The Frenzy War (13 page)

“He was a sleaze then too.”

Jim opened the folder before him and tapped a stapled document. “This is a copy of a report you filed after witnessing John Stalk's murder. The
original
report you filed before the powers that be revised it.”

Mace stayed quiet.

Jim slid the report aside, revealing another document. “And this is a transcript of the meeting you had with Deputy Commissioner Dunegan and his aides when they booted you out of Homicide.”

I should have known Dunegan recorded the meeting,
Mace thought.

“The claims in the transcript support those in your report. Do I need to refresh your memory?”

Mace leveled his gaze at Jim. “No.”

“The word that appears several times in both documents, without irony, is
werewolf.
While you were on suspension on the day the National Guard rolled into the city, you signed out two objects from Evidence Control: the hilt of a broken sword recovered from Terrence Glenzer's personal safe and the service revolver of Detective Patty Lane, who was murdered by the perp while she was under your direct supervision. Signing out those items while under suspension was a criminal offense.”

Mace had always known that signing out those weapons would catch up to him sooner or later. “I returned them that night.”

“Yes, you did.” Jim flipped to another report. “After signing yourself out of Bellevue's ER, where you were treated for bite wounds and gashes in your forehead.” He looked up from the folder. “Your forehead's healed well, by the way.” He looked down again. “According to the hospital report, you claimed you were jumped by gang members. A wound in your left shoulder was so severe you attended physical therapy for five months. Since when do gang members bite police detectives?”

“I guess everyone got a little crazy when those guards came marching in.”

“Why did you take the items from Evidence Control?”

Mace shrugged. “Maybe I thought I could stop Patty's killer.”

“You mean murder him?”

“It wouldn't be murder if he wasn't human.”

“Did you have any luck?”

“No.”

“It didn't take long for someone to realize you took the items. Dennis Hackley was notified. He ordered an additional round of testing on both objects. Forensics determined that the revolver was fired six times between the time it was initially tested after Detective Lane's murder and before you returned it. In addition, traces of cleaning chemicals were found on the broken sword—chemicals that weren't on it before you signed it out. Hackley was under
a lot of pressure and realized he was being forced out. He could have sacrificed you to save himself. Instead he buried the report.”

Dennis Hackley, the chief of detectives at the time, had once been Mace's mentor. He had taken over the Manhattan Werewolf case after Mace had been suspended. Mace had no idea his friend had gone to bat for him one more time. After being shit canned by NYPD, Hackley moved to Nebraska, where he took a top spot in a security firm.

“You took the sword and the gun. You checked into an ER with bizarre wounds. You returned the items and apparently used them. And the Manhattan Werewolf vanished, never to be seen again.” Jim closed the folder. “I'm impressed. I don't know if I'm looking at a goddamned hero, a goddamned vigilante, or a goddamned monster hunter.”

Mace said nothing.

“Hackley didn't bury his findings deep enough. After that monsignor from the Vatican took custody of both halves of the sword, the FBI requested a search for related documents, and guess what turned up?”

Mace raised his eyebrows.

“Here's where we get into national security,” Norton said. “We've been investigating these circumstances for years. When we presented you with evidence that your Manhattan Werewolf had perpetrated killings all over the country, we already believed there was something highly unusual about him. Forensics at various crime scenes determined his DNA had qualities unlike any seen before.”

“What kind of qualities?”

“The DNA had remarkable healing properties,” Shelly said. “It changed under certain tests … adapted … survived.”

“Adapted how?”

“The DNA was unstable. Its properties changed depending on which tests were performed on it.”

Mace had no intention of letting Norton off the hook. “Keeping in mind that I'm a layman in terms of science, exactly how did the properties of the DNA change?”

“It altered its structure,” Shelly said, “almost the way a chameleon changes the color of its skin.”

“But I'm guessing there were only two or three variables. If you already knew some of this two years ago, why didn't you help me catch my perp?”

“For one thing, our superiors were unresponsive to our theories. For another, we didn't want the responsibility. We were happy to push you in the right direction, and we believe you killed him.” He raised one hand. “No need to implicate yourself.”

“I wasn't about to.”

“Since then we've uncovered evidence—which we can't disclose—that others like your perp exist,” Norton said. “Perhaps many others.”

Mace turned to Jim.

“Jim already knows everything I've just told you. He's been in the loop since your suspension two years ago. We pushed to have him put in his current position.”

“He's a mole for the FBI?”

“We prefer to think of him as an advocate for interdepartmental cooperation.”

Jim held Mace's gaze. “I'm a cop, not a fed. But this
shadow species,
for lack of a better term, has me scared. The department won't ever acknowledge these things exist; you know that. But Norton and Shelly know the truth, and they've got the resources to monitor the situation.”

“Yes, they're great at monitoring.”

“We've classified these individuals as Class L human beings,” Shelly said.

“L is for … ?”

“Lupine.”

Mace's body relaxed.
It's finally out.

“We have no reason to believe these people are a threat,” Norton said. “Other than an occasional report of a sighting on an Indian reservation, they've made themselves practically invisible. Your perp was the rare exception. We have to believe the rest only want to live in peace.”

You're batting a thousand,
Mace thought. “If that's the case, then how are they a threat to national security?”

