Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Read online

  The tumble of images pushed back to the fore. The teeth and the fur. Hot breath and yellow eyes. Lara splashed the frigid water over her face, wanting to numb her brain.

  Noise from the other room. A ringtone, not hers. But her phone was destroyed, wasn't it? A cell phone vibrated on the coffee table, one she didn't recognize. The display read PRECINCT. Gallagher must have left it for her, a replacement for the one lost at the halfway house.

  “Hello?” Her voice hesitant, like it didn't belong to her.

  “Hey, I heard you were back among the living.” The voice rang unfamiliar down the line. “It's Hammond, we spoke a while ago about the Gethsemane case.”

  “Oh. Hi. How are you?”

  “That was my question,” he said. “Listen, I know you just got put through the grinder but something came up in the case, thought you'd want to know. It can wait, if you want.”

  “I'm fine. What is it?”

  “You're not gonna believe this. You remember the perp in the abuse case? Ronald Kovacks? He's been AWOL for months, right? Get this, the guy just walked into central and turned himself in.”

  Lara faltered, processing the info. “He turned himself in?”

  “He waltzes into the lobby, stinking up the place bad. Soaked in gas or kerosene. The sonovabitch is covered in the shit.”

  GALLAGHER bellowed at his kid, a banshee wail of rage boiling up from Irish blood. He'd come home to find a message from Amy's basketball coach asking where she was. She sauntered in an hour later and he demanded to know why she'd skipped practice. Amy simply shrugged, said she was hanging with friends. Gallagher smelled bullshit and hammered at her until she confessed she'd been out with a boy.

  Amy stepped back, knowing she'd lobbed a grenade into the room. He detonated. Why, why, would she skip practice just to be with some braindead little peckerwood? Amy steamed at that, her dad's assessment of every boy she'd ever mentioned. He had never met any of them but that didn't stop him from dismissing every single one as a braindead peckerwood.

  His cell kept ringing and ringing until he stopped yelling and answered it. Amy watched his face drop and saw his back as he marched out of the room. She knew from experience that something serious had come up and their fight was over. He'd be out the door and gone till morning.

  He came back into the kitchen and fished his gear from the cupboard. He told her this wasn't over and they would discuss it in the morning. The door banged shut behind him.

  Amy fetched a coke from the fridge and stewed, thinking of all the perfect replies to his hollering now that the fight was over.

  RAFTON Correctional had been slated for closure twice but remained running despite its age and disrepair. Perched on a rise overlooking swamp land, it served as part lock up, part psychiatric facility. There was one road in off St. Helens Road and one road only, deep marshland on both sides. It was a pretty drive and Lara was glad she drove. Gallagher had offered to pick her up but that meant going out of his way. Faster if she just met him there.

  He was late. Lara took a seat in the lobby and took out her phone. The replacement was newer than her destroyed phone and she was still getting used to it. She hated doing this.

  “You need some help, ma'am?”

  Ma'am? Lara looked up to see a correctional officer standing before her. He had to be in his twenties but he looked like a teenager. His smile was big and toothy. “I'm good. Waiting to interview a prisoner.”

  He sat down next to her. “Ah, you're with PD. Thought you look a little too serious to be a visitor. I'm Johnny.” He held out a hand. “Officer Leto to the civvies.”

  Officer Johnny Leto proceeded to ask questions about what detective work was like, peppered with personal questions about herself like what her man thought of having a detective for a girlfriend. Lara couldn't tell if he was looking for professional advice or trying to pick her up but he was funny and charming in his awkward way. It beat trying to sort out her new stupid phone. When Gallagher came through the door, Leto reverted back to business but he pressed a business card into her hand as he said goodbye.

  Gallagher watched the young man saunter away. “What was that about?”

  “Not sure. That was either the clumsiest pickup I've ever seen,” she said, looking at the card in her hand, “or the sneakiest.”

  “A correctional thug?” he sneered. “Mendes, please.”

  Detective Hammond entered the lobby and she rose. They shook hands, Hammond inquiring about Lara's health. He looked tired as he briefed them on the surrender of Ronald Kovacks.

