Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) (15 page)

36

Sheriff Don Wilder stepped into the bait and tackle store and closed the door behind him.

“Hello?” he called out, swinging his flashlight around the place, noting the toppled display stand, but not seeing much else out of place. “Verne, you in here?”

Empty silence greeted him.

Wilder moved deeper into the store, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “Verne, it’s the sheriff. Are you in here?”

There was still no reply.

Dammit
, the sheriff thought. It was just typical that he came down here with a bug in his ear, ready to let Verne Nolan have a piece of his mind, only to find the man absent from his own store. Something was not right though. Wilder could sense it. In all the years Nolan had owned the shop he’d never once stayed closed past six in the morning. Hell, the man hadn’t ever taken a day off during peak season as far as Wilder knew. He opened seven days a week, worked twelve hour shifts, and saved his recreation time for the winter when the tourists were gone and the summer charters had fled back south to more favorable climates like San Francisco and Seattle.

This was about as far from normal as you could get.

Wilder reached down and unclipped his holster. He rested his hand on the butt of the gun, not sure yet if he needed the weapon, but wanting it available at a moment's notice if he did.

He reached the rear of the store and paused, taking a moment to glance around, looking for anything that might give him some idea what was going on. He leaned over and checked behind the counter, half expecting to see Verne lying dead of a heart attack, but the narrow aisle was empty, much to his relief. Still, that didn’t preclude the possibility that Verne was incapacitated somewhere else in the building. His eyes settled on the stairs leading to the second floor, and the small apartment. Since there was no sign of Verne in the store, that meant that either he was not here at all, which was unlikely given that both his boat and car were still outside, or that he was in one of the cramped second floor rooms. The fact that he hadn’t answered the sheriff’s calls did not bode well for a good outcome, however, and Wilder hesitated. In the four years he had been doing this job he’d dealt with six corpses – two natural deaths, a couple of drowning victims, and the two recent murders. He had no desire to add another corpse to that list, but he had a feeling he was about to.

He moved toward the stairs, hand still resting on his gun, and was about to mount the first step when something odd caught his eye. There, in the wood frame surrounding the doorway, was a splintered hole.

Wilder recognized the damage right away. He reached out and touched the hole, noting that the bare wood was bright and clean. This was fresh.

He took a knife from his pocket, opened the blade, and carved the frame away to expose the side of the hole, then dug the point deep. A few moments later, something hard and metallic fell free, a short brass cylinder with a flattened, lead colored end. He took a napkin from his pocket and bent over, plucking the object from the floor. He held the damaged bullet up and examined it for a moment, then wrapped it in the napkin and pushed it into the breast pocket of his shirt. When he looked back toward the door frame he noticed another hole a little higher, an almost exact copy of the first one. His apprehension turned to cold hard fear. What on earth was Verne firing at? More to the point, why hadn’t he called for help?

Wilder looked up toward the apartment. The answer was somewhere up there, he was sure of it. Even though he didn’t want to, there was no choice but to investigate further.

Not without some protection though.

He drew his gun and made sure the safety was off, then placed a foot on the stairs and began the climb to the second floor. What he found when he reached the top sent a shiver of fear through him and added body number seven to the list of corpses Wilder had seen since taking the job of sheriff.

Verne Nolan was a mess.

He lay in the middle of the cramped living room, surrounded by the shattered remains of an outdated coffee table. Wilder knew it was Verne despite half his face being gone, the skin and muscle ripped away to reveal the white bone underneath. One accusing eye looked at the sheriff through the blood and gore, while the other lay a few feet away, a round white orb with some of the connective tissue still attached, resting on its stalk in a miniature red lake.

Wilder brought his hand up to suppress a gag and turned away for a moment. When he looked back the sight was no better. Wilder now noticed deep gouges on the man’s chest and arms, which the sheriff recognized as defensive wounds. At least the man had put up a fight. Not that it had helped him much.

Wilder swore.

There was no way this was an animal attack. The worker in the tunnel, maybe, and even the maintenance man, but how could something kill Verne Nolan in a locked building? That raised another question. How could the killer have left the building if it was locked up tight?

The sudden realization that the killer might still be hiding somewhere inside the building sent a shudder through the sheriff. He back peddled toward the stairs, his gun raised, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up.

He heard the floorboards creak to his left.

