look. "I can see."

I was still smiling but my voice was flat. "That's right. Dan's been showing some chapters for my novel to a few publishers in New York. He's got a buyer if I can get the rest finished by the end of May."

You would have thought I had hit her from the look on her face. Her face paled and her eyes went wide. It hurt to see the look in those stricken eyes but there was a devil riding me. She had been the one who had called my writing a foolish waste of time. It had been her idea that I would fail and go crawling back to police work like a whipped puppy. She finally pulled herself together enough to speak but her congratulations were filled with pre-tear tremolo.

She turned to leave. Klieg looked at me for a moment. He had to know what was going on and what had just happened. He was mad clear through. Oh, he wanted to say something, do something, real bad. I met his look with my own.

I defied him to try something. It was in my eyes, my stance. It was saying, come on desk jockey, say it. Call me a bastard. I dare you. The lady with you is mine. And so is the one with me. Do whatever you like but they're going to stay that way until I say different. Just try and match me. I've played with the big boys and held my own. And now I'm playing in another game and making it there too. I'm on the roll you wish you could be on. I've got two gorgeous ladies and a helluva tan. Go ahead and say something.

But he didn't. He started after Nance who had stopped twenty feet away. She called Duke. The Airedale looked up at me and gave his tail a piteous uncertain wag. I looked at his trusting brown eyes then at Nance. I could see the tears penciling her pale cheeks as her golden elf eyes begged me.

If you've got so much, I asked myself miserably, why is your heart breaking all over again?

"Go on boy. Take good care of her." I whispered huskily.

He trotted off and joined them as they walked back to the public access. I stood watching long after they had disappeared. Images of a ruined afternoon played like film clips in my mind.

"Phil?"

I forced myself to shut off the projector. "Yes?"

"She's very beautiful."

I nodded.

"She still loves you."

I felt my eyes begin to sting as I nodded.

"You're still in love with her too."

But was I? Was I still in love with her or was it the memory of what we had had together?

"I don't know. I still care. We meant a lot to each other when it was easy. There were a lot of good times." I looked down at her. I wasn't surprised to see she was crying silently.

"Phil, could we go inside?"

I didn't answer. I just held her gently while my feelings tumbled and rolled inside me. There was no single thought even the nasty incident that should have been plaguing me was lost in the maelstrom of emotion that welled up in me. My little voice was silenced by the thunder of my blood as I looked into Toy's tear bright eyes. Alternating waves of tenderness and desire swept through me until I couldn't take it anymore. I lifted her slim form into my arms and headed for the house.

I was listening to the waves slap the sand and the sounds of people enjoying themselves outside. It felt good to lie back on the sweat damp sheets and let the breeze from the open patio door cool me off. The stereo was playing classical music in the background and a warm sexy lady napped on my chest. It was so right, the feeling of completeness yet I couldn't help but wonder at it.

It was so much different with Toy. Her response to me was so total, so unreserved it frightened me a little. It also fired a similar response in me, which astounded me. I had always been able to keep a small part of me separate. Even when making love with Nance I could feel that apartness. The little cynical voice that observed all the time and gave me advice had never been silent before. It was kind of spooky that it was now. There was no watching objectively, locating the character flaws, predicting probable responses. In its place was an incredibly intense awareness of her, all of her.

The voice still worked. It had been with me too long to disappear. It was just silent when it came to Toy. Confusing but in an odd way, very comforting. I was becoming less detached. And more aware of the people around me. It was a whole new world of experience but found I could enjoy it without feeling threatened.

"Phil?"

"What?"

"Why haven't you talked to Sandy in so long?"

I nudged the top of her head with my nose until she looked up at me. "Because I've been busy. And so has he. Kitten, I want to stay away from the shop as much as I can. If I stay out of sight it will be easier for all concerned."

"Is that the only reason?"

"You mean, am I ashamed to be seen with you? Is that it?"

She bit at her lower lip and gave me a tentative fearful nod.

"Goose. Of the silly variety. Maybe I don't want to antagonize Nance by running into her. You saw what happened this afternoon. Neither of us needs that. But I am not ashamed of you."

"But I'm only a topless dancer. I barely graduated from high school and I don't know how to act like a lady. Especially around you."

"Why especially?"

She blushed furiously and hid her face against my chest.

"Why, Kitten?"

I tickled her ribs, holding her tightly so she couldn't get away. She tried though and I was hard pressed to keep her against me. Then suddenly she wasn't trying to get away. Her body was one long kiss on mine. She looked up at me with desperate eyes.

"Because of this. When I'm near you it doesn't take anything to make me want you horribly. All I want to do is touch you, hold you, and make love with you. I don't want to do anything to embarrass you."

I looked at her as her words sank in. The laugh started small but I couldn't hold it in. Believe me it was difficult to contain a clawing wild cat and laugh at the same time but I managed. I finally had to pin her under me.

"You bastard, let me go!"

"No."

I began kissing her neck while she fought and slowly her anger died down. When it was safe I stopped and raised my head up so I could look at her.

"Toy, I laughed because I've been feeling the same things for the last two weeks but I behaved myself because I though you wouldn't want me getting friendly in public. I figured you were sensitive about what people thought about you because you're a dancer."

"Oh Phil."

She started to wrap herself around me but I pulled back. She gave me a questioning look so I kissed her nose and rolled to the side of the bed.

"Just a second. I want to call Sandy and see if he and Denise are free for dinner. Just keep those thought warm."

I dialed Sandy's number and waited for someone to answer. Denise got it on the first ring with a breathless hello. The sound of it made me sit up, a chill running through me.

"Denise, what's wrong?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. There noth..... Phil? Is that you?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Oh Philip, I'm so worried."

I could tell she was trying not to cry and losing the battle. "Is it Sandy? What's happened?"

"Phil, I don't know what it is. He's been acting so strangely. He isn't sleeping nights and he's drinking. I tried hiding the whiskey but he just buys more. He sits up nights going over these files he's put together. It's like he's obsessed with them. He reads them constantly and he won't tell me what it's all about. I'm scared."

"Calm down, Denise. How long has this been going on?"

"It started getting bad about three weeks ago. I don't know what to do anymore. He's like a stranger."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I thought you knew. He told me he's been talking with you but you're busy."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. He got a call about an hour ago and he left in a hurry."

"All right. I'll find him. Meanwhile why don't you call..." I almost said Nance but I didn't think she would be much help. "Call Jo Wolcott. See if you can't get together this afternoon. Hang on Denise, I'll see if I can't find out what's going on."

"Thank you Philip."

"Call Jo."

I depressed the cutoff bar and tapped out the number for the Homicide Squad Room. Chico Riveruiez answered.

"Chico, its Phil. Where's Sandy?"

"Holy Christ, Belanger, where are you? I've been trying to find you for over 45 minutes."

"Never mind. What's going down?"

"We've got another mauled body."

"Judas! Where?"

"Bay Meadows. Judge Stanford's caddy was hunting a lost ball and he stumbled on it."

"Sandy on it?"

"He's got it. B.J.'s in Tallahassee for a conference until tomorrow. He put a tight cordon around the area and told me to get hold of you ASAP. How long will it take you to get there?"

"I'm in Seminole Beach. I can be rolling in a couple of minutes."

"Ok. Head for AIA. I'll see if I can get you an escort. You got your bike?"

"Right. Grey Yamaha with a grey helmet."

"Roll it, amigo."

I grabbed for my jeans and pulled them on. Toy was sitting in the middle of the bed trying not to look scared or worried but not doing a very good job of it. I buckled my belt and knee walked across to her. She was looking so forlorn I couldn't help but smile as I kissed her.

"I've got to go but I'll be back as soon as I can. If it looks like it's going to be late, I'll call."

"Phil, what is it? What's wrong?"

"They've found another body like that one in Arlington. Sandy's on it and he needs some help."

I wasn't ready for the sharp blast of terror that flashed in her eyes nor could I understand the reason for it. She froze, her body began to tremble. I didn't know what was wrong but I knew I didn't have time to find out. If B.J. or anyone else heard about the killing before I got there I would be banned from the site. If that happened any clues I might find would be lost forever.

I gave her a hug and kiss, hoping it would be enough.

"You said you weren't working anymore."

"Kitten, this is special. Sandy needs me."

The fear left her eyes slowly. I didn't like what replaced it either. It was too much like the icy anger she had shown me the night of our reunion. The only difference was the hurt and fear I could feel behind it.

"Then you'd better go."

#  Chapter 8

I was still alternating between shivering and cursing because of that last look Toy gave me before she went into the bathroom when I pulled in to the parking lot at the Bay Meadows Country Club. The chill finally had frightened me more than I wanted to admit. During the ride behind the Jacksonville Beach pursuit car I had asked myself over and over again, why was she so upset but I always came up with the same blank. I parked next to Sandy's car and killed the bike. A grey-faced Andy came to meet me.

"They're waiting for you over there, Sarge."

I took him by the shoulders. At first he wouldn't meet my eyes but I out waited him.

"It's bad Sarge. Now I know how Greg felt."

"Hang on, Andy."

I jogged down the fairway to where Jake Sokol stood chewing on a cigar at the edge of the brush.

"Howdy, Jake."

"Phil. You boys know you're gonna get your asses in a crack for this when Hodson gets back, don't you?"

"Only if we're wrong."

He took the well-chewed butt from his mouth and rolled between his fingers while he studied it. "There's that."

I tried to walk past him without answering. He put out his free hand and stopped me. His hard eyes had seen everything twice and Jake was as tough as they came. He had been one of my training officers when I first joined the force.

I met those cold eyes.

"I don't believe a damn word of this wild dog shit. Not a single damn word."

"Your choice, Jake."

He stuck his cigar back in his mouth and bit down hard on it. "I'm a cop, not no frigging dog catcher."

"That's just fucking dandy, Jake. You believe whatever you want to but let me tell you this. If it is some kind of animal, I'll find the proof. Concrete, 100%, factual, hard evidence. You know me, Jake, I'll do it. If you want to ignore it, you go right ahead. And maybe when we get a couple more people killed while you assholes look for some kook, the people might try and raise enough money to buy the city a nice big tractor. You know the kind. One with lots of traction so they can use it to pull your heads out of your asses."

His face flushed red and the veins in his neck stood out as his hand closed on my shirt. "Listen, college boy..."

I grabbed his hand and used a lot of my frustration in applying an aikido come-along hold. Jake's color faded as I ground his knuckles together, but he let go.

"No, you listen. You know me Jake. You helped train me. I don't run off half-cocked. I don't fake evidence. And I'm not wrong very often. I'm going to look for evidence here. Not just puppy tracks either. Whatever my report reads it will be incontrovertible proof. If I find wolf tracks I'll say so. I find size 2 fairy boot tracks, you'll read about it. But I won't deny what I see because a bunch of chicken shit old maids can't handle the facts. I'll get you facts. What you do with them is your own business."

I let go of his hand and walked back into the brush. I hadn't gone three steps when I got my first whiff of it. There's something about blood, death and jungles that makes for a real unpleasant smell. I experienced a quick flash of deja vu, as the smell got stronger. I could see a group of people up ahead so I quickened my pace. The smell was strong enough now to tickle my gag reflex.

Sandy was standing talking with the M.E. so I just stopped next to him and looked at the body.

Andy had been right. It was bad. I closed my eyes and swallowed, hard, several times before I could trust my stomach. Slowly, I looked again.

She lay sprawled on her back her head turned to the side. The top of her head was a red seeping wound. She had been a blonde but now her hair was hidden between the torn flap of her scalp and the bloody earth beneath it. Her sweatshirt was in bloody tatters and her jogging shorts, once chic and stylish, were ripped to ribbons over her lower abdomen and groin. The worst of it was her mid-section. It was gone. From the lower ribs to the pelvic girdle there was nothing. I stepped carefully next to the body and knelt gingerly beside it.

I was just studying the ribs when I felt a hand at my shoulder. I jumped instinctively taking a deep breath. My stomach retched hard. I managed to fight it down then looked behind me.

It was Bill Caulkins from the Medical Examiners office. He offered me a pair of cotton nose plugs.

"Formaldehyde. It deadens the sense of smell for a while."

I put them in, wincing at the burn. In a moment the retching odor was down to a livable level. I motioned for Bill to come around the other side and kneel down while I looked the body over.

"What did you make of this, Bill?" I asked as I pointed at the skin that hung loosely from part of the cage.

"Torn. Like a sheet of newsprint. You can see the evidence of stress and rupture on the ends of the muscles."

"And here?"

"Sheared. A fairly sharp instrument."

I noticed the mangled end of one of the hanging ribs. It was crushed, the white bone slivered into the connecting tissue. Using a small stick as a poker I moved it to get a better angle view.

"Crushed pretty well by the looks of it." I heard Bill say but I didn't think he saw the row of small indentations along the bones edge. The lungs were half torn from the rib cage. I glanced around the clearing but there was no evidence of entrails other than the bloody ground.

The upper portions of the thighs were torn and bruised. Using my stick I lightly traced the cuts from the edge of the abdominal cavity down the thigh. I had to pause for a moment. The feeling of deja vu intensified. There was one other thing I wanted to look at and I knew if I didn't do it quickly I wouldn't do it at all, so I bent close to examine the edges of the gaping hole at the base of the throat. The evidence had to be there but I looked to be certain.

I walked carefully back to where Sandy waited. I could see what Denise meant about being concerned for him. He was watching me with fever bright eyes set in red rimmed, dark bagged sockets. His face was noticeably thinner and his hair was a mess.

"What's the verdict?" he asked the two of us. Bill cleared his throat.

"I can't say for certain until we get the full lab report but I would say who ever did this was uncommonly strong."

Sandy looked at me. "Phil?"

"Horseshit."

Bill looked at me nervously.

"Come on Bill, use your head. No human is capable of this."

"You can never tell..."

"Like hell you can't. The edges of those wounds are too different. Torn, cut, hell man can you think of anyone strong enough to tear healthy muscle tissue like that? And those marks on the thighs. Are you going to try and tell me they were made by human hands?"

I wanted to say more but I knew my anger was getting out of control.

"Sandy, give me one steno from Forensics and keep everyone else back. I'll mark anything I find and record my observations."

I glanced at the body. It was lying on thick loam, which had absorbed the blood. The ground had been torn up by whatever had killed the girl. It was partially trampled down again but Sandy had gotten here before every bit of evidence had been obliterated. If I was lucky I would find something conclusive. If not there was the body. I looked at Caulkins.

His face was pale and sweaty, part from shock, part from fear. My little voice told me I should feel sorry for him but I didn't have to look at the hunk of meat behind me to know how much good that pity was.

"Bill, I know this isn't going to be easy and I don't think it will make you any too popular but there are a couple of things I want you to check for on the body. See if you can get a bite radius..."

His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to protest but I waved him quiet and continued quickly. "Try the throat. If you can't get it there, there's some indentation on that crushed rib. Also see if you can't get saliva samples. Last, get some measurements on those thigh wounds.

"You aren't official anymore Belanger."

"Then do it for me." Sandy put in. He fixed Caulkins with a red-eyed stare.

"If you need help, get it. I want that information ASAP."

Caulkins wanted to say something but he knew he was out of his league. He muttered an all right and went to get some equipment.

"Thanks Sandy."

"Pompous little shit."

He looked at me and the old Sandy, my partner and friend, was back. "Thanks for coming so quick. I kept the cordon tight but I can't guarantee anything."

"No problem. Anything I find will just be corroborating evidence. We shouldn't need much."

He stared at me for a second, his eyes practically glowing. "I want everything we can get. I want this wrapped so tight it chokes Hodson. Give it to me, Phil. For both of us."

"Ok partner." I wanted to say more. I was feeling real uneasy about his attitude. It was bordering on obsession. Instead I tried a smile and put my hand on his shoulder.

"We'll break this one. Just stay loose."

"I wish ... Never mind. You want a photographer?"

"Have one standing by. I'll come get him if I need him."

"Right."

He waved a man with a notepad over to join us.

"Good hunting Phil."

It was getting close to dark when I walked out of the copse and headed towards the clubhouse. The lab boys were making plaster casts of two big partial paw prints I had located and there was another small clump of hair from a small sturdy bush. One of the cleaner prints I had found was near the bank of a small creek about twenty yards from the body. I had spent close to two hours scouring the banks of the ditch, paying particular attention to the ground opposite the spot where I'd found the last track.

Nothing.

A blue suit in the lot told me I could find Sandy in the clubhouse so I headed inside. I detoured by the bar and bought a cold beer. The bartender told me the police were using the Oakridge room as a command post. Sandy was on the phone when I walked in. He was writing notes but he motioned me over to the other side of the room where Bob White was talking with a tall thin white haired man.

I knew him well. Judge George Bayard had been on the bench for most of the seven years I had been with the Sheriff's Department. It was at his suggestion I had received one of my civic commendations. We had a strong mutual respect for each other, both personal and professional. He had retired a few months before me when his Parkinson's disease had gotten to be too much for him to handle. I had been sorry to see him leave the bench but I could understand his desire to enjoy his golden years while he was able.

He saw me as I crossed the room and came to meet me. If you looked closely you could see the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for mine.

"Philip. It's good to see you again. How have you been?"

"Just fine, Your Honor."

"How is retirement treating you?"

I grinned at him. "Dandy. How about you?"

"If I would have known it was going to be this much fun, I would have retired years ago."

The joviality dropped from his voice but he kept my hand in his as he continued. "I am sorry to see you under these circumstances Philip but I am heartened to see you here. Is it bad?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you find anything concrete?"

"I think so, Bob. Thanks to Sandy the area was in pretty good shape. I was lucky."

Bob looked as if he wanted details but I was reluctant to say anything in front of the judge. He felt my reluctance. "You can talk freely, Phil. The Judge has a special interest in this."

I looked at the Judge.

""Tell us what you have first."

I did. I covered some of the conjectures I had and the puzzles. Including the track on the bank.

"All right Philip, just for arguments sake let's say you are right. Let's say there is some animal, a large canine type, running loose. What do you suggest we do about it?"

"Get someone in here who knows about bite radius. Someone who knows about paw prints and stride and jaw configuration. Let's get as good a picture of the animal as we can."

Bob watched me over templed fingers. "Then what?"

"Then start with the Duval County Animal Control Center. See who has a dog that could fit the mold. And the AKC Registries for the area."

"Belanger, that's a hell of a lot of checking."

"So what? Granted it isn't as easy as running down a man. We don't have MO files. We don't have FBI files. But Bob, we don't have those things on a first offender."

"What about unregistered animals." The Judge put in.

"Same difference. Damn it all, its just legwork! The same as all the rest of police work. Its ruling out what you can, narrowing the possibilities."

"What about you, Phil? Where do you fit in?"

"I don't." I answered flatly.

"Why not? You want in. Face it Phil, you love it. You can't get it out of your system."

"I haven't yet but I will."

"Damn you Belanger!" Bob exploded from his chair. "Just who in the hell do you think you're kidding? You're one of the best cops I have ever seen. Those rookies you trained are a hell of a fine team. Come on back. The Sheriff said he will take you back, no loss of time or seniority."

I wanted to lash back. The angry words were there, ready to be spit, but I couldn't. Or wouldn't. I had said my piece when I quit, as much of it as I was going to say. I put on my best stone face and ignored the hot magna in my middle.

"Bob, if Hodson weren't in Tallahassee would I be allowed out here?"

It brought him up short. The look in his eyes slowly changed from anger to contempt.

"I never figured you to be a quitter. We all work around that problem. You used to; you were the best at it."

"I was. I just got tired of having to do double work."

"And having Hodson steal your thunder."

"Yes!" I slammed my palm on the desk. A small part of me was saying put a lid on it but the long months of silence, of buried festering frustration, needed to be vented. "I was sick and tired of busting my ass and having my people bust theirs just so Hodson could take credit for police work he couldn't do. I was tired of the IA investigations on every damn one of my arrests. You've seen the list of brutality charges in my record."

"You were acquitted."

"So what?" I cut in hotly. "So I was exonerated on every single fucking one? So what that I had the best intelligence network in the county? I got my results by getting out with the people, working with them. I fought like hell to get some trust built in spite of that asshole's meddling. I put in as many hours off duty as I did on working on cases. What did it get me? A couple of citations Hodson couldn't scotch and a wife I hardly ever saw. I was borderline ulcer and hypertension from fighting. You want to call me a quitter for that, fine. Go right ahead. Write it up and send it to the paper. Rent a billboard, I'll put it up. 'Belanger's a yellow quitter!' But remember, at least I tried. I don't remember any of you backing me up. When the Blow Job started in on me, you boys all faded into the wallpaper. Where was your support then? You say you all work around Hodson. Well, you can keep it up. Do it long enough and you'll get him promoted out of your hair. I know that was the general idea. Reward him for being an incompetent jerk so he can go fuck up another area. Get him up higher so he can screw up more of the department. If that's your idea of law enforcement, fuck you very much. I don't want any part of it. The man isn't even competent enough to be a beat cop, let alone lieutenant in charge of Homicide."

I glared at Bob, my anger still seething but the pressure was off now. I felt drained yet strangely enervated.

"Dammit Belanger, we've got to do what we can. Hodson can't help it that he's ambitious. If you want the truth, your resignation set him back with the boys higher up. Do you think the Sheriff doesn't know why you pulled the pin? Or that he doesn't see the drop in Homicide's conviction rate?"

That hung me up. I hadn't even thought my absence would really be noticed.

"Come on, Bob. One man doesn't make that big a difference."

"With another man, any other man, I would agree with you. But no one else put in the work you did. You said it yourself; you had the best intelligence network in the city. Sandy has tried to keep it alive but the street people don't trust him like they trusted you. Christ, we still get calls asking for the Ironman and 4 out of 5 won't talk to anyone else."

I took my beer over to the window and looked out. The crust I had built was saying tough but the core that had built the network was thinking about all the work and more, the real results I had gotten. It was an aspect of my resigning I hadn't allowed myself to consider. Nor had it ever been mentioned before by anyone. Not even by Sandy. I knew I hadn't torpedoed the network intentionally because it was something I was proud of. My hand went to my ribs under my left arm where Sugar Bear's knife had opened me up. Yeah, a lot of hard work went into my network. Hours and pain. And when I left I hadn't passed any word to my people. I had been too angry.

Maybe my sabotage hadn't been intentional but the subconscious is a pretty powerful force. I wasn't fool enough to say I hadn't meant to hurt the department. Not now. And I didn't want to let go as it was.

"I can put the word out. Maybe they'll still listen to me."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "It would help Phil but I wish you would reconsider. We want you back." Bob said softly.

"It wouldn't work, Bob. We both know it."

He considered it a minute then nodded. "The word on the street will help. Thanks."

"Gentlemen, maybe I've slowed down since I retired. I don't see why it wouldn't work. If the Lieutenant gets the word he'll have to let Phil alone."

I smiled at the Judge.

"Special privileges don't work, Judge. Everyone in Homicide would know I was working hands free and so would the rest of the department. Its one thing to look the other way, it's expected. If Hodson had any sense he would have done it with me but there's some kind of personal thing between us I've never been able to nail down. Maybe B.J.'s jealous; maybe he just hates my guts. It doesn't matter now. But if the department gives me a free hand they would be condoning my maverick status and that would undermine general discipline."

"But wouldn't it accelerate Hodson's probabilities for removal?"

I looked at Bob and caught the same thought in his eyes. I took a long swallow of my beer.

"Yes it would, Judge." Bob answered.

The Judge looked from Bob to me and back. He had been on the bench too long to miss the flat tone in Bob's voice.

"I see. You don't want to do the department's dirty work."

"That's basically it, sir. And I don't want to destroy Hodson. For the most part he's a fine administrator. I have to give him that. He just isn't the kind of man to run Homicide."

"And you are?"

"Not by a long shot. I'd go crazy if I had to deal with all of the bureaucracy. I'm a field man. I can work the streets, not City Hall." I finished my beer and turned to Bob. "You know there's going to be hell to pay tomorrow when B.J. gets back."

He nodded.

"Sandy and I are going to work Forensics straight through tonight so we can have some definite results by the time he gets in. I don't think he'll be able to ignore it this time."

"I hope you're right."

"So do I."

I pulled into the driveway at the beach house a little before ten. Toy's car was still in the carport. As I walked to the door I wondered why Toy had been so upset when I had left. And what I could do to make it up to her. The doorknob wouldn't turn under my hand so I rang the bell and called out to Toy. When she didn't answer I rang again. I could hear the stereo playing quietly so I tried knocking. When that didn't get a response I looked in the window.

She was walking across the living room so I pounded on the door and called her name again. I could see her hesitate, and then straighten her back as she intentionally ignored me. My fist slammed the door in anger as I turned and went back to my bike. I fired it up and roared out of the driveway. If she wanted it this way, she could have it. Nance had pulled the silent routine when I had quit the force and it had worked. It had pissed me off royally.

Now as I drove down A1A, I knew it had worked again. I was angry. Maybe there was something wrong but I don't like being ignored. Not deliberately. I turned onto Butler and pointed the Yamaha west. Maybe it was time for a break. Dan had offered me a place in New York to work on finishing my book. I hadn't wanted to take him up on it then but now I had two reasons for leaving Jacksonville.

I wondered if there was a flight for New York tonight.

#  Chapter 9

Fall was settling in to north Florida when I landed at Jacksonville International. I was feeling pretty good. My novel was on its way to the printer, my first check was in the bank and I had the beginnings of my next book already forming in my head. For two months I had slaved over finishing the first book at Dan Boling's Connecticut home and in my spare time I had enjoyed being back in the north country.

Dan wanted me to move and I was tempted. Staying in Jacksonville meant having to deal with all the problems I would just as soon put behind me.

As I headed for the taxis, my carry on in hand, those problems I had managed to forget in the hardwood forests of Connecticut came trickling back. I had hopped a flight without telling anyone anything and I hadn't checked back the whole time I was gone. Now that I was back I began to feel guilty. There might have been a deposition necessary or some follow up as a result of my work at the golf course but I was pretty certain Hodson would have quashed it.

I was tempted to get a paper but I decided against it. I flagged a cab and headed for Orange Park. Forty minutes is a lot of time when you feel guilty about something and I did. I could rationalize the way I dealt with both the work and personal things I had left unfinished. And it wouldn't all be rationalization. I was getting tired of playing the games. I was cast in a role, one I had built, and I was beginning to hate it. I was neatly trapped and there was only one way out. A way I wasn't happy about nor did I know if I could pull it off. It meant one of two things; give up and refit myself into the pattern or leave. If I stayed in Jacksonville so damn much time would be wasted in waiting for people to accept what I wanted to be.

The role-image was too strong and I did enjoy it. When I was playing the Ironman I was happy. Lonely but happy. To my friends I was a self-sufficient entity, hell the Ironman was. The crux of the problem was I could turn off the professional and be me. The me that liked Peter Pan and Disney, the part that never wanted to grow up. I needed to acknowledge that part of me but no one else was willing to. It had been better than a year since my divorce, almost two since my retirement. In that time I had gotten my start in writing as I had wanted. The start no one had been willing to admit I could get. It felt good to have a contract, but it wasn't everything. There were a few people here I wanted to know I was making it.

I wanted people to know I didn't have to be a harness bull to be successful or happy.

Sorry, Theo but every tour has to end. I can't be brush popping forever. We all have our own lives to live. I can't live theirs for them.

I paid off the cabbie and lugged my gear up to my apartment. Inside it was as smelly as a closed apartment can get. I hadn't really done anything to close it up, just packed my bags and taken out the garbage. The loaf of bread I had left was a green mass of mold. When I opened the frig I closed it again. Fast.

My bedroom wasn't much better. Mildew had claimed my hamper in spite of the air conditioning and it had more than a toehold on the closet. Even the bathroom was growing green things.

I went back into the kitchen and did a lightening raid on the ice box for a beer. As I washed the can off it hit me. I hated Florida. Really and truly. To the point where I could just chuck the whole works and move north again.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped my beer. It was over. My shirt was sticking to me and a fine sheen of sweat was covering every inch of my skin. I couldn't help but compare it with the cool crispness of fall in Connecticut and to my way of thinking, Florida lost greatly in the comparison.

With the conviction of my choice held firm I went and cranked the AC as high as it would go, changed into mildewed shorts and steeled myself to attack the refrigerator first.

I had to. The beer was inside.

The telephone jangling woke me. I had worked until the wee hours of the morning cleaning then fallen into the bed made with sheets from the bottom of the stack. They had smelled reasonable fresh but by then I was really past caring. I looked at my alarm and groaned. It was only 7:30.

How long the phone had been ringing I didn't know. I grabbed for it, missed and knocked it to the floor. A tinny voice guided me to it.

"Yeah."

"Belanger. Where the hell have you been?"

It was Chico and he was yelling. I held the phone away from my ear.

"Easy Chico. I'm right here."

"Year, but where you been. We've been trying to get a hold of you for weeks."

"I was up in New York working. What's up?"

Chico paused. "Maybe we'd better get together."

Something in his tone set off all kinds of alarms. I sat up on the edge of the bed, wide-awake.

"Chico, what's wrong?"

"Not on the phone, man. Can you meet me?"

"Where?"

"The Steak and Egg Kitchen on North University,"

"I'll be there in an hour."

When I walked in, Chico waved me over to a booth. He had coffee ready as I slid into the booth.

"Give, Chico."

Chico's black eyes met mine.

"Come on man, what is it?"

"Sandy's dead."

My ears heard his words but they didn't register. I began to tremble. My stomach knotted and then it all hit. Tears came, a cascade washing down my cheeks. I felt like I was going to puke. Or faint. Or scream. None of them would come.

Chico reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Phil."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago. We tried to get hold of you. We really did. Nancy even called your agent but she couldn't reach him."

"He was in California."

I put my head in my hands, running my fingers through my hair.

Sandy dead?

"How?"

Chico took a flask out of his pocket and poured some in my coffee. He held the bottle out to me. I took it mechanically and drank. I had knocked back a good portion when I handed it back. I couldn't make any sense or form of my thoughts or feelings.

"What about Denise?"

"She's with her parents over in Tallahassee. It shook her up pretty bad."

I caught the tone in his voice and looked up sharply.

"She found him, Phil,"

"Jeezus."

"And Mary."

"What happened?"

"You know how their bedroom was like a balcony over the living room? The coroner said he had been drinking pretty heavy and tripped over some clothes on the floor. His neck was broken on impact. He died instantly."

"Where was Denise?"

"She was out with Nancy. She came home around midnight and found him. Their doctor had to sedate her."

Poor Denise. And Wayne and Delores. First Theo and now Sandy. One to disease, one to accident. Their only two children gone.

"I guess I'd better get hold of the Shaw's. And Denise."

"You might want to hold off on contacting Denise."

"Why?"

Chico fidgeted nervously.

"She was pretty upset." He started by way of explanation but I cut him off.

"What's wrong? What did she say?"

"She blames you for Sandy's death."

"Me?"

I was stunned. Why would she blame me? I had been a thousand miles away. I was out of their life. I said as much to Chico.

"She says Sandy was working too hard. He was trying to fill your shoes and his."

Chico looked down at his cup. I felt my emotions slow their hurricane dance as one hit center and grew. I waited, feeling anger grow in the eye of my storm. Finally Chico looked up.

"Phil, it really hit the fan after the Bay View killing. Hodson came back and hit the roof. He had Sandy and Bob up on charges while he screamed bloody murder. Then the Sun-Times came out with their story about the wild dog theory and this town went crazy. Ninety some dogs were pulled in in four days and every damn civic group in the county was either complaining about the wild dog or about all those others who were killed."

"B.J. tried to have Sandy taken off the case but the Sheriff said no. He also made Hodson drop his charges. We were working round-the-clock on the evidence you had put together and the ME and FDLE both agreed it was some kind of canine. It took some of the heat off us but B.J. wouldn't let up. When there weren't any more killings after a month, he told the press the animal responsible had probably been killed in that first week. He got Caulkins to agree after they ran some tests on a big Shepard carcass and everyone was satisfied."

"Except B.J."

Chico glanced nervously at his cup again.

"Right. He made Sandy's life hell. Gave him all the shit details, rode him constantly, just generally dumped on him. He swore he wasn't going to have another Belanger in his division."

I lowered my head and rubbed at my eyes. I could almost hear Hodson riding Sandy. So Sandy had started drinking. And brooding. Sandy had never drawn B.J.'s full ire because B.J. had been afraid of confronting me.

I picked up my helmet.

"Where's he buried?"

"Our Lady of Sorrow on the other side of the river."

I stood up, balancing my helmet in my hands. I couldn't bring myself to look at Chico. At first it had been anger, my anger at being blamed again for something I didn't do.

Now, I realized it was shame. It was something I didn't do. I didn't stand by my partner. I was so busy feeling sorry for myself I hadn't seen what was happening.

I had failed.

I had failed Theo and Sandy.

And myself.

"I'll see you later, Chico. I've got some thinking to do."

I turned to the door but stopped when Chico called my name. I didn't turn.

"It's not your fault, Phil."

Not my fault. Maybe not Chico, I thought, but it was my doing.

"Thanks, amigo."

I sat at the bar, a cold Miller in front of me. Pete's was quiet. It was just after noon and most of the crowd was out on the beach soaking up rays and swimming. Me, I didn't feel much like playing. My best friend was under a big rose granite tombstone and I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't helped put him there.

I had gone out to the cemetery after talking to Chico. There had been a lot of flowers on the grave. As I stood reading his name next to Theo's the feeling of guilt had grown.

I blew it, Sarge.

I went out of there and rode. Up into Georgia and around the back roads. I had filled the tank in St. Mary's and then drove down A1A to the Mayport ferry. All the time, I was thinking. Had there been something I could have done?

Every time the answer came up yes.

Yes, I could have stood by my partner.

My friend.

When I had gotten into Jacksonville Beach I had pulled into Pete's. I didn't know many people at the Beach and I didn't usually spend much time out there. I hadn't been in Pete's for a few years so I figured I could sit and drink without being interrupted by anyone. Word would be out in Jacksonville by now that I was back. The Squad would know. So would Nance.

I didn't want to see anyone. I wanted time to think. I wanted time for the hurt to lessen.

I wanted to wallow in my pain.

I finished my first beer and was trying to get the bartenders attention when the street door opened. I recognized the burly silhouette as he let the door go. If I had any idea he had just happened by, it was lost as he headed straight for me. I cursed to myself as he came over and sat on the stool next to me. He ordered a pair of Millers and drank from his without looking at me.

Vic Petroni. Chief of Detectives on the Beach. Sandy had known him better than I. We had worked together on one case years back and I had a good deal of respect for him. He had been a detective for one of the Jersey city forces before coming down and taking over the top job at the Beach. I remembered Sandy telling me his family had died in a car wreck....hit and run.

