The Frenzy Way (39 page)

He’s trying to give me an easy way out
, Mace thought. “I’m only the first living cop to see what at least one hundred civilians have seen. I won’t be the last.”

“That just makes you the latest victim of mass hysteria. Don’t you see? It’s the media that’s created this monster.”

Not this time
, Mace thought as he sat forward. “What we’re dealing with is mounting evidence of a killer the likes of which this city—this
country
—has never seen. At least not since the Indians sold this island for twenty-four dollars. I’ve been to every crime scene. I’ve seen the aftermath of this perp’s handiwork. I just missed seeing what he did to Patty Lane. And I saw what he did to John Stalk with my own eyes. The more evidence we’re presented with, the more we dig our heels in and refuse to accept the truth.”

“You keep contradicting yourself,” Stokes said, turning around. “Earlier you called our unknown subject a ‘lupine creature.’ Now you call him a ‘perp.’ Which one is it?”

Mace hesitated. “Maybe both.” He felt, rather than saw, Chu and Hackley distancing themselves from him. “We found discarded clothes on the stairway of that building—”

“Crackheads,” Hackley said.

“They were designer threads, clean, left there that same day. The perp sure as hell looked human in that video when he attacked Patty, and he sure as hell
didn’t
look human when he disemboweled Stalk.”

“A costume, like the deputy commissioner suggested,” Stokes said. “Or two different perps. A man and a wolf.”

“Wolves can’t be trained.”

“Then a mixed breed, half dog and half wolf. That would explain the suspect DNA.”

“Maybe we should just call out Animal Control,” Mace said, losing his patience.

“I grant you we’re dealing with something that’s extremely difficult to categorize,” Stokes said, “but that doesn’t mean we have to drag the supernatural into the situation. The public is frightened enough as it is, and I don’t need you making my job any harder.”

Mace gave Stokes a hard look. “I appreciate your position. But you haven’t made my job any easier by making my face as associated with this case as our rendering of the perp.”

“I had to give them something.”

“So it might as well be me, right?”

Stokes became quiet again.

“Since when is it our job to keep the truth from the media? Our job should be spreading the truth. Our job should be
finding
the truth. Our job—”

“Thank you for the lecture,” Dunegan said. “You look tired. Maybe you need some rest.”

“Respectfully, Commissioner, I’ll get plenty of rest when this case is closed. You put me in charge, and I intend to see it through, regardless of the consequences.”

“And just how do you propose to do that? You’re no closer than you were after the first murder.”

“First of all, I’ve put out an APB for Angela Domini. Stalk was staying at her apartment, and he left our custody with her. She witnessed his murder from ten feet away, so maybe you won’t dismiss her account as easily as you have mine. She’s either missing or hiding. Her two brothers run a crematorium, but they say they don’t know where she is. The occult bookstore she owns closed early yesterday before Stalk was murdered. She’s the key to this whole thing. And I’d like to point out to every one of you that our unknown subject didn’t leave messages at the scenes of Patty’s murder and Stalk’s murder because we were hot on his tail, so we
are
getting closer.”

“Occult bookstore,” Dunegan said with disgust. “What else?”

“I want the Emergency Services Unit to deploy all its Hummers to Lower Manhattan and keep them in rotation there.”

“That’s a little over the top—don’t you think?” Chiles said. “The Village will look like a war zone.”

“After seven murders I don’t think it’s over the top at all. I’d also like the Aviation Unit to fly choppers carrying tactical and Hercules counterterrorism units over the killing zones around the clock.”

“Do you have any idea how much that will
cost?”

“If a tactical team had been airborne yesterday it could have taken out our unknown subject.”

“Anything else?” Dunegan said.

“I’d like to employ some rather unorthodox methods to bring our boy down.”

Dunegan smirked at Mace. “Do tell.”

“I want to arm our people with silver bullets.”

“The
entire force?
Just how fat do you think our budget is?”