  “He's been in town this whole time,” Hammond said. “Hiding out, living off a little cash he'd squirreled away somewhere. Playing hobo.”

  “You said he was drenched in gasoline,” Gallagher asked. “What was he gonna do, torch himself in the precinct lobby?”

  “No, he was just wearing it. He'd been smearing it on himself for days. Kerosene, oil, axle grease. The staff scrubbed him down three times but the sonovabitch still stinks.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?”

  “To cover his scent.” Both men turned their eyes on her.

  “That's exactly what he said.” Hammond's eyebrow went up. “How'd you know that?”

  “Just a guess.”

  Gallagher turned back to Hammond. “So you've already questioned him?”

  “Yeah. I didn't get too far. He's not all there, rambles a lot. And he's sick.”

  “Yeah. We know he's a sick freak.”

  “Not that. He says he's dying.”

  “Of what?” Lara asked.

  “Cancer.” Hammond shrugged. “Or so he says. The nurse here said it's likely but they'll have to transpo him to a hospital for tests and stuff. How's that for luck, huh? We finally tag the sonovabitch and he ups and dies on us.”

  “Maybe it'll be slow and painful,” Gallagher offered, but no one thought it very funny.

  “Well, he's all yours. I told the warder you were coming, they stuck Kovacks in the box.” Detective Hammond jingled his car keys from his pocket. “Go easy on him, huh.”

  RONALD Kovacks sat on a metal stool, shoulders sagging over a metal table. Opposite him was another stool, also bolted to the floor. The only other feature in the room was the camera mounted from the ceiling. Kovacks was a scarecrow of a man, shriveled up inside the prison jumpsuit. His arms were sticks spiderwebbed with raised blue veins. His cheeks hung sallow like he was missing teeth, the eyes small and deep set. An oxygen tube pinched his septum, the tube snaking down to a tank on a dolly.

  The homicide detectives stood at the door. Gallagher stayed back, letting her take the lead. Lara took a step forward. “Mr. Kovacks, we're with the Portland Police Bureau. We're investigating your ex-wife's death.”

  Kovacks scrutinized Gallagher first, then Lara. “Sit down.”

  She took the stool, swung her knees under the table. Kovacks fixed his gaze square on her. Lara couldn't help but stare at the scar on his brow, a cross carved into the flesh. Not unlike the mark on Prall.

  “How goes the investigation?” Kovacks smiled at her.

  His gaze goosed the skin on her arms. She ignored it. “What do you know about Ivan Prall?”

  “Who?”

  Gallagher slid two sheets of paper from his pocket. One was a photo of their suspect at age fifteen, taken from Kovacks's own files. The other was Prall's self portrait. He slid these across the tabletop. “Prall, Ivan. One of the kids you destroyed.”

  Kovacks didn't even look down but he bristled all the same. “That's a vicious lie. I didn't hurt anyone. I loved those kids.”

  “Did you love Prall too?” Lara asked.

  The red-rimmed eyes rolled back to her. He waved a hand, dismissing the idea like a buzzing mosquito. The effort seemed to exhaust him. He coughed up a wet hack and spit onto the floor. “Ivan Prall was a bad apple. Couldn't be saved. Lord knows I tried.”

  “You carved up his face,” Gallagher said. “To match yours.”

  “To protect him from the w
ickedness, yes.” Kovacks stared back at Gallagher, matching his contempt. “Didn't work.”

  Gallagher bounced a glance off Lara. This guy's a piece of work. “Ivan Prall killed your ex-wife, Bethany Kovacks. He set his dogs on her and they picked her bones clean. Why did he do that? Why go after her?”

  “The boy was troubled, like I said.”

  Lara studied the prisoner, looking for a tic, some chink in the armor she could drive a wedge through. “Prall wanted revenge for what you did to him. But he couldn't find you so he went after her.”

  “Oh, he wants much more than that.”

  She leaned in. “What does he want?”

  “You want me to help you? What are you offering?

  Her jaw set. She wanted to hit this man. Lara had no problem keeping her emotions out of her work but something about Ronald Kovacks set her teeth on edge. The way he spoke, the way he moved. Everything about him repulsed her. “This isn't a negotiation, mister Kovacks. It's a criminal investigation.”