What he was doing here at Pete's I didn't know nor was I interested. I drank the beer he bought. I stared at the back bar. He drank his beer. He stared at the back bar. When the bottles were empty, he ordered another pair. I still didn't know why he was there.

Finally, I got itchy. I wasn't angry just curious.

"Vic, what in the hell are you doing here?"

He cut a sidelong glance at me and casually raised his bottle to his lips.

"Drinking beer."

"Its Friday, Vic. A working day."

"So? I'm Chief of Detectives. They got me on 24-hour call and they use it. If I want to take a little comp time, I will. Nazdrovie."

"So you just happen to stop in here."

"This is my turf, Belanger. This is one of my watering holes. It's you who's out of his pond. What brings you to the Beach?"

"Sun, fun and broads. I hear the beach is crawling with them."

"He was a good man, Phil."

I started to make a snappy comeback but it wasn't going to fit. If most people had said those words, it would have pissed me off. The way Vic said it; it was more of a eulogy than one of those syrupy condolences.

Tip the hat to auld lang syne. Fare-thee-well, brother officer.

I tipped my beer.

"One of the best."

I ordered another round.

"It's kind of hard to believe he's gone."

"I've been to the grave. His names on the stone."

"I know."

I looked over at him sharply.

"One of the patrols spotted you coming in from Mayport. He followed you here."

There was more but Vic was telling it. He nursed his beer while his eyes wandered back in time.

"You just get back?"

"Last night. Chico called me this morning."

"I understand they've been doing that twice a day since Sandy died."

"I was up in Connecticut."

He gave me a questioning look.

"I sold a book,"

"Yeah? Like Wambaugh?"

"No, more like Tolkein."

We waited in silence for a while. It was a comfortable silence. I found myself wishing I had gotten to know Vic earlier. He had an easy presence about him. He didn't bitch about the work or his family life or knick-knack shit only another moron cared about. I did get the feeling there was something he wanted to say though.

"You gonna drag up now? Sandy said you were a snowbird like me." He drank some beer then grinned and shook his head. "You know I miss the snow. It used to get ass deep on a giraffe and man, I hated it. Cold and wet all the time. You know what? I was never as cold up in Jersey as I've been down here."

He shook his head again.

"Crazy, huh?"

"I cleaned up my apartment last night. Started packing."

Vic looked at me for the first time. It was a searching look but I didn't know what he was looking for. Finally he stood up and offered his hand.

"Luck, Belanger."

I sat at the bar, watching the door for a long time after he left.

Wayne and Delores Shaw had a smallish beach house north of St. Augustine. After Vic had left me at Pete's I decided to head down A1A. I had dreaded the meeting but I knew it would have to be and putting it off wouldn't make it any easier.

I had been wrong. The meeting hadn't been bad. Delores had been as supportive as a mother could be. It had made me feel guilty I had been afraid of the visit. The Shaw's had been the parents I had lost ever since I had come to Florida.

When Wayne called me son and meant it, it broke part of the barrier in me. We had all cried and hugged and in no time it was as if I was really home. Wayne and I fired up the grill while Delores made some tall iced teas. We sat in lounge chairs in the screened Florida room while ribs cooked and we talked. The subject swung to Sandy a few times. At first I felt a bit guilty but both of them assured me Sandy hadn't blamed me. The dog killings had been his peeve project and he had wished I was working on it with him but he respected my wish to get out.

He had talked quite a bit about how he had felt about my retirement. I was surprised to hear he had really understood my reasoning. It was kind of eerie hearing his words coming out of Wayne's mouth because Sandy and his father were a lot alike. As Wayne told me what Sandy had said about me, the guilts began to lessen. Like Theo, Sandy had had an instinctive feel for what drove me. Sandy said I was too sensitive for the kind of work I was doing. He knew that it was my early life that had trained me to be Ironman Belanger. All my feelings were under control. Then Vietnam reinforced the program. Theo had told him about my company being lost in a VC ambush, one that killed the only friends I had.

The two of them had told Wayne and Delores. They had been sorry to hear that Nancy had divorced me because of my retirement but even when the thing was in proceedings they had been supportive. Just as they still were.

As I headed north I was thinking of how lucky I was to have them. But there was something nagging at the back of my mind. It was like having an itch where you couldn't get at it. Instead of taking 294 around to Orange Park, I went north to the J. Turner Butler and headed for the beach. The sun was setting and as I crossed the Inland Waterway the temperature dropped. I liked the cool salt air blowing out of the north. I drove into Jacksonville Beach and parked in the municipal lot by the pier.

It was Friday night and in spite of the norther that was pushing big waves onto the deserted beach, there were still quite a few people on the walk. I went into the bait shop/snack shack and bought a beer. The fishing pier beyond was almost deserted so I leaned against the rail and watched the waves roll in.

It was the heavy seas and the beach that got me thinking about Toy. I had spent a lot of time up north wondering about her. I still had no idea what had set her off. It had something to do with that call I had made to Sandy. The one that had gotten me in on the last killing.

Was that it? Was she afraid of loving a cop? Even a marginal one? I knew Nance hadn't liked the late night calls. Most of the wives didn't. It was too easy to sit and worry about whether this call was the one he wouldn't come back from.

But that call had been after the fact. Just investigation. Maybe I should have made that clearer. As I was debating on going to find Toy the whispering in the back of my head snuck into my conscious thoughts.

Denise had said Sandy wasn't sleeping nights and he had been drinking. For how long? Three weeks was it? And his files. She had said he was obsessed by them.

I finished my beer and went in for another. Then I went to the pay phone. Chico was out on a call so I gave the dispatcher the pay phone number and asked her to relay it to him. Yes, it was important.

I waited by the phone, drinking beer without thinking. At least not consciously. I stared out the door, lost in the back bayous of my head. I was just finishing my beer when the phone rang.

It was Chico.

"What's up Phil?"

"Chico, when you went through Sandy's desk did you find any files?"

"What kind?"

"Personal."

"Nothing. Why?"

"How about at the apartment?"

"There was a two drawer cabinet about half full. Diplomas, citations and such. Why?"

"I'm not sure. Did he keep a separate file on those dog killings?"

"Only the official one. ME and lab reports, our reports, you know the usual material. Did you find something?"

I was quiet while the information digested and filed. A strange feeling was beginning to grow, one I'd had many times before. Call it instinct or hunch or whatever you like, it left a sour taste in my mouth.

"Phil? You still there?"

"Yeah. Chico, I'll get back to you. Thanks."

I absently hung up the phone, cutting off his yelled protests. I had a feeling my reports weren't in the official file. At least they hadn't been two months ago.

I dialed the Beach Police Department.

I was out on the pier with two fresh beers when Petroni appeared. In his lined windbreaker and fishing hat he looked like a fisherman but the pier was closed. For ten bucks and the mention of Petroni's name I had gotten the owner to let me stay outside until Vic came.

The burly detective stopped next to me, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. I handed him a beer. He took it silently and drank. He took up a duplicate of my pose, face into the cold, salty wind.

"What's on your mind, Belanger?"

"I got the feeling you wanted to tell me something this afternoon."

He chuckled. "You called me out here for that?"

"Yeah. I went down to see Sandy's folks after you left. We got to talking and I've been thinking." I took a deep swallow and stared at the waves. "I was pretty shocked when I found out he had died. And how he'd died. It's not easy to lose someone who's been like a brother to you. Mostly I was thinking about how much of it was my fault. The more I thought the more guilty I felt."

"It can be rough." Vic commented.

"I was so busy feeling sorry for Sandy and myself I forgot who he was. Seeing you at lunch and then his folks I began to think a little differently. I remembered Sandy had been more than my friend. He was my partner. He was a cop. I've been out here thinking about that."

"So?"

I turned suddenly to face Vic. "Why didn't you tell me what you were going to at Pete's?"

Vic scratched his cheek. "You were leaving."

"So?"

He shrugged. "So maybe you didn't need to hear what I had to say."

"You said a patrol unit had told you where I was."

He turned to face me. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hat brim.

He nodded.

"Why?"

"I liked Sandy. I knew he had something riding him when I last saw him."

"When was that?"

"About three weeks after that dog kill in Arlington. Funny."

"What is?"

"It was right on the tail of a storm like this."

Three weeks. That would have been May. Three and a half months before Bay View.

"Where did you see him?"

"Just north of the Sea Turtle on the beach. He had heard we had a bad one on the beach."

"A dog kill?"

"Not unless that sucker had gills."

"Then why was Sandy there?"

"I don't know. A tourist had found part of a body in the surf. Just an upper torso and partial limbs. Coroner said it had been in the water a couple of days."

"Sandy talked with you about it?"

"He came down and checked the body over before we sent it in."

"Who was it?"

He shrugged. "Jane Doe. Black, early thirties. No identifying marks."

"Shit. Damn."

"No help?"

"None. It was close enough after that first one that he probably just wanted to check. Damn. He was conscientious."

"Yeah. Even asked for a copy of the coroner's report."

I glanced up quickly but he was watching the waves deliberately ignoring me. "It's probably in the file."

"Not unless he keeps it at home."

"WHAT?"

Vic looked at me and smiled. "I sent it to his place, all unofficial."

"Why?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sandy mentioned he had a real bad feeling about something. He made it sound like he was following a hunch. You two were close so I figured he might have said something to you."

"I was too busy." I said, thinking back. That three weeks would have put it right about the time Toy and I had gotten together. Sandy was trying to keep me out of it. He was honoring my choice to retire."

Vic gave me a questioning look.

"But you were in on the Bay View killing. Shit, we felt the repercussions clear out here. Hodson called and gave us hell for escorting you."

"I was just on the site investigating. Sandy wanted someone who knew animals, knew what to look for."

We were both silent after that. We were probably wondering about the same thing.

"It's too bad that apartment was all locked up from the inside. It would have made it easier to guess if something had been open."

I was busy thinking back over all the times I had seen Sandy drunk. He held his booze well. People who didn't know him were usually hard pressed to tell if he was stoned.

The whole set-up was beginning to stink.

"Vic, could I get a look at that file?"

"I was just thinking the same thing. Let's go."

We were sitting in Vic's office drinking coffee and looking at the file Vic had dug out. I was looking at the picture of the corpse. It wasn't pretty. Its strange looking at a piece of bloated meat with two stumps where the arms should be and the remains of a face two days in the water. Who ever she had been, even her own mother couldn't have recognized her.

I said as much to Vic.

He had another file in his thick hands and was looking at something in it. "This is a file of MP's. Pictures if we have them, artist's work up's if we don't."

He took one out and handed it to me.

It was amazing. By using basic facial structure and weight police artists could make fairly accurate sketches from little bits of info.

This particular Jane Doe, in spite of the crab and fish damage and bloating, had given the artist quite a bit to work with. The light swatch in her hair in the black and white photo became an odd orange shade. She had been reasonably attractive if the sketch was close.

And familiar.

"Vic, can I get a copy of this?"

"You know her?"

I shook my head.

"Not know but there's something about her. I can't place it but I think I know someone who can."

Midnight on 8th and Main on a Friday night. Things were just starting to roll as I rode through. There were hookers along the sidewalks and big ghetto cruisers parked at the curb. Out on the sidewalk in front of the Domino Club there was a group of blacks.

It was Friday night and every one was out.

I pulled up onto the sidewalk beside a lavender Lincoln with a leather landau and shut off the bike. The group by the door split wide to let two blacks through. Both were way taller than I was. One was built like Jabbar and the other Mean Joe Green. They were conservatively dressed compared to most of the others. Their clothes didn't glitter or glow but they were expensive.

I smiled to myself behind the full black shield of my Bell. I had gone home and changed clothes. I wore black combat boots and faded jeans. My black leather jacket was zipped to the neck and black leather gloves covered my hands. I leaned back against my seat and waited for the muscle to reach me.

They flanked me without saying a word. Usually their presence was enough to send unwanted visitors to another part of town. One had done hard time at Raiford for assault. The other had played for Miami until he had gotten mentioned in a cocaine bust. He wasn't as well known as Morris so he had taken a hard fall and disappeared from pro ball.

I swung my leg over the tank and stood up. I wasn't taking any chances. They were mighty particular about the clientele of the Domino and there was no doubt, judging by the looks on their faces that they considering one little white boy biker as fair game. I slipped my helmet off and met their eyes.

Larry Ames, aka Abdul Hassim, eyed me sourly. When he had come to town out of Raiford I had caught him carrying a blade. Instead of taking him in, I had sent him to Sugar Bear. He has been working for the pimp since.

"Shee-it."

Walker, "Bad Ass", Jones looked at his partner. He was new to the street, hiring on with Sugar since I had retired. He cracked his knuckles and rolled the side of beef he used for shoulders under his jacket.

"White boy, you best get back on that toy and haul yo ass back over da river. It ain't healthy for yo kind heah."

"Is that a fact?"

I glanced at Ames but he was hanging back, his eyes shining in his deadpan face. Sugar Bear was nowhere in sight.

"Da's a nacheral fact."

"Sorry boy, I like it here."

His face curled in a snarl as he lunged for me like I was a halfback coming through the line. I let fly with a flying mule to his gut and followed him back with another as he staggered. I knew those kicks. I could blow a solid core door off its hinges with one of them. That's about what kicking his abdomen felt like. Jones hadn't let himself go in prison. He was as solid and tough as they come but I was hitting him right below the solar plexus with kick after kick from my heavy boots. His face was ash grey under his dark skin but he was still on his feet.

I came around after the fourth kick with my helmet swinging like a hammer at the end of its strap. It caught Jones on the side of his head before he could block it and he went out instantly as it cracked into his thick skull. He fell forward onto the sidewalk, his eyes showing white in his face.

I checked my helmet for cracks. Part of it was show for the hangers on. That was one tough dude.

Ames was shaking his head. "Still bad, Ironman."

"Tell him for me when he wakes up, it wasn't easy. He's got a gut like boiler plate."

"That he do." Ames sobered up.

"You back?"

"No. This ones for my partner."

He nodded. "Sorry to hear about him. He was pretty good for white. Not mean like you."

It was my turn to shake my head and chuckle. "Sugar Bear inside?"

"Yassuh boss. He in his office."

"Shukrun, Abdul."

Ames eyes widened.

"What you say?"

"Forget it."

I worked my way through the crowd inside. A few exchanged greetings, ones who I had run into when I had been in harness. By the time I reached Sugar's office, a booth in the back, most of the tension had slacked off.

Sugar had a couple of the ladies from his stable with him. He was comical looking by uptown standards. Built like Sammy Davis, Jr. he was decked out in a suit that Liberace would have killed for. His hands were covered with rings, his thin chest hidden behind chains and medallions. The mirror suns flashed light from the disco globe as he looked up as I stopped at the booth.

"Belanger! What the hell you doing in Zone 3?"

"Looking for you, Sugar."

"Man, you ain't official anymore. I don't got to talk with no honky crazy enough to come down here."

Sugar Bear had graduated with honors from Northwestern. The pimp nigger bit was an act he put on for the rubes. I told him he had seen Superfly too often. Sugar had come to Jacksonville from Chicago because he hated the winters. He had started out in a small legal office, defending the poor and needy. When he found himself in that category, he decided it was time to make some changes. The first time I met him he was defending Big Jim Carver's muscle in a battery case.

The hell of it was he was a damn good attorney.

And one of the best blade men around. I had the scar to prove it.

"This is personal."

He looked at me for a minute then nodded. He started to tell the ladies to go.

"Let them stay."

He gave me an incredulous look. "You gonna change your luck, white boy?"

"In a way."

I unzipped my jacket and took out the sketch Vic had given me. I dropped it on the table. Sugar looked it over then handed it to the girls.

"It seems to me I know her but I can't place where."

"What you want her for?"

"I've got her."

Sugars face tightened in anger. "Max ain't gonna like you."

"Max? Denton? He runs over on the east end, doesn't he?"

"That's right, white boy."

The two ladies were looking at me with the same venomous eyes as Sugar Bear.

"She's dead."

"Then so's you."

I shook my head.

"They found her out at the beach back in May. There wasn't much left. Coroner figured she'd been in the water a couple of days."

One of the ladies gasped in shock and began to cry. Sugar motioned for the other to take her to the powder room. When they had gone he nodded for me to sit.

"That was pretty rough, Belanger."

"Sugar, you know me better than to assume I was out to burn one of the bloods. I don't play games. If I had wanted Max I wouldn't go through his woman."

"Maybe you changed. I hear the boys on Bay ain't happy with you. Maybe you're trying to get back in their good graces by handing them Max."

"I don't fry small potatoes."

He watched me with hard eyes for a long count. Slowly a smile began to lift the corner of his mouth. He signaled a waitress for a round. "Ok, so you aren't small time." He paused while the waitress brought his wine and my beer.

"What's this favor you want?"

"What's her name?"

"Louella Jacks."

"When did she disappear?"

"Like you said, May. Max was some put out."

"Wendell, how many others have disappeared?"

"Shit, Phil, they're always disappearing. It isn't easy living in Zone 3. Kids hop a bus or freight. Old winos fall asleep and die of exposure or malnutrition. Rats and dogs get babies. This life is damned hard for my people."

"Let me narrow it down. I'm looking for women, say 20 to 35, good looking."

"What's the story?"

"I don't know. Yet. Sandy was looking into something before he died. It led him to Louella but right now that's the only one I know about. If you can get your people digging I might put of few more on the list. They'll have to go back say 2 years or so. That age limit can go a few years in either direction, depending on what they looked like."

"You think somebody is trying to alleviate the over crowding on the welfare rolls?"

"No. I think we have a kink artist loose. Sandy was working on those dog killings and they were both professional types. Rich little white girls. I think our boy may have started in Zone 3, then crossed the Matthews into the big time."

Sugar swirled the ice in his drink, contemplating what I had said. He pursed his lips, his eyes on a point somewhere over my head. "A real sicko. Boy and his killer dog. Is that what you think?"

"Something like that. I saw one of those girls. Nothing human killed her."

"Alright. I'll get word around. When do you want it?"

"Soonest, Sugar. Our boy may be laying low until the heats gone but if he's a real case he won't last too long."

He nodded. "How do I get in touch?"

I wrote my number down and Vic's. "Try those. The second is the Chief of Detectives private line. I'll be checking in with him. If that doesn't work get one of my old squad. Becker, Williamson or Wolcott. Or Riverieuz. They can find me."

I finished my beer and stood to leave.

"The boys downtown ain't gonna like you for this."

"My lookout. Get me that info."

#  Chapter 10

I stopped at a Radio Shack the next morning and picked up an answering machine. It was beginning to look as if I wouldn't be home much and there were too many people who would want to get in contact with me for me not to set up some way of leaving a message. The sucker set me back a couple of bills but it was worth it. The clerk showed me how to operate it. There was a gizmo I could carry with me so I could call and get my messages from anywhere. I packed it up and headed for my apartment. I found myself wishing I hadn't moved so far away. Even with the interstate I was still half an hour from downtown. Too damn far for emergency commuting.

I swung onto Kingsley and headed for my apartment. My plan was to hook up my machine, grab my duffle and head for Tallahassee. I had to talk to Denise. The phone would have been faster. The capitol was over three hours driving time one-way but I didn't want to hide behind the magic of AT&T.

If Denise really did blame me for Sandy's death, I knew I wouldn't be able to convince her differently by phone. If anything it would confirm her belief.

I wheeled into the parking spot by my apartment's steps. As I undid the bungee cords I ran my timetable through my head. It was noon now. With any luck I could be in Tallahassee by 4. Then it would depend on Denise. Part of me wanted to get back right away but three hours on a bike was hard enough without the added emotional strain of seeing Denise. If anything came up I would be able to call my machine and work from there.

I unlocked my apartment and carried the box over to my phone. I was just unpacking it when I heard the door open.

"Leaving again Philip?"

I spun around to find Denise standing in the door. She looked at the packed boxes, then at me. Her face was paler than usual and her red rimmed eyes had dark circles around them given her a haunted look. As I watched tears began to run silently down her thin cheeks.

"Just pack and run.... d-don't even say.... good-bye."

"Denise! I was coming over to Tallahassee as soon as I..."

"Don't lie to me!" she screamed.

"Denise!"

I was stunned by the strident hate in her voice. I couldn't match this distraught woman with the calm cheerful wife of my friend.

She came across the room in a rush. She was crying hard as she pounded on my chest.

"I hate you... hate... you."

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. She needed a slap to snap her out of her hysteria but I couldn't bring myself to do it. There was too much hate and hurt in her grief twisted face.

She continued to scream and hit but the past two weeks had taken their toll. I could see she had lost weight, too much. Finally her cries died and she went limp in my hands, her whole body shaking with her sobs. I pulled her to me gently and held her close.

Her arms went around me and she buried her face in my shoulder. I stroked her hair and back as I tried to reassure her.

Her crying slowly subsided, leaving my shoulder a sodden mare's nest. When she looked up at me some of the awful tension was gone.

"Oh Phil. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok Denise. It's all out now. I'm here."

She gave me a wan smile. "You really were coming over to see me before you left?"

"No, not before I left."

She looked around bewildered. "But the boxes."

"I was packing."

"You are leaving, aren't you?"

"Come on over to the couch. We've some talking to do."

She was totally confused as I sat her down on the sofa. "I don't understand Phil."

I just smiled.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Phil?"

"Sit tight. I'll be right back."

There wasn't much in the fridge but I had the fixings for a tuna sandwich and a cup of soup. I brought them out and put them on the coffee table. There was enough for both of us so I took a sandwich over and went back to work setting up my answering machine. Denise watched me with a curious look on her face while she nibbled on a sandwich.

"What is that?"

"An answering machine."

"But why?"

"Eat. We'll talk when you're done."

She wanted to ask more but the tuna got her attention and she began to eat. I finished hooking up my gizmo and recorded a quick message. Satisfied with the results I sat down and finished my sandwich.

Denise had eaten her soup and sandwich and was looking better. She sat back with the cup of coffee I had brought. The tense lines around her mouth and eyes had lessened.

"What's going on Phil? Why do you have that answering machine?"

"Why did you come in here like a Fury, screaming you hated me?"

She blushed furiously and looked down at her cup. "I'm sorry Philip. I didn't mean it. It's just that these last two weeks have been so confusing. I had no right."

"Yes you did."

She looked up sharply, her eyes bright with confusion. "No. I was just hurt and confused. I hadn't the right to take it out on you. It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe it was."

"No Philip. Sandy understood. He never blamed you for... for his problems. He said if it got too bad he could quit too. Only..."

She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"He never got the chance?"

She looked up, her eyes wet, and nodded. I was surprised to see something like fear in those tear bright eyes. It puzzled me for a minute before it hit me.

It was no wonder she had tortured herself since Sandy had died.

"Denise you don't think Sandy fell accidentally, do you?"

"Oh Phil!" She wailed. The crying began in earnest again.

I quickly crossed to her. I took her face in my hands and raised it until I could see her eyes.

"You think Sandy killed himself?"

She nodded.

"Because of pressure downtown?"

"And... and those dog killings."

"What makes you think that?"

She started slowly. The words trickled out in ragged bunches. As she spoke the pieces began to fit together.

Sandy had taken the two deaths very personally. He spent most of his free time working on them, going over the reports, making notes, disappearing for hours and then coming home with more things to add to the file. Even after the department had declared the case solved he had kept at it. Late into the night he had poured over the file. On weekends he had made calls all over, running up a mega phone bill.

Denise said he had become more withdrawn and morose as the information collected. He was operating on a fine edge. He didn't eat or sleep for days. His regular work began to suffer to the point where Hodson had called him on the carpet. It got to be a daily thing. Sandy would come home angry and sit down with his file. Then suddenly he would slam out of the house and come back hours later smelling of whiskey.

The day he died there had been a meeting with Hodson. B.J. had threatened him with suspension. Sandy had said fine and stormed out of the station. Denise couldn't stand to see him so angry and withdrawn so she had gone over to Nance's. When she got home at midnight, the safety chain was on and Sandy didn't answer her call so she had gone to a nearby gas station and called Walcott's. Andy had forced the door and they found Sandy on the floor. He had been dead for over an hour. There was an empty quart of Jack Daniels on the bedroom floor and the bedspread was a rumpled wad by the railing.

When Denise finished, she was drained. It was obviously the first time she had talked about her fear. To live for two weeks with that knowledge had to have been hell. I felt bad that I hadn't been there. She had needed to verbalize her fear and shame but there was no one she had felt would understand. As I looked at her I could feel her need for reassurance. She wanted to hear, had to hear me, who had known Sandy as a brother, tell her it was ok.

There were several things in what she had told me that re-enforced my own theory. I knew there would be some who would say I was looking for a way to exorcise my own guilt. Suicide or accident, either way Sandy lost. I couldn't help but wonder what the rumor mill at the shop was saying. I hadn't known about the reprimands. Were they being nice by calling it an accident?

I made a mental note to talk to Chico and Andy real soon. Right then I had to talk to Denise.

She was waiting patiently since she had finished. Halfway through her story I had gotten a beer and paced the living room. I was still pacing, pondering. Finally I stopped and looked at Denise.

"It wasn't suicide."

"But..."

"But nothing. I knew Sandy. So did you. Do you really think he could kill himself after watching his brother die? Theo had every reason in the world to check out but he didn't. He played his hand to the end. No, Sandy wouldn't kill himself because of Hodson."

She couldn't hide her relief. My words were what she had wanted to believe, needed to believe. Something told me I shouldn't continue but the idea of leaving her with the meager comfort of her beloved husband dying drunk and disgraced raised the righteous hackles of my anger.

"Denise, I have a few questions to ask you."

"What?"

"Those files Sandy worked on, how big were they?"

"Almost one drawer of his file cabinet."

"They weren't shop files?"

"No, they never left the house. What is it, Phil?"

I waved her question off. "What happened to them?"

"I assume the police took them."

"Did you tell them about them?"

She thought for a moment. "I don't think so. I was too upset. Philip, what are you getting at?"

"Denise, Chico said there were no files in that cabinet."

"But..."

She was slow picking up but she had been married to a good cop too long. Realization slowly dawned with growing comprehension – and horror.

"Where are they?"

"That's a good question."

I went into the kitchen for another beer. When I came back she was standing at the patio doors. She turned and gave me a sharp questioning look.

"Phil, what got you started on this?"

I told her about visiting the cemetery and the Shaws. I finished by telling her about Vic's questions. She smiled and came over to me. She took my beer and sipped it.

"What do we do next?"

"Dig. I need to go through your apartment. I doubt if I'll find anything the police didn't already check. But they were looking at an accident or a suicide. I'm looking at a homicide."

"Let's go."

I stopped her as she turned to go. I held her shoulders. She was looking much better now. Some sleep and food would have her back to normal soon.

"It might be rough. You haven't been back since, have you?"

She bit her lip and her eyes misted a little.

"I can go myself."

She gave me a tentative smile. The old Denise showed in her big brown eyes as she straightened her shoulders. "I want to help."

I kissed her forehead and turned her loose. As we headed for the door I put my gizmo in my pocket and we were on our way.

It was after seven o'clock when Denise and I finally took a break. She had been cleaning and packing Sandy's things. I had helped for a while until she told me she would rather do it herself so I started in on the filing cabinet.

Chico had been right. The top drawer held memorabilia of Sandy's life. The bottom one had receipts and other papers on the apartment. I pulled the phone bills and went downstairs to work on the kitchen table. Sandy had run up several monster phone bills since April. I recognized FDLE's number in Tallahassee. Sandy had called the lab often. There were a few others scattered around the country that weren't long.

The ones that surprised me were to North Carolina and St. Paul. There were three to Carolina, two were over 45 minutes. The St. Paul calls were all over an hour. I wrote the numbers down in an empty daybook from Sandy's desk.

I rummaged through the refrigerator for a beer then strolled out into the living room. Upstairs I could hear Denise working. Off and on throughout the afternoon I had heard her crying quietly. It was understandable. She was saying good-bye to her husband. I walked over to the big bookcase and remembered my friend as I absently scanned the titles. I didn't pay much attention until one title caught my eye.

It was a large soft cover book. A striking photo of a wolf with yellow eyes on the cover held me enthralled. The title was Of Wolves and Men by Barry Holstun Lopez. I opened it and flipped through the pages. Sandy had spent some time with the book. Whole passages were highlighted yellow. I continued to flip through pages but my eyes went to the shelf where I had picked up the book.

There were several others there. "The Wolf: The Ecology and Behavior of an Endangered Species" by L. David Mech. "Dog Behavior, the Genetic Base" by Scott and Fuller, "Wolves and Werewolves" by Pollard, "The Wolf in American History" by Caldwell, "The Custer Wolf: Biography of an American Renegade" by Caras. There was also a pile of folders and unbound papers. I put my book down and shuffled through them. "The Wild Canids: Their Systematics, Behavioral Ecology and Evolution" by Michael Fox, a copy of American Zoologist, several articles from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game and from its Minnesota counterpart.

I sat on the arm of the big chair next to the bookcase. It was a rather impressive collection of work on wolves. I doubted if most of those papers enjoyed a broad circulation. Where had Sandy found them? He had obviously been studying his subject for some time. My eyes were drawn back to the Mech book. Something about the name was familiar.

I remembered a Rolodex on Sandy's desk. Suddenly I felt an urgency. Where it came from I didn't know but I hit the stairs and went up them in a bound. Denise looked up startled as I burst into the bedroom. I ignored her as I flipped the Rolodex to M.

It was there. A number for the Minnesota Department of Fish and Game and below it a number for Mr. Mech. That was it. William Henry had taken me up to Isle Royale and he had mentioned Mech's name to me. I remembered something to the effect that he was one of the country's foremost authorities on wolves.

And Sandy had his phone number. I took out my daybook and compared the numbers. Mech's was the one long calls were to.

"Denise, where did you have your mail sent while you were in Tallahassee?"

"To my parents. I have some to Sandy out in the car."

She started to say something but I was already gone. There was a stack of big manila envelopes as well as two cardboard boxes used to ship books. I scooped it all up and went back into the apartment. I dumped them on the coffee table. Two letters came slithering out of the pile as it settled.

One was a short note from a bookshop in New York apologizing for the delay in delivering of Elliot O'Donnells, Werewolves. The other was a letter from Mech saying he hope the monographs he had sent were of help.

The big envelope held the papers from Mech as well as one from the University of North Carolina. I opened up the book boxes. One was by Beryl Rowland called Animals with Human Faces. The other shocked me. It was a copy of Montague Summers, The Werewolf.

I sat on the couch staring at the book. I couldn't understand all the information I had picked up in the last 24 hours. Fragments whirled through my head at a frantic pace. What I needed was a diversion, something to take my mind off the case and let things coalesce. A good work out would help. I had worked out for two hours a day while I was in Connecticut. It had got the kinks out and the blood pumping. There was a Sunbelt Health Club out at the Beach with reciprocal agreements with the club I was a member of in Orange Park but all my gear was at my apartment.

I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was after 8. Things were moving fast, almost it seemed outside of time.

My stomach growled at me as I stood up. My tuna sandwich was barely a memory and I remembered Denise had been going without food for a while so I called up to her. She appeared at the railing, her hair pushed back and looking kind of punky.

"What do you say we go get something to eat?"

She looked down at herself and smiled whimsically.

"I would need at least an hour to get ready."

"You got 20 minutes. Grab a quick shower and throw on some jeans. We'll go someplace real casual."

She gave me a mock glare, softened with a smile.

"Half an hour."

I could hear the shower running when I remembered my answering machine. I doubted if Sugar Bear had anything yet but it wouldn't hurt to check. My phone answered on the third ring and my taped voice told me to leave a message at the tone. Instead I held the gizmo to the mouthpiece like the instructions said and pushed the button. There were three chipmunk blurps then a moment of hiss before Chico's voice came on.

"This is Chico, amigo. Sugar Bear says he wants to talk. Says there's no rush. And Mercedes wants to know if you would like to come over for a cook out manana. Give me a call."

"Belanger, I'll be at El Palacio on Atlantic for dinner. You might want to stop by. 8ish."

The third message was almost at the end of its block. It was Chico again.

"Tener cuidado con hijo de zorillo."

I hung up the phone. The second message had been from Vic. It sounded like he had something going.

What worried me was Chico's last message. It was as if he had been unsure of what to say. He knew I spoke Spanish almost as well as he did but almost no one else in the division did.

"Watch out for the son of a skunk."

Hodson?

Why would Hodson be after me?

My musings were cut short as Denise came down the stairs. I had always considered her attractive but I wasn't ready for the woman I saw tying off a blouse at the midriff. She had on a tight pair of designer jeans, high-heeled sandals and the blouse. She wore her hair cut short, ala Easton, and it went well with her tomboy face. Where Nance had been long legged and svelte, Denise was boy slim. Not that you would ever mistake her for a boy. The hand span waist flared into womanly hips and her breast were high placed and pert.

She looked up to speak and caught me staring. She blushed bright red.

"Too much?"

I gave her a wry grin. "You might say that. I'd forgotten you were such a fox."

Her big eyes went round then her brows crashed together. I could see she was about to cry again. She looked so damned forlorn. I gave her a hug and kissed her nose.

"It's just fine, Denise."

"Phil? I feel so confused. Part of me sees things and remembers all the good times and I want to cry. I miss him so much."

"The other part?"

She dropped her head hiding in the circle of my arms. When she spoke it was in a tiny shaky voice. "Died when he did, I was so hurt and confused, I didn't know what to do or say or think. All the time I kept telling myself, 'Phil will be back. He'll fix everything.' And yet I was blaming you. I hated you for leaving Sandy alone. It was horrible being so torn. Then you did come back. You did make everything better. You didn't even get angry at me for doubting or hating."

She looked up at me, searching my face.

"You've given me a reason to come alive again. I believed you when you told me Sandy had been murdered because I've seen you and Sandy when you're working. You really believe he was killed."

"I don't believe it, Denise."

"What?"

"I know it. There's a world of difference between believe or think and know. All I'm lacking is evidence. I know how Sandy's mind worked. I should be able to backtrack him. I just wish I had access to police records. Its not going to be easy reconstructing the work he did on duty without it."

She smiled up at me. Our eyes met and suddenly there was a subtle shift of awareness. Her eyes softened and got a sleepy look. I found it hard to catch my breath. Finally she shook herself like a dog coming out of the water and pushed herself away. She stood with her back to me and her arms wrapped around her bare midriff. She exhaled sharply, almost a sigh.

"I've been wondering about that. You see even though I was blaming you and hating you, deep down inside I was begging you to come back. I've always admired you Philip and I guess I knew you would be there to pick up the pieces. When Sandy was alive, it made me feel warm and safe having you near."

She turned and looked at me.

"I need you to lean on, Phil. Sometimes I feel like a wicked shameless woman. And sometimes I just feel so lost. I don't know how I feel right now. I just know I need you near."

