The Frenzy Way (18 page)

Hearing another window crash outside, he sprinted across the blood-slicked floor, sliding through the gore. He slapped his left hand against the wall—careful not to smear the blood on the sill—and aimed his rifle outside. The faint strobe lights illuminated the roof of a two-story building below, where a ruptured skylight winked at him. The skinwalker had broken through the window, run acrossthe rooftop below, then jumped through the skylight. Turning from the window he saw letters written in blood on the wall above a narrow dresser:
ulfheonar.

Footsteps thundered in the living room, and a gaggle of uniformed police officers crowded the doorway, their blockish Glocks aimed at him.

“Drop it!” one of the officers said.

Stalk raised his arms, holding the Winchester horizontally over his head with one hand. “I’m a cop. I’d rather not drop my weapon on this floor.” His gaze moved to the dresser. “How about I put it over there?”

The officer who had ordered him to drop the gun tightened his grip on his semiautomatic. “Move
slowly.
You’ve got four weapons aimed at you, and I’m the only one with a clear view of what you’re doing.”

With great care, Stalk moved through the blood.

Mace ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape that cordoned off the building from the crowd. He saw a Jeep Wrangler parked on the sidewalk and counted five different news vans double-parked along Eldridge Street.

“Captain Mace!”

“Tony!”

Ignoring the reporters, he scanned the crowd of onlookers. The excitement in their eyes failed to mask the fear he saw in them as well. Looking up, he saw the windows of the housing project across the street filled with pensive silhouettes.

Don Gibbons joined him. Mace had never seen the night watch commander at a crime scene before. “I guess the gypsy wasn’t our man—or monster. Looks like that crazy bitch in Queens killed her husband for nothing.”

Mace grunted in agreement. He had suspected as much.

“Far as I can tell, everything’s identical to the last one,” Gibbons said. “Young woman torn to shreds in her own apartment, window broken from the inside, message written on one wall in blood. Get this:the perp jumped out a third-story window and then through a skylight on the roof of that art supplies store. Looks like he escaped through a door facing an alley on the other side of the block.”

Mace studied the space above the second-story roof. The full moon shone brightly on the side of the four-story apartment building. “Witnesses?”

“Over here.” Gibbons pointed at four Hispanic teenagers, three boys and a girl, contained near the corner of the crime scene tape. “You’re going to love this.”

Approaching the teenagers, Mace placed their ages at sixteen. “Who saw something?”

“We all did,” a boy with a shaved head said in a defiant tone. “But I saw the most.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We were standing over there”—he pointed at a communal area behind the project with bolted down picnic tables and bike racks—“when we heard this woman screaming. Not two minutes later, we saw Tonto drive that Jeep right onto the sidewalk and run inside. Everyone ran over to
this
side of the street for an up close look, but we held back.”

“Why’s that?”

The boy shrugged in an exaggerated manner. “We wanted to finish our beer and our reefer, yo.”

His companions laughed.

“Who’s gonna be dumb enough to take their shit over to a spot that’s about to be crawling with five-oh? And who’s gonna be dumber still to leave their shit behind in this neighborhood? You see some of the shifty motherfuckers around here? They wanna roll the chinos on their way home from the gambling parlors, and they take anything ain’t nailed down.”

Mace had seen this tough-guy bravado from countless kids. “What’s your name?”

“Jesus.”

“What are you and your friends doing out so late?”

“I told you—we were drinking our forties and smoking reefer.”

“You want to tell me what you saw?”

Jesus pointed at the apartment building. “We heard a window break, and I saw a big black shape jump out of that building and land on top of the art supplies store.”

“What do you mean, ‘a big black shape’?”

“You want me to spell it out for you?”

“That would be nice. I’m a little slow.”

“I can tell. I saw a motherfucking wolf jump from one building to the other.”

“You ever see a wolf before?”

“I seen
pictures.
Only this was different.”

“How so?”“It was big and black. But it was no motherfucking man and it was no motherfucking dog, so it had to be a motherfucking wolf. I saw it silhouetted against the moon, just like E.T.”

Mace looked at Jesus’s companions. “That what you all saw?”

“I didn’t see shit,” another boy said, and the remaining boy and the girl muttered their agreement.

“I guess you’re my star witness,” Mace said to Jesus. “How high are you?”

“I was drinking and I was smoking, but I can see straight.”

“Anyone take your statement?”

“Yeah.”

Mace looked at the PO standing on the other side of the crime scene tape, who nodded to him. “Then I guess you’re free to go home.”

“Yeah, right.” Jesus turned to his friends. “Come on, y’all.” Ducking under the tape, they strutted across the street to the project’s communal area and reassembled on a picnic table.

“One stoned sixteen-year-old isn’t exactly a reliable witness,” Mace said to Gibbons.

“Lane and Diega are inside getting statements,” Gibbons said. “Looks like a full house in there.”

“That should save us some legwork tomorrow. What have you got on the vic?”

Gibbons consulted his notebook. “Mandy Lee, twenty years old. Father owns the building. Guess our boy was in the mood for Chinese takeout tonight.”

Mace ignored the comment. “What’s the story with this Jeep?”

“Come on. There’s someone else I want you to meet. I saved the best for last.”

Gibbons walked Mace around to the far side of the Jeep. A man with long black hair tied in a ponytail leaned against the vehicle with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a green army jacket, faded blue jeans, and boots. His features did not appear ethnic, and his skin was no darker than Mace’s.