  “Everything's a negotiation. Life is all negotiation. Haven't you learned that yet?” Kovacks held her eyes. “I'll help you catch him as long as this is held in consideration against my other...legal challenges.”

  No way in hell was this creep getting brownie points for answering a few questions. She was about to speak when Gallagher cut in.

  “Done. Tell us about Prall.”

  Kovacks didn't acknowledge him, his eyes hard on the woman and the woman alone. “You know what he is,” he whispered. “You've seen it.”

  Gallagher didn't like being ignored, cut in again. “He's a violent psychopath.”

  “I'm sorry, I thought you were serious about this.” Kovacks turned to the door, hollered “Guard!”

  “He's a wolf.” Lara let it hang there.

  Kovacks perked up. “Ding!” He mimed ringing a hotel bell, all smiles now. “Werewolf is the term we're looking for but we'll accept that answer.”

  “How do you know that?” Gallagher had spoken but Kovacks still ignored him. She repeated his question.

  The prisoner's eyes lit up. “Who do you think turned him?”

  Where the hell is this going? Lara didn't want to provoke the man into a psychotic rant and waste their chance. She leveled her tone. “You're a wolf too?”

  Kovacks rang the imaginary bell again. “Ding. Another point for the good guys.”

  It was Gallagher's turn to grit his teeth. “Then why are you stuck in this hellhole? Why don't you go all wolfman and bust out of here?”

  Kovacks still wouldn't look at him. “I'm sick. The change, it takes a lot out of you each time. The metabolism of the wolf burns brighter than that of man. It takes it's toll. And I'm old now. Ancient really, if you amortize it in dog years.”

  “Okay, we're wasting our time.”

  Lara didn't budge. “You said Prall wants more than revenge. What is he after?”

  “He's looking for a way out. A cure. There's one way to exorcise the wolf inside you. And that's by killing the wolf that blessed you.”

  Gallagher didn't want to prolong this agony anymore but he had to ask. “So Prall thinks if he can kill you, he'll stop being the wolfman?”

  “Yes.”

  “That's why you turned yourself in,” Lara said. “To be safe from him.”

  Kovacks nodded and the oxygen tube swayed under his nose. “I was running out of tricks to hide from him. He'd sniff me out sooner or later. In here, I can at least rest.”

  Lara leaned closer. “How did it happen to you? How did you become a wolf?”

  Gallagher shot a harsh look her way, wanting to end this bullshit but Lara wasn't looking at him. Why egg the bastard on?

  Kovacks chortled, his teeth were yellow. “That's personal, sweetheart. Like asking when someone lost their cherry.” The laughter convulsed into a hacking rasp. “Tell me about your first time, detective. What was it like? That boy fumbling his way into your virtue.”

  “I've never heard of that cure before. Killing the wolf that bit you.” Lara could feel Gallagher glaring at her to end this but she refused to look at him. “Is it true?”

  “It won't work for Prall. He's too far gone but he clings to his delusion. We all do, I imagine.” Kovacks smeared the phlegm down his chin with his fist. He pointed a knotty finger at her. “But you, you're a different story.”

  She leaned back, bristling. Ronald Kovacks aimed his palsied finger at her slung arm. “He did that to you, didn't he?” A perverted smugness draped the corners of his smile. “You're one of the blessed now too. But not confirmed, yes?”

  Gallagher couldn't take anymore. He lurched forward, knuckles on the table. “To hell with you, Kovacks. And your deal.” He propelled himself off the table towards the door. “We're done here, Mendes.”

  Lara didn't move.”How do I find him?” Her good hand trembled, nerves or rage, impossible to say. “How do I find Prall?”

  “You get back to me on my deal. Then we'll talk about Ivan Prall.” Kovacks strained to his feet. “Guard!”

  Gallagher wasn't exactly sure what happened next. He banged on the metal door and glanced back, saw Mendes hurl herself at Kovacks. She drove him into the wall, bouncing his melon off the painted cinderblock. The oxygen tank clanged as it hit the floor, the tube snapped free. Mendes shook him violently, screaming at him to tell her how to find Prall.