"That's fair enough. I can't guarantee I'll always be here when you need me. I have a job to do. What do you say we just play it by ear until this thing is done?"

"Can I help?"

I gave her a wry smile. "Could I stop you?"

"No." she replied cheerfully. 'I seem to remember an invitation to dinner. Where are you taking me? I warn you, I'm starved."

#  Chapter 11

El Palacio's is an adobe building set in a pocket of trees on Atlantic Boulevard. Inside it's neo-Mexican with stucco walls and arched doorways. Your basic velvet paintings were scattered on the walls interspersed with piñatas, serapes and other classic Mexican decorations. Its part of a chain with restaurants scattered across the southeast. The food is good and the servings large.

The hostess said we would have about a half hour wait so we went into the bar. I was looking for a spot to sit when I spotted Vic on the far side waving to us. I guided Denise over in his direction.

Vic wasn't alone. Judge Bayard was with him.

The Judge rose and shook my hand as Vic brought another chair over. Every one was drinking margaritas. Vic signaled for two more glasses and another pitcher. Once we all had our drinks I gave Vic the most baleful glare I could manage. He smiled back.

"Don't blame Vic, Phil. I contacted him. Actually it was at Sheriff Theidens request."

"The Sheriff's?"

"That's correct. Phil, he has done a lot of thinking these past few months. Some one brought your involvement in the Bay Meadows affair to his attention. Of course it wasn't meant to be any kind of commendation but Dale hasn't been Sheriff for twelve years because he takes things he hears at face value. You are aware that he didn't want you to resign?"

"Yes. He offered me a choice of divisions to transfer to."

"Well he has done some checking and he is considering another offer."

"Thanks but no thanks." I said curtly.

"Phil, don't you think you ought to at least hear his offer?"

"No."

Denise put her hand on my arm and fixed me with a soulful look. "Please Phil. It won't hurt to listen." Her eyes flashed me a quick 'Don't be a fool' look.

I didn't like it. I looked at Vic. He was sitting back with his arms folded looking as if he had found a roach in his drink.

"What's the offer Judge?"

"Special Investigator operating under the auspices of the Sheriff's Office. You would receive orders from Dale as well as assignments. You would be responsible to no one but him."

I sat back, stunned. If he had made me that kind of a carte blanche offer when I had first retired, I might have taken it. There had been enough anger in me then for me to grab it and run. I could have shown certain people how police work was done.

But that was then. Now I had cooled off and I could see what that kind of appointment would do. There were too many old timers who were good men who would resent the young hot shot moving up so fast. There wouldn't be a lot of co-operation and it was the give and take among divisions that had made me as effective as I had been.

Plus there was Hodson.

It would be too easy to go on a crusade to discredit him. Not that he didn't deserve it but I didn't want to be the Sheriff's hatchet man. That's what he had IA for.

"The answer is still the same."

The Judge had been watching me with a hint of expectation. As he listened to my answer his eyes narrowed and his face closed. Vic wasn't as quiet.

"Jeezuz, Belanger. This is your big chance. You'll be in the driver's seat."

"Yes Phil." Denise put in. "This job will let you get..."

I shut Denise off with a warning glance and a short shake of my head.

It was a tense moment of silence that followed. The Judge and I watched each other across the table. He was angry. No doubt he had personally talked with Theidens probably as a result of the talk we'd had at Bay Meadows. I knew I couldn't afford to alienate him now.

"Judge Bayard, I appreciate this. I really do but the situation hasn't changed."

"How so?"

"This appointment would make me the Sheriff's fair haired boy. I know the department. There would be a lot of resentment."

He listened to my words. I could tell why he had been one of the best in the judiciary. I could almost see him weighing the evidence, comparing what he knew of the situation with the facts of our conversation with Bob White. Finally those eagle eyes softened and he shook his head.

"That is basically what Dale told me when I talked him into this offer. The only reason he agreed to letting me make it was because he was certain you would decline. He also told me to tell you he wishes it was different. The offer is legitimate. In fact, he was considering it before you resigned."

"I wish he had said something."

"So does he, my boy. He hadn't realized the situation was as bad as it was. You mouse trapped him right good when you quit."

"It was a quick decision."

I felt guilty now. If I hadn't acted on angry impulse, if I hadn't been so bullheaded and worked through channels like I was supposed to. A hell of a lot of ifs.

"Judge, tell him for me I'm sorry. I should have talked to him before it had gotten that far."

The Judge smiled wickedly. "Tell him yourself."

"I don't know what your reasons are, Belanger," Vic interrupted dryly "but it's your choice. Right now I'd like to know what your lady friend was going to say when you shut her up."

"Not now."

I glanced at the Judge, warningly.

"Bushwa. George and I have already talked this over. Why the hell do you think he got Theidens to make the offer?"

I must have looked as surprised as I felt. Judge Bayard chuckled.

"Vic, the little lady is Denise Shaw."

It was Vic's turn to be surprised. His face reddened.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Shaw."

Denise gave him a gamin grin. I recognized it. She had given it to me many times in the past just before she was going to say something outrageous.

"Apology accepted. And it's Denise. Sandy and Phil have told me so much about you I feel as if I already know you Vic. Can I call you Vic?"

He shifted in his chair, his already red face darkening significantly. "Sure." He looked at me with murderous intent in his eyes.

"Maybe we can talk later Belanger."

"Why not now?"

I grinned as he muttered a Jeezus under his breath.

"Yes, why not now, Vic?" Denise asked with prim innocence.

If he had been embarrassed before, I wouldn't know what to call his discomfort now. He exchanged a look with the Judge, who was acting just as uncomfortable.

"There are things my dear, one shouldn't discuss before dinner."

Then it hit me. Judge Bayard had talked with Theidens, probably downtown. It didn't matter. The rumor would be common knowledge by now.

Besides me, Denise was equally puzzled. I gave her a small wink moving my finger across my other wrist under the tables' edge. Understanding dawned quickly. She put on a properly solemn face. In better light, they would have seen the twinkle in her big doe eyes.

"You mean about my husband's accident?"

Vic nodded embarrassed and the Judge cleared his throat.

"I realize it is a sad topic we don't want to subject you to."

"Why? He was drunk and fell."

Vic started then brightened. "We didn't want to hurt you, Mrs. Shaw."

"Denise, please. And why would..."

I had a hard time keeping my face straight as she widened her eyes in horror. The Judge shot Vic a withering glare.

"Unless it was... something else?"

"No." Vic said too quickly.

Two big tears poised at the corners of her eyes and her chin began to quiver.

"I wondered. He was so tense, so upset for so long."

"Shit. Excuse me."

Vic looked as if he wanted to crawl under the table.

The Judge, on the other hand, was watching me. The old fox had seen and heard just about every act there was. Witnesses put on some pretty convincing performances on the stand. His eagle eyes were watching me with growing suspicion as I heard Vic tell Denise it was just a damned ugly rumor.

I couldn't keep the smile in any longer. The Judge looked like someone had just dropped a flounder in his lap.

"Philip, I haven't been the butt of a practical joke since my days at Stetson."

Vic looked startled. He looked at the two of us. "What the hell is going on?"

Judge Bayard raised a patrician brow at me.

"Please, your honor." Denise said reaching over and putting a hand on his hand. "I didn't need to hear about the rumor. I thought Sandy had killed himself. Really believed it. I knew my husband well enough to know he couldn't have fallen accidentally so I jumped to the same conclusion. It was tearing me apart. I even went so far as to blame Philip for pushing Sandy into a position he could only find one answer for."

"So now you've spoken with Philip and you know it wasn't suicide. I didn't really believe it but the rumormongers are persuasive. We, Vic and I, thought Philip should be made aware of the rumor."

"Right." Vic put in. "Sorry boy."

"Not half as sorry as somebody is going to be." I said flatly.

"Come on, Phil. It's only a rumor. The official line is accidental and it's going to stay that way. The case is closed."

"Not for me."

They both looked at me. Their expressions were an identical mix of apprehension and uncertainty.

"He was killed. Murdered."

"Oh Judas Priest." Vic said softly.

The Judge was all business.

"Do you have something to base that on Philip?"

"You mean other than loyalty?"

"And grief."

So I told them my structure. Vic looked on in disbelief until I got to the file. That put the gears in motion. The Judge listened patiently. When I finished, I could see he wasn't convinced.

"There's quite a bit of conjecture in your outline. I am going to assume you have good reason to believe it is sufficient. What I want to know is what you intend to do about it."

"Back track Sandy. If I can reconstruct his file, I'll have his killer."

"Shouldn't you give this to Homicide?"

"What? A file no one but Denise has seen? An ex-partner with an axe to grind's suspicion that a certain lieutenant deliberately flubbed an investigation? Like you said, it's a lot of conjecture without solid evidence. Maybe the file was the official one. Maybe Sandy latched the night chain so Denise wouldn't be alone when she found him. Maybe he was really down enough to check out. Hodson would be only too happy to trot out the suicide angle if he thought it would discredit me. Personal vendetta by an ex-officer who chickened out. In the long run I could disprove him but not until after Sandy's name has been dragged through the gutter. No Judge, I won't play it that way."

"So how do you play it? Supposing you are right, if you do rebuild Sandy's file, won't you be putting yourself in the same position he was in? He played it close to the chest and all we have is maybes."

I heard Denise's sharp intake as she realized what the Judge was saying was true. I felt myself beginning to smile as I thought about it. I thought about facing who ever it was who had killed my friend. I heard some one speaking and was surprised to find it was me.

"I've already avoided the maybes. You and Vic know what is going down. I figure on giving Vic copies of everything I come up with."

I could sense Vic sitting up on the edge of his seat. I could feel all their eyes on me.

"I'm an officer of the court, Phil. I'll have to turn any hard evidence over to Theidens."

"I know."

"What makes you think you're any more indestructible than Sandy?"

I looked at Vic, feeling the deadly confidence in me. He flinched under the impact of my gaze. We held that look for a minute before Vic looked at Denise.

"Talk some sense to him."

I looked down at my hands on the table. They were clenching and unclenching as I thought of the faceless man I wanted between them. I saw Denise's hands as she grasped my forearm. Her words came to me as if from a bad long distance connection.

"Philip, please. He's gone. Let it go, let the police have it. Come back, please."

"He's mine. Sandy almost had him but he had other things to deal with. They wouldn't listen to him and he died. They won't listen to me but I won't die. Whoever did it is dead meat. Mine."

It was the sound of her tears that finally reached through the black haze and touched me. Slowly I willed myself to relax. I put a trembling hand on hers and looked at her. Tears had ruined her mascara staining her high cheeks.

"He was the brother I never had, Denise. Some one took him away. They're going to pay."

"Phil, I loved him too. You can't destroy yourself like this. It won't bring him back. He's gone. All you'll do is take you away. I couldn't stand to lose you both."

She got up, almost knocking her chair over and fled from the bar.

"She's right Phil. Back off."

I turned and glared at the Judge. He wanted to say something more but thought better of it. I shifted my attention to Vic.

He sat, stone faced, and returned my look without flinching.

"Hodson will try to block you."

"Let him."

"Revenge is a fool's game, Belanger."

I started to get up before I totally lost my cool.

"Sit down."

"Go to..."

"SIT!"

I sat. My temper was one degree below boil but I sat. Vic leaned close and spoke in a low deadly voice.

"You're big and bad, Belanger. You also got a hell of a temper. You let it run you and you'll fuck it up. Cool down now or I'll cool you down."

I could feel that last degree fading fast but the watching part of me saw Petroni in its own light. He was four inches shorter than my six foot but he was two of me across the shoulders and chest. He had grown up around the Jersey docks and been a Marine in Korea. There was absolutely no fear in those whiskey colored eyes. None. If we tangled some one would get hurt. Bad.

The icy claws around my heart began to thaw. I was shaking, my hands clenched on the arms of my chair. Slowly I relaxed. Something in those flat deadly eyes made me back down.

"I'm gonna tell you a story Belanger, then we'll be going. Almost ten years ago I was a detective in Jersey City. I was working on an extortion racket down at the docks. I got too close. My wife and three kids got in the car one day and it went off like an A-bomb. It was my car. I was in the house sleeping after a long night. My wife's car was low on gas so she was going to ask me to get it filled later. That bomb was meant for me but it got everything I ever loved. A week later the capo who had ordered the job done died of a broken neck. Two of his goons were dead and I had three slugs in me. When they let me out of the hospital I was allowed to resign quietly. Somebody had found me this job and I took it."

He looked down at his broad snub-fingered hands, hands that had killed the man who had stolen his life. I waited in silence.

"I can't tell you to quit." He looked up at me. His dark eyes were bright with tears. "I can tell you I'll stop you if I have to. Not the department or the Duval County boys...me. I'll put you in the hospital if I have to."

I started to bristle but he put up a restraining hand.

"Stay cool, stay quiet. Sandy was your partner, your friend. Get his killer. Tear his head off and shit in his neck. I know how you feel and you're right. The law is fine and dandy but it's got no balls. Knowing his killer is sitting in Raiford, breathing after he snuffed your buddy isn't enough. If he even gets to Raiford. Lawyers are too damn good at finding loopholes that pad their pocket and build their reputations."

"But if I think you've lost it, I'll shut you down. Hard. Build your case and back the shit in to a corner. Take him down and we'll worry about the flack after."

He turned to the Judge. "Let's go."

Judge Bayard regarded us both then slowly got to his feet.

"Stay careful, Phil. Whoever is responsible for Sandy's death is good. He thinks the heat is off so if he finds you on his trail, your life won't be worth an ice cube in hell. Denise is right. We don't want to lose you both."

I was debating on ordering another drink when Denise came back. Her eyes were red but the rest of the damage had been repaired. The hostess came over just as she reached the table so we went to our table.

Dinner was served in silence. Denise wouldn't look at me. She picked at her salad until I thought I was going to go crazy. She ate more of her main course than I had expected. I paid the bill and we went out to the car. She walked ahead of me. The ride to the apartment was made in total silence. I stopped in front of the apartment and she got out without looking at me. As I pulled out she was standing at the apartment door watching.

There were no parking spots in front of the Domino so I pulled in by the hydrant. No one challenged me as I went inside. One man started to say something as I elbowed my way through the crowd but something in my face made him forget and get out of my way.

Sugar was in the same booth with Max Denton and a couple more of Big Jim's lieutenants. They looked up as I stopped at the booth. Max opened his mouth to say something but shut it.

I focused on Sugar Bear, ignoring the others. "You got something for me?"

"Easy man."

"Don't easy me."

Max started to get up. "I don't need this shit from no honky."

I reached out a hand and pushed him back down. Behind me I heard the crowd shuffling back.

"Jesus Christ Belanger. You got you a death wish?"

I gave the lieutenant, a Freddie Something, a crazy grin.

"Do you?"

His face grayed and they all looked at Sugar. He was watching me. We locked eyes and slowly I felt my frustration back off. Vic was right. I couldn't let it get me. I straightened up and took a couple of deep breaths. It surprised me the first one came out so hard.

"Sorry. You too, Max. I'm a little on edge." I ran my fingers through my hair and tried a smile. "Let me buy a round."

When the waitress had come and gone I looked around. Abdul and Bad Ass were behind me along with a few of the boys with the others. I turned back to the lieutenants.

"Call off the muscle. I'm cool."

"Are you?" Sugar asked. "You come down here asking for help then you come bustin in lookin for a fight. Ain't like you, Belanger."

"I said I was sorry. My partner's dead and I don't like it. I'm a little touchy. Cut me some slack."

"Maybe we ought to have the blood's teach you some respect."

It was Max. He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. The anger was close to the surface and I felt that give-a-shit feeling rise. "Maybe you ought to."

"Knock it off, both of you." Sugar said sharply. He tossed a brown wallet folder onto the table.

"That's what you wanted Ironman. Take it and git."

#  Chapter 12

When I woke up Sunday I felt almost as if I'd been in a bike accident. I had spent three hours going over the names Sugar Bear had given me. There were a surprising number of women who had vanished. Sugar's people had gone back three years and they had covered most of the black sections of Jacksonville. I ran the shower hot with the massager head on pulse. After ten minutes the haze from too many beers began to clear. My mouth still tasted like a litter box and the back of my head pulsed with a dull ache. I wasn't going to be doing much today. At least nothing productive.

With the green brass scrubbed from my teeth and a Spanish omelet under my belt I grabbed my gym gear and headed for the club. A good workout and a swim were in order if I was to put my head back on. I reset my magic box and headed for the club.

A storm was building to the north as I drove up University. I had worked myself mercilessly until every muscle, bone and joint ached but the hangover was cleared off and my head was much clearer. There had been a message from Denise when I got home. I had her car.

She had sounded very subdued on the phone. Not that I blamed her. She had seen a part of me last night I didn't like to let out. It felt like I had my own personal pipeline to hell and I could pump it out at will. I had felt it during my work out. It was a kind of power that flowed on a river of anger. The two people in the gym had stood back while I had poured all the anger I could out into the bags.

Sandy had seen me like that on a few occasions. He said it was like the old Viking berserkers. They would get so fired up they would go into battle without armor and swing their swords in a blind fury. It had come over me a few times in Nam. The time my patrol was wiped out I had gone berserk. I had come out of it with a few minor wounds and a lot of dead VC.

Since I had gotten back to the States it had lain dormant. There had been two cases where it had threatened to resurface. One was a gang rape, the other a brutal beating. I had managed to maintain control but it had been close. Too damn close.

For now I had a hammerlock on it but it wasn't complete. My emotions were too volatile. The flash point was just above the operating temperature and I knew there were too many variables that could set me off. I pulled into Sandy's apartment complex and parked next to my bike. I was wondering if I should just leave the keys under the seat when I remembered my helmet was inside. Denise opened the door as I was coming up the walk.

She was wearing a torn punk sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. They made her look like a teenager, incredibly young, sweet, and vulnerable.

"I brought your car."

"Thank you."

She was torn between searching my face for a sign of the demon and being embarrassed.

"Denise, I'm sorry about last night."

She shook her head.

"No, it was my fault. Phil, what was that?"

"Me."

Her brows knit in consternation. It was something she didn't want to accept.

"Was it? Was it really?"

I nodded.

"Can you really hate that much?"

"It isn't hate."

"Then what?"

"It's more like anger. Who ever killed Sandy was arrogant enough to think he could get away with it. I don't like that."

I handed her the spare keys she had given me earlier. She wouldn't take them.

"You need to work. OP is to far away and all of Sandy's material is here. Keep them, you can work here."

"But..."

She gave me a wan smile and stepped outside. My helmet was in one hand. She touched my cheek with the other.

"I'm going back to Tallahassee. I have too much to think about and there are too many memories here.

"You could use my place."

Her smile softened.

"No thank you, Belanger. I need room and time to think. I can't get either around here."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

She went up on tiptoe and kissed me lightly.

"I'll be back. I don't know when but I will come back. You just make sure you are one piece when I do."

Looking into her eyes, I was lost. I wanted to take her in my arms and forget the whole thing. I tried to tell her but she shushed me with a soft finger across my lips.

"Find whoever it was, Philip. You can do it."

As I rode away from there I could still feel her finger on my lips. And I could feel my insides rolling as I remembered the soft trusting sadness in her eyes. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I didn't notice the squad car behind me until I heard the short bloop of the siren. I pulled into the Chatterbox's empty parking lot. I put the bike on its side stand and shucked my helmet. Anger started to surge, hot and ugly, as I swung my leg over and went to meet what I figured would be a roust.

Andy had gotten out of the drivers side. When he saw my face he put up both hands.

"Easy, Sarge. It's only me and Greg."

I put on a shaky smile as the adrenalin surge settled.

"Hey guys. I guess I'm a little touchy."

Greg got out and leaned on the cruiser door.

"Touchy? Shit. I almost broke out the riot gun."

"What's up?"

"Man, you've been scarcer than snakes in Jamaica." Andy said as he stepped up, his hand out. I shook it.

"Rumor has it lil Mercy is putting on a fandango over at the Riverieuz homestead this afternoon. Are you coming?"

"It might not do for you boys to be fraternizing with me."

"Yeah. The sergeant told us at roll call today. You be persona-non-grata. Seems some one thinks you might be on a witch-hunt. We're supposed to make sure you don't go breaking any laws. You know, like spitting on the sidewalks."

"Great."

Andy gave Greg a quick look and then grinned at me.

"Don't sweat it Sarge. Words out with us street people. Strictly hands off."

That one took me back. They caught my surprised expression and laughed.

"You've got friends, Phil. Pretty important ones. We got the real skinny on you on the way down to the cars. It seems you have a true believer in the squads.

"Who?"

"Jake Sokol."

"Jake?"

"Seems he got the faith after the Bay Meadows thing. Now he says to leave you be. There are a few who are following the gospel according to Hodson. Jones and his clones but most of us know enough not to bother you."

Greg gave a short bark of laughter.

"If any of those jokers try you looking like you did they'll let off if they know what's good for them."

The radio squawked their call sign. Greg reached in and acknowledged the call.

"We've got to roll, Sarge." Andy climbed behind the wheel and closed the door.

"Chico's at six." He called as they bucketed onto the street. A second later I could hear the four barrels kick in just before the siren started to scream.

The sun was setting on the backyard of the Riverieuz hacienda. The bug zapper was sounding like the Star Wars sound track as its mini-lightening tried to take on the clouds of bugs invading the fandango. Most of the group had gone inside the Florida room taking the beer keg with them. Chico sat on the picnic table, the smoke from the Weber drifting around him. He was watching the sunset sky and sipping the last of his beer.

It had been a good party. Ribs and corn, beer and chips with his wife's hot sauce Phil called her Merciless Sauce.

Damn him anyway.

Chico drained his mug.

It had been a good party in spite of the fact the guest of honor hadn't showed.

The back door of the house slapped shut. Chico looked up to see Andy, a half-full pitcher in one hand and mug in the other, coming to join him.

"Hey Paisan, you ready for brewski?"

Chico shook his head.

"Dumb rookie. Paisan's Eyetalian."

He held out his mug and shifted over on the table to make room for Andy.

"Who knows from Eyetalian, you old bean fart."

Andy topped off their mugs and sat down. They both drank, watching the sunset. Andy finally looked down at his beer.

"What do you think he'll do?"

"Hard to say."

"You think he's coming?"

Chico smiled the red light from the sun giving the planes of his face a satanic cast. In the distance he could hear the blatting bellow of a heavy bike. It grew louder then stopped suddenly over a block away. Andy looked up disappointment in his face. Greg stuck his head out of the house, his ear cocked, and a puzzled look on his face. He looked over at the pair at the picnic table.

"Thought I heard him."

"False alarm."

Greg nodded and disappeared back inside. Chico looked at his watch.

"Eight o'clock. "Raiders" must be starting."

As if on cue the music blared in the house. Joanne signaled from the window asking if they were ready for more beer. Andy nodded yes. He finished his mug off, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched.

"You know, I'm almost glad he didn't show."

"Coward."

Andy's head came up, his eyes angry.

"I didn't notice you being so damned anxious to tell him!"

"Easy, amigo. You're right. I've known Phil for over five years and he still spooks me sometimes. You know?"

"Yeah."

"Anybody home?"

Andy and Chico looked up and saw Phil vault the low fence between the house and the garage.

"Sorry I'm late. I got busy and lost the time."

"No problem." Chico said. He and Andy exchanged a look. Andy rolled his eyes. Phil was busy opening the grill and missed the exchange. He hung the lid on the side and rubbed his hands together.

"Aahh, one left."

Chico uncovered the washtub under the edge of the table and fished out a pair of ears.

"Phil! Catch!"

Belanger turned and caught the corn, putting it on the grill as fast as he could catch them. When six of them were crowded into the Weber, he waved Chico off and recovered the grill. He rubbed his hands together and looked around.

"No brewski?"

"Patience is a virtue, Sarge."

"So's virginity. I lost that one too."

They all turned as Jo Wolcott came out of the house with a full pitcher of beer balanced between her hands. Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth as she tried to make it across the yard without spilling. Phil was beside her in a second and lofted the pitcher like a mug. He splashed beer over the top, almost getting Jo as she jumped back with a yell.

Phil brought the pitcher to his lips and took a long drink. When he finished, his moustache was white with foam.

"Not bad."

He looked at Chico and Andy with bland innocence.

"Where's yours?"

"Up yours." Chico retorted mildly and held out his mug.

Phil started to hold out the pitcher, and then drew it back.

"Would it matter if I told you I spit in it?"

Andy held his mug out next to Chico's.

"I guess not."

I sat back and surveyed the damage I had done to the ribs and the corn. I was full. I felt bloated but good. Better than I had expected. Or had a right to. It had been a fool stunt to coast the bike in late but it had worked out well.

I could tell Andy and Chico had been talking about me mostly by the looks they had been giving each other. It didn't matter. I knew what was on their minds and they would have to take care of it their own way. I was glad when Jo agreed not to tell the others I was there when she went in for another pitcher. It left me to eat in peace and gave Andy and Chico a chance to say what they figured they had to say.

I washed down the last ear of corn with a tepid swallow of beer.

"Good grits, Chico."

"Gracias."

They exchanged looks again. It was just a flicker but I had worked with them both. I stood up and walked over to the little kiddy pool. I squatted next to it and splashed some water on my mouth to wash the butter off. I could hear them whispering behind me so I made a big deal out of splashing and blubbering before I turned around. Jo met me with a roll of paper towels.

"Most people use a sink."

I grinned at her.

"Too far to walk."

I gave her a hug and a quick wink. She seemed to be searching my face for something. I could just about guess what it was.

"Ok, what the hell is it?"

They all looked startled and tried to cover up with questions. I held up my hand to get their attention. I leaned over the table and picked up the pitcher and emptied it into my mug.

"Somebody better tell me what's bugging you." I looked at each one of them.

"Is it about Sandy?"

Chico finally shook his head and met my eyes. It wasn't easy in the growing darkness.

"Yes, Phil, it is."

"The suicide business?"

Chico's jaw dropped and Andy muttered a Jesus under his breath. Jo put her hand on my arm. The beer must have been working more than I knew. I looked at each one, concentrating on Chico. He had been Sandy's partner after I left. If anyone knew about the lie in that Dutch story it should be him. Looking at him I could tell he was having trouble.

"Chico, you don't believe Sandy dove over that railing on purpose?"

He raised a hand and tried to tell me to tone it down.

"Phil, you don't know how hard Hodson was riding him. Man, it was even worse than the way he worked on you and me put together. I'm not saying he deliberately killed himself. I don't think he even consciously thought about it but man he was way down. Did you know Hodson had threatened to suspend Sandy earlier that afternoon?"

"I heard."

"Phil, I know it's rough but... hell, there's a fine line between conscious and subconscious. Maybe Sandy was just down enough to... slip."

I looked from Chico to Andy to Jo. It was a pretty bill they had drawn up. It spread any guilt around, putting most of it on Hodson directly and me indirectly. Sandy 'slipped.' I could see it in faces that they wanted me to agree. And that they were afraid I wouldn't. Couldn't.

Hell, I had agreed with them. I couldn't be angry with them for reaching the same conclusion I had. It was neat, obvious, all in a package. The only problem was it stunk.

"I hate to pop your balloon guys but Sandy didn't kill himself."

Andy started to protest but I waved him quiet.

"Accidentally or on purpose."

"Come on Phil. I was there." Andy put in. "That house was locked up tight from the inside and Sandy was there, not a mark on him and the bedspread still wrapped around his foot for Christ's sake."

"I believe you Andy."

"Then what are you trying to say? Man, you weren't here; you don't know what happened to Sandy. He was hurting."

"That's right, Phil." Chico cut in. "Sandy was running himself into the ground and Hodson was riding him every inch of the way."

"He didn't kill himself."

Andy looked at Chico and threw his hands up in disgust.

"Phil, I know it's hard but you gotta face facts."

"Your facts?"

"Damn you Belanger!" Chico exploded his hands slamming the table as he jumped to his feet.

"You think you're the only fucking cop in the city? You think I haven't gone over every stinking piece of evidence I could find?"

He shoved me hard and followed me like a fighting rooster.

"Man, I was with him right through it. Me, not you, hot shot. You want to tell me I'm wrong? Huh, Mr. Hotshot? You want to tell me?"

I could see he was right on the edge. One word would put him over.

"Yeah."

I never saw the shot coming. Not that I wasn't expecting it. I knew he was keyed and all he needed was a little shove. What I had forgotten was how fast he was. He popped me a good one on the jaw that knocked me on my ear. Before he could follow up Andy had him. Greg and Tim had come running from the house when Chico started to yell and it was a good thing they had. It took all three of them to contain Chico until he cooled down.

I put my hand to my jaw and worked it back and forth. Jo knelt next to me and looked me over. Her eyes were snapping fire at me. I got to my feet and turned to face Chico.

"Turn him loose."

Chico was still trying to get loose, cussing at me the whole time in Spanish.

"Maybe you'd better go, Sarge."

"I said, turn him loose. If he wants a piece of me he can have it, gratis."

Chico stopped trying to pull free but he kept up with his flow of invectives.

"What the hell are you trying to pull Belanger?"

"I said turn him loose."

The three looked at me then at Chico. He nodded and they stepped back.

"Free chance Chico, pound me into the ground."

Chico looked at me hard and long. He was mad enough to try me but something made him hold back.

"What the fuck, Belanger?"

"I'm going to say this once. You take it for what its worth. Sandy was killed."

They started to protest and Chico's eyes flashed in the dim light. I stepped back and fell into a ready stance. Lisa and Becky had come out and joined the party. The whole group was lined up, a mixture of expressions on their faces. Chico started across the yard for me but Andy put a hand on his arm.

"Hold it, Chico."

"Man, butt..."

"I said hold it." Andy snapped. He was thinking. He wasn't happy but he was thinking. Chico subsided. They all backed off waiting for Andy's cue. I felt a thrill of pride at the way he had taken control of the situation. It was something I had taught him but he used it now backed by his own authority.

"You say he was killed Sarge. Is it guilty conscience talking or do you have some evidence to back it up?"

"You know, I'm getting mighty tired of this guilty conscience routine. Sandy was a big boy. He made his own choices. I make mine."

"And dump them on your friends." Becky put in. Of the whole group she was the angriest. Greg gave her a warning look but neither Andy nor I paid any attention.

"Alright, so Sandy made his own choices. That doesn't mean you have any proof other than your feelings for Sandy. He was our friend too. We don't like what's happened anymore than you."

"Then do something about it."

"Don't you think we've tried?" Chico asked angrily.

"Sure. I know you have. But you haven't been able to get past your own guilt."

Chico started for me again and Andy held him back again.

"You'd better come up with something solid real soon, Phil."

"Try this. Sandy was putting in a lot of his off time on those animal kills. Chico, is there anything in the files to show he did?"

"No."

"Sandy was a methodical cop. Do you think he would put in all that time and not have anything written down?"

The guys exchanged looks.

"Those files you asked me about on the phone the other night."

"Right, Chico. His personal file let him work it officially but documenting his work as he went. Hey, I'm as guilty as you on jumping to the suicide conclusion. Even Denise landed there. What we have to remember is Sandy. He was too fine an officer not to have kept some kind of record so that's where we start."

I could see I had them. Except Andy. He was frowning.

"What is it Andy?"

"The night chain was on Phil. And all the windows were locked. How do you explain that?"

I grinned at him.

"I don't... yet. But I'll find out."

"What do we do first? Look for the file?"

I shook my head.

"Who ever took it probably destroyed them. He wouldn't want any one else finding them."

"So where does that leave us?" Greg asked.

"Basic police work."

The rookies all groaned.

"Leg work." They said in unison.

"That's right." I turned to Chico.

"Can you get copies of Sandy's log? He couldn't do everything while he was off duty. There might be something there that might help."

Chico grimaced.

"I can try but if Hodson finds out, he'll scream."

"So don't let him find out. If you can get me the official file I could use a copy."

"I can't without a court order. Hodson has closed it and sealed it so he'll know if anyone's prying."

"Damn. I guess I'll have to live without it for now. How long before you guys can come up with something?"

They all exchanged glances.

"That depends." Ted said.

"On what?"

"What you want. We don't know what we're looking for."

"Anything that doesn't jive with his regular cases since the Bay Meadows thing. If you find something even mildly suspicious check it out. We'll get a lot of dead ends but maybe we'll turn something."

"What are you going to be doing?" Chris asked. "If Hodson hears you're working without a license, he'll sic one of his pet goons on you."

"Don't worry. He can only complain if I misrepresent myself, which I won't do. If you need me use the answering machine or try Sandy's place. I'll be there part of the time."

They nodded in agreement.

"How about some beer?" Jo asked cheerfully. The suggestion met with approval.

"Phil, word on the street is you are digging at missing persons."

I waited while Jo refilled my mug.

"That's right. I think that was something Sandy was working on. Or heading towards. I get the idea he was getting close to something no one else has looked at."

Chico cocked his head, his eyes narrowing.

"You think there's more?"

I sipped my beer and looked at each one of them then fixed my attention on Chico.

"Think about it. The two kills we have, both bodies were found pretty much by accident. Fairly isolated areas. What if they hadn't been found when they were?"

My words were like a bomb. The guys reacted with surprise or disbelief then quickly shifted over to speculation. The women pretty much became apprehensive. Not that I blamed them. Sure they were cops wives but the whole concept was pretty gruesome and unsettling. It made me feel queasy.

Chico recovered first.

"So maybe I should do some checking with Missing Persons."

"Sort of what I was hoping you'd say. And you might want to check and see if Sandy had been there first."

Chico shook his head.

"I don't think so. Word would have gotten around."

"So humor me."

He nodded.

Jo put her hand on my arm.

"Phil, do you really think there are more?"

I just looked at her and drank some beer.

#  Chapter 13

I leaned back in my chair and knuckled my eyes. The contents of the file Sugar had given me scattered around the top of the Shaw kitchen table. Off to one side was the copy of the report on Louella Jacks Vic had given Sandy. There wasn't much to go on. Or build from. Fourteen women, ages 18-40, had disappeared from Zone 3. Louella had been the last and the first dated back almost 18 months. Nothing new since. All black, all single. I had spent enough time in the Zone, not exactly a ghetto but a long ways from the high rent district, to know that this wasn't exactly earth shattering or unique.

It was a place most people would love to get out of. The name came from some obscure federal program that had been used at one time to delineate the quality of living conditions and assistance available to the residents. The problem was most people who left Zone 3 generally turned up somewhere else. Eventually. The equivalent kind of area in another city where they usually ended up back on the public dole and in the records again. Or at least back in touch with friends or family in Jax. Or they ended up with a toe tag in the county morgue courtesy of an overdose, angry significant other or any number of sad and tragic ways of dying the less fortunate had the bad luck of finding. The poor are always with us and they catch more than their fair share of the underbelly of life.