Wilder spun around, his finger tightening on the trigger, as a large shape lunged from the shadows toward him.

37

Decker was showered, dressed, and already sipping his second cup of coffee when Mina arrived at his door. He let her in and then resumed his position at the table, noting the pile of books she clutched in her arms. “What are all those?” he asked as she placed them down on the table and turned to pour herself a coffee.

“A little research material.”

“Looks like a lot of research material to me.” Decker eyed the books, reading the spines. Two were about Alaskan myths and legends. Another was a history of the State’s native people, while the fourth book documented naval activities in the State. “How is this going to help us?”

“There are a lot of rumors swirling about the spate of recent killings. Some of the residents are talking about the old legends, the tales told by the Inuit.”

“Hayley mentioned that. She spoke of a mythical creature that was supposed to live near the water. I can’t remember what she called it.”

“The qalupalik,” Mina said. “Parents would use it to ensure their children behaved. If they stepped out of line the qalupalik would come for them, take them back to the ocean to raise as their own.”

“Sounds just like the loup garou.”

“I don’t understand.” Mina shot him a quizzical glance.

“The Cajuns use the loup garou the same way. If children misbehave, or break the rules of Lent, it will come to take them.”

“Makes sense.” Mina nodded. “Be good or the bogeyman will get you.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “Only in my case the bogeyman was real. I know because I killed it.”

“So you think this Qalupalik might be real too?”

“After what I’ve seen I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Decker sipped his coffee. “But the killings don’t quite match the creature’s M.O. since it’s not dragging off children.”

“Neither was your loup garou. It killed a teenager, but no kids.”

“True. But there are many different myths surrounding the Cajun werewolf, and keeping naughty children in line is just one of them.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I don’t know. Something big and powerful killed the maintenance man, and it didn’t look like the work of a human to me.” What he didn’t mention was how familiar the wounds looked. He’d seen the same kind of damage before, back in Wolf Haven, the previous summer when the loup garou was on the prowl. If he closed his eyes he could still picture the mutilated body of Jake Barlow, and the wounds on the corpse he’d witnessed in the sub-basement bore a striking resemblance. He shuddered and pushed the grisly picture from his mind.

“Well, if it isn’t the qalupalik, there are a couple of other unlikely suspects in these books.” Mina tapped the stack of volumes. “Even if you don’t find your murderer in their pages, it will give you an idea of the type of superstitions you are dealing with and the history of the area.”

“And the other book, the one about the Navy?”

“Mostly boring history stuff, but it does have a chapter on Shackleton.” She opened the volume, finding an envelope stuck inside as a makeshift bookmark. “See?”

Decker peered down at the page and read the text, his eyes scanning the words, then studied the two black and white plates for a moment. The town in the photographs looked much like it did today, except for the military paraphernalia. One shot showed the twin towers, both looking newer, the north tower not yet abandoned. The second shot was of the harbor, where two lines of destroyers were moored next to the trim, sleek hull of a large submarine, the coning tower atop the fuselage giving it away. He picked out a key phrase in the text, repeating it to her. “It says here that the base was used for weapons testing and development, that scientists were brought in to work on new forms of marine warfare. What do you think that means?”

“Beats me.” Mina shrugged. “But I’ll bet it has something to do with that key card we found in the bag. That’s why I brought this book along.”

“I didn’t see anything that looked like labs in the north tower when we were there, and Hayley said it used to be offices.”

“Unless they moved it all out when the base was shut down?”

“Possible. I would love to get another look at that tower, to make sure.”

“And get the bag. Did you give any thought to that yet?”

“A little,” Decker admitted. “It’s going to be difficult to retrieve it without Wilder knowing. He can’t watch the place twenty-four/seven, but there’s still a good chance of getting caught.”

“Unless we provide a distraction,” Mina said. “He can’t be in two places at once.”

“And who’s going to provide this distraction?”

“You will, of course.” A wide grin spread across Mina’s face. “He’s already convinced you are a threat to his authority. If you make a show of wandering off somewhere, convince him you are following up on a hot lead, he’ll follow you. When he does, I can sneak back into the north tower and get the bag. I’ll be in and out before you know it. Easy as pie.”

“I don’t know.” Decker knew what would happen if Mina got caught, what Wilder would do, and he didn’t want to put her in that situation.

