Chapter One: A Police Matter
Something is stalking women in the dark...
Officer Delude drove Officer Hildebrand to the Hunter’s Ridge neighborhood. The Ridge and the trees were old. Branches and acorns snapped and popped under the cruiser’s wheels. The canopy let dappled morning light through. Glossy SUVs were parked in the driveways.
The cruiser turned onto Willingham Court. There was a small entrance to the forest park between two of the large homes. Delude and Hildebrand had been there before. The park was a hot spot for teenagers to drink, smoke, and get undressed. They parked the Explorer by the bright yellow police tape, the news vans, and a woman holding a dog with a bloody snout.
Chatter on the radio was infrequent. Nobody had anything to report after canvassing the surrounding houses. Hildebrand got out of the car.
“…Sears was sniffing something, and I said Leave it! But he wouldn’t. I pulled the leash and he growled at me, he never does that, he never growls, then he throws himself down and starts rolling in it, and I thought oh gosh Sears you just went to the groomer, and then I went over to pull his collar, he’s always rolling in filth, dead mice and deer… poop. Then I saw her face. Her eyes were open. Sears was licking her neck before I could pull him off, and I screamed. I took a picture and sent it to 911, but they said I had to call, so I called…”
Officer Hildebrand stood next to the cameraman as he panned to the entrance of the forest. There was a crime scene team taking pictures and setting out numbers. Children peeked out from the blinds on the houses that flanked the entrance.
“Would you mind sending us that photo?” A producer asked, wearing headphones around his thin neck.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Collins,” the reporter beside her chanted.
“Mrs. Collins,” the old woman said, her eyes darting around. Lookee-loos and dog walkers from the neighborhood had stopped to watch. They pulled out their phones and recorded. Mrs. Collins dropped Sears from her arms when he tried to lick her face. Dogs across the street began to bark, and Sears barked back.
“Sears!” she yelled at him.
“Mrs. Collins,” Hildebrand said, walking up to the woman.
“Hello, Officer,” she said, tightening the leash. Sears growled at the officer’s shoes. Mrs. Collins yanked the dog back.
“Officer Ramirez took your statement already, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling me again.”
“Why not? Everyone and their mother wants me to repeat myself. I suspect I’ll spend the last few years of my life repeating this story. I never wanted to be involved in something like this.”
“When did you come to the park?”
“Around seven. I walk Sears before I leave for Dunkin. The park here is nice. There’s a stream that runs out to the DuPage, and he likes to sniff and drink the water. The vet told me that’s fine, so I let him do it. Not too much, of course.”
“Where did he find the body?”
“By the river. Next to an old stump, buried in leaves.”
“Around what time would you say he found the body?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seven thirty, something like that. What time is it now?”
“Nine oh two.”
“Oh- oh gosh-”
“Do you need to call someone?”
“My manager,” she dug in her purse.
“Did anyone come out when you screamed?”
“What?”
“When you screamed, did anyone come out of the houses? I mean, the park isn’t that big. Maybe fifty yards across.
“No,” she shook her head, typing on her phone. She put it up to her ear. “No.”
She turned and began to relay the same story to her boss. She spent extra time describing the pale face of death, of the wound to the neck, that looked like “she had been shot with one of those guns.”
Hildebrand turned and ducked under the police tape.
The body was covered by a gray tarp. He put his back to the TV cameras to block their view and lifted the sheet.
“God,” Hildebrand whispered. The figure reminded him of his late wife. The woman’s neck was hanging on by a few strands of muscle. Her spine was broken clean through.
“Gnarly, isn’t it?” Phillip, a crime tech, said. He squatted next to Hildebrand and snapped a picture.
“What do you think, Philly?”
“One bite. Didn’t bother with eating any other bits. Bite’s too big for a coyote,” the tech said, pointing with a gloved finger, “but it has that shape. Look at where the canines dug in. Big as a damn forty-five hole. I’ll have to get it back to the lab to be sure. But look at the spine, huh? Clean through.”
“What has the power to do that?”
“A bear. Wolf. Big dog. Alligator. Cannonball.”
“Was the body buried?”
“Seems like it. We have dashes in the dirt,” he pointed to a number sitting on the ground. Below it was a divot. “Five toes. Kicked leaves and mud over it. You know how a cat buries its shit?”
“Coyotes don’t have five toes.”
“Not usually. Some have six, you know. Mutations. Bears have five, but I’d expect the paw mark to be twice as large. And we don’t have bears here.”
“So, you think it was a dog?”
“A big dog with an extra toe is my best guess at the moment,” Phillip nodded. “Harmony is in for a juvenile bear. Walked down from ‘sconsin, she says.”
“She’s in? You’re not making bets, are you?”
“Listen, Hildebrand,” Philly looked over his shoulder. “I know you’re tight with the chief and all. But try and understand that we aren’t doing it to be mean. We’re doing it as a test. To see whose instincts are right. Can you understand that?”
“Who else is in?”
“Ramírez put in for a dog. Klein is in for a dog, too. Carington is in for a mountain lion. Gilbert-”
“Yeah?”
“Gilbert is putting in for a human. God, could you imagine? It would be one fucked up looking dude to have a mouth like this.”
He put his fingers at the edges of his lips and then held them down above the bite. The missing neck was four times the size.
“Don’t go to the Chief about this, Hildebrand.”
“Seems like the favor is for a dog. With an extra toe.”
“We’re having traps set up in the surrounding forests and fields,” Philly said, “conservation wardens are checking their game cameras.”
#
Hildebrand went off shift and got into his personal car. Some of the officers kept the cruisers at home because it was the only car they had, or they felt like it raised the value of their street. But he liked to keep things separate.
There was a time when he cared about the value of his street and had a woman to come home to. That was years ago.
He rented a small apartment at the top of a short building, fifteen minutes from the precinct. It was as far away as he was allowed to be.
He parked in the lot and got out his bag. The front desk was always empty. He took the elevator up. It chimed at the top. He got out, black shoes padding against the worn red and green carpet. He heard neighbors arguing, watching the news, and listening to music. He opened his door and went inside the dark, cold apartment. He turned on the light and stared at the mud that covered the room. The window was open, and a breeze came in, whispering to him. It was still light out, but it wouldn’t be for long. He turned off the light, shut the window, and set the clasping lock.
He put his bag on the kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes. He placed his gun beside his bag. He opened his fridge and removed one of the six packs that filled the shelves. He rubbed the back of his head as he turned into the second bedroom.
The room was compressed. He had bricked over the walls and the floor with concrete blocks and fastened sheet metal over the brick and the ceiling. The metal had been painted white, but deep claw marks all around the room had turned them silver. He put the beers on the floor and began to lock the door. He had bars on all four sides held shut with padlocks meant for keeping truck doors shut.
When the door was fastened, he threw his body into it. It didn’t budge. He shook each lock to make sure they were fast.
I can’t get caught outside again, he thought, thinking of the open window. The night before, he had gotten caught just inside the apartment door. He had been following a pack of pranksters, and they drove until they hit the county line. The moonlight had taken him.
He sat against a steel wall and opened a beer with the cap of its brother's. He drank it, returned it to the carrier, and started his second. He had not eaten all day. The second bottle hit him hard. He meant to be drunk enough so that he wouldn’t feel the shift in his body. He returned the second bottle to the carrier and began work on the third.