Fourteen. Vanished without a trace. Even for the Zone it was a significant number. I couldn't help but wonder how many more might be added by Missing Persons.

Duval County is something of a unique entity. Years back the county and the city of Jacksonville had decided to merge into a single governmental unit. A few of the small beach communities inside the county opted to remain independent, like Seminole Beach and Jacksonville Beach. For the rest of the county services were merged and set up to support the whole geographical area of Duval County. Police services were supplied by the Sheriff's Department with its headquarters on Bay Street in downtown Jacksonville. It was kind of interesting because the whole deal technically made Jacksonville the largest city, geographically speaking, in the US. There were some advantages to the setup as well as some major drawbacks.

One advantage that would work for me right now was the centralized databases for information and statistics. Instead of having to query all of the municipalities and the county, I could one stop shop it. Or rather, Chico could. It would take some time to get the information though and I was dead tired. It was after 3 in the morning and I knew my eyes wouldn't focus on one more sheet of paper.

My choices were the long ride out to my apartment and losing another half hour of sleep; the big bed upstairs, more room and probably more comfortable but it would also smell like Denise's perfume, or the couch.

I hoped the blankets were still in the front closet.

It was almost noon when I set aside the last of the monographs on wolves Sandy had collected. I had awakened at 6:30 from force of habit and instead of rolling over and going back to sleep like any sane person I headed for the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it brewed I grabbed a quick shower. And I mean quick. Men don't seem to leave many lasting marks on bathrooms but it is something a woman can do in a heartbeat. Coffee mug beside me, I tackled the shorter pieces of work on wolves Sandy had.

I wondered if he had been as disheartened by the information. Basic wolf behavior just didn't fit. One of the first problems was that the gray or timber wolf hadn't been seen in Florida in well over a century. The only species of wolf indigenous to the area was the red wolf and even they were on the verge of extinction. Not to mention they are considerably smaller than their northern cousins. The red wolf averaged around fifty pounds, smaller than my Airerdale. The tracks I had found were from a considerably larger animal. From the spread pattern I was guessing an animal in the 125 pound plus range and a minimum of three feet long in the body.

I knew a wolf/dog cross was a possibility. The controversy over the hybridization of Canis Lupus and Canis Familiarus was a hot and on-going one. Sandy had a few publications on the pros and cons of the idea. Judging from the relatively small amount of information and the location it had in the back of the file I figured he had either discarded the idea or put it much lower on his possibilities list. That had me wondering so I dug out the phone bills again and checked numbers against those on the publications. There were several fairly recent ones to a number in Gainesville, a Farwood Kennels. They were mentioned in one of the articles as a source for hybrids so I dialed the number.

A woman with a pleasant voice answered.

"Hello. My name is Phillip Belanger. I'm calling from Jacksonville."

She chuckled. "Of course you are. What can I do for you?"

"I'm not exactly certain. Are you the person who spoke with Sandy Shaw a few weeks ago?"

"Yes I am. My name is Elaine Rivers and I run Farwood. I was wondering when I was going to hear from you."

I hesitated, my coffee cup halfway to my mouth.

"You were? Why is that?"

"Because I've been following the news. I'm sorry about Sandy. When I heard he had died I tried to call you but you were never home so I decided to wait to hear from you."

"I was out of town. I get the feeling we need to talk."

"Yes, I think we do. I'm on Highway 26 about ten miles east of Gainesville."

"I'll be there in about an hour."

Farwood Kennels was a small operation set back in the scrub pine and palmettos on the north side of the highway. The house was a small clapboard bungalow raised on blocks off to one side of the parking area of crushed oyster shells. The kennel itself had probably started life as a small stable but had an addition tacked to the back for dog runs. The area past the parking lot and between the two buildings was fenced in as an exercise area for the dogs but was empty when I pulled in. I had made the 70 mile trip in a little under the hour and some it should have taken. As I switched off the bike a woman came out of the kennel office to meet me.

She was short and stocky with short salt and pepper hair. As I got off the bike I realized the short part was a bit more than I had thought. She was over a foot shorter than me but there was a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face that made me think of hobbits. There was also some scarring on the left side of her face.

"Mr. Belanger?"

I shucked my helmet

"Hi. Is it Miss or Mrs. Rivers?"

"Mrs. but I'm a widow. Jerry died three years ago. Please call me Elaine."

Her handshake was firm and surprisingly strong. I had the instinctive urge to offer sympathy but something in the lady's attitude said it really wasn't required so I just nodded.

"Phil works for me. Nice place you have here. I noticed on the sign that you are handling terriers now. How is it Sandy contacted you about wolf dogs?"

"Jerry and I raised them for years but after he died from cancer it just got to be to hard dealing with the big dogs alone so I shifted over to the smaller breeds. Can I get you something to drink? I have iced tea in the office."

I set my helmet on the top of the backrest and ran my fingers through my sweaty hair. Wearing a full-face helmet is something like sticking your head in a roaster.

"That would be wonderful."

Elaine laughed.

"I take it you aren't a native. Come on inside, the office is air conditioned."

Once inside I could hear the yapping of the dogs in the kennels beyond. Judging from the sound there weren't too many in residence. And only one in the office area. A stocky brindle American Staffordshire terrier came over to meet me as soon as I was in the door. It was a powerfully built animal but surprisingly reserved in its greeting. I crouched down to get acquainted while Elaine went over to a small refrigerator by the door to the back.

"How do you like your tea?"

"Cold, wet and in volume I guess."

She laughed again as she filled a large go mug with ice and topped it off with tea. When she brought them over I gave the dog a final scratch behind the ears and stood up.

"You seem very at home with dogs." She patted the blocky head rubbing against her waist. "This is Lucy."

"She's a good dog."

"You aren't worried about her being a pit bull?"

I scruffed Lucy under the jowls and was rewarded with a wagging tail.

"I've found it isn't the breed so much as the breeding and upbringing."

She nodded, her eyes searching my face for a moment before she sat down and motioned me to the other chair.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Tell me what you and Sandy discussed. And why you thought I would be getting hold of you. I don't think Sandy would have neglected to tell you I'm not with the department any longer."

"He didn't. But he also said you would be the one to talk to if anything happened. I was very sorry to hear about his accident."

The Ironman persona was usually very good at keeping the emotions off my face but the anger was too close, too personal. I looked down at Lucy, mooching for attention at my knee and petted her while I waited for the flare to subside. When I looked back I hoped she would take my actions as hurt over the loss of a friend. Her enigmatic expression told me absolutely nothing.

"I figured Sandy wanted to know if it was possible for it to be a wolf/dog mix but I got the impression he didn't take it very seriously."

"Really? What gave you that impression?"

I shrugged. "He had a lot of information on wolves. Books, monographs, magazine articles, you name it, filled two shelves of his bookcase. I only found a couple of flyers buried in the back of one of the wolf folders on the hybrids."

Her eyebrows did an arching thing.

"Interesting. How much do you know about wolf/dog crosses?"

"Not nearly enough. The couple of pieces he had pretty much agreed that the whole subject was controversial and that was about all they agreed on."

She smiled sadly.

"Controversial is an understatement. There has been quite a bit written on the folly of the idea as well as the instability of the hybrids. I understand you are somewhat more familiar with wolves?"

"More than most. I was raised in northern Wisconsin and my stepfather was something of an amateur naturalist. Wolves were very near and dear to his heart. I know that wolves in the wild tend to avoid human contact. Some think it's fear but he thought it was more out of respect. They are very pack oriented with strong social structures. A first class predator with something of an opportunistic attitude towards prey. And they avoid their domestic kin. Males average around 100 pounds but can range much higher and the females are smaller and lighter built."

"Sandy said most of the preliminary evaluations in the reports were from you. May I ask why, knowing what you do about wolves, you still came to your conclusions about the attacks?"

Her tone had become colder, more critical. Almost defensive. As a former breeder of hybrids I could understand. Much of the bad press about wolves and anything related to them came from uninformed hysteria.

"Not attacks, Elaine. I've seen a few dog attacks in my time on the force. This was predation. Dogs don't usually consider humans as prey."

"And a hybrid would?"

"Not from my reading. Most of the hybrid attacks are a result of dominance issues."

"Then why?"

"Elaine, I don't have an axe to grind here. People are being killed by something or someone and the evidence I have seen to date points at some type of large canid. I'm trying to get a better understanding of the possibilities so I can help put a stop to it. From what I've put together so far Sandy hadn't taken the hybrid possibility very seriously and I want to know why because a wolf running loose in Jax would be much more noticeable than a cross breed."

Elaine stood up and crossed over to look out the front window.

"You think he was wrong?" She asked without turning.

"I know the information I've seen so far says a breed would be a prime candidate."

"Why?"

Her chill, clipped tone was beginning to irritate me but I worked to keep my tone professional.

"One, hybrid vigor. Hybrids tend to run larger than their parent breeds. The evidence I've seen points at a large, heavy animal, likely around 125 pounds. Without an eyewitness I have no real idea of just how big we're talking. I suppose if I had access to the FDLE findings I'd have more to go on but I'm not likely to get that so I'm shooting from the hip here."

Elaine came back and reached for my empty mug. Without a word she refilled it from the pitcher in the refrigerator. She brought it back and held it out hesitantly.

"Would it help if I told you it is quite probable it is a hybrid?"

I paused in my reach for the tea.

"So why are you busting my chops over this?"

"Two reasons. One is old habits die hard. I am so used to defending wolf/dog hybrids that it's almost a reflex. The other is that the possibility scares me very badly."

I took the mug and drank, watching her the whole time.

"Did you tell this to Sandy?"

"Just two days before he died. It wasn't that Sandy had discounted the possibility, Phil. It was because it was so new to him."

"That would explain quite a bit."

"He was killed, wasn't he?"

It isn't often I am caught totally off guard but her matter-of-fact question stunned me. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was serious nor was she really expecting to hear any denial.

"Why do you think so?"

Her half smile told me she caught the stress on the you part of the question.

"Partly because of his attitude. The way he primed me for contacting you. It was obvious he was under incredible stress. At least to me it was. Working with dogs I'm more tuned to body language and nonverbal communication than most. That part is hunch and impression. The fact side of it is the missing hybrid information."

Déjà vu was working overtime and I couldn't stop the adrenaline rush at the implications of her statement.

"How much was there and when and where did you send it?"

"At least a good size binder worth and he had it two days before he died. I spoke with him then and he thanked me for getting it to him so quickly."

"Could you duplicate it?"

"It will take me a day or two but yes. Where should I send it?"

"Better make it to me, General Delivery, Orange Park."

She had been going to the counter to get something to write on but stopped and gave me a surprised look. I was tempted to fill her in on some of the other things going on but I had a suspicion that wouldn't be a good thing. The less she was connected with it, the better off she would be.

"What makes you think it could be a hybrid?"

"The lab reports."

"You've seen them?" I asked, shocked.

"I have a copy."

"You have a copy. Of course."

Elaine laughed at my obvious puzzlement.

"I have a PhD in animal biology. I work with state agencies all the time in animal attack cases. So when the lab had no idea of what they were supposed to be looking for they called me in. I was the one who ran the tests on the samples you provided."

"And?"

"And you aren't going to like what I found."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? There has been damn little about this whole mess that I have liked."

"The tests I ran were inconclusive." She started, clearly puzzled and uncertain as to what she should say. Even from our brief acquaintance I could tell this was not like her at all.

"Not enough to go on?"

"No, there was enough and the two samples matched."

I sat quietly while she gathered her thoughts not wanting to push.

"Phil, have you ever heard of an alaunt?"

"No but then I'm not exactly up on all the dog breeds."

"Even if you were I doubt you would know of alaunts. Not unless you were also a medieval scholar."

My eyebrows rose.

"The alaunt has been extinct for almost a century and very rare even before that. They may have been the origin breed for Lucy and a few others like her."

"What do they have to do with the killer dog?"

"The tests indicated closest similarity to wolf hair as well as to mastiff with a few other breeds as possible. But only similarity. Nor do they match with known hybrid hair types."

She looked at me for some sort of reaction, expecting denial or anger. For right now the news was too confusing to merit much more than filing for future use.

"This makes sense to you?"

"Hardly any. What was Sandy's reaction?"

"Disappointment mostly. The best we could commit to was a wolf/mastiff mix. Sandy said a couple of those were killed in the hunt that followed the second killing."

"Did you do tests to verify on either?"

She nodded and I could tell by the look in her eyes there had been no joy, no match.

I stood up and started to pace. I walked to the door and glanced out into the glare then turned back. Lucy walked beside me, matching my pace with doggie loyalty. Finally I realized I needed to give the new information time to settle before I had even a chance of fitting it in.

"Elaine, what about the distance between the kill sites. Would that be consistent? Or even probable? We're talking 20 miles. Is that typical?"

"In the wild, yes. Wolf packs claim huge territories to support themselves. They need the prey base, depending on the size of the winter pack. Here? We are talking a heavily populated area and I believe, one animal. The odds on a animal of this size roaming free and never being spotted are too high to even consider."

"I agree. I don't have the feeling we are dealing with a wild dog here."

She nodded then went over to the fridge. Instead of the iced tea pitcher she brought out a pair of beers and looked to me for approval. I pulled the church key from my jeans and walked over to open them for us.

"That would help account for the distance but it would also open another problem area. Can you imagine someone keeping an animal like this for a pet? As you said before, this is true predator behavior. We are talking about a dog that has acquired a taste for human flesh. What kind of person could control something like that? Not to mention training the beast."

She caught my confused look.

"This dog would have had to be trained not only to attack and kill people but to also feed on them. You are familiar with dogs. Would you want to have a creature like that around?"

"I think I'm beginning to see. It would be a constant dominance battle. Keeping an animal like that out of sight in the city would be almost impossible."

I reached down and petted Lucy's blocky head and wondered just what kind of warped mind could create a killing machine from something as trusting as her. I had seen various kinds of abuses of the pit bull breed and several others by people who wanted a guard dog. Or even worse, a fighting dog. We had broken up a dog-fighting ring some 5 years earlier in Jax and all of the dogs involved had had to be put down. It never failed to anger me but this one went way past that.

I took a long drink of beer and looked over at Elaine to find her watching me carefully.

"What about the bite radius? Were you able to get anything there?"

"Yes. The conformation of the tooth marks indicates a muzzle more blunt than a wolf. Canis Lupus has a long narrow muzzle. The dog involved with the second killing showed a broader, more rounded structure more like a mastiff. About the only thing that indicates a hybrid is the power of the jaws."

"Power?"

"The wolf has incredible bite and crush strength, mostly due to the narrowness of the jaw and the muscle structure at the hinge. Considerably more than their domestic cousins like the German Shepard. The damage to the rib cage on the last victim was far more extensive than any dog I am aware of is capable of."

"Do you have any idea what this thing might look like?"

She shrugged.

"Only guesses. From tapestries we know the alaunt was a large breed. Something like the Great Dane in size though their coat may have been more like that of a Wolfhound. Very large and rangy, possibly shaggy. The coat color could be a deep gray, more likely grizzled. It's hard to say from just a few hairs. The muzzle would be more blunt, the mouth wider. Beyond that?..."

I finished my beer and set the empty on the counter.

"Well, it's more than I had, I guess." I hesitated, not quite sure if I needed more information.

"You're going to pursue this, aren't you?"

"Somehow."

"If I come up with anything more, how do I contact you?"

I walked over to the counter and wrote my number down on her registry book.

"I have an answering machine on this if I'm not around. If you get it just leave a message to call...Brenda."

"Brenda?"

"Elaine, I'm not sure of much of anything about this whole thing and that makes me very cautious. I would just as soon not have you linked to this any more directly than you are already."

She gave me a look and a smile that was both sad and impish.

"Sandy described you as a much more take-no-prisoners kind of guy."

"When I get to a point where I understand what's going on things get pretty direct. Until then, I'm spooked by every shadow I see."

#  Chapter 14

One nice thing about Florida is that it is flat. The roads tend to run in straight lines and require very little concentration to run them. Just enough to keep me distracted, to keep me from running in frustrated circles. There were too many issues that wanted attention and nowhere near enough information on any of them to make any real sense. My talk with Elaine had raised more questions than it had answered but that information was too fresh in the hopper to be of immediate use.

In fact, almost all of the data I had was so disjointed and fragmented that it reminded me of one of those jigsaw puzzles with thousands of pieces, all scattered on the table. My stepfather had been something of a puzzle fanatic. In my teen years there had always been a puzzle on the table in his den. They had started out on the dining room table until mom put her foot down. Whenever I had to find William Henry all I had to do was check the puzzle table. Those blasted things had given me a headache at first, all those tiny pieces with their tiny fragments of pictures and interlocking nibs, all too similar.

Maybe that's where I learned to be a detective. William Henry had slowly dragged me into his passion, a bit every time I had come to ask him a question. He had said the puzzles helped him to concentrate. His was a plodding method, flip all the pieces, locate the borders and methodically try every piece. Even with the puzzles with thousands of pieces. The man was patient.

My method was looser. I would group the pieces by color patterns. Where he examined every piece in detail, I went for groupings and patterns. Towards the end we had become a pretty formidable team. Not that I spent much time working on them with him but the time was well spent and remembered.

Sandy had been a detail guy. He favored linear logic, A led to B led to C...until you got to Z with all the pieces firmly linked. There wasn't a member of the DA's staff who wouldn't jump at the chance to prosecute any case with Sandy's name on it. They were as close to a slam-dunk as it gets. We had the most impressive conviction record in the department but he was the first to admit that a part of it was because of my contributions. Too many times logic can only carry you so far and that was where I came in. I relied more on intuition to bridge those logic gaps; digging in places where no one would think a bone might be buried.

I had a feeling I was going to need every bit of luck I could find on this one. I didn't have Sandy's base outline to work from here though I knew he had put it together. The missing files were no mistake. Someone didn't want his groundwork out there for someone like me to build from. He had gotten too close and because of the distractions he missed something at the wrong time. All I had to do was find some way to rebuild what he had done. And I knew I was sadly lacking in that area. I had depended on Sandy to give me a framework and had no real idea on how to go about building and organizing it. I had no patience for details; the butt numbing collection of evidence, the logical assembly of data was as foreign to me as a Picasso to a fish. I just hoped Chico and the Squad could offset that problem. And that I could keep the black icy rage from blazing out of control.

I wheeled my bike into OP anxious to check my answering machine. I needed more information. I took the steps in four bounds and headed directly for the phone, not even bothering with closing the door.

The first message was from Andy. He sounded angry and as I listened I felt the ice expand in my chest. Someone had put pressure on the head of Missing Persons. All requests for information were to be submitted, in writing, through department heads. Failure to follow procedure would result in disciplinary action. As would any attempt to bypass the system. I cursed and slammed my fist into the wall.

"You always did have trouble with procedure, Belanger."

I spun around, the voice barely registering as I instinctively reached for a gun I no longer carried. The man standing in my open door was in his mid fifties, steel gray hair still thick and wavy, sweat damp and slightly crushed from the cream colored Stetson he held in his gnarled hands. The black cowboy boots glistened only slightly less than their polished silver tips.

"Hello Sheriff. A bit out of your jurisdiction, aren't you?"

Sheriff Dale Theidens had been told early in life that he bore a striking resemblance to Gary Cooper so it wasn't surprising he had cultivated many of the man's mannerisms. Some thought it pretension but there comes a point where acting and reality inevitably become blurred. My dealings with him led me to believe it had become his reality and not a face he put on. One of the quirks that had come to serve him well was the stone face. Few had seen more than a neutral expression except when he was on the campaign trail. Most had come to find out expression was a sign of impending disaster.

"Just a tad, Belanger."

"So, what brings you to the suburbs?"

The corner of his mouth gave a barely perceptible twitch.

"How about we say this is a social call?"

"Social."

"That's right. The kind where a man gets invited in out of this gawd awful heat and offered a cold drink."

"Social it is. Come on in, Sheriff. I have beer and bourbon to offer."

He nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Bourbon rocks would be just fine."

I headed for the kitchen and trusted he would find a place to sit that wasn't occupied by boxes. When I came back with a pair of drinks he was looking at my toy. He took his glass and nodded at the answering machine.

"I hate the darn things but I suppose it might come in handy when people need to get hold of someone who's getting around."

He took a sip of his drink and looked at the fist-sized dent in the wallboard over the phone. Again the lip twitched and I started feeling nervous. He walked over to the one clear section of the couch and sat down, leaning forward to put his drink on the coffee table.

"And you do seem to be getting around. I've got folks coming out of the woodwork telling me stories. Hodson isn't sure if he wants to nail your hide for investigating without a license or interfering with his people. I got me a retired judge twisting on my arm about how I run my department. And the rank and file just can't decide if they want to kiss you or run your ass into the deepest darkest hole we have down under Bay Street."

I started to speak but he held up a hand to indicate he wasn't quite finished. He sipped his drink again then held it to the light, giving me a questioning look.

"George Dickel Reserve."

He snorted briefly. Maybe his equivalent of a belly laugh?

"Smooth. Writing pay that well?"

I shrugged.

"It's not like I have a lot of expenses, Sheriff."

He nodded.

"Now I've got me something of a dilemma here. There's all kinds of pressure rising up from too many places. Most are worried about just how far the department is going to go dealing with this retired maverick who can't seem to get a handle on what retired means."

"I take it this is my get-out-of-Duval talk?"

He finished his drink.

"Mighty smooth whiskey you serve. Kinda tastes like another."

I took his hint and went to refresh his drink. I was surprised when he followed me into my little alley kitchen, stopping to lean on the doorframe.

"You know, I never did quite understand why you retired like you did. You had to know there would be repercussions."

I paused as I reached for the ice.

"Not all of them but yeah, I knew."

"So why?""

I finished getting ice for both our drinks and set them on the counter. I splashed bourbon over the cubes and carefully capped the bottle. I was stalling and we both knew it. Finally I set the bottle down and handed him his drink.

"It was something I had to do."

"Well shitfire boy, I knew that. I'm not questioning your decision; it was your method that rankled. I always figured you to be one of those hair trigger boys. Worried me a mite from time to time but you always had a good handle on it."

He took a knock at his drink and ended up staring at the cubes swirling in the whiskey.

"I've been sheriff for over 12 years, Belanger. Folks must figure I'm pretty good at it seeing as how they keep electing me. It's something I'm proud of. I take my job seriously and I thought the folks working for me had just a bit of respect for that. And me. So maybe you can understand me being put off when one of the best damned homicide investigators it has ever been my honor to know just drops his shield on my desk without so much as a by-your-leave. Not one damned word of explanation nor nary a hint of apology."

I matched his stony look with one of my own. Inside, the anger and pain of the past two years roared to life, riding the anguish of losing just about everything I ever held dear. I slammed my glass on the counter and pushed past him, heading for the patio. I slid the door open and stepped into the oppressive heat as I tried to get a handle on the raw emotion that made me want to lash out. The words were there, just a nudge ahead of a burning need to hit. The only things keeping me in control were years of training and a little stinker of a voice telling me he had a real valid point.

I knew now that the way I had retired was wrong. I had known it then but I hadn't known the reasons why. I still didn't, not totally. But I did know that if I had done it any differently I would have been drawn into a process I wanted no part of.

All my life I had done what was reasonable, what worked for everyone. Very damn seldom had I ever done what I needed to do, what was best for me. And every time I had, I had to live with the guilts from watching how it affected those around me. Proper procedure would have been grievances filed, discussions about what was happening and what could be done to rectify the situation. Work within the system, point out the perceived problem and figure out how much was my maverick attitude and how much was BJ's assholeness. I had been aware of all that when I dropped my resignation on the Sheriff's desk. I just didn't give a shit. And in spite of the anger and guilt, I still didn't.

Behind me, the Sheriff cleared his throat. I looked over my shoulder.

"It's too damned hot out here. About the only thing I agree with you snowbirds about."

I walked back inside. He slid the door shut and handed me my glass.

"That temper of yours will be your undoing someday, son."

I paused, my glass halfway to my mouth.

"Just why are you here, Sheriff?"

He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair.

"Because I think there is something going on, something I can't put my finger on and I just may need some help with it."

I started to finish the move to drink but decided against it.

"And where is the folksy good ole boy? All of a sudden I feel like I just walked into the middle of a movie and haven't got a clue what it's about."

"Like I said, one of the best investigators I know." He walked around the limited space of my living room, casually poking at the boxes while he gathered his thoughts.

"Phil, I'm getting the feeling there is something going down in my department that I should know about. Something just enough out of kilter that its interfering in a very subtle way. I don't like it and I am not quite sure how to go about finding out what it is. But I have a feeling I better find out damned quick."

"I have known Billy Jim Hodson since college. We played on the same football team, roomed together for two years. Raised all kinds of hell before we settled down and got married. Hell, our wives were best friends, just like he and I. We joined the force at the same time and were partners for many years before I decided to run for sheriff."

He turned to look out the window at the setting sun but his thoughts were a long ways away.

"He was best man at my wedding and godfather to my daughter. Just as I was for him. And he and Betsy were there when the Good Lord decided to call my girls home in a car accident 7 years ago. So you can maybe understand why I have been reluctant to take any kind of direct action, hell, even look in his direction as the source of the problem."

"I guess so. I had heard you two were friends."

He chuckled and swirled the ice in his drink.

"Friends. Like you and Sandy were friends?"

I bristled at the inference but reluctantly got his point. It was just too hard thinking of BJ Hodson in the terms he was describing. But I begrudgingly gave him the benefit of listening. I didn't need more guilt.

"Tell me what you have on Sandy's death."

"Nothing concrete."

He smiled, a snap of anger and humor in his steel eyes.

"Now don't you go pissing on my back and telling me it's raining, boy."

So I told him. Starting with the missing files and ending with my talk with Elaine. He listened, an occasional nod or shake of his head, depending on what I told him. I tried not to leave anything out. I didn't try as hard to leave out some conjectures as to who was responsible for some of it. When I finished he nodded towards my glass then took them both for refilling. I didn't really want another but curiosity had me by the throat and I knew it was a part of what and how the Sheriff wanted this done. He came back and looked at the dimple in my wall again.

" I can relate to that. I sometimes wish I could just let some steam off like that."

I waited while he swirled his bourbon in the glass, watching the light play games with its sparkling smokiness.

"Do you know how they found Pluto?"

"I didn't know he was missing."

He looked up at me sharply.

"I can see where Billy would have a hard time with that smart mouth of yours. I was referring to the planet and you damn well know it."

"Sorry, Sheriff but I'm not quite sure how to take all this."

"Makes two of us. But back to Pluto, some bright lad noticed discrepancies in the orbits of certain celestial bodies and figured there had to be something out there that was causing those. Took some time but he eventually found Pluto by looking where he thought something had to be to make those things happen."

"And you think there is something out there because...?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"Maybe I play some games for the public so they believe I'm just some good ole boy they can feel comfortable with as Sheriff but don't you forget I spent more years on the street than you have. You only had to work on individual cases. I've got to keep an eye on the workings of the whole department. Your retiring like you did, all by itself wouldn't have set off any alarms. I knew you were a hothead and not totally happy with your job. But you add that in with this other information and it comes up a five alarm fire."

"And the common thread is BJ?"

"It appears to be. I don't like it one little bit. I know the man. And I owe him. I could bring Internal Affairs in on this, probably should."

"Why don't you?"

"You probably think it's because he's my friend. That may be a part of it. If something is going on I would just as soon not hang all that dirty wash out on the public line." He glared at me but for once I held my comment. "The main reason is I have a strong hunch that it might be very dangerous."

"I won't even pretend to understand that. So what is your solution?"

He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a sheaf of papers.

"You still have that old relic of a piece?"

I nodded. My Colt M1911A .45 caliber semiautomatic was hanging in my closet. It was the only thing of my real fathers that I had, a souvenir of his time in Korea. Most officers carried .38 revolvers, some the new 9mm semi autos. The .45 and I were old friends and I liked the extra stopping power it had.

"Good. Saves having to change the paperwork."

"Sheriff, I am not coming back to work for you."

"There might be a difference of opinion there. I am not going to tolerate having you running around in my county like some loose cannon. I may respect your abilities but it is my county and I will damn well set the rules. I don't imagine you are going to back away from this investigation of yours."

It wasn't a question and we both knew my answer. He nodded and continued.

"Then you are going to do it my way. I am hiring you as an independent consultant and getting you licensed as a private investigator with full privileges to carry a concealed weapon and conduct investigations in my jurisdiction. You will report directly and solely to me. Now I could just suspend Billy but I don't have the grounds for it. And I don't think that is the answer. Your official job will be to verify that the dog killings are, in fact, a done deal. If what you say is true, and I don't doubt you, I have a feeling they aren't."

I looked over the papers, a contract for retaining my services by the Duval County Sheriff's Department but I was already a jump or two ahead.

"And if they aren't, you are setting me up in the gallery as the next target."

"You have a problem with that?"

The blackness swelled in my chest, threatening to break out. He must have seen it because he put a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.

"What I'm trying to do is cut loose that hogtie and maybe help a friend in the process."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He picked his hat up from the carton by the door and settled it on his head.

"You give it some thought. When you decide, stop by my office and let me know. I'll leave word to let you in anytime."

Sitting in the dark watching the dance of lightning off in the distant thunderheads was about as much as I could handle. After Theidens had left I had headed into the kitchen for a fresh drink but when I had the bottle in hand I set it back down and reached for the coffee maker instead. The bourbon was tempting. The hazy numbness was like a siren's call to the rocks where things like remorse and self-doubt lived. It would have been real easy to go that way. Just to give in to the anger for a little while.

But there was also an urge to celebrate. To call up the squad and let them in on the news. That would likely lead to a different kind of escape. The desire to torpedo Hodson was too strong, too real but it was coming on more bittersweet all the time. The damned little voice of conscience had picked up more ammunition from the Sheriff's words. BJ did have a good record up until a few years ago and I couldn't help but wonder just how responsible my own ego was for the conflict.

The storm that rode in on the day's coat tails was going to pass to the north of me but the winds from it's skirts had cooled things off like the hoary breath of some frost giant. The day's heat had been atypical for autumn in north Florida and the fresh coolness was a herald of things to come. I took my coffee onto the pitiful excuse for a patio my apartment sported and sat back in a sling chair, my feet up on the rail. The ozone laden chill breeze was just what I needed to help clear my head.

Part of me wanted someone to talk with about the whole mess. Once upon a time it would have been Nance and if things played out like they could, it might be again. All I had to do was call. This would be news she would be happy to hear. Maybe it was temporary but even I couldn't ignore the clarion call. She would know if I did this it would open the door and it was such a short step inside. She would know it because I could feel it in me. I couldn't deal with the disappointment again.

There was the Shaws. I could be there in half an hour but I had a pretty good idea of what they would say. They had been staunch supporters and would continue to be, whatever my decision. What held me back was a reluctance to putting them in the emotional barrel again. It was something I couldn't avoid but I didn't want to make them accessories before the fact. I felt I owed them that much. There was a distinct chance this would end badly and they had lost enough. Maybe I wasn't a son by blood but I knew neither of them felt that way.

So my options were limited. It wouldn't be right to talk with my friends at the shop. The logic may have been flawed but the feelings behind it weren't. Nance? No way. I couldn't go that way again and survive. So that left it right in my lap. I was even denied my ghosts for counsel. I knew full well what Sandy and Theo would have said.

I went back inside for a fresh cup of coffee. All of this was running me in circles and keeping me from thinking about what I had learned the past couple of days. Cup refilled, I debated on something to eat then decided to go sit and ponder some more. I had just passed the phone when it jangled to life, scaring the hell out of me. I stared at it and was surprised to find I was actually afraid to pick it up. After four rings the machine picked up and rattled off my message. After the beep, she started her message.

"Hi Phillip. I just wanted..."

I picked up the receiver, almost dropping my cup.

"Denise, I'm here."

She chuckled softly in my ear.

"Screening your calls now?"

I paused. "Something like that."

We were both silent for a long moment. It was a terrible awkward thing I didn't know how to end.

"Phillip? What's wrong?" I heard her inhale sharply. "Has there been another killing?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then what is it?"

My pause was too long as I tried to keep my tone neutral.

"It's nothing."

Her pause was even worse, made unbearable by the little hitch in her voice as she tried to stifle a sob.

"Phillip...please."

It came out. Stumbling at first, then in a rush. The visit to the kennel, the talk with the Sheriff and finally the offer. When I finished I felt drained, my voice hoarse and tight.

"Oh, Phillip. You poor baby."

A laugh escaped before I could stop it but I managed to keep it from turning into tears.

"Do you want me to come back?"

"NO!"

My response was explosive and surprised both of us with its intensity.

"I mean you don't have to. I'll be fine."

"So sayeth the Ironman."

Anger flared at her words.

"That's right."

"So you are sitting there in the dark, drinking and stewing."

"Not drinking." I managed to say tightly.

"Phillip, I'm coming back."

"Please, don't."

This time there was no hiding the tears in her voice.

"Please."

"No. "

"Don't shut me out like this! I can't take it again."

I was shocked at the vehemence in her voice. It took me a moment to get control of the ache in me enough to speak.

"I'm not, Denise. I need you more there in Tallahassee."

"Why?" she sobbed.

Suddenly it came to me what she was going through. We hadn't talked that much about Sandy's last days but there had been enough for me to see the similarity between my present behavior and his.

"Denise, I'm sorry. Right now, I would dearly love to have you here. But I really do need you to do something for me and the best resources for what I need are over there."

She sniffed and tried to get her tears under control.

"Why?"

"I need to know about alaunts and the U library is the best bet on finding that information."

"Alaunts? Extinct dogs?"

I chuckled at the disbelief in her tone.

"According to Elaine Rivers they could be tied in with this. I am damned tired of playing catch up on this so I need to fill in as many of the blanks as I can. Sandy was into it enough to get him killed and he didn't leave enough behind to get me into the game. Maybe it makes no logical sense but if the information he got from Elaine was important enough for the killer to take, I want to know what it may have been."

She was quiet for so long I was afraid I had been too blunt.

"Ok. I'll start at the university tomorrow morning. Anything else?"

"Be very careful."

"You too. And Phillip?"

"Yeah."

"Did you really mean it?"

I was surprised to find I knew what she was asking and that I knew the answer without thinking about it.

"Yes."

"Thanks. That means a lot. And Phillip? It maybe isn't a good decision but I think it's the right one. Just try not to hate yourself too much."

"Hate myself? What do you mean?"

"You'll figure it out." She said with a smile in her voice and I was left talking to an open line.

#  Chapter 15

I parked in one of the visitor spots next to the big building that had been like a second home to me for 11 years. As I walked in the main entrance I acknowledged a few greetings and ignored the numerous looks of question and disbelief. I knew word of me being on premises would be all around the shop before my meeting with the Sheriff was over. I headed straight for the admin section and right up to Dale's secretary's desk. She did a subtle double take and was on the squawk box before I was through the outer door. I debated on what to do with my helmet but she gave me a smile and said I could go right in.