“Knowledge of their existence would cause chaos here and abroad,” Shelly said. “Can you imagine the hysteria that would ensue? The prejudices? We want to make contact with them and forge a trusting relationship. We want to protect them for their own good.”

“I'm sure the Indians heard a similar sales pitch once upon a time.”

“Jason Lourdes had DNA similar to that found in hairs taken at your Manhattan Werewolf homicide sites,” Norton said. “We believe he was a Class L human and so were his parents. They're presumed dead, by the way, after their house was burned down early this morning. Six corpses were found in the ruins of the house: only one was human.
Its arm had been chewed off. We're told the other five were ‘canine' in nature—huge suckers. Their heads were cut off, just like Jason's.”

Mace felt as if he'd been slugged in the stomach. He had seen Janus Farel's hybrid form—half man and half wolf— transform into that of a giant wolf after his death. Someone had killed five Wolves—six, counting Jason—with a sword.

The Blade of Salvation.

“We've taken the carcasses into custody and are transporting them to Quantico,” Shelly said.

“It sounds like you have all the physical evidence you need to prove these things exist.”

“It's easy to extrapolate that Rhonda Wilson and by extension her parents and their siblings are Class Ls too,” Norton said. “Possibly Synful Reading's owners and the other employees as well. We know you're familiar with the Dominis. Six of these unique beings may have been killed in twenty-four hours. Clearly, there's an organized force working against them, hell-bent on their genocide.”

The Brotherhood of Torquemada.
“And you want to stop them?”

“Hell, yes,” Jim said. “Not just to protect the lives of these Class Ls, as our colleagues call them, but to keep knowledge of their existence a secret from the public.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“We have only limited support for our investigation in the FBI,” Norton said. “Maybe that will change once those carcasses are autopsied, but right now Shelly and I are the sole agents assigned to this investigation. We've been granted
permission to form a joint task force with NYPD—”

“A
secret
joint task force,” Shelly said.

“And because of what happened here two years ago,” Jim said, “the commissioner's given me permission to devote a small team to the cause. He wants to avoid the panic that happened last time.”

Robert Benson had replaced the previous police commissioner after the Manhattan Werewolf fiasco. “How forward thinking of him.”

“His motives aren't unselfish. His permission came with several conditions.”

“Not the least of which is plausible deniability, I'm sure.”

“Naturally. We're still talking about the department after all. The mayor is none too pleased that New York City has become known as the werewolf capital of the world. Every documentary that airs on the Manhattan Werewolf, every book that's published, every video file that's uploaded to the Internet purporting to be genuine footage of a werewolf, is a public embarrassment. The mayor's made it clear to the commissioner that he never wants to see the word
werewolf
mentioned in a headline or news story again.”

“So one goal of this secret joint task force is to cover up whatever's going on out there.”

“That can't surprise you.”

“Where do I come in?”

“You're the only one in this room who's actually seen these things with his own eyes. We can't think of a better person to head up the task force.”

Mace blinked twice, then grunted. “I'm not interested.”

“You've been sitting on the sidelines long enough.”

“I've discovered I like being there.”

“This is a chance to redeem your career.”

“I have a wife and a daughter who depend on me. I don't want to get back into the game. Fourteen people were killed last time, one of them under my command. I don't want that kind of responsibility again, especially over this insanity. I just want to finish out my two years and retire in peace.”

“Bullshit, you do. I'm giving you the chance to handpick your own team and make a difference in this extraordinary crisis, with minimal bureaucratic interference—a chance to lead an elite task force.”

Mace leaned forward. “I already tried that. Look what happened to me. You guys hung me out to dry.” He rose. “I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else. Thanks for thinking of me.”

His knees shook as he left the room, but he felt good.

They know I was right.

W
illy and Karol entered the squad room and set their coats on their chairs.

“Feels like we were just here, doesn't it?” Willy said.

“We
were
just here.”

With a phone pressed against his ear, Landry tapped on the glass front of his office and beckoned them inside. Seeing Captain Bill Aiello sitting in his larger office, also on the phone, Willy opened Landry's door for Karol, followed her into the office, and sat beside her.

Landry hung up. “We don't want a case involving the parents of our vic from yesterday?”

“I don't,” Willy said.

“I do,” Karol said. “Make me the primary.”

Willy glanced at Karol.
“What?”

“
I'll take the case.”

Landry sat back in his chair. “Thank you, Karol, but I have a feeling Willy's going to step up to the plate.”

“Fine,” Willy said. “Whatever you say.”

“Brooklyn detectives will work the case, but they're reporting to you.”

“Hurrah. Only thing is, we don't even know if the Lourdeses got toasted in that fire. We got one DOA without an arm and five dead dogs without heads. Or five dead wolves.”

Landry held his gaze. “Headless dogs?”

“Or wolves. Their heads were cut off just like Jason Lourdes's was. I'm beginning to think we might have more than one sword in play.”

“I can't wait to read your report.”

“Right.” As they exited the office, Willy turned to Karol. “Thanks, partner.”

“Hey, I offered to be the primary. There was no way Brooklyn DATF was letting us dump this one on them.”

Willy sat at his desk. “Just once I'd like to be the dumper instead of the dumpee.” He booted up his computer and opened a report file. “I didn't even take notes at the scene.”

“I did.”