“Meet John Stalk, a member of the tribal police on the Chautauqua Indian Reservation upstate near Buffalo. As per witness statements, he drove his Jeep onto the sidewalk and ran into the building armed with a hunting rifle just ahead of our uniforms, who caught him standing in the vic’s bedroom moments after the perp went out the window. A junkie who lives on the same floor as the vic saw Mr. Stalk kick in the vic’s door after hearing the window break. He was holding this.”

Gibbons removed a black rifle from the squad car and handed it to Mace. “Mr. Stalk, meet Captain Mace, Manhattan Homicide South.”

Mace and Stalk measured each other with suspicious eyes.

“Pleasure,” Stalk said.

“You’re a long way from home. Would you mind explaining what you were doing in that apartment?”

Stalk nodded at a punk rocker, who sat on a stoop next door with his head bowed between his knees. “Your strung out witness over there will tell you I arrived
after
the murder.”

“That isn’t what I asked you. What’s a tribal policeman from upstate doing at a Lower Manhattan crime scene?”

“Just trying to lend a helping hand.”

“Are you here on tribal police business?” “No.”

“You haven’t been in touch with Sarah Harper’s family or anyone who knew Terrence Glenzer?”

Stalk grunted. “No, I haven’t. I’m no hired killer, Captain. I’m a lawman, just like you.”

Mace examined the rifle, a sleek black Winchester with a mounted scope. “What kind of ammunition do you use in this thing?” “The regular kind. What do you expect?”

“These days you can’t be too sure. What exactly are you hunting in our fair city?”

“The same thing you are.”

“That’s no answer.” Mace offered Stalk a tight smile. “How is it you arrived here before we did?”

“I was already in the neighborhood.”

“Just cruising the Village?” “You don’t go to the beach to hunt deer.”

“How did you know what was going down?” Stalk gestured at his truck. “Police band radio. The call wasn’t specific, but I took a chance.”

“When did you arrive in town?”

“Just a few hours ago.”

“That’s some timing.”

Stalk shrugged. “I have good instincts.”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“That depends on how long it takes me to catch what I’m after.”

“You mind telling me how you intend to do that?” “By thinking like your killer.”

Mace nodded at the Jeep. “You’re out of your jurisdiction, and right now you’re interfering with police business—
official
police business.”

“Can I have my gun back?”

“No, I think we’ll have our ballistics department run some tests on it.”

“Suit yourself.” Stalk reached into his pocket, removed a beaded badge holder, and took out a business card. “My police information, including my chief’s contact info. You should be able to reach me at this address.” He handed the card to Mace, who read the handwriting on the back. “As soon as you allow me to, I’ll get my Jeep off the sidewalk.”

“Did you get all his information?” Mace said to Gibbons.

“Everything but the day he lost his virginity.”

“Let him go, then. We need to start clearing this street.”

Gibbons leaned close to Mace and whispered into his ear, “He saw the message on the wall.”

Damn it
, Mace thought. “Mr. Stalk, I hope we can rely on you not to share any details pertaining to our investigation with the media or anyone else.”

“You mean as a professional courtesy between brothers-in-arms? No problem, Captain. I understand your need to keep a lid on this. No one will hear anything from me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mace considered locking Stalk up for twenty-four hours just to keep him quiet. But what then? It was one thing to hide details from the media, another to lock up citizens to keep them from talking to that same media. “I look forward to speaking to you again soon.”

“Same here.”

Gibbons motioned to the closest PO. Stalk climbed into the Jeep and waited for the tape to come down before starting the engine. As he backed into the street, someone in the crowd called out, “Geronimo!”

The reporters rushed forward, and the PO reattached the tape, holding them back.

“Cocky son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Gibbons said.

“I want a thorough check on him,” Mace said.

“I plan to handle that myself.”

Mace met Patty and Willy in Mandy Lee’s living room.

“You meet Crazy Horse?” Willy said.

Mace aimed a disapproving look at Willy, then faced Patty. “What’s tonight’s password?”

“‘Ulfheonar.’ Norse for ‘wolf coat,’ the wolf-based warriors. We have our Viking werewolf.”

“Was the vic another NYU student?”

“No, she wasn’t even in college. Worked in a bank over on Canal. I see little chance of a connection between her and Sarah Harper and even less of one between her and Professor Glenzer.”

“Any leads at all?” He wanted something, anything. “Just one,” Patty said. She raised a plastic bag with a book of matches inside it. “We found this on the coffee table. Apparently, Mandy liked to frequent Carfax Abbey II, a club on Avenue B.”

“Guess where you two are going when you finish here,” Mace said.

Patty steered the unmarked police car across Avenue B. Late night partygoers crowded the sidewalks, and cigarette smoke lingered in the air over their heads. Tides of pale faces and black leather jackets moved in opposite directions.

“Sorry I found those matches?”

“Nah,” Willy said, “I can use the OT. But let’s collar this guy soon. My sex life is suffering.”

“It’s a deal.” She watched a girl with no underwear puke on the sidewalk. “So what’s the Puerto Rican term for werewolf?”
“Hombre lobo.
Man Wolf.”

“It’s ass backwards, just like I’d expect.” Willy laughed. “You’re not right.”

Patty pulled into a parking spot across the street from Carfax Abbey II.