The Sheriff was on the phone but he saw the portfolio in my hand and gave a small nod as he indicated the chair in front of his desk. He wrapped up the call quickly, called his secretary to ask for coffee and sat back. She came in a few minutes later with two mugs and left with instructions we weren't to be disturbed.

"I take it you are agreeing to the terms."

I shook my head.

"I pitched the contract in the trash."

"Man saying no doesn't bring in supporting documents."

I put the folder on the desk.

"I have a question."

"Only one?"

"To start. If you are right, bringing me in publicly like this is going to cause all kinds of ruckus. Is that what you want?"

His coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth and he looked at me over its rim, his eyes narrowing.

"Do you have another idea? I can't just keep ignoring what you are doing."

"Why not? It isn't illegal."

Dale drank coffee while he thought. It was something I had been thinking about for quite some time. Even before this offer.

"What about carrying your piece? There are some who would love to have a reason to arrest you."

I shrugged.

"I qualify to get a concealed permit on my own. And if I need to carry it, I have no problem wearing it open. Last I checked, that wasn't illegal."

He stood up and paced to the window.

"I don't like it. I feel like I got my ass hanging way too far out as it is." He turned back and gave me a penetrating look. "I thought you'd jump at a chance to go after Billy."

"So did I. That's part of the why. Maybe I've gotten too comfortable thinking of him as BJ and blaming him for the whole thing. Your talk showed me a side I hadn't let myself see before. Maybe its time to live up to that opinion you have of me."

"So where does that leave us? And why that?" He asked indicating the bulging wallet file on his desk.

"It leaves us in a damn tricky position. I have an idea that if you bring me in publicly it's going to force an issue. As it stands, we have some real strong suspicions, ideas on where to look but nothing that give us a leg up on what's going down. If I stay in the shadows for a bit longer, I may be able to change that. I'm going to need some help getting the information in the files but it has got to be in the dark. If Billy is involved somehow and my gut says he has to be, he finds out how serious I'm digging and it could make things explode before we're ready. As for that, call it insurance. It's duplicates of everything I have so far. And as I get more I will pass it on. I'd suggest finding a nice safe place for it."

He pulled the contents out and leafed through it.

"I know just the place." He walked over to his sideboard and took out a fresh ream of paper and slid it in the wallet. "Won't do to have you leaving things here I guess."

He walked over to his window and looked out over Bay Street.

"But there is one thing I'm going to do and you will set still for it. Raise your right hand."

I raised my hand, knowing he was right but hating the tightness in my gut.

"You know the drill so I'm not going to waste my breath. Do you swear?"

"I do."

"This stays right here in this office until such time as it becomes necessary for me to have to make it public. I pray God I don't ever have to."

"So do I. Now we better make believers of the snoops."

I picked up my helmet and headed for the door. He called to me just before I opened it.

"Good hunting, son."

I nodded back and let some of the anger over the situation rise up. I needed a little something to make my exit make a statement. If Dale was right then we needed a little smoke screen so our boy wouldn't hop before I had a chance to catch up. I closed the door with a bit of energy and stormed past the secretary without a glance. I was almost out of the office when the Sheriff came to the door.

"Belanger!"

I halted and slowly turned.

"You're being a damned fool."

Once I was on my bike I hoped he would realize my parting gesture wasn't anything to take personal. Besides, it almost felt good.

I was sitting at the bar in Yancey's nursing a cold one while I let the day's reading settle in. Elaine had sent what she could by express delivery and promised more in the days to come. It had made for interesting reading for about an hour before it started to become repetitious. Yes indeedy, hybrids could be unstable. Particularly if the parent wolf was of a lower pack ranking. There were numerous reports of attacks, some serious. But nothing to date indicated the kind of predatory behavior involved here. I could see where Sandy would have taken her seriously and felt the idea of a hybrid was a real possibility. The part that still nagged at me was the idea of someone training and keeping the animal around. Either they lived out in the miles of lonely scrub country that made up most of Duval and Clay counties, far from human contact or the perpetrator was one hell of a dog trainer. Both had possibilities and either was very scary. And almost impossible to track down.

I was sitting at the bar, watching the damn fools trying to ride the mechanical bull in back and waiting on my burger because of a message from my machine. No name and just the bar name and time. I thought I recognized the Sheriff's voice but I wasn't sure. My beer was half gone when I spotted Andy coming in the front door with a package under his arm. I waved to him and he worked his way through the crowd to the empty stool next to me.

"Hey, Sarge."

"Fancy meeting you here. Want a beer or are you on duty?"

He gave me a grin as he pulled up the stool, keeping his package on his lap below bar level.

"Definitely off."

I signaled the bartender for another round.

"I've got a burger coming. You hungry?"

"Hell yes."

I told the bartender to double my order when he brought the beer then turned to Andy. I glanced at the package.

"It's for you. I don't know where it came from or what's in it but you damn well better tell me. I've got the feeling I almost have to arrest myself just for carrying it."

I laughed.

"I doubt it. But would you believe I have no idea?"

He gave me a look that said, yeah right.

"Well, I have a pretty good idea."

"Word around the shop is you and the Sheriff had a bit of a go round yesterday."

"That would be putting it mildly. It was an interesting conversation."

"Did you really flip him the bird?"

I shrugged.

"It was one of those heat of the moment things."

Andy shook his head.

"By the way, Chico says to tell you that the written request business has been canceled by the Sheriff. He should have the info you wanted sometime tomorrow." He took a deep drink and stifled a belch. "Any progress?"

The bartender dropped off our burgers so I was saved from talking until after we had done some serious damage to the meal. We were down to few fries when I felt comfortable talking again.

"I don't know if it's progress or not. I know a lot more about wolves and wild dogs and cross hybrids than I did before but I still can't see how it makes much sense. If I had those files of Sandy's or his last day book..."

"That's missing."

"Say what?"

Andy finished mopping up his ketchup with his last fry and ate it then washed it down with his last swallow of beer. He signaled for another then turned to me.

"His last daybook. It seems to have joined the files in the land where socks go."

"Does Hodson know that?"

"Yup. He signed the inventory according to Chico."

"Damn."

Andy tapped the package on his lap.

"You know, this bundle here is just about the same size as the two dog files."

I reached over and slid it to my lap.

"Best keep that to yourself, Andy."

I closed the last part of the files that had been in the package. My eyes felt hot and grainy from the long hours I had spent reading in the past few days and the black ice was clawing for release inside my chest. Even with all of the information I had pounded into my skull I still felt no closer to any kind of an answer than when I had started. I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight so the gym was closed. I hadn't worked out since I began to collect data and my body was letting me know it didn't appreciate the lack of physical activity. A run was a possibility but what I really needed was to push myself. Or maybe it was punish. I was saved from pursuing that unsettling thought by the phone ringing. I was tempted to ignore it. Late night calls had a bad habit of being very nasty news. Avoiding it wasn't going to help so I set the files aside and picked up.

"Belanger."

"Hello Phil. This is Jill Winslow. I'm sorry to call so late."

The voice didn't register at all and the name almost didn't.

"It's ok, Jill. I've been keeping some long hours lately."

"So I understand." She paused and I could almost hear her smile. "You do remember me, don't you?"

I hadn't until that moment but I found the memory as her light Boston accent finally jiggled the right one loose. She was a psychiatrist at St. Johns Hospital Sandy and I had worked with on a pedophile case while we had still been in blues. She was about 10 years older than me and one heck of a dedicated physician.

"I do now. It's been a while."

"Almost ten years."

"So what's up?"

"I'm sorry about Sandy. I know how close you two were."

I pushed aside the hammer blow her words brought, not trusting myself to answer but she pushed on quickly.

"Could you come down to the hospital?"

"Now?"

"I know it's late but yes, now. I don't want to explain over the phone."

"Jill, it's pretty late and I'm beat."

She paused.

"I think it's important, Phil. Please."

I ran my fingers through my hair and realized I wasn't all that tired. Nor did I really want to go to bed.

"Ok. Let me grab a quick shower first. About forty five minutes?"

"I'll be here."

I pretty much had the road to myself as I drove into Jacksonville. It was tempting to put a little extra speed on and blow through some of the lights but I didn't want to spend any time dealing with any of the Sheriff's boys so I behaved myself, keeping the restlessness in me under a hard lock. I parked near the Emergency Room entrance to the hospital and hurried inside. It was a quiet night but there was enough activity in the ER that I was able to slip through unnoticed. The psychiatric wing was on the fourth floor so I waited as patiently as I could for an elevator to arrive. I couldn't imagine what Jill wanted to talk about. It wasn't as if we were friends or even business associates. Nor was I aware of her working with the department on anything but the rare consulting basis.

It was irritating, not being able to fit the reason for her call into any pattern. Irritating to the point of putting an edge on my temper. I had enough on my platter and I couldn't afford any distractions. At least not any more of them. I stepped from the elevator into the dimly lit corridor of the psyche wing. Down the hall to my left I could see the entrance to the lockdown portion of the wing that housed the less stable patients. I hoped Jill wasn't in there. I didn't want to have to deal with that tonight.

"Phil."

I turned to my right and saw Jill in the doorway to an office halfway down the hall. She came to meet me and I remembered more about her at seeing her. She was fairly tall, maybe 5'7", with dark hair and eyes and a figure most would consider matronly. I recalled finding it attractive in a subtle way. She was long waisted and broad shouldered, her thighs leaning towards the heavy side but her calves and ankles were very nice. She moved with a quiet grace and assurance few women have. The years had been good to her. There was a touch of gray in her hair, maybe a few extra lines by her eyes but those eyes still sparkled.

We shook hands then she pulled me along, her hand slipping over my arm as we walked.

"Thanks for coming. I know it's late but I really do think it's important. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Hospital coffee? I think I'll pass but thanks."

She laughed. I had forgotten how comfortable it was to be around her. Her easy manner and gentle voice had to be an incredible asset to her in her work.

"No, I have my own machine in my office. I may not be much of a cook but I do coffee very well. Have to since I practically live on it."

She pointed me to a comfortable looking chair as she went over to pour us both a mug of coffee. She paused as she handed me mine, here eyes searching my face.

"You always were a hard man to read but it seems to me you are operating on a pretty fine edge, Belanger."

I suppressed the urge to fidget as I took the mug from her.

"You didn't call me up here in the middle of the night to see how I was doing."

"No. But I can't help but notice. It isn't as obvious as it was in Sandy but you strike me as a better actor than he was."

"You saw Sandy? Recently?"

She nodded as she sat on the couch across from me.

"About two weeks before he died."

"Professionally?"

"No. Call it semi-pro. He had some questions to ask and I did a little poking when I saw how troubled he was."

"What kind of questions?"

She shrugged, her dark eyes watching me closely.

"Mostly about aberrant psychological behavior and rare mental illnesses."

I waited for more and felt my irritation level rise when there wasn't anything forthcoming. I set my mug down on the table, the heavy porcelain clattering loudly in the quiet office.

"Jill, am I going to have to drag everything out of you? You did call me, remember?"

Her look of concern deepened.

"You're working on the same case he was when he died, aren't you?"

"I'm retired. I write books for a living now."

"Really. Then why are you here?"

I stood up as the anger in my chest flared.

"I'm here because you called and said it was important. Just what in the hell is going on? Did someone put you up to this?"

"Now why would someone do that?"

"Because there are a few people around who think I may be a prime candidate for a room down the hall."

"Are you?"

"I don't have time for this shit."

I turned for the door but she moved with a quickness I hadn't expected in so large a woman and laid her hand on my arm.

"Easy, Phil. I'm not trying to fit you with a canvas jacket. I have discovered something and I'm not sure what to do with it. It's possible there is a tie in with whatever it was Sandy was working on. But, as I said, I'm not sure how to proceed."

"So why the questions?"

"With Sandy, it was worry. I saw he was very worried when I spoke with him. And incredibly stressed. Probably drinking too much as a result. With you it's anger. It's very close to the surface and I'm not certain I should tell you any of what I have found."

The urge to shake her hand off and walk away was immediate and powerful but she was right, the anger was too close to the surface. Frustration was keeping me wound up and in a state just below frenzy. I focused on those warm chocolate brown eyes and let the reassurance trickle in. Slowly my breathing relaxed and some of the tension eased out of my muscles. Her calm concern washed through me until I could take a breath without it catching.

"Thanks."

She gave my arm a gentle squeeze, a sad knowing smile on her face.

"You tough guys are always a challenge."

"Maybe not so tough."

"No, definitely tough. I just wonder if you really realize just where that tough lives. But I digress. I do have things that need to be done. And one thing I feel should be done."

"You've lost me there, Jill."

She gave me a wry grin and walked over to the far corner of her office. She wheeled a cart with a TV and VCR on it so it faced the room.

"Phillip, on Monday I was called in to treat a young woman. She hadn't gone to work and a coworker friend became concerned so she went to her apartment to check on her. The front door was unlocked and my patient was found huddled naked in the back corner of her closet. The friend called 911 when she couldn't get any response out of her. I understand things got pretty wild when a male paramedic tried to get her out of the closet."

"Sounds like a response to a pretty brutal assault."

"That's what the paramedics thought too. One was a woman and she managed to quiet the patient down to the point where she could be sedated. Once we got her on the wing I was able to give her an examination. She exhibited an unusual mix of symptoms. When no men were present she was almost catatonic in her responses but if she even glimpsed a man, she would become extremely agitated and display such violent behavior that we would have to physically restrain her."

"Has she been able to communicate?"

"Somewhat. Her mother lives in Winter Park and she came up to be with her daughter. With both the mother and I present I have been able to get her to talk but it has been very disjointed. Phil, we are talking about a very intelligent woman here. She was a paralegal in one of the more prominent law offices here in Jax. Very bright and personable."

I nodded, wondering how it tied in with what I was working on. There was a strong mix of excitement and dread building inside me as my mind made a few minor quantum leaps.

"Age?"

"Twenty five."

Attractive young professional woman, much like the two known victims.

"You said you learned something. Something that needs to be dealt with."

She nodded.

"The physical examination I did showed she had been involved in fairly aggressive and rough sexual intercourse within 24 hours or so of admission. There is some bruising and scratching to indicate that. And the condition of her genitalia indicates that as well. Whoever she was with likes to play hard."

"Abusively so?"

Jill shrugged.

"Not really. I've seen much worse."

"Then why the strong reaction?"

"At first I thought it could have been linked to her having a repressed nature prior to the incident. I interviewed her friend though and it appears she had been fairly normal in her sex life. If anything, she was aggressive. Dated quite a bit with no interest in settling down. I'm trying to contact some of her old boyfriends to see if I can get a better picture of what she was like but I don't think repressed is going to figure into it."

It was becoming more obvious to me that Jill was more upset about this than I had previously noted. She was fidgeting with items on her desk as she spoke with me and the level of eye contact had dropped radically.

"Jill? Have you reported this?"

She looked at me and I was surprised at the haunted desperation in her face.

"Reported what? There isn't enough evidence to prove assault. She wasn't beaten. And her friend said that other than being upset over another friend's disappearance about a month ago, she had seemed quite normal."

Suddenly there were alarms going off in my head. It felt as if someone had grabbed my chest in a massive vise and cranked it for all they were worth. Jill saw the reaction and started.

"What is it, Phil?"

I waved her off impatiently.

"So why did you call me?"

"This morning I tried hypnosis. I had discussed it with her mother as a possible way of reaching past the block. I didn't think I would have much luck; you generally have to have some active participation with the patient to get them into a state where the suggestions work. I was wrong. As I said, she is a bright perceptive woman." She paused and met my eyes. "Her mother agreed to the idea just as she has agreed to letting you see the video tape I made of the session."

"Has she seen it?"

"God, no."

I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders. She was trembling slightly, her eyes searching mine for some kind of reassurance.

"Can you watch it again?"

She shivered and closed her eyes.

"I haven't stopped watching it. It keeps replaying in my head."

I hugged her, pulling her close. I dreaded seeing whatever it was that had disturbed her so deeply but I knew I had to do it.

"I can watch it alone."

She shook her head.

"No. I need to see it." She looked up at me. "Just hold my hand?"

I let her go enough for her to reach the controls and get the thing started. Then she tucked herself under my arm as the screen came to life. I hadn't been prepared for the woman's appearance. Latino heritage was obvious in her dark hair, eyes and coloring but she was more than a little stunning. Even with the dulled vacuous expression and general disarray, there was a quality to her. Jill's voice was a soothing rhythm like flowing water, interrupted only slightly by the quiet monosyllabic responses from a slack mouth. It was eerie watching as the hypnosis took hold.

The girl's name was Felice and at Jill's prompting, she seemed to come alive under deep hypnosis. Her mouth tightened into a smile that covered the slight overbite and dark limpid eyes took on a remembered sparkle. I could see why Jill didn't expect to find some quiet little mouse that had been afraid of sex in the woman's past. As the session took hold there was an aura, a vivacity that blossomed as Felice's natural persona came out of hiding.

Jill's words guided her back to when her world had been safe and then began the journey into darkness. It was clear Felice had enjoyed her relationship with a man named Brian. Under different circumstances, her coquettish manner might have stirred the voyeur in me. It was almost like watching some kind of soft porn video as she spoke so seductively, bringing herself and her phantom lover to sensuous climax. Then suddenly, it changed. Terror flared in her eyes, her entire body went rigid as she fought to free herself from the grip of her lover. She began to scream in a hoarse guttural voice that made my throat ache in sympathy. Jill brought her back under control with some difficulty, almost forcing her back into the peace of forgetfulness. Jill reached a shaking hand over and pushed the stop button and then turned off the TV.

"Did you catch what she said?"

I nodded, the horror slowly settling in me. Felice's terror had struck a very primal chord in me.

"Perro."

"You know what it means?"

"Spanish for dog."

"Felice is first generation Cuban. Her parents escaped when Castro took over."

I looked down at her, finally able to tear my eyes from the dark screen that still held the images of horror. It was burned into me beyond my retinas. Looking into Jill's eyes I could see it was the same for her. I hugged her, the embrace becoming fierce as we both tried to draw some comfort from the contact.

"Jill, the tests you did. Did you find any physical evidence of her partner?"

She nodded shortly against my chest, her arms clasping convulsively around me.

"Some hair. And semen."

I waited until the spasm passed with a confidence I already knew what her next words would be.

"It wasn't human, Phil"

She began to cry very quietly. I held her, a part of me wishing I had the ability to join her. My eyes burned but the anger held sway, denying me even that comfort. I waited until the storm had passed for her, letting her release ease some of the tension in me.

"Jill, the questions Sandy asked. Was one of them about lycanthropy?"

She leaned back and looked up with tear reddened eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Someday I would like to do a study on police partners. Sandy told me you two hadn't spoken about the investigation he was on for several months and now you come up with the same question. How is that?"

I picked a box of tissues off her desk and handed them to her.

"It isn't ESP. It's years of working together, knowing how the others' mind works. Plus there were a number of books, recent acquisitions, in his collection. So talk to me."

She dabbed at her eyes then gave me what almost amounted to an impish grin.

"About werewolves?"

"I imagine there is a clinical side to them."

"There is. I did a little research after I talked to Sandy. It is a fairly rare mental illness but there are documented cases of lycanthropes."

It was my turn to grin.

"People who change into wolves?"

She gave me a gentle push and set about repairing some of the damage from her crying.

"Of course not. That's just part of the legend. People afflicted with the lycanthropic disorder only think they transform. They act like wolves, moving around on all fours, howling and biting as they imagine a wolf would. It would almost be comical if it wasn't so tragic."

"Does anyone know what causes it?"

"I don't think any one thing causes it. It is very rare and in most cases can be traced back to previous knowledge of lycanthropy and mental instability. Something like someone thinking they are Napoleon or Jesus."

"Not much help there. You don't seem to think people are capable of transforming into animals."

"Not physically. That's impossible. A disturbed mind can take on the traits of an animal but actually becoming the animal? I think you've been watching too many horror movies."

I shrugged and walked over to look out the window at the night sky.

"I suppose. But how can you explain the legends? I read that just about every culture on the planet has some kind of were legend in their history. Not always wolves but the concept of humans becoming animals is a common thread. Indians have their totemic magic, calling on the spirit of various animals to give aid in daily life. In Africa there are stories of were leopards and hyenas. Something that pervasive has to have roots in some kind in reality."

"You don't seriously believe that she was assaulted by a werewolf, do you?"

The moon hung close to the horizon, glowing brightly in the haze of light that was Jacksonville. Just past half in it's phase, waning cycle.

'Even a man who is pure of heart

And says his prayers at night.

Can become a wolf when the wolfs bane blooms

And the autumn moon is bright.'

I felt her shiver behind the laugh. I glanced back and pointed at the moon.

"Wrong phase. Besides, I'm betting that those samples you have aren't wolf. Have you sent them to the lab yet?"

"Just ours. They said it wasn't human but they couldn't say what it was."

I thought about Elaine and how she would probably be able to get some answers. I also knew this could be the break I was looking for.

"Jill, you asked me here for advice. Follow procedure is the best I can do."

"But Phil, I don't know what the procedure is for something like this."

I walked back over to her and put my hands on her shoulders.

"Sure you do. You have evidence of a probable assault, the nature of which was enough to cause severe psychological trauma. That's enough to warrant bringing the police in. I do have one request though."

She gave me a puzzled look.

"Talk directly to Sheriff Theidens."

"That isn't SOP."

"So call it a concession to the unusual nature of the case. Can you do that for me?"

She came into my arms and hugged me.

"This has something to do with all that tension you brought in with you, doesn't it?" She said in a quiet voice without raising her head. When I didn't answer she continued. "Phil, I know a little about what was driving Sandy. And a little about what you have been going through."

She leaned back against my arms, her hand coming up to my cheek.

"If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

I took her hand in mine and looked at the palm. Just your basic palm but the feeling of peace that had passed into me from its touch was beyond words. I kissed it, then her forehead carefully avoiding her eyes.

"Just call the Sheriff. I'll let him know to expect it."

I headed for the door, my head whirling from the new information. As my hand touched the doorknob I paused. Beyond the excitement was the warmth her touch had left. It reached a part of me I wasn't familiar with.

"Jill?"

"Yes, Phil?"

I waited while I tried to work my thoughts around the words coming from that deep place.

"Right now, I think I need that edge I'm walking. But later..."

I looked over my shoulder.

"Anytime, Phil. And please be careful."

I gave her my best give-a-shit grin.

"Why are people always telling me that?"

#  Chapter 16

Absolutely stark staring crackers. Weekends and routine police work are geared to drive a person to that. I had called Dale first thing Friday morning to let him know about Jill's quandary. He had been skeptical at first but had agreed to handle it as a standard assault case. It had meant calling in a couple of favors with the lab in Tallahassee. Normal procedure would have flagged the physical specimens and any results from the tests for use in the file. If they came back with the results I was expecting, it would have opened up an aspect of the case that would have been hard to contain. The Sheriff had spoken directly with the head of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement lab and managed to get him to agree to send back false information on the results. It was privately documented between them in case things came to a trial but it was hanky panky neither was comfortable with. I had called Elaine and let her know her expertise was going to be called upon. She had agreed to run over to the capitol and run the tests as soon as she could.

There were some calls on my machine from Dan Boling about my next book. The one I had promised to have ready in January and hadn't touched since my return. I got hold of Dan late Friday and filled him in on what was going on. He wasn't happy. My last book had hit the stores about the time I had flown back to Florida and was becoming a bit of a sleeper. Sales were considerably beyond the projected curve so the publisher was excited about the next offering. I knew it should have made me feel ecstatic and on a low level I was but compared to what my reality had become, I just couldn't give in to the feeling. I promised Dan I would do my best but he had better lay some groundwork for delays.

Sugar Bear had called, wondering if I had cooled off and if there was anything more I needed. He suggested meeting somewhere other than the Zone. I called him back and asked him to meet me at the Gator Bowl at 2. The bartender at the Domino said he would get the message to Sugar.

And Denise had called. I think I replayed that message about twenty times. She had information for me on alaunts. From Elaine's research I knew something of their history. And the fact they were pretty much extinct with possible links to a couple of rare breeds still around. I wasn't sure what more I needed to know about them but it made for an excuse to ride over to Tallahassee on Sunday.

So a balmy October Saturday afternoon was a perfect time for a ride up to Jax. I pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant a bit after 2 and put my bike on its stand next to a pickup truck just a bit shorter than the Sears Towers. The air had some serious humidity to it making me wonder if wearing my leather jacket had really been necessary. I was debating on shucking it as I crossed the lot when I noticed a pair of dogs on the far end of the black top. They were both good-sized mutts, one showing Rottweiler in its color and lines, the other some kind of Shepard/collie mix. They came stalking across the pavement, their heads lowered. I kept walking for the door, checking over my shoulder every few seconds.

They increased their pace. Off to the right I spotted three more dogs, various sizes, heading towards me also. Stray dogs aren't all that much of a rarity in downtown Jacksonville but five of them outside of a restaurant in the middle of a sports complex was pretty strange. I eased my speed up, stretching my legs just a touch. As soon as I did all five dogs broke into a lope. I was a good twenty yards from the front entrance and I could see there was no way I could cover it if they became serious. Over to my right was a cyclone fence around the dumpsters. I angled that way and the dogs upped their pace in murderous silence. A part of me realized it was crazy to be attacked by a pack of dogs in the middle of a city but it was a very small part. I reached the fence in four long strides and scrambled to the top as the biggest mongrel's teeth snapped at my boot.

The side of the restaurant rose above me giving me something to balance against as the five dogs lunged at the chain links in their silent attempts to reach me. Most dogs would have been barking furiously. Most wouldn't have been working in this kind of a pack. These animals were totally focused on getting to me. One actually managed to reach the top of the seven-foot fence only to get a size ten steel toe in the chops for his effort. He did a flip backwards and lay still for a moment while his four compadres continued their frenzied efforts to get at me. If I had my gun there would be five very dead doggies on the ground about now. Since I didn't I had to look around for options. The roof of the restaurant was just out of my reach overhead. The enclosure was on a back wall with no access to the inside of the building so unless someone came out I was on my own. I was debating on banging on the wall and yelling when the dogs suddenly stopped jumping at the fence.

The one I had booted had regained its feet and the quintet was standing quietly below me, watching me with hot eyes. The silence was spooky. Then suddenly, they turned and ran off in the direction of the river. I watched until they disappeared around the bulk of the stadium without so much as a backwards glance. I climbed down and headed quickly for the front door. Once inside I relaxed a bit. I pulled the jacket off and enjoyed the coolness of the air conditioning for a moment before tossing the jacket on the shelf over the coat rack and heading up to the bar, three steps at a time.

Debbie was behind the bar with a few customers scattered around it. She looked up in surprise at my entrance and smiled when she saw who it was.

"Hey, Tiger."

I pulled up a stool at my usual spot next to the waitress station and sat down.

"Hi Deb. Get me a cold one, please. I need it."

She pulled a beer from the cooler, popped the cap and handed it to me. I drank about a third of it before I set it on the bar.

"You look a little spooked, Phil."

"I think I am. Just had the weirdest thing happen. Five big ass dogs chased me out in the parking lot and then ran off."

"Should we call the cops?"

I was raising my beer for another drink and stopped.

"Phil?"

"Let me have the phone, will you, Deb?"

She put the phone on the bar, watching me strangely as I dialed the number for the Domino. It had suddenly dawned on me that Sugar Bear wasn't here. He liked to play the pimp act but the lawyer in him was just about obsessive about promptness. I was a good twenty minutes late and no Sugar. That and Deb's question had the short hairs on my neck dancing.

"Domino Club."

"Is Sugar Bear around?"

"Just a sec."

The dance slid down my back and settled into my stomach while I waited.

"Yeah. Sugar Bear here"

"Hey. It's Belanger."

"Yo, man. What's up?"

"You're supposed to be here, bro. What's up?"

I heard him snort and could see his bald head shake right through the phone line.

"Man, I don't know what you're on but it's got to be some nasty stuff. You called and canceled. You getting drifty or something?"

I was silent for a long count as the information sank in.

"Hey, Phil? That was you that called, wasn't it?"

"Not me, Wendell."

"Give me a second."

I waited on the line while he questioned the bartender.

"Shit. He says all you honkies sound alike to him. This a problem, Phil?"

"I think so. What was it you wanted?"

"Max and the boys are wondering if you have anything new. They've had word out on the street to keep an eye out, you know, watch the ladies talking with strange men. It's kind of put a crimp on business."

"I don't think you have to worry. None of the missing women were hookers and I'm pretty sure our boy has climbed the social ladder. But ask them to keep on it for a little longer. If things get tight he just may need to look for an easy fix."

"Jesus, Phil, that's cold."

"Sorry, Wendell. This whole thing has me spooked. Keep in touch."

I hung up the receiver and handed the phone back to Deb. She was watching me closely and for the first time there wasn't even a hint of flirt in it.

"What's going on, Phil?"

I looked at her and just shook my head. The beer in front of me seemed a million miles away. Someone had found out about my appointment with Sugar and had called to cancel it. I had made that call just a few hours ago and I hadn't spoken with anyone since. Unless it was someone who had been in the Domino and overheard the call, a possibility ranking up there with an asteroid hitting the Earth in the next ten minutes, it had to mean my phone was tapped. And someone was paying very close attention to me in a pretty professional way. I reached for my beer and was taking a drink when the phone rang. Deb answered it then held it out to me.

Very professional.

"Belanger."

"You are an easy man to find."

The voice was smooth and low, just a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place.

"I'm not the one hiding."

He laughed quietly.

"Maybe you should be."

"What's your game?"

"Not a game, Detective. It's a hunt. I do so enjoy a hunt."

My hand tightened on the plastic of the handset.

"You enjoy the hunt as much as I, Detective. It's what you live for, isn't it?"

"This one." I said tightly.

Again with the chuckle.

"Just so. I'm looking forward to the rematch."

There was a click that cut off his parting laugh. For a long moment I hung there, phone to my ear, as the rage swept up from deep inside and consumed the last bit of rationality in my head. My finger hit the cut off bar and I dialed the number for the Sheriff's office. When the dispatcher came on the line I opened my mouth to demand to be put through to the Sheriff but the words locked in my throat. Slowly I put the phone down, cutting off the tinny voice.

'You are an easy man to find.'

"Phil? You look like you've just seen a ghost." Deb laid her hand on mine on the phone. "Is everything ok?"

"No. It isn't." I tried to give her a smile but from the look in her eyes it didn't come out right. "I've got to run."

I went down the stairs the same way I came up them, hooked my jacket off the shelf and headed out into the afternoon sun. My nerves were jangling and my whole body shaking as I ran, stiff legged, to my bike and fired it up. Without bothering with the chinstrap or zipping my jacket, I nailed the throttle and raced from the lot. The shop was just a few blocks away but it was too obvious a move on my part and I had been playing this game too openly.

'You are an easy man to find.'

I hit the Hart Bridge, barely slowing to toss my coins into the toll hopper and roared up the span. The anger was in full control. I wanted this guy's throat in my hands. I wove the bike through traffic, slipping through gaps that earned more than a few blaring horns as I headed for my apartment. I slowed for the Atlantic Boulevard exit and headed for 95 south, cursing the city planners who had made the roads into such a damn maze. I was just hitting the throttle again when a car pulled out in front of me. Instinct took over as I stomped the foot brake and slewed the bike into a skid then hit the gas to scoot into the parking lot of the 7-11 with inches to spare on the back bumper of the car. I wheeled the bike over besides the building and hit the kill switch.

As I tried to swallow my stomach and get control of the adrenaline rush I realized I had to get a hold of myself before I went one inch further. Not only was I a hazard to every motorist on the street but ending up under the tandems of an 18 wheeler would not be of any help to anyone. Especially me.

I peeled off my helmet and tried to take a deep breath. It caught in my chest. I swung my leg over the tank and got shakily to my feet. Traffic on Atlantic moved on by, totally oblivious. Suddenly, it hit me. Totally oblivious. Just like me. I scanned the cars going by. My wild hell ride would have made it difficult for anyone to follow me but that was sheer luck. There had been no conscious attempt on my part to shake a tail and I kicked myself as I realized it was just possible that the killer had been waiting outside the Gator Bowl to do just that. Probably counting on me being too rattled to look for it.

And he would have been right. His call had shaken me, scared me and cut loose the wild ice that was making me act like a green rookie. I pushed the bike over behind a dumpster where it couldn't be seen from the street and continued my surveillance of the traffic from behind it's bulk. I wondered how many stupid mistakes I would be able to get away with. I was beginning to feel like a marionette and this joker was doing a good job of working the strings.

After ten minutes of watching and deep breathing I figured I was about ready to see if I could get back a bit of the legend. They said the Ironman was unflappable, black ice and iron. The roiling in my gut and trembling legs told me otherwise but for everyone's sake, I had to find whatever it was that had built the legend. I went inside to the payphone, scanning the few customers as I dropped coins in the slot and punched numbers. He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Petrino."

"Vic, it's Phil. We need to meet."

He paused for just a heartbeat.

"Where and when?"

"Right away. And I need you to get hold of the Sheriff and get him there too. Don't tell him what its about, just that its important."

"What the hell is going on, Phil?"

"Too much to talk about on the phone. You remember where we met when this whole thing started?"

"Sure. Down at the..."

"Don't say it!" I cut in sharply. "Just meet me there as soon as you can and don't tell anyone about this. Let Dale know the same."

There was a long silence on his end. I could guess some of the thoughts, some of the questions running through his mind but I prayed he was pro enough to hold on to them.

"All right. I'll get hold of Dale and we'll meet you. I don't know how long it will take."

"I have a friend to pick up and then I'll head that way. Take me about 45 minutes."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling kind of lonely lately. Traveling alone is getting to be bad for my health."

"About time you figured that out. See you in an hour."

I leaned on the rail at the end of the pier and watched the sullen gray swells roll in from the Stream. There wasn't much of a breeze so the muggy air hung like a heavy wool blanket in the late afternoon air. Behind me the beaches were crowded with people enjoying the last of the day's sun. There were a number of people on the pier. Some were fishing, buckets of bait shrimp beside them. Others were strolling about, enjoying the ambiance. I watched them all. It wasn't easy making it appear casual when I wanted to grab each and every one of them. The voice on the phone had been male but it was possible he had or would use others to help. Not likely but I couldn't help recalling Felice's attitude towards her mystery Brian. I was just going over that possibility when I spotted Vic's burly form coming through the crowd.

He was dressed for fishing with a floppy hat on his head and a small cooler in hand. Beside him, Sheriff Theidens was dressed similarly in jeans and chambray shirt, a faded ball cap pulled low on his head. It surprised me and I was relieved to see them dressed in mufti for a day at the pier. No one gave them a second glance. I had changed into faded jeans and a tank T under my jacket. A bit warm but the helmet in my hand provided the reason for leather.