“Come on. I can do this,” she pleaded, her eyes wide with frustration. “I’ve been sneaking in to that tower since I was a kid, and last night was the first time I ever got caught.”

“I’ll think about it,” was all Decker said. He thought back to Wolf Haven and Taylor Cassidy running scared with the loup garou close behind. There was more at stake than just Sheriff Wilder and his dubious threat of imprisonment. There was a dangerous killer on the loose, and it had already used the north tower as a means of escape. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Mina while she was inside the tower on her own. He had a responsibility to this girl. He might not be able to keep her out of danger, but he could do his best to keep that danger to a minimum. “I have a few things to do now. Why don’t you come back this afternoon and we’ll see.”

“What are you doing?” Mina asked. “I can come with you if you like.”

“Not this time.” Decker shook his head. “I think I need to have a chat with our local town administrator, despite Wilder’s warning not to.”

“What if he finds out?”

“I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t,” Decker replied. “Otherwise, what’s the point in me being here?”

38

Sheriff Don Wilder saw the creature a split second before it lunged. His finger curled around the trigger of the pistol and without thinking he fired off a rapid succession of shots. Bullets flew from the muzzle. The first drove his attacker backward but accomplished nothing more. Another veered to the right, slamming into the drywall on the far side of the room with a thud. More bullets whizzed, harmless, past their target.

It wasn’t an effective defense. In fact, it did little except slow the creature down for a few seconds, but it was all the time Wilder needed to turn and bolt toward the stairs. Why the bullet hadn’t put the creature out of action was anyone’s guess, but right now Wilder didn’t care about that. All he cared about was reaching the first floor and getting back to his cruiser to call for help. Hell, he’d even take Decker’s assistance at that moment. The thought that he had been wrong, and Decker right, entered his head, and in that moment he realized what a fool he’d been to turn down the ex-cop’s help just because of his own misplaced pride. Monsters did exist.

There was no time to ponder the folly of his decisions. The creature was already moving again. He could hear it as he descended the stairs, giving chase.

He reached the store and turned in the direction of the front door, his breath coming in short, sharp intakes. He could feel his heart racing, and feel the adrenaline pumping through his system.

The front door was ahead of him now. If he could just get outside, he stood a chance. He peeled to the left, past a display of thermal mugs, perfect for a day out on the water, and came to a halt. Somehow he’d taken a wrong turn. This aisle ended at a stack of coolers, and behind those, a metal shelf unit piled high with bright yellow all weather anoraks.

There was no way through.

He turned back, intending to retrace his steps and move one aisle over, which was where he should have gone in the first place. He had barely taken two steps when his path was blocked.

The creature stopped and looked at him.

Wilder got a good look at the beast for the first time, the pale skin, scaly hide and milky white eyes that looked like they were covered in cataracts, except that he knew they were not.

The creature took a step forward.

Wilder’s throat tightened. He could feel his pulse racing.

The creature took another step, slow and deliberate, as if it was toying with him.

He realized that the gun was still in his hand.

He raised the weapon and aimed. If only he could get a clear head shot he knew he could bring the creature down. He focused his thoughts, looked down the barrel of the gun, and fired.

Click.

He looked down at the gun in disbelief. It should have fired, but it hadn’t.

He pulled the trigger again.

Click.

With growing horror he realized that the gun was empty. In his panic he’d discharged the entire clip at the top of the stairs.

He was defenseless.

The creature took yet another step.

Wilder turned and clamored at the pile of coolers, knocking them aside to reach the shelves. He fought his way through and put a foot on the base of the display, reaching up and gripping the top shelf in an attempt to reach the other side, and freedom. Instead the shelf came away in his hand, the tabs securing it to the display unit too feeble to carry his weight.

He staggered backward with a cry of surprise and let go of the useless shelf. His center of gravity wrong, he flailed his arms in an attempt to stay upright but instead his heel made contact with one of the discarded coolers, and he fell. The gun bounced from his hand and skittered away into the darkness under a display.

Wilder looked up, saw the creature mere feet away, approaching him with a glint in its eye. It stood over him and opened its mouth to reveal rows of small sharp teeth that looked like so many steak knives, ready to fillet his flesh, and in that moment Sheriff Don Wilder knew total, all consuming fear for the first time in his life.