“At least some select officers, then. Like the chopper snipers.”

“Your requests have been noted—
especially
the one about the silver bullets—and they’re denied. How is it you just happened to stumble onto yesterday’s homicide, anyway?”

Mace’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t stumble on it. I went to Domini’s apartment looking for Stalk. I just got there too late.”

“And what was so damned important that you deserted your command when you were supposed to be supervising this investigation?”

Mace felt his throat turning dry. “As the primary detective, I have to be free to work in the field. I wanted to speak to Stalk about the case.”

“Because he believed in werewolves?”

“Something like that.”

“And just a few hours before that you took a field trip out to Sing Sing to see your Full Moon Killer, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he a werewolf too?”

Mace shrugged. “Possibly.”

Sitting back in his chair, Dunegan glanced at Hackley. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your protégé, but I’ve heard enough.”

Hackley offered a defeated smile.

“Captain Mace, you’re off this case as of now. In fact, I want you out of Homicide. I don’t ever want you in a real command position again. Clear out your desk; you’re suspended until further notice, pending a psychiatric evaluation.” He faced Chu. “Since Dennis designated you the primary investigator on the Indian’s murder,
you
fill out the report on his death. Use the same case number Mace did.” He returned his attention to Mace. “I order you not to discuss this case with anyone. Do not discuss werewolves, vampires, or ‘previously unidentified species.’ Do you hear me? Not even to your shrink.”

Mace snorted. “I’ve got sixteen years in on the job. I didn’t ask for this bag of shit to be dumped on me.”

“Actually, you did,” Dunegan said. “You specifically took it over when Lane was murdered, rather than assign it to your lieutenant or another detective. But we all get handed cases we don’t want. For instance, Inspector Chu and Chief of Detectives Hackley are now goingto take over
this
case, and I’m sure neither one of them is very happy about it. You have no one to blame for your present predicament but yourself. Go off and manage our evidence. Be an overpaid file clerk. Or resign. I really don’t care which of those options you choose. But if anything we’ve discussed here surfaces in the press or in any book, I swear I’ll find a way to bring you up on charges.”

Mace rose, then looked from Chu to Hackley. Dunegan was right; neither of them looked very happy. “Ken Landry and Willy Diega know the case inside out. They’ll ensure a smooth transition. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

“Turn your weapons over to Inspector Chu.”

He had not expected that. Chu avoided his eyes as he accepted the holstered Glock and the .38 that Mace wore strapped to his ankle. Then Mace left the commissioner’s office for the last time.

After calling Cheryl to give her the news, Mace hailed a taxi and instructed its driver to take him to Queens. His days of personal police escorts were over. Sitting in the backseat, he loosened his tie and spied a copy of the Manhattan Werewolf suspect rendering taped to the back of the driver’s seat. Someone had drawn animal features and fur over the likeness. It pleased him that the driver played reggae music because he had no interest in listening to the news. He had grown sick of the coverage resulting from a twenty-four-hour news cycle.

As the taxi sped along Queens Boulevard, he asked himself why he was following his present course of action when he had been dismissed from the case and suspended. After sixteen years of loyalty, he owed the department nothing. The answer came to him in a series of names: Terrence Glenzer. Sarah Harper. Mandy Lee. Patty Lane. Matt Schwaebel. Alberto Santana. John Stalk. And even Peter Danior. No matter what his superiors did to him, this was his city and he was still a murder police.

As the taxi turned onto Jamaica Avenue, he studied the faces and activity on the street. The area was a long way from the Village; it feltlike a different country. Busy and ethnic and more concerned with supermarket sales than artistic pretenses or fashion trends. This neighborhood felt free of the fear that hung over the Village. A church came into view, and the driver pulled over. Mace paid the man, collected a receipt, and got out.