"Yo, Phil."

"Hey, Vic. Thanks for making it so quick. Sheriff."

"Best make it Dale." I smiled and nodded, then motioned for them to follow me to a spot at the rail that was away from people. The closest person was a scrawny old duffer in baggy shorts and Hawaiian shirt. Vic raised an eyebrow but followed without comment. I leaned against the wood, facing the water and they took up spots on either side of me.

"I talked with him."

They both looked at me but I watched the water.

"When?"

"A little over an hour ago." I went on and filled them in on the happenings at the Gator Bowl. Part way through the story, Vic opened his cooler and handed beers around. Just some guys yakking at the fishing pier. They waited until I finished, drinking brew and taking in the scenery.

"So you figure he has a tap on your phone?" The Sheriff said casually.

"Has to. It's the only way he could have known."

Dale nodded and glanced at Vic.

"About time for a little housekeeping on the lines, wouldn't you say?"

"This guy is a pro." He acknowledged. "But what is this shit about a rematch?"

"I don't know. I've been going over all the cases I can remember working on. I'm drawing a big blank there."

Dale chuckled then took a swig of beer.

"Not surprising considering the number of them, Phil. I'll put someone on digging through the files; see if we can help jog your memory. But the real question is, what's the next step."

"Dale, have you heard anything on that assault?"

Vic looked up sharply. He obviously hadn't heard about it so I brought him up to speed on it. When I was finished, he was shaking his head.

"You mean we might have a lead on this nutbag?"

"Mighty slim chance, Vic. I kind of fast tracked the investigation for it but something tells me we aren't going to get much solid out of it. So far they've come up with a name and description but the rest is showing dead end."

"Well, shit, a description is one hell of a lot more than we had before."

"True but there are plenty of places this joker can hunt in. I've got the troops out canvassing them and putting them on the lookout. With a little luck, he'll get spotted and we can move on him."

"I don't think so." I said quietly. They both looked at me.

"I get the feeling this whole hunt business has just shifted gears."

"You think its gotten personal?"

"Something like that. I think he was just playing before."

"So what's his next step?"

"I wish I knew. I do know what mine is. I'm heading for Tallahassee tomorrow. Denise has some information for me and I can get the results on the lab tests. When I get back I'm going to move up to Sandy's apartment. Orange Park is just too damn far away."

Dale glanced at my chest.

"I see you've put on a little weight." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a leather case and handed it to me. "Don't give me any grief about this, boy."

I took the familiar black wallet and felt the well-worn ridges of the shield inside. We locked eyes. Finally I slipped it into my hip pocket.

#  Chapter 17

When I got back to my apartment there was a message on the machine to call Brenda. It was bit past six, still plenty of time to make it to Gainesville and then on to Tallahassee if I hustled. I grabbed a quick shower and ran a razor over my face. A haircut wouldn't hurt me any but the old clean-cut days seemed far away. My moustache got a hasty trim as a concession. The Duval County Sheriff's Department had policies about the appearance of their deputies that, I thought with a grim chuckle, I was in violation of on almost every count. My steel toed boots were scuffed and badly in need of polish. The jeans were faded almost white and fraying on every edge. My khaki shirt had never made acquaintance with an iron but the bit of polyester in it kept it from looking slept in. I debated on wearing the shoulder rig for my .45. It was more comfortable and had a carrier under the right arm for extra clips but it was more confining and harder to hide. Instead I used the belt clip holster at the small of my back. Three clips went in my jacket pocket and my ID and shield case into the inside pocket.

I tossed a change of clothes and my douche kit into one of the leather saddlebags that fastened to the bike. Out in the living room I looked at the files and papers scattered on my coffee table. It was a royal mess; a mess that was the sum total of everything I had to date on the case. Without worrying about order or organization I quickly gathered and stacked the papers and stuffed them in the other saddlebag and hurried out the door. Pulling out of the parking lot I wondered if there was anything in the fridge I could have grabbed for a bite. It seemed I was always leaving in a rush. I decided anything about closing up the apartment could wait until Monday. Right now I was looking for a fast food joint with a pay phone.

I stopped at a 7-11. The phone was more important than the food. With the way my stomach was feeling, I didn't think a quick burger was going to sit real well. Elaine answered on the second ring.

"Hi, Elaine. It's Phil."

"Hello. I wanted to let you know I ran those tests on the samples."

"That was fast."

She chuckled.

"I had a feeling that was best. You sounded pretty anxious yesterday. They are..."

"Not on the phone." I said quickly.

She paused.

"If that's the way you want it. Phil, what's happening?"

"Too much to go into now. Is it all right if I stop in."

"Tonight?"

"In about an hour, if that's ok. Then I have to head for Tallahassee."

"I'll see you then."

I took the back roads towards Gainesville, cracking the throttle wide open on the straight stretches and praying the critters would stay clear of the blacktop. If someone was trying to follow me, they would have to be damn good. I made the final few miles to the kennel in the dark with my lights off and parked the bike out of sight from the road. I shucked my helmet and listened to the quiet sounds of the Florida night. Beyond the ping and sizzle of the motorcycle there were the songs of the cicadas and frogs, the piercing night cry of a heron and the papery rattle of palmetto fronds in the breeze. I heard the creak of hinges and metallic zing of the spring on a screen door from the direction of the house.

"Phil?"

I hung my helmet on the backrest of the seat and headed across the crushed shell drive, the crunch of my footsteps sounding like a bass drum to my questing ears.

Elaine was on the back porch of the house. There was one dim light on in the kitchen but the porch and yard lights were off. She watched me closely as I stepped onto the porch then opened the inside door to the house.

"Come on in."

Inside was the smell of coffee, the subtle scent of chicory and some spicy food I couldn't place but set my mouth to watering. She headed directly to the coffee pot and brought me a mug.

"You look like hell, Phil."

"Then I'm a pretty good actor because I feel worse."

"When was the last time you ate?"

I tried to remember and was surprised I couldn't.

"Yesterday. I think."

"Go sit and drink your coffee. I've got jambalaya in the oven."

She headed over and busied herself on the working side of the kitchen so I took her advice and sat at the table.

"I take it things have changed recently."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, little signals. Like not wanting to talk on the phone. Late night road trips without headlight. Of course there is also the samples." She brought a wide shallow bowl of jambalaya over and set it on the table in front of me. The aroma set off a massive battle between the tension in me and the hunger. I breathed the smell in and looked at the dish. Crawfish tails, shrimp, chicken and dark sausage lay in a bed of rice, tomatoes, celery and okra, a picture perfect display. Hunger won. I tried a forkful. It was delicious and only set off minor rebellions so I dug in. Elaine brought the coffee over and sat down to wait patiently while I worked my way through most of the jambalaya. I thought I was going to be able to eat about four bowls of it until I was three quarters through the first and all of a sudden my throat closed. I knew if I tried one more bite I would likely lose what I already had so I put my fork down and took a sip of coffee.

"That bad?"

'No, it's wonderful. I just..."

She shook her head and grinned.

"I know. It's the stress. That's what I meant. You want to talk about it?"

"I need to get on the road. I guess I need to hear the test results so I can get rolling."

She reached over and put her hand on my arm.

"What is so important that you need to get to Tallahassee tonight?"

"Denise, Sandy's wife, has some information for me too. She's been researching alaunts."

"So drive over in the morning."

I looked down at her hand. The tightness in my chest cranked up another notch.

"There's more to it, isn't there?"

"I'm scared." I whispered.

"For her? Or for you?"

I stood up suddenly. Lucy looked up then got up and padded over to me, her blunt head pushing at my hand.

"I don't know. It's just this horrible feeling I'm missing too much, I'm going to make a mistake and someone else is going to die."

"Denise?"

"Maybe."

"You better fill me in. And you aren't going anywhere tonight. There is plenty of room here and I don't want you on my conscience. Talk to me, Phil."

I knew I needed to talk with someone but I couldn't bring myself to do it. In all my years on the force, I had been scared many times. It had come in situations when danger had flared suddenly, clear and imminent, something to be grasped and dealt with. Here the hazard was nebulous, undefined and hiding. It wasn't something to be grappled, more like a fog that slipped through my fingers and choked the life from those around me. And it was the frustration, the feeling of absolute ineffectiveness that was paralyzing me.

"Elaine, I don't know that I can. Or should."

"You have to."

"You are still outside this, Elaine. I don't want to draw you in any closer."

"I'm a tough old broad, Belanger. Besides, I am already in it. My name is on the test reports. If this bogeyman thinks he needs to find me, he has more than enough reason. Don't you think I would stand a better chance if I had some idea of what I'm dealing with?"

I looked at her, still torn. Lucy whined and bumped my leg, whether she just wanted attention or was urging me to listen, I couldn't tell.

"And there is another aspect. In the state you are in, you aren't going to be much help to anyone. You have to get past whatever it is that is eating you because, boyo, you just may be the best chance any of us has to get out from under this. That is one hell of a burden but I think you are up to it."

So I started to tell her. It came out in chunks, disjointed at first. As I got into the telling though, it began to flow more freely. I paced the kitchen, Lucy beside me matching me step for step. Elaine listened intently. Her interruptions were few and her questions insightful. While I talked the feeling that the puzzle was being laid out on the kitchen table came over me and I got into the display, the terror and inadequacy fading. When I finished I squatted down on the floor and played with Lucy.

"Phil, just what is it you think Denise has for you?"

"No clue. She sounded pretty excited but I'll be damned if I can think of anything she might have found that could have a bearing on all this. Medieval history seems a pretty long stretch for relevancy to a psycho killer and his pet monster."

"Why don't you call her and have her meet you here?"

"I'd rather she stayed in Tallahassee. I don't think this guy is willing to go that far. He's stayed in Duval and I figure there is a reason for it. Why do you want her to come here?"

"I would like to hear firsthand what she has found. I know you don't want to discuss anything over the phone and I agree. Besides, it makes sense. In Tallahassee, she has no one, no protection."

"And she would here?"

Elaine gave me what might have amounted to a withering glare if it wasn't for the twinkle in her eyes.

"I am not defenseless, Belanger. There are several guns around this house, all loaded and accessible. I am also on very friendly terms with the Sheriff and most of the deputies. We've worked together in the past with abused and stray animals and a couple of them have dogs that were whelped here. And let's not forget Lucy."

I rubbed the pit bull's ears. Lucy would indeed be a formidable force. She weighed around 70 pounds and had every indication of embodying all of the traits of the breed; tenacity, loyalty, strength and heart. What I was afraid of was the behavior of the pack of dogs that had chased me up a dumpster and I told Elaine so.

"Phil, you have to have a little more faith in dogs. Yes, they are pack animals but don't you see? I am Lucy's pack. I have no doubt of her loyalty to me." She paused and gave me an inquiring look. "You don't really believe the werewolf part, do you?"

Did I? The rational side of me wanted to laugh it off but something deep inside, way down on the atavistic level refused to let me.

"So how do you explain the dogs? That was pretty weird behavior."

"I agree. But those were feral dogs, strays. I suppose it is possible he found them, took them in and trained them. In essence, gave them a pack with his dog as the alpha. It makes more sense than some kind of mystical control."

"I suppose."

"But you aren't comfortable with it."

"I'm not comfortable with anything. The whole Lon Chaney bit is just plain too weird to take seriously. People can't turn into dogs."

"Call her, Phil. I think we need to hear more."

I hesitated but she nodded towards the phone hanging on the wall by the door into the living room. I walked across the room and stood looking at the damn thing. Suddenly Lucy began to rumble deep in her throat. Her attention was fixed on the back door, her ears cocked forward. I heard the crunch of tires on the shell drive just as headlights swept the kitchen.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

Elaine shook her head, her eyes on the gun in my hand. I glanced at it, not even remembering drawing it. I moved to the window and eased the curtain aside. Out in the yard a dark sedan pulled up by the porch. When the headlights blinked off I could see the lone occupant silhouetted in the dim moonlight. I had to shake my head. I lowered the gun and eased it to half cock. Lucy continued to growl, the hair across her shoulders bristling. Elaine saw the ease in tension in me and told Lucy to stand down. The dog looked back at her mistress but subsided.

There was a knock at the door and I went over to open it. Denise smiled shyly.

"Hi."

I opened the screen door and let her in. Lucy came forward, her eyes bright and ready for friend or foe. Elaine came over as I gathered Denise into a quick hug.

"Elaine Rivers, this is Denise Shaw. Denise, Elaine."

They shook hands while I took a look around outside before I closed the door.

"I was just trying to get Phil to call you and invite you down."

"Really? I bet he was fighting it all the way."

Elaine laughed.

"Not as much as you might think."

Denise looked over at me, apprehension and question in her big hazel eyes.

""I'm just wondering how you found us."

"You told me on the phone you were stopping in Gainesville and I remembered the name of the kennel. I'm sorry, Phil, I just didn't want to wait in Tallahassee any longer."

I tried to glare at her but she looked so darn forlorn I couldn't make it work. There was still that big piece of unformed terror hanging inside me, somehow linked to her but I was too glad to see her to be angry.

"This isn't a game, Denise."

"But I want to help."

I was about to growl something about the best way she could help was to stay out of harm's way when Elaine linked her arm through Denise's and turned them towards the table.

"And big bad Belanger thinks us poor defenseless women need to be locked away where its safe. I know, he gave me the same song and dance a few minutes ago. Would you like some coffee or something to drink?"

"A glass of wine would be lovely."

"I'm afraid all I have is a red vin ordinaire. It's a bit on the rough side."

"Sounds fine."

Elaine looked over her shoulder at me as they paused in the doorway.

"Phil, I'm sure Denise has some things in the car that need to be brought in. And if you insist on waving that gun around, why don't you do it outside. Maybe have a little look around? Take Lucy along. She could use a little walk."

Lucy took off as soon as we were outside. She stopped out in the grass for a needed pause then set off around the house, nose and ears probing the night. I walked over to the car and stopped to listen for the tell tale rumble of vehicles on the highway. The night was quiet. I looked in through the back window. There was an over night bag on the back seat next to a box of papers. A flash of caution told me I should make two trips and keep a hand free but Lucy came around the end of the car with her tail up and wagging so I figured I could trust to her senses for enough warning. I hung the bag by its strap from my shoulder and picked up the box. Denise had been busy. Part of me cringed at the thought of having to read more dry material that would probably have little to no bearing on what was going on. I managed to get the doors open and was almost tripped as Lucy slipped by my legs giving me a good shove in the process.

I could hear the ladies talking in the front room so I set the box on the table and went in to join them. I wasn't prepared for the greeting I got from Denise. She came into my arms and hugged me fiercely. It only took me a moment to get used to the idea and hug her back.

"Hey, what's up?"

She shook her head against my chest without looking up.

"I just needed a hug, ok?" She said in a small voice with just a touch of quaver in it. I let the bag slide off my shoulder, easing out of the embrace just enough to set it on the floor.

"I'm not complaining, just wondering."

She leaned back in the circle of my arms and searched my face.

"Werewolves?"

I looked over at Elaine who was studying the wine bottle in her hand and avoiding looking our way.

"Unless you have something better?"

She gave me an urchin grin.

"I just may."

"And it means staying up half the night reading, doesn't it?" I groaned.

"I think I can give you the Readers Digest version, you big wussy."

Our eyes met as I searched for an appropriate comeback and suddenly my insides did a sliding shift and the room got way too warm. My breath caught in my throat and the snappy comeback died. Her eyes got even wider for a heartbeat, a shadow of a shy smile dancing across her lips and then she pushed herself free and went over to pick up her wine.

"I discovered all kinds of interesting things about your mysterious alaunts. They were those huge hunting dogs that medieval nobility kept around. You know, the ones they use the Irish wolfhounds to portray in the movies? They were the ancestors of the mastiff and Great Dane, maybe even tied in with the wolfhounds. But anyway, those old castles were generally crawling with all kinds of dogs. They kept terriers for hunting small game, the animals that liked to hide in burrows and holes. And there were raches, sight hounds that hunted in packs and were used to track and chase deer. The alaunts were the heavy artillery. The raches sometimes flushed bear or wild boar and they were too big and ferocious for them to keep at bay. That was when the alaunts came into play. A handful of them were capable of keeping a bear or boar busy until the huntsmen arrived."

"That's all very interesting but what does it have to do with our nut and his killer pooch."

Denise frowned at her glass.

"I'm not certain. I found an account of something that made me wonder. A wolf pack pretty much laid siege to the city of Paris in 1439. Wolves in Europe were far more aggressive than those in North America. This pack was led by a big animal though it isn't certain if it was a pure bred wolf or a hybrid with an alaunt. They terrorized the roads around Paris throughout the year and even managed to shut down the city once winter set in. They called the leader Cortaud because in an encounter with a professional hunter hired to kill him, he lost a part of his tail."

"So what happened?"

"During the winter of 1439, the wolves actually entered Paris and hunted in the streets. King Charles VII hired the man who had cut Cortaud's tail and made him high constable of Paris. He lured the pack into a cul-de-sac trap where archers slaughtered them from above. The hunter himself supposedly met Cortaud, one on one and killed him ending the siege."

"So why is this significant?"

"According to some of the accounts, the wolf leaders signature was that he attacked the head, virtually scalping the victim."

I felt a chill run through me. I could tell there was more.

"Phil, Elaine told me about your talk with him. About the hunt business and the rematch."

"And?"

"The hunters name was Boselier."

"A bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

Her face closed, her expression becoming wooden and sullen. I looked over at Elaine for support and found none.

"Do you have anything better to go on?"

I walked over to the front window and looked outside while I tried to find a place in the pattern where the new information would fit. A lunatic who thought he was the reincarnation of a 15th century hell hound, raising some kind of dog that has been supposedly extinct for almost a century, acting out a grudge match with me just because I had a French name. It made more sense than a werewolf but just barely.

"How possible is it that someone could learn about this and get so damn delusional about it? I mean, aren't we talking about some obscure 500 year old legend?"

"It isn't a legend. The wolf pack existed and did just about take Paris. The details are hazy. There are definite indications that the locals believed Cortaud to be possessed or a demon or something but that is to be expected. They believed in that kind of stuff back then."

I nodded. I couldn't really see much outside. The backlighting made the big glass into more of a mirror than a window. I saw Elaine motion for Denise to go to me but she shook her head and stayed where she was. Elaine poured another glass of wine and took it to her, urging her to bring it to me. I turned and looked at them.

"So I get to choose between a werewolf and a psychotic medieval scholar. I suppose I better study up on both of them but either way it's going to look like I've lost my mind."

I walked over and pointed at the extra glass Denise held.

"I could use that. Unless you're going two fisted with your drinking."

She held it out to me reluctantly.

"Thanks." I reached up with my free hand and brushed her hair back behind her ear. "For everything."

Elaine broke the tableau by filling Denise's glass.

"So where do you go from here. Phil?"

"I guess I'd better talk to the Sheriff and the people he has investigating the assault. Your tests did confirm that those samples matched the earlier ones, didn't it?"

"As close as I can tell."

"Then I better see what the troops have on our mystery Brian. I know Animal Control did a check on all people in the county with registered dogs but I don't think they went far enough. The reports in the file were pretty incomplete. Tomorrow I'll get the Sheriff to dig deeper. I'll have them check on real estate sales and rentals, all of them in the past three years. With a bit of luck we may have something in a couple of days, a week at the most. We've got a description and we've got a dog about the size of Godzilla probably. It will take some leg work but it can be done."

I took a drink of wine. It was a tart red, about the only kind of wine I could drink.

"Then I'll see what they can dig out on known felons and mental cases who match and have a penchant for history."

A wan smile crept onto Denise's lips. I tried to respond but it turned into a jawbreaker of a yawn.

"I have a guest room but I'm afraid there's only one bed."

"The couch is fine for me."

Denise took the drink from my hand and guided me in the direction Elaine had headed.

"You get the bed, Phillip. You need a decent night's sleep."

I started to argue but another yawn blocked the effort. Denise stopped me next to the bed and reached up to unbutton my shirt. I stopped her by covering her hand with mine. Her eyes met mine with a trace of hurt in their question.

"I'm not that tired."

I gave her a kiss on the forehead and a gentle push towards the door. It took 12 seconds to strip to my shorts and I was asleep about 8 inches above the pillow.

#  Chapter 18

Jungle smells. Night blooming jasmine, hyacinth, jack pine. Vines tugged at my sleeves as I moved silently through the undergrowth. I pushed past a bush; the palmetto leaves slicing through my shirtsleeves and forearm. Black blood flowed from my fingertips and puddled on the dirty blacktop. Beyond the trash cans I could see a hazy figure under the pale neon exit sign. Fog rolled past it, obscuring it, blurring it until it swam into the mist. I reached under my arm for my gun and found a book there, the pages sticky with clotted blood. Out of the mist came muffled sound, clicking noises, a heavy panting. I moved towards the end of the alley, my heart pounding as I tried to reach her. But she stayed just beyond my reach, her heavy musky perfume teasing my nose, her laughter a taunting echo that turned to sobs as she called my name. I lunged into the cloying softness that held me in its thickening grip. She cried out my name as my fingers closed on thick coarse fur and a slavering muzzle lined with fangs slashed at my face and I...

"Phillip!"

...woke, lunging up from the bed. Denise was crouched beside me, cowering away from my sudden move, her hand on my shoulder. I was panting as if I had run a marathon and I was covered in a cold sweat. Terror had clamped an icy hand on my heart. The nightmare was fading quickly, leaving me with no specifics.

"Phillip?"

"Someone was dying...being killed...and I couldn't, couldn't..." My voice ripped in my dry throat. Then I was wrapped in warm arms, my head cradled in a flowery refuge. Slowly the trip hammer of my heart quieted until it seemed to be beating in unison with the gentle thump at my ear. I became aware of fingers in my hair, my name whispered softly in my ear. My arms came up slowly and I clung to what felt like the only, the last piece of security in the world.

"It was a dream, Phillip. Just a dream. You're ok. It's over now." A part of me wanted to tell her how wrong she was but I couldn't make my voice work. A lassitude crept through my muscles, a quiet peace I didn't want to deny. I knew I should tell her but her soft voice washed over me until I slid back into oblivion.

I came awake in the morning with the sun in my face and an exuberant dog applying liberal amounts of slobbery affection to the same. I managed to work an arm between me and Lucy's kisses and ruffed her stubby ears. I tried to roll to my back and almost cried out at the ache in every major muscle group. After ten minutes of determined effort I managed to get myself into a hot shower that helped loosen the cramped muscles and make me feel almost human. My saddlebags were at the foot of the bed, brought in by a considerate person because I had totally forgotten them. Ten minutes later, my face was freshly scraped, teeth scrubbed, clean jeans and T-shirt, I felt up to facing the world. During the whole process the smell of coffee and bacon had been working on my stomach. I headed for the kitchen.

Denise was at the stove tending the cooking. She wore cutoff shorts and a sleeveless workshirt and was humming to herself as she worked. Evidently she hadn't heard me come in behind her. I felt embarrassed watching her when she thought herself all alone but there was something about the way her hips swayed, something so incredibly vulnerable about her slimness that made me ignore the thought of letting her know I was here. She finally turned to get something from the refrigerator and jumped when she spotted me watching. She blushed bright red under her tan.

"You sneak! How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." I smiled. "Good morning."

"Good morning. There's coffee on the table."

I decided I liked the way her eyes snapped and sparkled when she was mad but also decided there was a time when retreat was in order. I went over and poured myself a mug of coffee while she went back to frying bacon. While I waited for it to cool I watched her some more. She could tell I was doing it. There was a stiff primness in her movements.

"Hey."

She looked back over her shoulder suspiciously.

"Thanks. For last night."

The blush had just about faded but it flared again and she couldn't meet my eyes.

"It's ok." She turned back to the stove. "A nightmare?"

"A doozy."

"What was it about?"

"I don't really remember. But then I seldom do."

She looked back at me in surprise.

"You've had them before?"

"Often. They used to be a nightly occurrence when I first came back from Nam. The doc said they should fade with time and he was right. I haven't had one in a couple years now."

She took the last of the bacon, laid it on a paper towel and turned the burner off.

"That has to be rough."

I shrugged and sipped my coffee.

"I got used to it though it was always a bitch getting back to sleep after one. Nance used to hate them." I could see she was listening closely without letting me know. "Last night was the quickest I ever went back to sleep. Thanks."

She turned, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Ever?"

I nodded.

"I don't understand."

"Nance hated them. They scared her. She was pretty understanding at first but I guess it got pretty old having the guy you're sleeping with start yelling and thrashing around like a gaffed fish. I don't know, maybe it embarrassed her. I just know that what you did last night...well, it was special and it helped. A lot."

She was quiet for a minute.

"Your welcome."

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Once I got you to quit imitating a chainsaw."

I set my cup down and walked over behind her.

"Just how long did you stay?"

"I think you better go tell Elaine breakfast is ready. She's out tending the dogs."

I put my hand on her slender hip and felt her tremble.

"Please, Phillip."

"You know, no one ever calls me that unless they're really mad at me."

She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Please. The food is going to get cold."

I leaned forward and kissed the back of her head then headed for the door. Elaine came out of the kennel office when I was halfway across the drive. Lucy danced ahead to greet her. She knelt down to play and watched me as I crossed the yard to join her.

"You look a little stiff this morning, Phil."

"I am. Hangover from nightmares but it passes. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"More like scared the hell out of both of us. We had just decided to call it a night when you started. It reminded me of when my kid brother came home from the war. He used to do the same thing."

She gave Lucy a last scratch on her chest and stood up.

"One of the things we talked about was that bike of yours."

My hackles came up. I was getting tired of hearing the grown man riff about the damn thing. Elaine caught the defensive bristling in my posture and raised her chin, determined to continue.

"Phil, it's a noisy beast, much too easy to spot and even easier to crash. We decided last night you needed different transportation for the duration. Something a bit safer and more useful, not to mention different. Something this Brian doesn't know about?"

I waited for the rest of it but finally realized it wasn't coming. It did make sense but I wasn't about to use Denise's car again. She needed it. And it was one of those little toy shitboxes Detroit was putting out to compete with the imports. I could buy something, probably should, yet I had no idea of what nor did I want to waste the time. But I could tell by the look in Elaine's eyes they had come up with a solution for me.

"So what's the answer?"

"Follow me."

She led me over to a big garage that made up the point of the triangle layout for the house and kennel. She paused as she gave the roll up door's handle a twist.

"Dave, my husband, used to play with this thing. After he died, I just couldn't bring myself to sell it."

I helped her lift the door. I had had a flash of some kind of hot rod, maybe a Duece coupe or a Vette. Sitting in the middle of the garage was a squat old pickup, a 66 Ford, half ton. The paint was one of those awful turquoise blue jobs Ford had liked a couple of decades ago but it had faded and wore many patches of primer gray to mottle the impact. The model came standard with an in-line six-cylinder engine and three-speed transmission, shifter on the column. I hadn't driven a three-on-the-tree since high school. They had been bred as a workhorse. Nothing fancy or fast but dependable as hell. I looked down at Elaine.

"It's a very nice truck but I'm thinking it might be a bit...aged?...for the freeways."

"Really? Pop the hood."

I did and let out a low whistle. Nestled between the wheel wells was a 289ci V8. It was the smallest 8 Ford had made for serious production but it was a tough gutsy mill that had seen a lot of miles on dirt tracks around the country. A monster Holly four-pumper perched atop the Edelbrook high-rise aluminum manifold. Twisting off the sides like mating anacondas were headers, well blued from use. Back on the firewall was an electronic dual point ignition system to direct the juice from the heavy-duty coil. I went around and looked in the cab. It was stock with the exception of a bank of gauges mounted under the dash and a very professional job of moving the shifter to the floor.

"It's a Muncie 4 speed." Elaine said from the front of the truck.

Tucked behind the cab was a toolbox mounted across the top rails of the step side, no doubt bolted securely in place. The floor of the bed was covered with tongue and groove cypress, worn smooth and faded to nondescript gray. I rejoined Elaine and gently closed the hood.

"Very nice and very well done. I'm not much of a mechanic but I can tell good work when I see it."

"It was Dave's hobby. He spent a lot of hours on this thing. There were times I was almost jealous."

I looked at her. There had been a catch in her voice and her eyes were suspiciously bright as she remembered her man, gone but never forgotten.

"Are you sure you want me to use it?"

She sniffed and rubbed a careless hand across her eyes.

"It used to come in handy when I still had the big dogs but it doesn't get much use now." She gave me a grin. "Hell, I can barely reach the pedals on the beast. And I think Dave would want you to. You are nothing like him but I know you would have been good friends. Please, take it. With both our blessings."

I patted the hood.

"We best get inside. Denise said the food is getting cold."

An hour later I was on the road heading for Jax. My gear and Denise's information were locked in the toolbox, my scoot tucked away in Elaine's garage and I had a plan. Dave's old Ford had fired right up with a muted rumble and it had taken to the highway like a young thoroughbred to the track at Aqueduct. He had left the gearing down in the torque range so my top end wouldn't be all that impressive but it would get up there fast, providing I could keep the rear wheels grabbing. I suspected he had leaded the frame to help keep traction. The old horse squatted with more authority than a Detroit roll off. All in all, it was a joy to drive. The loving care he had put into the drive train had been applied to the steering gear and suspension. I suspected the old girl would out handle all but the snazziest sports cars on the road.

The only things that kept me from totally enjoying the fine piece of machinery under me were the tasks ahead of me once I got Sheriff Theidens to meet me at the shop and Denise. She had been very subdued during breakfast. Her smiles had been fleeting, her words much the same. I had tried to draw her out when Elaine went to gather my bag and the box of files but she had remained cool and quiet. Right down to the peck on the cheek and quick hug before I got in the truck. I put it down to concern that I was heading back into the lion's den but I was surprised to find it bothered me. Actually hurt if I wanted to be honest with myself. I shook myself and pushed the feeling back behind the thoughts of the job. There was too much there to worry about until after. I couldn't afford the distraction.

Right now I needed to find Dale and get him down to the office so we could get working on the new leads. It was a good thing the man was dedicated to his job. I didn't like dragging people in on a Sunday but I had this feeling that things were coming to a head and we were still a step or two behind. It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed. Up ahead I saw a sign for a gas station. I hoped they had a phone.

I parked a couple blocks from the station and walked over so I could have a look around. It wasn't as if I expected to find someone sitting behind the wheel of a parked black Mercedes, engine running and camera snapping. Our quarry was too much of a pro for that one. But it was possible he was using a blind, someone he could manipulate into doing his surveillance for him while he remained safely distant from the operation. And that person might make mistakes. Long odds against it but I wasn't willing to take the chance.

I went in through a side entrance and headed for the bullpen. Since it was Sunday, most of the detectives were off for the weekend. The departments were operating on bare bones staff with the exception of the assault unit. Dale had put them on the Amboy case Friday and I knew they would be hitting it hard and heavy. The Sheriff was going to meet me here so we could go over the new information I had and get brought up to date on whatever the crew had gathered. I was a little uncomfortable about the openness of the move. Word would get around quickly that I was here and with the Sheriff's blessing but it couldn't be avoided. The time for stealth and subtle was about done. If things were going to break, the more people who were aware of what was going down, the better our chances were of stopping it.

The bullpen was a big open area in the center of the building with desks where on duty officers worked. Around the perimeter were offices for the administrators as well as private rooms used for informal interrogations and meetings with people who didn't feel comfortable discussing problems where others could see and hear them. Over half of the desks were occupied. I saw a lot of familiar faces, faces that reacted with varying degrees of surprise as I walked in. One managed to surprise me. Chico was in conference with Al Mallek, one of the senior investigators from the Assault group. He spotted me and waved me over to join them.

"Hey, Belanger."

Al nodded at me. If he was surprised to see me it didn't show. He looked more like the classic stereotype of a bookie, short and skinny with a face only a rodent could love, than one of the best interrogators in the business. Rumor had it he was going to retire soon but that rumor had been around for as long as I could remember. He looked to be in his late fifties. About the same age he had looked when Sandy and I had joined the force over 12 years ago. I had played poker with him once. If I wanted to unload money, I'd give it to charity.

"Chico, what are you doing here?"

"Liaising. The Sheriff thought someone from Homicide should be involved. Someone who knew what was up."

I raised an eyebrow.

"And BJ was ok with that?"

Chico chuckled.

"I'm not sure he knows yet. Coop caught me Friday night when I went off shift and asked me to come work with Al. He said he'd square it away with Hodson."

"So, have we got anything?"

"Male Caucasian, 5' 10", 175, blue and brown." Al said with a shrug. "He has a nice haircut, usually wears golf shirt and slacks. Not as gaudy as your usual disco king but they aren't from K Mart. Quiet and subtle. Except for a few ladies, he fades into the wallpaper. The general impression is he's in finance, broker, maybe insurance. We've got possible makes on him in four of the meat markets but without a photo it's pretty iffy. This guy is like mayo on a sandwich."

"Not much but better than nothing."

A smile twitched at the side of Al's mouth.

"It might get better."

"Talk to me."

"There was a big party at the Dork and Beaver a couple weeks ago." I had to grin. The Cork and Cleaver was one of the higher-class restaurants on Jax Boulevard that had managed to catch the attention of the swinging singles in the past year. The food was excellent, the wine list better than any other in town and the prices high enough to keep the riff raff out. It had become one of the favorite watering holes of the up and coming. A classy showcase for the young professionals who looked down their noses at the disco and redneck scene. I doubted that the proprietors had thought of what the disaffected would do to their fancy name. "A couple of people think our boy was there. The wedding party sort of overflowed into the bar and there was a bit of photography going on."

"You mean we might have art on this joker?"

"It's possible. Bookman is trying to chase down the happy couple for the name of their photographer and a guest list. There were an awful lot of cameras around there that night. With a little luck he may come up with a picture in the next day or two."

"Make sure he gets as much help as he needs. We need to run that down as soon as possible."

"We?"

Both of them looked at me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my shield. When I flipped it open, their eyes widened. So did mine. It wasn't my old detective badge with the blue trim. It had the red of a Captain. The Sheriff had neglected to tell me about the promotion.

"That's right, boys. It's we."

We all turned as the Sheriff came over to join us.

"Let's just keep this sort of low key for now. He's back for the duration."

We spent the rest of the afternoon going over strategy. My idea to dig through the land sales and rentals for the past three years met with a universal groan. It was painstaking, mind numbing detail work, especially considering the time frame but it had to be done. The research done after the Bay Meadows killing had been focused on animal owners and had only gone back 6 months. This was going to be much more detailed. Assault had already begun the search for known offenders, felon and psycho. My request to expand it beyond the county met with some resistance but not much. The whole business with the Missing Persons going back almost three years caught their attention and they knew it was right. The added details of history buff and supernatural leanings refined the search some. As did the physical description. No one was happy but everyone agreed.