  Gallagher barked at her to stop but she was deaf to him, deaf to anything but the sickly man jerking crazily in her hands. His head snapped back and forth like a broken bird. Gallagher grabbed her from behind but she was unmovable. She was five foot nothing but she would not let go, a mongoose on a cobra. He dug in and wrestled her off, legs kicking. Kovacks slid down the wall, his legs sprawled. A stupid look on his face.

  The warder heard the racket from the hallway and opened the door. “Detective? Is everything all right?”

  Detective Mendes stormed past him and just kept walking. Detective Gallagher smiled at the warder and bopped him friendly on the arm. “Get a mop,” he said. “Shithead threw up on himself.”

  26

  LARA DOUBLE-TIMED IT OUT TO THE parking lot. Every inch of her was shaking from the adrenaline juicing her nervous system. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to run. Just take off blind, bolting away from everything. What had she done?

  Gallagher chased her down until he snatched her arm. He wanted to spin her around hard but she was immovable as a brick wall. All he did was slow her down. She stopped but didn't face him. “What the hell was that?”

  “Isn't that how you do it?”

  “Pick your moment, Lara.” He stepped around, needing to see her face. “You don't do it in a goddamn prison.” The panic in her eyes stopped him, knocking his anger off its axis.

  Lara couldn't breathe, still riding out the adrenaline. She couldn't keep up with her own heart as it banged away against her ribs. Is this what drowning feels like?

  “Easy.” Gallagher took her arm, afraid she was going to keel over. “Catch your breath.”

  Lara doubled over, falling into him, and threw up all over his shoes.

  AMY dropped her head into her hands and sighed. On the bed before her sat an open laptop. An old clunker of machine her dad had gotten from work. It was maddeningly slow and froze often. She hated it, cursing her old man for being so damn cheap. It had crashed again and she sat waiting for it to boot up. Again. That's when she heard the commotion downstairs.

  She padded into the living room to see her dad and Lara stumble in. He was propping her up, her arm draped round his shoulder. He set her onto the couch. Lara looked green.

  “What happened?”

  “Get the bucket, honey.” Gallagher looked up at his daughter. “And some water.”

  “Lara, you okay?” She took Lara's hand. “God, she's burning up.”

  “Amy? The bucket.”

  Amy ran to the kitchen. Lara shook off her jacket, put her head between her knees. “I'm sorry. I just need a minute.”

  “You need
a doctor.”

  “No. No more hospitals.”

  Amy came back, passed the bucket to her dad. “I brought the Advil. It's all we have.”

  “Sorry for this, Amy.” Lara kept her head down, worried she'd heave again if she looked up.

  “It's okay.” Amy looked at her dad. “Take her to the hospital.”

  “Tell her that.”

  Lara sat up, her face drained. “I'm okay. It's passed.”

  “Lie down.”

  Lara waved a hand. “I'm good, honest. Call me a cab, I'll get out of your hair.”

  “Lara,” he said. “Just shut up and close your eyes.”

  She had no fight left in her. Her head touched the throw pillow and she dropped to sleep immediately. Amy got a blanket and covered her with it. They left the room without another word.

  Amy leaned on the kitchen counter while he rifled a beer out of the refrigerator. “Did you eat?” Gallagher asked.

  “I made a sandwich. Do you want something? There's tunafish.”

  He shook his head. Sipped the beer, then wagged his chin at her bedroom door. “You finish your homework?”

  “Yes. How long has she been like that?”

  “It just flared up. Let her sleep it off, see how she is when she wakes.”

  Amy crossed her arms. “The doctors were worried about infection from the dog bites. She could be really sick, Dad.”

  “Noted.” He checked the time on the microwave. “It's late. You going to bed soon?”

  She reached for the book she'd left on the counter, held it up. “I gotta read two chapters for tomorrow.”

  “What is that?”

  “Lord of the Flies.”

  “Hm. Good book.”

  Amy said goodnight, promised not to stay up too late. Gallagher was amazed at how easily he lied to his own kid. He had never read that book, knowing it only by reputation. He hardly ever read for pleasure anymore. Who had the time?