Passing the gated driveway, he climbed the concrete steps leading to the front doors and entered the vestibule. He counted three people spread out among the pews in the worship hall. As his rubber-soled shoes padded across the carpeted aisle, he focused on the crucifixion statue mounted on the far wall above the pulpit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man mopping the floor in the far right-hand corner: short, muscular, Hispanic. As he approached the man, he guessed he was a Dominican in his midtwenties. Well groomed but not pampered. The man looked up, and Mace registered a dangerous glint in his eyes.

He can tell I’m a cop. Maybe he’s an ex-con. But he’s no gangbanger.

“Can I help you?” the man said. His offer sounded insincere.

“I’m looking for Father Hagen.”

The man looked Mace up and down. “You know him?”

“We’ve met.” Mace gestured with the business card Father Hagen had given him.

The custodian nodded to the open doorway behind him. “Down that hall. First door on your right.”

“Thanks.” Mace walked down the hall and knocked on the open office door.

Sitting at his desk, Father Hagen raised his eyes from an accounting ledger. He stood with his right hand extended. “Captain …?”

“Mace.” They shook hands.

“Please come in. Let me offer
you
a seat.” He motioned to the chair perpendicular to his desk. “I’m afraid my office is no more opulent than yours.”

Mace smiled as he settled into the chair. “We’re both only middlemen.”

“Indeed. Have you come with news about the sword?”

“The Blade of Salvation? Yes.” Mace took satisfaction in the priest’s change in expression. “Don’t look so surprised. There’s a drawing with a description of the sword in Glenzer’s last book. You’d have known that if you’d really been negotiating with him on your own behalf. We have the sword in our custody. Now please tell me who really wanted it.”

Father Hagen stood and closed the door. Sitting back down, he said, “I came to you on behalf of a monsignor in the Vatican who is a renowned historian in Europe. Mr. Glenzer contacted him regarding the sword, which he believed to be the Blade. Naturally the Blade would be of interest to a man like the monsignor, who expressed interest in obtaining this artifact but was unable to verify its authenticity. The monsignor asked me to communicate with Mr. Glenzer, which I did by way of the letters I showed you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this when you came to see me?”

“Forgive me. I only wished to simplify matters and to keep the monsignor’s name out of your investigation. His interest in the sword really was personal, and he didn’t wish his inquiries to reflect on the church one way or the other.”

“Father, that sword was used to execute people accused of being werewolves during the Inquisition. Professor Glenzer was murdered for it or for something he knew about it. Six more people were murdered by a killer who wants the world to believe he’s a werewolf. Who else knew that Glenzer had the sword?”

Father Hagen shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Did you discuss it with anyone?”

“No one but the monsignor.”

“I’d like this monsignor’s name and contact information.”

Father Hagen hesitated.

“If you don’t give it to me, I’ll have to charge you with obstruction of justice.”

Father Hagen turned to the computer before him, then copied information on the back of a business card. “Of course I want to help you however I can.”

He handed the card to Mace, who studied the name and telephone number.
The Vatican
, he thought. “You heard about yesterday’s murder?” “Yes, I did.”

“I was there. I saw it happen. I saw … it.”

Father Hagen’s expression tightened. “That must have been terrible.” He behaved as if he had missed Mace’s intonation.

“It wasn’t human. It wasn’t any animal I’d ever seen before. For lack of a better word, I would call it a werewolf. I believe it killed Professor Glenzer and every one of the victims that followed.”

“That’s difficult to accept secondhand,” Father Hagen said in a diplomatic tone.

“I was hoping you could provide me with more insight than that. As it turns out, no one in my department believes me, which means more people are going to die.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything that could possibly help you.” Mace believed him. And yet he felt the priest was holding something back. Rising, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that. I need all the help I can get. If you think of anything—anything at all—call my cell phone. I won’t be back at my office.”

The priest stood and they shook hands. “Good luck,” Father Hagen said.

As Mace stepped into the hall, he saw that the custodian had moved his mop bucket closer to the door and had been within listening distance the whole time.