The Sheriff brought up the possibility of our boy being under a physician's care currently. It was one of those wonderfully ticklish situations where doctor/patient confidentiality came into direct conflict with public safety. Neither side liked to let the other make the call on when a therapist was supposed to talk to the authorities. I said I would talk to Dr. Winslow and see if we could find some sort of accommodation.

They were discussing the eerie way this guy seemed to have for getting around when it suddenly dawned on me how things may have happened the night Sandy was killed.

"I think we may be able to get some prints on this guy."

Everyone stopped and looked at me.

"Chico, you were one of the first on the scene the night Sandy died, weren't you?"

"Andy Walcott was the one who found him. I got there next. Why"

"The patio door. How was it locked?"

"A rod down in the track."

"But was the latch thrown?"

He started an angry retort then froze. Finally he shook his head.

"I don't think I checked. You thinking he laid the rod against the door and it dropped into place when he closed it?"

"Either that or he turned into smoke and went out the bathroom vent. I'll check it tonight. If he was real careful and wore gloves, we get bupkis. If not..."

It was getting on to suppertime when we figured everyone was up to speed and it was time to get to work. Chico took me aside and said he would get the word out to the Squad before he headed for home. Mercy was about ready to trade him in on a better model and there really wasn't much he could contribute so Dale told him to take the night off.

The Sheriff and I walked down to the street level together. When we reached the exit I needed to use I stopped.

"Have you talked with Billy about any of this?"

"I told him I was borrowing Riveriez."

"How'd he take it?"

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I just don't know. Something is eating him, Belanger."

"Having me back is going to push him hard."

He nodded angrily.

"I know. I'll keep an eye on him. You just do your hunting."

# Chapter 19

My dinner meeting with Jill Winslow had gone better than I had expected. It hadn't been easy getting past the personal questions but there are advantages to being mule stubborn. When she finally realized I wasn't going to go there we were able to talk about the doctor patient business. As I expected, she immediately got her back up when I asked if it was possible to get any information on patients currently in therapy. It was a touchy subject. Part of me recognized the need for privacy and that without the trust in that there were people out there who would avoid getting the help they needed. The other part remembered that girl lying on the ground with her scalp torn away.

"Phil, it's all about trust and ethics. If a licensed physician or therapist feels a patient could present a danger to either themselves or someone else, they are obligated to report it. But they have to rely on their own expertise. And they have to protect their patient."

"Damn it, Jill, I know that. But what if the patient is very good at hiding? What if they aren't even aware they are doing things?"

She gave me the look doctors reserve for people who watch too much TV.

"You mean like a split personality?"

"How the hell do I know what it might be?"

"The concept of a person having a second personality they are completely unaware of is there but extremely rare."

"And the idea of some psycho training a dog to eat and fuck women is common?"

I had regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. She blanched as much from my brutal language as from her memory of her session with Felice.

"I'm sorry, Jill. That was uncalled for."

She shook her head.

"More direct than I'm used to but I can see your point. But, Phil, I don't know what can be done."

"How about this. Can you get the description of this guy to your colleagues in the area along with a warning about the possibility that they may be involved in some highly illegal activities? You can word the warning, just get the word out to be watching."

"I can do that. It's a little questionable and some might disregard it as prejudicial but I can try."

"Jill, something tells me this guy isn't the kind to be involved in any kind of treatment but I can't take the chance. We may even have a picture of him soon. If we get it, I'll pass it on."

"You really do push your luck, don't you?"

I pulled into the parking spot in front of Sandy and Denise's apartment. She'd been right. I felt I was pushing my luck, riding it for all it was worth and praying it was enough. I grabbed my saddlebags from the toolbox and headed for the door, sorting through the keys on my ring as I walked.

"The mighty Ironman."

My hand froze as I reached for the lock. The voice came from behind me to my left in the shadows of the bushes lining the front of the building.

"Stay nice and still, Belanger. Don't even think about moving."

It took me a moment to recognize the voice. It was blurred with alcohol but I knew that sarcastic tone.

"Turn around nice and slow."

I lifted my hands and turned. His upper body was hidden partially by the darkness but the chrome .38 Detective Special aimed at my middle was glittering in the light from behind me.

"Evening, Captain."

He snorted and swayed slightly but the gun remained fixed on my belt buckle.

"Always the cool one, aren't you? You going to stay cool when I shoot you?"

Billy Jim Hodson reeked like a distillery. I could smell it distinctly across the twelve feet that separated us.

"I don't think shooting me is the answer."

He clucked his tongue.

"Oh but you are so very wrong. It's the only answer. You have to die. Just like your partner. You just couldn't let things lay so you have to go too."

My body flinched at his words, an involuntary reaction of mine to get my hands on his throat. He raised the gun.

"That one got you. The Ironman has a weak spot but then I've always known that. You have to wipe your ass when you shit just like the rest of us mortals. You know, I thought it was going to be harder to do this but I really do want to wipe that smirk off your face. I want to see you grovel, hear you beg. I want to see the look in your eyes when I put a bullet in your guts."

He started to take a step forward into the light, his finger tightening on the trigger. His foot came down, partially on the sidewalk, partially on the grass, throwing his balance off. Sober it wouldn't have affected him much but the liquor in him caused him to over react and he lurched heavily to my right, the gun swinging off target. Without thinking I stepped forward and swung the bags off my shoulder and hit his gun hand with them. The contact finished the pressure on the trigger and the gun went off but I was inside its arc. One of the things about the Ranger training I had received; it had been drilled into me so deeply I didn't have to think to use it. I did have to think to keep from killing with it. My right forearm came across his throat in a glancing blow, paralyzing his larynx. I let the bag go as Hodson spun away from me, my left hand locking on his wrist and wrenching it brutally up behind his shoulder blades. My right arm went around his throat and my knee slammed into his back as I bent him back. I was ounces of pressure away from killing him before I got control of the adrenaline rush.

The gun had fallen from his fingers and he was struggling to breath as I hauled him to the front door and body slammed him into it. To my left I heard a door open as the neighbor foolishly came to see what the noise had been. I pressed BJ against the door.

"Go ahead, kill me." He rasped hoarsely. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Alarm bells clanged through the pounding pulse of white-hot anger.

"What doesn't matter?"

He whimpered and I slammed him against the door again.

"Tell me."

"They're dead. He'll kill them."

He began to cry. It began to sink through the haze of rage what he was talking about. I relaxed my grip, easing him back from the door.

"Hey, Buddy. What the hell is going on."

I looked over my shoulder. The neighbor wasn't as foolish as I had thought. He had a shotgun trained on me from about twenty feet away. He looked at me and took a tentative step forward.

"Is that you, Phil?"

I recognized him. Tom or Tim something. We had met a few times at cookouts in the past. He was a truck driver, more than a little redneck but a decent guy. I stepped back from Hodson and he sank to the concrete, crying quietly. Suddenly I knew what he had meant.

"Watch this guy for me. I need to use your phone."

I heard his sure as I ran for the open door of his apartment. The phone was on the kitchen counter and it took me three tries before I managed to get the number right. The Sheriff picked up immediately.

"Dale, get over to Sandy's right now."

"Phil? What's..."

"Don't talk, move." I yelled.

"On my way."

I dialed the station next. The night operator came on.

"Get me dispatch. Now."

"Who..."

"NOW!"

There was a serious of clicks and a vaguely familiar voice came on.

"This is Belanger. Who's on patrol in the Riverside area?"

"Sokol and Ames just called in on break. Smith and..."

"Where are they?"

"Sokol? At the Steak and Egg. Phil, what's..."

I hung up and reached for the phone book. I tore a couple pages as I searched for the number. Dialed the wrong one then forced myself to calm down and get it right. The clerk answered and said yeah, there were a couple cops there. A few seconds later Jake Sokol was on the line and I wanted to cry with relief.

"Jake, It's Belanger. Do you know where Captain Hodson lives?"

"Sure. It's less than a mile from here."

"Get over there just as fast as you can. Go in quiet and loaded for bear."

"What's going on?"

"Jake, for the love of God, just do it. I'll explain later."

He hesitated a moment.

"We're rolling."

I took a minute to try and get my breathing under control. The first step was taken but there were more. I punched out Chico's number and scared the hell out of Mercy when she answered by demanding to talk to Chico.

"Chico, just listen and do as I say. Get hold of Andy and Ted. Tell them to meet you where we had Greg's bachelor party. Tell them to bring the women and kids, nothing else. Just get out of the house and get their asses over to...that place. Then you get Mercy and the kids in the car and go get Becky. When you get there, rent a couple rooms and fort up until I can get there. No one in until you hear my voice or the Sheriff's. No calls, in or out."

"Jesus, Phil."

"Amigo, questions later. Get busy. Shit is coming down. And for god's sake, nothing on the radio."

"I hear you, miejo. You just cover your ass."

I hung up and went back outside. Tim still had Hodson covered but it was a waste of energy. The Captain was done. He sobbed uncontrollably as he lay curled in a ball on the doorstep.

"What the hell is going on, Phil?"

"Police business, Tim. You can go back inside. Thanks for the help."

He wanted to talk more but I turned away from him and looked for where I had dropped my keys when I had gone after Hodson. They lay in the saw grass at the edge of the walk. I picked them up and found the door key again, my hands beginning to shake from the reaction and adrenaline crash. I had just managed to unlock the door when the Sheriff's car barreled into the parking lot and skidded to a stop. He was out of the door before the car settled, the black shadow of his Browning in the ready position. I waved him over and leaned back against the open door jamb as my knees threatened to give out. He came across the lawn quickly, holstering his piece. He spotted the huddled body at my feet and knelt beside his friend.

"Billy. It's Dale."

If Hodson recognized the voice it didn't register. Dale shook his friend's shoulder. The Captain continued to cry quietly. Dale looked up at me.

"I didn't shoot him. Damn near killed him though."

"What happened?"

"I found out what was wrong."

"Dammit, Belanger."

I shook my head, more to clear it than in negation.

"Let's get him inside."

The Sheriff helped him to his feet and half carried him to the couch. I flipped on the lights and headed for the cabinet over the fridge. It was where Sandy had kept the liquor. I opened it and cursed loudly, remembering that Denise had taken the booze from the house. I went back to the living room where Dale had managed to get Hodson uncurled but he was still sobbing and unable to respond.

"It was his family. The killer told him they would die if he didn't do as he was told."

"Holy Mother of God."

"Yeah. I sent Sokol over to his house. I just hope he was in time."

He reached down to his belt and unhooked his radio. I started to warn him against it but realized this part wouldn't matter. He got through to dispatch and asked for Jake's status.

'He says he is on station and everything is quiet. He wants instructions.' The dispatcher's tinny voice sounded unreal. Dale looked up at me.

"Have them patch you through. I need to talk to Greg. He's riding partner with Jake tonight."

A minute later Greg came on. I took the radio from the Sheriff.

"Greg, remember your bachelor party?"

"Yeah, Phil. What about it?"

"You and Jake take Mrs. Hodson and the daughter there. Do it round about and make sure you aren't followed. You read me? Nothing on the radio."

"High and wide. ETA in about 20 minutes."

"We'll meet you there. Be careful."

"Roger and out."

The Sheriff took his friend by the shoulders and shook him gently.

"Did you hear, Billy? They're ok. We've got them and they are on their way to someplace safe. They're all right."

Hodson looked at him with tear blind eyes.

"Safe?"

"Yes. Jake Sokol and Greg Ames have them."

"Oh God." This time the tears were the healing kind. The Sheriff pulled his oldest and closest friend into a bear hug and held him while he poured out the relief from the horrible tension that had gripped him for Lord only knew how long. I turned away to give them some privacy and to hide the dampness in my own eyes.

After a while Hodson was able to get himself under a bit of control. He sat up and took several deep, shuddering breathes.

"How?"

"Belanger. He figured it out and sent Sokol."

He looked at the Sheriff and then slowly up at me.

"Thanks."

I nodded in response, not trusting my voice.

"I suppose I'll have to resign now but it doesn't matter. They're safe."

"Let's not worry about that now, Billy. There's bigger fish to fry."

"Sheriff, I think we better get going. We need to meet up with the others and make a plan."

Theidens looked at me sharply.

"Others?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

We got Hodson into the back seat of the Sheriff's car and I told him to follow me. He wanted to take his car but I didn't want to be without wheels just now. We drove back into town to the Ramada Inn on Jacksonville Boulevard and parked on the backside of the building, away from curious eyes. I had them wait in the corridor while I went to the front desk and asked what room my friends were in. The clerk played dumb until I gave him my name and showed him my ID. It heartened me to see the boys had taken me seriously. A couple minutes later, Billy Jim was reunited with his family. We left them in one room to have a few minutes of privacy while the rest of the men gathered in another. Jo, Mercy and the rest of the families were in another pair of adjoining rooms across the hall while Jake, Greg and Ted stood guard over all of us.

Chico was about ready to explode. As soon as we closed the door he got right in my face.

"So give, amigo. Just what in the hell is going on?"

I glanced at Dale but saw he wanted to know too.

I told them how BJ had trapped me. How he had planned to kill me and how I managed to turn the tables. When I got to the part about figuring out he was being blackmailed the connecting door opened and Billy Jim stood there. He was running on sheer nerve but he listened while I explained, his head slowly nodding.

"He got to you. What was it? Phone call?'

"Yes. It was a couple of years ago. I had just picked Jessie up from school and we stopped for ice cream. He called me there, at the damn roadside stand, just to let me know he knew where I was. He told me I had better be ready to listen to him whenever he called or..." He choked but waved off any help. In a minute he was able to continue. "I didn't hear from him for a month or so. Then he called me at home. Told me I had to get rid of Belanger, get him off the force. I debated on coming to you then Dale but he killed our cat. The very next day while I was in the house. I heard it happen. I ran outside and that damn stupid cat lay in the middle of the patio, all mangled and bloody."

"So I did what he wanted. I had to."

He looked at me.

"I'm sorry, Phil. I know what it cost you but I had to do it."

I knew I should have felt anger. After all this time, to finally be vindicated but I just couldn't get past the idea of Hodson, Billy Jim, having to live with that kind of fear for so long.

"Then, after the killing by the University, he told me to shut down the investigation. Divert it, anything. I told him I couldn't. It was too damn public. He arranged for that retard to be found, set up the evidence so it would take the heat off. But Sandy wouldn't let it drop. I tried to force him out too but he wasn't as volatile as Belanger. After the Bay Meadows kill, it became obvious Sandy had to die. There was just no turning him from it. God, I tried. I tried so damn hard to save him but he was getting too close. After that, I prayed it was over. You were gone, Phil and he promised things would quiet down."

"And then you came back. You came back and I knew there would only be one way of stopping you from hunting him down. I told him that and he just laughed. Said it was what he wanted. That the game was almost over and I wouldn't have to worry anymore."

He paused, his face becoming more haggard, his eyes hollow and haunted.

"I knew he was going to kill them. And then come for me. He would have to clean things up so I thought if I killed you, Phil, he might..."

The radio on the Sheriff's belt squawked.

'Sheriff, I have Dylan Dunbar wanting to talk with you.'

Dale lifted the radio and keyed it.

"Patch him in."

'Sheriff, do you know where Phil is?"

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows in question. I shook my head. I had no idea why Dyl would be looking for me. He looked at Chico who also shook his head.

"He's with me, Dyl. Why?"

There was a long pause.

'Is there a number I can reach you at?'

I shook my head. I didn't want our location given out over a police frequency that could be monitored.

"Not at the moment. What's wrong?"

Again, the long pause. I didn't like the crawling sensation working its way into my gut. Dyl obviously had something he wanted to tell the Sheriff and just as obviously didn't want me to hear. I was debating on offering to step out of the room when it hit me. I went cold inside as I realized I had made a mistake. A very large one.

The scream that tore from me startled everyone in the room, giving me a two step start for the door. I tore it open and heard the Sheriff's yell to stop me as I ran down the hall, bowling Greg over and knocking Ted into the wall with a full shoulder block. I raced down the stairs and out to the truck. The tires smoked and squealed as I backed around and raced from the lot, long before Chico reached the motel door.

The Sheriff followed the younger detectives at a slower pace while he talked with the distraught detective on the other end of the radio. He reached the lot in time to see the taillights of Belanger's truck race away from the motel. His face was ashen as Riveruiez returned from his futile attempt to stop his friend.

"Chico, you better follow him."

"Follow him? He's gone, Sheriff. I couldn't catch him if I tried."

"You don't have to catch him. I know where he's going."

Chico looked at his boss.

"To Nancy's."

#  Chapter 20

I pulled into the parking lot of my ex wife's apartment complex, not at all surprised to see the squad cars and ambulance. I stopped the truck half on the lawn and headed for the door. There were two uniforms there, doing there best to block the entrance. Both were young and I had no idea what their names were. One raised a hand and started to say something about me not being allowed inside. There was no mercy in me, no pity, no thought. I took his hand and wrenched, twisted, pivoting my hips and throwing him clear. His partner made the mistake of reaching for his baton. With no conscious thought he was in a heap at my feet and I was racing up the stairs. Dylan stood outside the door to Nance's apartment, his face pale.

"Phil, please. Stop."

I continued forward, the blackness engulfing all thought. I just knew I had to get inside. When I was still ten steps away, Dyl drew his gun.

"Don't make me do it, Phil"

"You won't shoot me." I growled.

He cocked his piece and aimed for my shoulder.

"I swear to God I will. Please, Phil. I'm begging you. As a friend, don't do this."

I slowed, the knowledge of what waited for me tearing at me, trying to get out. My vision began to blur as my eyes filled with tears.

"Please, Phil. There's nothing you can do. Just don't do this to yourself."

I took another step but my body jerked like a marionette. The strings were getting tangled.

"How?"

He hesitated.

"Damn it Dyl! How did she die?"

"Jesus, Phil. She cut her wrists...in the bath tub."

I howled. I screamed and slammed my fists into the walls. I wanted to do anything that would get me outside the pain tearing inside me. Somewhere, I was aware of pounding feet and more people in the hall. There was hand on my shoulder and I lashed out, feeling the savage pleasure as someone was hurled into the wall. I was dimly aware of a familiar voice ordering everyone back but all it did was feed the agony that wanted to hurt. Slowly, the berserk rage began to ease. The red haze faded from my vision until I could make out individual forms. They parted and let one pass. I was vaguely aware of its bulk filling the narrow hall.

"Belanger."

I backed away from the voice, my hands coming up in front of me.

"Stand down, Belanger."

The figure came closer and I lashed out. My fist met resistance and then the haze exploded as pain erupted in my fist and jaw. I staggered back from the force of it and hit the wall, driving the wind from me. I pushed off and threw another punch and my head crashed against the wall and darkness pulled me down.

I came back to consciousness, immediately aware of my surroundings. The first heartbeat brought the pain in my head, the second, the one in my heart. I tried to get up and ran into the butt end of a log. When I opened my eyes I saw the log was really Vic Petroni's hand against my chest. I was lying on Nance's couch. The Sheriff was over by the bedroom door talking with Chico and Dyl.

"You going to be ok?"

The rage started to coil and scratch inside me but I held it down. Barely. I nodded then wished I hadn't. My jaw ached and the back of my head was one monster wall of pain.

"What happened?"

"You kind of lost it. Put three uniforms in the ER and broke an EMT's hand when they tried to sedate you."

"You stopped me?"

He grinned.

"I told you I would."

"Thanks."

I looked around the apartment. I had only been here once before but the furniture and decorations were from our old house and the smell was definitely Nance. The ache swelled in my heart until I thought I was going to explode or die. Anything to make it go away.

"What's happening?" I asked, nodding at the conclave by the bedroom.

"They're trying to decide what might have caused her to do it."

I closed my eyes.

"It isn't suicide." I said softly.

"What did you say, Phil?"

I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. Vic eyed me warily but sat back and let me swing my legs over the edge of the couch. I looked at him and then the others.

"I said it isn't suicide."

"Come on, Phil. Give it a rest." Chico said in a quiet voice. I could tell from his tone he was thinking about the night of the barbeque. So was I. I fixed him with a glare that dared him to challenge me. The Sheriff broke into the tableau before tempers flared.

"Why?"

"Oh for Christ's sake. Go look in the medicine chest. If there aren't at least two kinds of pills in there she could have overdosed on I will buy all of you your very own Rolls. She hated pain. Couldn't stand the sight of blood." I flinched at the old memories but kept going. "Where's my dog?"

They all looked at me strangely.

"Where is my fucking dog?"

Vic started to reach for me but I side stepped his hand and walked over to face Chico.

"You know, the big scruffy damn mutt she's been living with? Remember Duke?"

"No sign of him."

Dylan looked the others uncomfortably.

"Phil, I had to get the super to open the deadbolt. It's the kind you need a key on either side for."

"What is it with you people and your locked door hoodoo? We are talking about a guy who can tap phones, tail and blackmail police officers, kill about two dozen damn people without our even knowing it. How fucking hard do you think it would be for him to get a key for a goddamn door?"

I was over by the telephone by the end of my tirade. Next to it was Nance's Daytimer. I flipped it open and turned to the last few pages. There was the usual shorthand for things to pick up at the store, a hair appointment. I turned back the pages going over the previous week. All the usual notes and reminders about lunch dates, times when she was supposed to be in court. Then one for the vet. Our old vet who had been treating Duke since he was a pup.

"You think it's the same guy?"

I didn't even bother to look over at Dylan.

"They've taken her?"

"While you were out."

I looked at the Sheriff.

"Get the lab crew in here."

I could see he still wasn't certain it wasn't grief that was driving me. I knew how to convince him but I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to know, see the evidence but I also knew I had to. I walked over to them, the unholy trio determined to protect me from my own destructive tendencies. They made a wall I had to pass to make them believers. I focused on Dale. His eyes told me he didn't want to let me pass but there was also a spark of fear. Evidently he had caught part of my act in the hallway.

"Please, Dale. Let me past."

Finally he stepped aside. I took a deep breath and walked through into the bedroom. Her scent was even stronger in here but it was fighting with another sharper smell. I walked to the foot of the bed. The duvet was thrown carelessly over the bed, the pillows a haphazard pile at the head. My heart twisted. Nance would never allow her bed to be unmade. Especially if strangers might possibly see it. If she had really killed herself, the apartment would have been spotless and in perfect order.

"Someone make the bed like this?"

"No. It was like that when I came in." Dyl said from the doorway. I walked around to the side and gently flipped the bedclothes off. The sheets were a tangled mess and the smell was sharper now, biting at the nostrils. I pointed to the foot of the bed. The bottom sheet was torn in long parallel rips.

"What's that smell?"

I pointed at the golden stain on the corner of the mattress.

"Dog piss."

They were all quiet for a minute while they took in the vision of the rumpled and stained bed. Finally Dale cleared his throat.

"I'll call the lab crew."

Without a look or a word I shouldered past them and headed for the door.

"Phil, where are you going?"

I stopped. At first I had no idea of where I was going, what I was going to do next. Then it came to me.

"I'm going to find my dog."

#  Chapter 21

I sat on the end of the dock and watched the muddy brown water flow slowly by. Beside me, Duke lay panting all tuckered out from the game of catch we had played earlier. The late afternoon sun off to my left turned the water into burnished bronze, unmarked by breeze in the still air. Duke had been overjoyed to see me when I ransomed him from the vet's kennel two nights before. Doc Venneman hadn't been thrilled with opening up in the middle of the night, especially on Sunday but he had quieted when I told him about the circumstances. He told me Nance had seemed just fine when she had brought Duke in for boarding the week before. A little confused by the dog's severe dislike for her new boyfriend but otherwise in good spirits. I reached down and buried my fingers in the wiry ruff of hair on his neck.

"Too bad she didn't listen to you."

Too bad I hadn't thought to include her. The autopsy had said she had died on Saturday night, a full 24 hours before she had been found. Died about the time of my nightmare.

I heard my name being called from back by the apartments. Duke lifted his head and looked. It came again louder. This time he scrambled to his feet and took off in its direction. I knew she would find me so I stayed where I was and watched the river flow. It felt like about all I had left.

"Hello, Phillip."

"Where are your guards?"

"Back by the end of the path. They figure I have you and Duke."

"Yeah. At least you can count on him."

"You didn't make it to the funeral."

"I seem to be good at that."

The sun continued to sink into the water. The river continued to flow. I assumed my heart continued to beat. I was still breathing. I wasn't sure why.

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait."

"It won't work you know. He won't come to you."

Less sun, more water and silence.

"If he wanted to kill you, he had plenty of opportunity."

"Phillip, please talk to me."

I looked at the sun, almost down but it would be back in the morning. The river kept on flowing by and it would still be there whenever I came back. And my heart would keep on beating until it was time for it to stop.

"I don't know what to say, Denise. Not anymore."

Her shoes made soft scuffing noises as she came down and knelt behind me.

"Did you love her that much?"

A small snort of a chuckle escaped as I thought about it.

"How much is that?"

"Enough that you want to turn off the world because she's gone."

"No. No, I didn't."

"Then why? Why are you doing this?" Her cry cut through me.

"Maybe because I didn't. Because I didn't care enough, love her enough to try harder to make things work. Because I walked away and hoped she would follow, knowing damn well she wouldn't. That she couldn't."

Her arms came around my neck and her tears were like hot wax on my skin. I reached up and covered her hand with mine and leaned back against her.

"I can't do this anymore, Denise. I can't handle the legend."

"Make a new one."

"I tried. It's too strong. Maybe I need to go somewhere else, start from scratch. I get the feeling my welcome is about worn out here."

We were quiet for a moment.

"What about the unfinished business here?" She whispered in my ear.

"They can finish it. I gave them enough, it's just a matter of time."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes. They have the pieces and the manpower. And if I go away, the game won't be here."

Her arms tightened around me.

"You don't think he will continue? That he will keep killing until he calls you back? He knows you can't just close yourself off and ignore your friends dying. So what if the legend is strong. Is it such a bad thing? That people know they can count on you, know there is something in their life that is just a little larger than life? You can't blame them for seeing you that way. You built the damn thing."

I tried to shrug her off as the anger rose from sullen silence. I tried but she wrapped herself around me and held me back. Her words continued in my ear in a harsh whisper.

"Phillip, you are what you are. No one forced you to be the Ironman, it was something you did on your own. You needed it. And now you need to get beyond it. It is a part of you and it always will be but there is so much more."

The tears began to flow and I sobbed, the sound tearing to get past the constriction in my throat.

"I'm so bloody damned tired of being alone."

She rocked me gently, stroking my hair, her gentle words coaxing the pain from deep inside to ride the river to freedom.

"Hush, Phillip. You don't have to be alone. You have friends who will help if you can just let them. They are afraid of your fear because they never see it. If you want them to see you, you have to quit hiding."

"I don't know how."

"You'll figure it out. You're pretty good at that."

I couldn't stop the bark of laughter at my own bitter words. I pulled at the arms around me, tugging her, bringing her around into my lap so I could see her. She resisted for a moment then yielded. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, the little bit of mascara she wore accenting the tear tracks down her cheeks.

"You really think so?"

She smiled shyly.

"I know you are. There isn't much you can't do if you really want to. There's a reason the Ironman is larger than life."

I drew her close and tried to lose myself in her embrace.

"I hurt people."

"No, Phillip. He does."

I shook my head.

"No, I did. I put four people in the ER who were just trying to help me. Dylan almost shot me because it was the only way to stop me. I can't live with that rage. And I'm afraid of finding this guy because I know it will happen again."

We clung to each other. Sitting on the hard cypress boards in the fading twilight I held her as tightly as I could as a bulwark against the terrible blackness.

"We'll find an answer, darling. I promise."

I felt the calm spread within me. It was a peace that flowed from that dark place that had held the blind awful rage and slowly crept through me until for the first time I could remember, I felt totally relaxed. I put my hands on either side of her face and leaned us back until I could look in those soft hazel eyes again.

"You seem to be bailing me out a lot lately."

She grinned, the corners of her mouth trembling.

"I guess its something I'm pretty good at."

I smiled back.

"But I think my legs have fallen asleep. I may never walk again."

She gave my shoulder a playful push and stood up with boneless grace, pulling me along. I staggered a bit as the blood returned to my feet. Denise tucked herself under my arm and steadied me. At the end of the dock, Duke waited patiently, his stub of a tail beating a tattoo on the wood now that we were moving. Beyond him I could just make out the man forms of her guards against the faint light coming from the apartment complex.

"You know, you have to find him."

I looked at the silhouettes, waiting patiently but for how long? How long could the police provide the protection for everyone who could be a possible target. A week? Two?

"I do?"

She hugged me fiercely.

"Yes. If you don't, you will never be able to forgive yourself; you'll never be whole. And I certainly don't want those gorillas following me to the john for the rest of my life."

I chuckled and drew her close so I could kiss the damp hair on the crown of her head.

"We can't have that. Let's go up to the apartment. I guess I have work to do."

#  Chapter 22

Denise and I walked through the anthill of activity that was the police station, heading for the meeting up on the fourth floor. Dale had the team together there. They had been working pretty much around the clock for the entire three days since Sunday. He had told me on the phone they had made some progress. I could tell from his guarded words he was leery of bringing me back in. Looking at the scabbed and bruised knuckles on both my hands, I couldn't say as I blamed him. He had reluctantly agreed to my coming down this morning.

I had tried to get Denise to agree to either staying at the apartment with her guards or joining the other families in the safe house the Sheriff had arranged down near Daytona but she would have none of it. She said she felt safer with me. After talking to the Sheriff last night she had discovered I hadn't slept since Sunday so she had ordered me to bed. I argued that it wasn't any use. Even if I did manage to fall asleep it wouldn't last. The nightmares were back with a vengeance. She assured me she would be there and she knew how to quiet the terror. I finally gave in and fell asleep holding her.

As we waited for the elevator I realized that even though I didn't feel like the power and glory, I did feel better than I had in a long time. The black anger was just a murmur and my nerves weren't jangling like the phones at a telethon. As the door closed and the elevator rose, I reached over for her hand and gave it a squeeze. Her smile told me I could do this and I almost believed it. We headed for the conference room. I stopped outside and looked in at the gathering.

There were a lot of faces I recognized, most of them officers I had worked with. I didn't know them well. The Sheriff, Chico and Al were grouped around a table with stacks of printouts. Everyone was busy, pouring over files and reports, working the phones or discussing something with fellow officers. The machine was still functioning. Cogs missing, many operating a diminished capacity judging from the looks of exhaustion I saw scattered around, but it still chugged along, gathering evidence and data as it rolled inexorably towards solution. I looked over at Denise. Apprehension and concern warred with each other in her big doe soft eyes.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"I don't think I ever will be. Some things you just have to do." I said, a hint of the old cockiness lifting the corner of my mouth. She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze.

I opened the door and stepped inside. Heads turned and it was like someone had frozen the soundtrack on a movie. I nodded greetings to those closest then looked over at the trio on the far side. Chico recovered first and was making his way across to me, sad smile on his face that went with the shake of his head.

"Hey, amigo. It's good to see you."

He put his hand out but I ignored it and pulled him into a hug. We pounded on each other's back for a moment then let go. Both of our eyes were suspiciously damp.

"How you feeling?"

"Sore."

He chuckled and fingered the dark bruise on his jaw.

"You and about half the department."

"Ah, Chico, I'm sorry."

He waved off the apology.

"Por nada, man. You were hurting. We all understand. But I'm glad Vic got there when he did."

Our eyes held for a moment and I could see he did understand. I nodded.

"Thanks. So what have you guys come up with?"

"I'll let Al fill you in. Come on over."

We joined the Sheriff and Al at the table. Al nodded a greeting. Dale offered his hand after a short hesitation.

"I always knew you were crazy, Belanger, but I didn't know just how crazy."

"Sorry, Sheriff. I guess you'll be wanting that shield back."

"You know, I should be able to remember the night I got the call about Liz and Amanda. I do remember the call itself but not much more." For just an instant his Coop façade lifted and his eyes flashed with the memory. "We'll talk about the shield when we get this clown run to ground."

"Are we any closer?"

Al cleared his throat and opened his daybook.

"Brian Davidson. He owns a condo on the river down towards St. Johns Park. No record of employment but he is definitely flush. We're tracking him through the IRS. Our best guess is he's some kind of investment whiz because we haven't come up with anything that says its inherited money. So far we haven't been able to come up with squat on background. He just seems to have sprung from the ground at age 25. No military record, no college or high school, not even a BC."

"So he's bought and paid for."

Al nodded.

"We're going after his SSN and the Sheriff is pushing the Feds on the prints."

"Prints?"

"We got a warrant and went through his condo."

I looked around at each of them.

"How?"

Al licked his lips and refused to meet my look. Suddenly, the level of tension in the room jacked up and I could feel the officers closest too us focusing their attention. Chico fidgeted, his eyes fixed on me. I didn't like the hint of fear in them. Only Dale remained solidly in character.

"We got the report from the ME." He said. "Caulkins confirmed your call on homicide. He said there was too much damage to both wrists for her to have done it herself."

"And I suppose his phone number was in her Daytimer."

"They had been dating for about three weeks."

I closed my eyes and let the information sink in. There was a bit of an ache but it bothered me more that everyone was at high alert, waiting for me to explode. I put my head back and took a deep breath. When I let it out I looked around for Denise. She had waited by the door and was watching me closely. I managed a little wry smile and was answered with a big one of relief and encouragement.

"When did you find all this out?"

Chico let out the breath he probably hadn't realized he was holding.

"Monday. We watched the place all day and when he didn't turn up we used the warrant to go in Tuesday, first thing. We have 24 hour surveillance but no joy yet."

"There won't be."

"My read too." Al put in. "I think he has another place. This one is straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. He didn't leave much of a mark on it. It reminded me of those display homes builders use but it's a pretty high priced place just to use for show."

"Anything else?"

"The lead on the wedding party turned up a couple of photos. He's in the background but they're clear enough. We had prints made and all the street units have them."

"You're sure its him?"

"We got confirmation from the Amboy woman's friend and a couple of people who saw Nancy with him." Al's matter of fact delivery helped to keep the hurt at bay but it didn't stop it from showing in my face or stance. Chico put a hand on my shoulder.

"You ok?"

I nodded.

"I will be." I looked at the Sheriff. "So what can I do?"

"You never were much good at doing the research and I got the feeling it would be worse than useless having you lend a hand there."

I looked at the piles of paper and didn't even bother hiding the shudder.

"No, I've had about all I can take of reading."

"So I guess you get to just sit on the fence like a good little duck."

"NO!"

We all turned at the vehement denial and Denise came over to join us, anger flashing and rolling before her like a v of blockers.

"You can't do that to him."

"Denise."

She stopped between me and the Sheriff, bristling like a momma dog over her pups. I put my hand on her shoulder. She was fairly vibrating with anger and turning her wasn't easy.

"Denise, its what I have to do and you know it."

"But from here. You'll be safe here."

"And he won't be able to find me. So he will have to do something else to get my attention and get me outside. Is that what you want?"

Knowledge that it was right fought with her heart in her eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"I'm coming with you."

"No. You either stay here or back at the apartment with your guards."

"Phillip."

"That isn't negotiable. I need to know you're safe and you damn sure wouldn't be with me."

"You won't be either." She said. "You have to have someone with you."

The Sheriff cleared his throat.

"She has a point, Belanger. I'm thinking you should have someone riding shotgun."

I shook my head.

"It would be out of character and might just put the dogboy off. I want him to come in, not circle around sniffing. If I'm solo, he'll get in contact"

"But are you up for it?"

I felt the anger rise up, putting a tight jangle on the muscles of my chest and arms. It wasn't the wild rush like in the past taking over my entire being; more of a flow of power from a deep well. Something of it must have shown in my eyes as Denise took an involuntary step back and the others seemed to come up on their toes.

"Oh, I'm ready."

The Sheriff watched me for a moment, then waved at someone behind me. One of the deputies came over with a black bag about the size of a lunch box.

"Take this bag phone with you. Just plug it into the cigarette lighter. You need anything or find anything just punch ** and it will dial a direct line to this here room." He handed it to me. "Don't go playing John Wayne on me, you hear? You get something, you call."

I looked at the bag and nodded.

"So what have you got for me to do?"

Dale glanced at Denise.

"Maybe you'd not want to hear this."

Fire snapped in her eyes with a bit of apprehension but she shook her head. Dale didn't like it but he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

"On your head be it. Phil, that dancer friend of yours is staying out at her uncle's beach house with one of the gals she works with. She didn't go to work last night, called in sick. We've got a unit watching the place and the roommate says she's got some kind of bug. Probably the case but I think it needs checking."

"I can handle that."

He looked at me, then Denise and nodded.

"After that we should have a list of places out in the boondocks that will need checking out. We're weeding out the obvious ones but its still going to be a long list."

"I'll head out to the beach. I should be back in a couple hours, max." I took Denise by the arm and headed for the door. When we got there I turned her to face me but she wouldn't meet my eyes. I put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. Her eyes were glistening.

"You ok?"

She gave me a tentative smile.

"I'm worried."

"About the killer or Toy?"

She looked away quickly.

"Is that her name?"

"It's the one I know. I hope her folks didn't give it to her."

Denise hugged herself and looked down at the floor for a moment. When she met my eyes again, twin tears traced her cheeks but she was smiling.

"I know you are a big boy." She frowned prettily. "And something of a hound. I'll just have to get used to it."

"We'll talk about that later. This is work."

Her eyes searched my face.

"Nance said she was pretty."

I shrugged.

"Very pretty."

"So because I'm a hound, I have to have bad taste?"

She smiled in spite of herself and gave me a playful punch just above the belt buckle.

"Just be careful."

Duke kept me company on my run out to the beach. The big Airedale had been more than happy to get out of the apartment even if it only meant riding in the truck. He sat on the passenger side, his head stuck out the window most of the time and the rest he mooched for attention. There was a plain Jane sedan parked in front of the place next to Toy's with her watcher sitting inside. I didn't recognize him but waved as I slowed to pull into the drive.

I sat in the truck and looked at the beach house. There were some strong memories attached to it, both good and bad. I hadn't spoken to Toy since she locked me out. It was a pretty safe bet she was still pretty pissed at me and I wasn't really looking forward to this meeting. She was a volatile woman. I still wasn't sure just what it was that had set her off though I suspected it had something to do with going back to police work. It was so ironic that I had one woman who didn't want to have anything to do with me if I wasn't playing Dirty Harry and another just the opposite. Maybe there was something more to Toy's withdrawal. It was something I meant to ask her about. There had been an exceptionally strong physical component to our relationship, one that had overshadowed most of the rest. I realized I didn't know very much about her as a person. Nor had I been able to show her much of what I was. As I reached for the doorbell I wondered if I would be able to do that. Or if she would let me.

Donna answered the door and greeted me with a smile. There was a considerable amount of tanned skin showing, something I was certain she was very aware of. Even barefoot, she could just about look me in the eye and there was a lot of confidence in those startlingly blue eyes. She was dressed in skin hugging hot pants and a loose vest barely tied closed with a single string. Her pale blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that hung almost to her waist.

"Hello, Belanger. What brings you out to the beach?"

"Donna." I acknowledged with a short nod, keeping my eyes on hers. "I heard Toy is down with a bug and the Sheriff thought I should see how she's doing."

"Really? I can't imagine why he would be worried about a topless dancer woofing her cookies."

"There's been a lot of strange things going on, Donna. Can I talk to her?"

She gave me a long once over, making sure she had herself posed just so I would get the full impact of that gorgeous valkyrie body.

"I don't know if she wants to talk to you but come on in and give it a try."

She turned and walked from the door taking advantage of the distance to put an extra bit of sass into her hips as she led me into the living room. Under other circumstances and maybe a few months ago my heart would have been pounding like a kettledrum and steam rolling out of my ears but now it just set off alarm bells. Donna had always been a flirt but she had been more circumspect about turning it on to me in the past. Probably out of deference to her friend. She turned at the back of the couch and leaned forward enticingly.

"Can I get you something?" She paused, an eyebrow rising in question. "A soda or beer maybe?"

I looked down at the offering and then met her knowing smile with a quiet one of my own.

"Thanks but no. I'd just like to talk with Toy."

She frowned into a pout.

"She's been sleeping quite a bit and hasn't felt much like talking. Especially with you."

"Why's that?"

"Because you broke her heart, silly man." She laughed.

"She's the one who locked me out."

"And you are the one who ran away. You were supposed to come crawling back and beg for forgiveness."

She came around the couch and walked up to me, her barely restrained breasts rubbing against my chest.

"She didn't know men like you never crawl." She whispered as her fingers toyed with the hair over my ear. Her lips on mine were hot and inviting but there was no response in me other than a slow coiling disgust. She tried her damnedest to tease a reaction before she leaned back, icy venom in the glacial blue.

"Not good enough for you?"

"Donna, I'm not in the mood for games."

Her eyes glittered with malice.

"That's right, your precious ex-wife. I was so sorry to hear about her."

"Your concern is touching."

Anger flared in her eyes and she stepped back. Then as suddenly as it appeared it was gone, replaced with a mocking smile.

"So, you know where her room is. Go see your pretty Toy."

The lightning mood changes were unsettling but what little I knew of Donna told me it was a part of her personality. I nodded to her and headed for the bedroom Toy and I had shared months before. I knocked quietly but there was no response so I slowly opened the door. The blinds were drawn on the patio doors facing the beach darkening the room to quiet. I stepped inside and looked at the bed. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could see it was rumpled but empty. On the far side of the room, the door to the bathroom was closed so I walked quietly across the hardwood floor. I was halfway there when I heard a sound, a quiet whimper, from the big walk-in closet on the wall shared with the living room. The sliding doors were open and the floor was littered with clothing. Toy had never been the best housekeeper. I was about to continue my trek to the bathroom when my eyes caught a slight movement in the rumpled clothes.

There was a dark shape there that I couldn't quite make out in the dim light. The whimper came again and this time it was accompanied by a wave of aromas. Smells that were all too familiar. Suddenly my chest was too small for my heart and lungs as I took a tentative step, afraid of what I would find but knowing...

The dark form cowering in the nest of clothes was a dog. At least a canine but maybe more. The smell of urine was strong but barely stronger than the muskiness of a bitch in heat. I knelt slowly and watched in horror as my left hand reached for the dark mass that was whining softly. It was a fairly large animal, maybe a hundred pounds with what appeared to be brown coloring. As my eyes saw more clearly I could see it was some kind of Shepard but the hair was wrong. It curled like a Portuguese Water dogs. Slowly, reluctantly, I made myself look at the animal's face.

Large, limpid, terrified eyes the color of cognac met mine.

Horror warred with confusion as my hand touched the side of its head. It leaned into the contact then licked piteously at my fingers. I fought down the urge to vomit, to run as somewhere in the back of my monkey brain a clicking sound registered. Instinctively I reached for the gun at the back of my belt as I fell sideways. The clicking increased and was accompanied by a deep growl as a pale form lunged through the gloom for my back.

I continued my roll, the .45 coming around as the silvery bit of death launched itself towards where I had been. The jaws clamped on the forearm I had raised to protect my throat, blunt clawed paws passing over my shoulders as I pressed the muzzle of the Colt against a furred underbelly and pulled the trigger. The roar of the gun was muffled as a lead nosed bit of destruction traveling at the speed of a 707 in flight tore through flesh and guts and shattered against the brittle white bone of vertebrae, hurling the beast clear. It's white fangs traced lines of fire across my arm as the wolf was thrown back against the end of the bed.

I watched in stunned horror as the animal twisted in agony trying to bite at its hindquarters. Slowly the musculature began to ripple. Hair was drawn back into hide that deepened in color from fish belly to molten bronze. Pale silver fur became platinum locks. The muzzle retracted with grotesque cracking noises as the howls of pain changed into human cries. The worst of it was the metamorphosis was restricted to the upper body. Below the bloody exit wound, the body remained wolfen, totally unresponsive to the rest. The .45 slug had blown apart the nerve conduits. The change only took a couple of minutes. From the waist up it was an agonized Brunhilde, naked shield maiden. Below the ugly wound was white furred wolf.

Donna cried, her hands reaching for the deadened meat. I had seen gut shots before and knew the agony she was feeling was nothing compared to what it would become once the shock began to wear off. I went to her, the gun ready in my hand.

"Oh God, Phil. It hurts."

There were tears on her cheeks and the anger and malice of before was gone from her face.

"Donna, why?"

I held her and pushed her tangled hair from her face. Tears flowed in a steady stream from her eyes as she clung to me.

"You couldn't see me. It was always someone else."

I looked into her eyes and saw the little girl she had once been.

"I'm sorry, Donna. I never knew."

She shuddered and her face clenched as a wave of pain rolled through her.

"He lied. Oh God, it hurts so bad."

"Who lied? Who did this to you, Donna?"

She fought the agony for a minute, perspiration sheening the human skin.

"Brian. He said you wouldn't be able to hurt me anymore."

"I never meant to hurt you."

She smiled sadly and her hand came up to trace the contours of my cheek with a ghostly caress.

"He said I was his Silver. His mate. He said he loved me and that you never could. That you couldn't see past..." Her body shuddered as a wave of pain rose from her torn stomach. "You couldn't forgive my past."

"Donna, I never knew your past."

Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she sobbed horribly as she realized I was speaking the truth.

"You didn't know? You didn't know about my stepfather raping me? You didn't know about the arrests? The hooking?"

I shook my head.

"Then why?"

I smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead.

"I don't know. Maybe you were just too much for me."

I held her as another spasm coursed through her and cried with her. Finally I leaned back and looked into her eyes.

"I'm dying, aren't I."

My voice caught in my throat so I just nodded. She closed her eyes and for a moment I thought she was gone but they came back open, a glimmer of the poor lost girl barely shining in them.

"He told me you couldn't hurt me if I let him make me a wolf. That I was his love. But he did it to Toy too. He used her. Just like he used your Nancy."

Her eyes closed again and she lay slack in my arms. Part of me said I should have called the paramedics but I knew it was a lost cause. I didn't want her to die so damned alone. Finally she stirred, her eyes fluttered open.

"He hates you." I had to lean forward to hear her words. Her voice was just barely on this side of Lethe. "You are his nemesis, his Boisselier. You killed his mate, you killed his pack. You killed him."

She tried to take a deep breath but it turned into a racking cough.

"Where is he? Who is he?"

"Could you have loved me?" She whispered faintly.

I looked into her eyes and could see the shadow of Charon. It wouldn't cost me a thing.

"Yes."

A faint smile lifted the corner of her mouth.

"Liar."

I leaned down and kissed her. Her lips were like ice but they clung to me.

"Cortland." She said in a voice so faint only angels could have heard and she was gone.

#  Chapter 23

I laid the macabre corpse gently onto the floor. The ME was going to have a field day with this one. But I also knew it wasn't done yet.

Cortland.

I had a name. A name for the maniac. I started to rise but was surprised by a warm form that bumped gently into my shoulder. I turned and found a pair of warm, confused brown eyes gazing into mine.

"Toy?"

She whined softly and licked at my face.

I pulled her close and held her. I was losing too many people in my life. I had no idea how this Brian had managed to transform people into wolves but there wasn't any doubt in my mind he had managed it. Not with the cooling meat on the floor in front of me. Or the curly wolf nuzzling against my face. I held her back, my hands holding the ruff of hair below her ears.

"I'm so sorry."

Her tongue came out and slobbered my face as she made quiet whining noises. Looking into those brandy dark eyes I could feel the lady I had known.

"How do we undo this?"

Bright tears formed in her eyes and her haunches settled to the floor.

"I have to find him, don't I?"

She barked loudly and the distress in her eyes shone brightly.

"He's the only one who can change you back."

She yipped softly and licked at my face.

"You do want to change."

The wolf lay down and rolled on her back. I couldn't stand the look in her eyes so I rubbed at her belly before I stopped myself. This was entirely too weird. And the direction my thoughts were headed just wasn't somewhere I wanted to go so I stood up and headed for the phone on the bedside table. My hand had just touched the plastic when it rang. I waited for the second ring then raised the receiver to my ear.

"So, Donna, was it everything you wished for?"

I kept quiet and let the silence stretch. Finally he responded.

"Belanger."

"Right in one."

He was silent for a moment then chuckled softly.

"You are either more resourceful than I had thought or very lucky."

"Maybe a bit of both, Brian"

"I knew you had found my pied a terre."

"And the Davidson front. But that's just a front, right?"

He laughed again.

"But of course. I've already abandoned that life." He paused. "How do you like my little joke?"

"You'll find out when I rip your heart out."

"Ah, Boisselier, always with the dramatics."

My hand clenched the receiver with ferocious strength.

"No dramatics. I killed you once, I can do it again."

He was silent except for the sound of his breathing.

"Tracing this call won't work."

"No trace, asshole. The department isn't on this. It's just you and me."

"But you will not find me, hunter. It is time for me to withdraw."

"Coward!" I yelled into the phone, the cold sweat running down my back.

"Poor Ironman." He chuckled grimly. "Losing doesn't sit well with you, does it?"

"I haven't lost yet."

"No? Your friend and partner, your darling wife, your playful toy...what haven't you lost, mon ami?"

"Just one thing...you."

"No? I beg to differ." The Slight French accent deepened as our conversation continued. "You do not know where I am and even if you manage to decipher the clues, I shall be long gone before you could get here. The game shall continue for as long as I wish. And I wish for it to go on. You have not suffered enough. Au revoir."

The phone clicked in my ear. I glanced down at the brown wolf rubbing against my thigh and punched the cut off bar. My finger dialed the number for the ready room down on Bay Street. Chico answered on the second ring.

"Yo, Chico."

"Hey, Belanger. Where are you?"

"Out at the beach, Toy's place."

"Everything ok?"

I paused while I petted the object of the discussion.

"Could be worse. I need you to check something for me."

"What?"

"The property listings. What do you have under the name of Cortland?"

"Just a second." I heard the rustle of paper while he checked.

"Daniel and Brenda, home purchase in Arlington."

"Ok. What else?"

"Fred, business on Atlantic. Giles, 4 acres near Shady Rest. Lawrence, farm out by Ridgewood in Clay County. Theodore and Alicia, home in Spring Glen. That's it. What have you got?"

"Not much. And you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Phil?"

"Later."

I hung up as he yelled his protest. I dialed the Beach cop shop and asked to be put through to Vic. He was in the office.

"Petroni."

"Hey, Vic."

"Belanger. Back in the land of the living?"

I glanced down at the body behind me.

"For the time being. Are you handling the surveillance for Toy out at Seminole?"

"Dale asked me to handle that. Why?"

I paused as I wondered just how far I was willing to go. And how far I could ask Vic to go.

"What's up, Phil?"

"Hell's about to come loose, Vic."

"Talk to me, boy."

I chuckled.

"You know, you are the only person who can call me that. I'm out at Toy's beach house."

He paused.

"Trouble?"

"Past tense. Vic, I need you to cover for me. I need some time"

"How much?"

I thought about the information I had, the distance involved.

"Half an hour."

He waited long enough that I wondered if I should just hang up and go and hope I had enough of a lead.

"Why, Phil?"

I looked down at Donna, then at Toy.

"It has to end, Vic. And it can't end in court."

"Why?"

"Can you trust me?"

He hesitated.

"I want to."

"Come out to Toy's place. If what you find doesn't convince you, call Dale right away. If it does, give me my time."

"You going to wait?"

I laughed.

"Hell no."

"Deal. But don't make me regret this."

I looked at the body at my feet.

"Thirty minutes."

I headed for the door and only paused when I heard the click of claws on the tile floor. Toy stopped behind me and looked up at me with wide trusting eyes.

"What in the hell am I going to do with you?"

The wolf yipped and nipped at my crotch. I pushed her away and shook my head. I had no idea how Duke would react but I knew I couldn't leave her behind.

"Come on."

I headed out to the truck with my curly wolf girlfriend dancing around my heels. As we approached the truck, Duke got wind of what was happening and added his voice to the conversation. Toy froze, the hackles on her shoulders rising. Duke was trying to get out of the sliver of window I had left open. I told him to settle down as I reached for the door and he complied, standing at quivering attention on the seat, his stub of a tail wagging like a demented semaphore. Toy stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the vibrating, 80-pound, black and tan terrier. I couldn't decide what was stranger, my dog finding my old girlfriend interesting or me being still intrigued by her. I opened the door.

Duke growled low in his throat, his eyes fixed on Toy but he stayed on the truck seat. Toy's tail dropped and she slinked forward. She glanced at me but her attention wanted to go to my Airedale. I wanted to laugh. I had lost girlfriends in the past but never to my dog. I pushed Duke back and he went, reluctantly. Toy sat on the sawgrass at the edge of the drive and looked at me for help. I could only shrug and motion for her to get in the truck. She couldn't do it. Before I could say or do anything, Duke bounded out and skidded to a stop with his nose against Toy's. His tail was wagging like a helicopter rotor. Toy sat frozen, barely breathing, while they had some kind of conversation I could only guess about. Finally she gave a small yip and nipped at Duke's muzzle.

He exploded into activity, dancing around the curly brown wolf, nipping at her haunches and barking frantically. A moment later they were a brown, black and tan blur as they wrestled and tussled across the lawn. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing but I did know I had a clock running so I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled sharply. Duke backed away as best he could and I motioned for him to get in the truck. He bounded in with Toy right behind him. They continued growling and nipping while I got in and backed out of the driveway.

I drove down the gravel side road the guy at the service station had directed me to. Duke and Toy had settled down for the most part. Toy had been a major distraction until I had opened the glove box and pulled out the box of ammo for my gun. I knew Duke didn't care for the smell of gun oil but when I popped the clip from my .45 and replaced the cartridge that had killed Donna, Toy had quieted down. My thirty minutes were about up so if Vic had bought in and read my note the Duval County Sheriff's Department would have the information about where I was headed. Since I hadn't seen a squad car yet, I assumed Vic had believed what he had seen and given me my head start.

I knew this couldn't end with this Davidson or Cortland or Cortaud or whatever he called himself in custody and in front of a judge. The evidence was just not strong enough to over ride the weirdness. There was too strong of a possibility that a good lawyer could get him time in the booby hatch and then let him loose again. I knew he wasn't crazy. A maniac, but not crazy. And I also knew if he went into the system, he would manipulate it until he could find a little bit of daylight and he would be gone. Gone long enough to start all over again. It wasn't an attitude a good cop might have but it was a fact. Whoever or whatever he was, there was only one way to shut him down.

Up ahead I saw the mailbox the pump jockey had described so I slowed down and turned into the almost overgrown drive. About a quarter of a mile through the saw grass, scrub oak and pine and the palmetto the rutted drive opened into a clearing with a weathered battered trailer at the far end. I stopped with the tail of the truck still in the brush and looked around. Near the trailer was a shiny new BMW. Just the kind of vehicle I would expect a hotshot investment type to own. I turned off the engine and waited. Duke growled low in his throat and Toy whined quietly. Through the open window I could hear the whine of the cicadas. The trailer was some twenty yards away, directly in front of the truck. If Cortaud was here, he had to have noticed our arrival.

I opened the door and slid out onto the packed dirt. Duke and Toy wanted to follow but I waved them back. They sat on the truck seat and whined their disagreement. Across the yard the door to the trailer opened with a screech of hinges and Brain Davidson stepped out. He was almost as tall as me but wider and heavier built.

"Belanger, you never cease to amaze me."

I stepped to the front of the truck.

"Not too hard to do."

He walked to the front of his Beamer.

"No backup?"

"I don't need it. Not for a putz like you."

"No?"

The insect noise died as dark forms came from the brush around the small clearing. Several were hounds, a good smattering of mutts and a few that showed wolf in their ancestry. I looked around. He had kept about 15 dogs at his beck and call here. They all stood just inside the clearing, growling low in their collective throats, obviously just held back by his command.

"Always hiding, aren't you?"

He shrugged.

"I see no sense in operating openly."

"Too bad they don't see you for the coward you are."

He looked less like the photos I had seen than I had anticipated. He had done something to his hair, a new cut and slightly darker color. I supposed he was handsome enough, thick powerful chest and generally muscular physique to entice the ladies. It hurt to think that Nance had fallen for him. To me, I saw a crudeness, a raw power barely disguised. With a shock I realized that there was something of me in him.

"I hadn't anticipated you discovering my lair so quickly. Either you are brighter than I had thought or you managed to get the information from Donna."

I smiled darkly.

"It ends here, dogboy."

He matched my smile with one of his own.

"Oh, I don't think so."

The dogs around the periphery of the clearing stepped forward at some unseen command and began to growl menacingly. I pulled my gun from my belt.

"Do you have enough bullets?"

I began to raise the Colt.

"I only need one."

He dove for the shelter of the BMW just before I could target him and the pack cut loose. The next few minutes were a wild melee as the dogs rushed to attack and I tried to cut them down. With their first rush, Duke and Toy leaped from the truck and engaged the first to get near. I picked my targets and shot dog after dog. The few that made it through were clubbed down or attacked by my Airedale and wolf. Within five minutes the pack was down and my ammo was gone. There was a box of bullets in the glove compartment of the truck but doubted if I would be given the chance to reload my clips.

The dogs came over to me. Duke seemed to have weathered the battle with only a tear in his right ear. His thick steel wool tight hair had protected him well. Toy hadn't faired quite as well. Instinct had served her well as had her size but she limped on three legs, holding her left forepaw in the air.

The sound of clapping brought my attention back to my adversary.

"Bravo, Boisselier. Somehow I had thought you would be squeamish about killing dogs."

I gave Toy's leg a final check and rose to face him.

"Just another tab you get to pay."

He chuckled from his position of safety at the driver's door of the BMW.

"So, now you plan on arresting me and taking me to jail?" He asked with a mocking grin.

I put the .45 back in its holster on my belt and matched his mockery.

"I don't think so."

He paled in the fading daylight. To the west the sky was piling up with angry thunderheads as the usual late afternoon storm blocked the sun. The breeze picked and rattled the bayonet blades of the palmettos. I knew my grace period was ticking away. I started across the dusty parking area, holding his eyes with mine.

"You had better restrain your pets."

I shrugged.

"Afraid of a couple of doggies?"

The light in the clearing had dropped radically but I could make out the look of feral cunning on his face.

"Hardly. If you care for them, you will keep them out of it. I am much more formidable than those mongrels and it would give me great pleasure to take away even more from you."

I paused. Duke was a few steps behind me, matching my stalk with his own stiff legged version. He was growling, a steady rumble in his fierce terrier throat. Toy was still by the truck. I suspected her leg might be broken but what was holding her back even more effectively was fear. Duke's full attention was riveted on the blonde man, his hackles dancing.

"Duke." I called, putting as much urgency and authority in my voice as I could. He glanced at me, then returned his attention to our foe.

"Duke, guard!" I pointed at Toy where she cowered whining and licking her leg. His rumbling paused as he looked at me. He didn't want to back down, not even a little. I re-emphasized my command by pointing at Toy again. He glanced at her then back at me, training battling with instinct.

"It's ok, boy. If he gets by me, he's yours."

He didn't like it but the training won. He walked over to Toy and took up his guard duty after a quick sniff at her leg and her muzzle. I had no doubt he would take on whatever the hell it was this Cortaud became but I also knew it would be a one sided match. All the evidence I had seen told me the alaunt or werewolf or whatever the hell he was would be close to twice my Airedale's size. And he would have much more experience at fighting.

I turned my attention back to Cortaud. In the shifting light it appeared that his face was changing.

"I have waited a long time for this moment, hunter."

His words were blurred as his jaw began to extend. Hair began to sprout in a hideous parody of fast action photography. His body writhed, his hands twisted and shifted to blunt paws. I watched in horrified fascination as he dropped to all fours, his clothing quickly replaced by muddy gray fur, shot with mustard colored streaks. The transformation was appallingly fast. Had I been closer, I might have attacked but I could see he had counted on my paralysis to give him the time he needed to complete the shift.

The animal that faced me, its somewhat blunt muzzle pulled back in a snarl that revealed large teeth, was a mix. It resembled a Great Dane or mastiff in basic size and configuration. The shoulders were on a level with my waist. But instead of the smooth short hair I would have expected, it was thickly furred. From what Denise had said it had been suspected that the original Cortaud had been a mix, sired by an alaunt on a wolf bitch. The thick ruff, slight extension and point to the muzzle and erect pointed ears showed that the legend was accurate. The down sloping hips ended in a short brushy tail that had obviously started out much longer. Cut Tail. A present from the original Boisselier.

He came forward, crouched and snarling, an unholy light glowing in his eyes. He had the advantage in that he had fought men many times in the past if the legends were true while I had never fought any dogs. I didn't think the usual moves used against erect bipedal opponents would be as effective against the crushing jaws and slashing blunt claws. A flash of triumph in his eyes warned me a split second before he launched himself at my throat. I spun in a roundhouse kick, the heel of my boot landing on the side of his powerfully muscled neck instead of against his skull as I had intended. The force of the kick sent him sprawling to the side but he recovered with disheartening speed and lunged again just as I was regaining my footing. I laced my fingers together and hammered at the other side of his head. Again, his speed got him closer and my blow landed on his shoulder, knocking him to the side as his jaws tore at my shoulder.

There was a flash of white-hot pain and suddenly I felt wetness spread across my upper back. He had scored first blood. I scrambled around to meet his next attack and again he recovered far too quickly. Before I could do much more than raise my hands I was buried under a furred avalanche, jaws clamping high on my head on the right side. His fetid breath was like a furnace as his teeth cut into my scalp and face. I knew the dreadful power of those jaws and a part of me realized he didn't have a full grip but rather just the outside of his mouth as he scrambled for a better purchase. I pounded on his midsection with my left while I levered my right alongside his neck and tried to push him away. The pressure of his teeth on my skull relaxed as he tried for a better grip and my face exploded in fresh agony as I managed to push him back. His canines tore through the skin and muscle covering my head and I knew he was going for the scalping death grip by the tensing of the corded neck muscles under my arm.

Suddenly, there was an instant of relief as 80 pounds of terrier hit him in the shoulder and Duke bit at the back of the beast's skull. I used the respite to push Cortaud back and wrapped my legs around his heaving chest. I squeezed as hard as I could, distracting him from the Airedale's assault. His slavering muzzle came back around but this time I was ready. I wedged my forearm between his jaws and pushed with all the panic driven power I had. I brought my left hand up and grasped the blood slick wrist of my right and added to the pressure.

His growls and snarls were muffled by my arm in his mouth and his breathing came in labored gasps through his nostrils. Duke had found purchase on the back of his neck and was biting and shaking his body in the classic terrier fashion. I managed to shift my position enough that I could bring more power into forcing his head back. His back legs scratched in the dusty ground as he tried to find leverage to break free while his forelegs scrabbled ineffectually against the outsides of my shoulders. I kept my face buried against my left arm as I pushed his head back. My legs ached from the clamping pressure I kept up on his heaving chest. I knew I wouldn't be able to last much longer. My right shoulder and arm were aching and my blood mixed freely with the slather pouring from his jaws. I didn't even want to think about the fire in my skull. All my attention was focused into bending that awful head back.

He shook, the forward pressure easing slightly as Duke's teeth grated on the bony hardness of vertebrae. Desperation flared in me like a blazing flame and I put everything I had into my push. A guttural cry tore from my throat as his neck arched back. There was a brittle greenwood snap and his body convulsed briefly. I leaned back and looked into his eyes. They flashed with bitter denial then glazed over as the pounding of his heart against my legs stuttered and ceased.

I relaxed my pressure and tried to free my arm from his slack jaws but my entire body began to tremble from reaction to the expended effort. I managed to roll to the side and push the inert carcass partly away before I collapsed. The last sensation I had was of a warm tongue licking at my battered face before the blackness rolled over me and dragged me into oblivion.

#  Chapter 24

I sat on the dock and watched the sun sink into the pink and gold haze over the pines. The crisp aromas of fall filled my senses. The lake had had a thin coating of ice this morning, heralding the arrival of winter in the piney north woods. The dogs lay on either side of my chair, their heads resting on their paws but one pair of bright brown eyes focused on me with cautious attention. Duke slept quietly. I still had a difficult time accepting that there was a human intelligence in the curly brown wolf but she reminded me of it with eerie frequency. She seemed particularly sensitive to the headaches that came less often and without the debilitating pain.

The doctors had done an excellent job of repairing the damage done by Cortaud's ravaging jaws. The infections had given them fits at first but the antibiotics had done their work and the microsurgeries had left me with hairline scars on the right side of my forehead and cheek. The right eye was slowly losing its bloody appearance and in another few months I would look a whole lot less like an escapee from some horror film. I looked down at my right forearm. They had been less successful there. The skin below the elbow was a mass of twisted scars and I was just getting enough use out of the hand to be able to use an electric typewriter. Not that I had much use for the damned thing. The tales of elves and dragons and magic lay dormant in me behind the reality of existence. A part of me was glad that my first book was doing well. Between the revenues from its sales and the disability insurance Dale had insisted was mine and Nance's life insurance, I didn't have to worry much about money. There was more than enough to keep me comfortable for quite some time to come.

I looked out over the quiet evening waters of my hideaway. No palmettos, no sand, no oppressive heat, just the chill of a Wisconsin evening and the pleasant aromas of the white pines. I hadn't been able to stay in Florida. There were too many bad memories and too many people wanting to treat me like an invalid. It didn't matter that for six months after the death of the legend I was still barely able to get around. The loss of blood, the ravaging infections from Cortaud's filthy mouth and lying in the north Florida sand, my life slowly seeping from the wounds he had inflicted, had taken a huge toll on me physically. But it had been nothing compared to the emotional damage.

I had lost too much. Too many people and too much of myself. My friends had been there, supportive to the point where I thought I would smother under their caring. The truth about Cortaud and the killings had faded quickly. It had been too bizarre for even the tabloids to retain any interest. The Sheriff had done an excellent job of downplaying the entire thing. Luckily Donna hadn't had any family left so her mutilated body had disappeared quickly into the hellfire of a crematorium as had Cortaud's. When I had been strong enough to be on my own I had asked Dan Boling to find me this place and I had slipped quietly away. Part of me knew it wasn't fair. My friends deserved better but it was something I just couldn't bring myself to face. I needed space, isolation, while I tried to reconcile the life I had been given with the possibilities.

Nightmares.

Horrendous dreams that would wake me in screams as I ran through the forest, the streets, coursing like a wolf. The innocents who would turn at the last moment as I leapt. The unholy joy of feeling their blood spurt into my mouth.

I shuddered.

They were getting worse. I slept but little now and only in short naps when exhaustion forced me into the release. And when I would start to twitch and moan, Toy would awaken me before the horror could progress. I knew I should seek professional help, that the dreams weren't real. They were just my guilt and my fear driving me. But I had seen him change. Not a movie. Not a tale of myth and legend. I had witnessed his body shift into that of an animal.

Suddenly the dogs came alert. Duke gave a bark and bounded up towards the cabin while Toy came to stand close to my leg. I stood up and looked up the path to my rustic little home and saw my Airedale bound and dance around the person who stood on my deck.

She was thinner, a fact still obvious in spite of the bulky vest she wore. She petted my dog then looked down to where I stood watching. My heart pounded against my ribs. Toy whined quietly and bumped against my leg. Duke raced down the rough steps, then back, barking happily. She came down more slowly, her hands pushed deep in the pockets of her vest, her hazel eyes glowing in the fading light. My mouth wanted to form her name but it was too dry.

She stopped a couple of steps away, her eyes on mine, her face empty of expression.

"Hello, Phillip."

I swallowed and managed to croak her name.

"Denise."

Toy growled quietly at my knee. Denise looked down at her then back at me.

"How are you?"

"You shouldn't have come."

A lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye and traced down her cheek.

"I had to."

I tore my gaze from her and looked out over the lake.

"You should go."

Denise took a tentative step forward.

"Phillip, I talked with Jill."

Blazing betrayal flashed through me. I had spoken with Jill a little about the dreams shortly before I had left Florida. She had been concerned about my recovery and had suspected there was something more to my withdrawal than the losses. I hadn't said much but it burned in me she had betrayed even the partial confidence.

"Then you know why you shouldn't be here."

"He wasn't a werewolf!"

I turned back and glared at her, my fear flaring to life in anger.

"Then what was he?"

She flinched under the intensity of my gaze but stood firm.

"I don't know. And neither do you."

I couldn't maintain my anger in the face of her tears so I closed my eyes.

"Please, Denise. Just go away. Quickly."

I waited for what I suspected would be a heated response but I wasn't prepared for what came.

" _Even a man who is pure of heart..._ "

My eyes flared open at her soft words. She had stepped closer and those damned eyes were searching my face.

"...and says his prayers by night. I never thought of you as a praying man, Phillip."

She was crying silently, gentle tears running down her cheeks. She took her hand from the pocket of her vest. My old .45 was in it. She placed the muzzle against my chest.

"I had a gunsmith melt down some jewelry to make the bullet. He said it would ruin the barrel, silver is too hard."

I tried to breath but my chest was too tight.

"The legend says the curse can only be ended by a silver bullet fired by someone who loves them."

She was crying uncontrollably now, her voice catching as she forced the words out.

"Phillip, please, let me help."

Suddenly, the tears were in my eyes as well.

\--30--

