The Wolf at the Door by Charlie Adhara

Author:Charlie Adhara
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2017-12-20T19:00:17+00:00

Chapter Eight

“Gould’s bike,” Cooper muttered as the four of them stood at the back of the house examining the Yamaha. He glanced at Park, who was biting his lip and looked almost upset. Cooper wasn’t surprised. Park really hadn’t thought Baker was the unsub.

“That looks like suitable cause to me,” Harris said, a little cheerfully considering they may be about to walk in on a sliced-up Gould.

Cooper drew his gun and walked into the open house. Christie, Harris and Park followed behind him. The floor was a terracotta-colored linoleum laid to look like Tuscan villa stone if you squinted very hard. It squeaked under Cooper’s weight as he walked down the hall and systematically cleared the rooms.

The house was empty. No sign of Baker. No sign of Gould.

“We should split up and do a search of the house and property,” he said. “There must be twenty storage sheds scattered out there at least.”

“I’ll contact the station to get some crime scene guys up here,” Harris said, unclipping his radio and heading towards the front door.

“I’m better outside,” Christie mumbled. “I’ll start on the sheds on the far side of the property where the ground is worse. Watch your step.” He followed Harris out.

That left Cooper standing with Park in the living room. Park had that closed-off look on his face again and Cooper wondered if he was angry with him. He felt the insane urge to apologize. For what? Sorry for being right? Sorry your childhood bogeyman turned out to be a grown-up monster who killed three, or more, men?

Park had screwed up. He should have said something about Baker from the start, and they both knew it.

Cooper started looking around while in his periphery he watched Park do the same. The house was neat enough, compared to outside, but whole rooms seemed stale and dusty. Cooper spent an embarrassing amount of time in his apartment when not at work, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the tables, not because he was necessarily a clean freak but because he was using them all the time.

“I thought he was supposed to be a hermit. What kind of hermit isn’t found at home?”

“Maybe he knew we were coming,” Park said, poking at a small welded sculpture in the corner that was either a kneeling man with horns or an out-of-control shrubbery.

Cooper looked at a jumble of repurposed metal pieces. Between the horns, or branches, a small chunk of yellow quartz was wedged. “Baker made that sculpture at the Pumphouse.” It wasn’t a question so much as a spoken epiphany, and Park just shrugged.

“Do you think someone warned him we were coming? Whittaker or his boss?”

“And scare off the only reason you’re not booking Whittaker right now? No. Besides, just because Rudi supports his...art doesn’t mean they’re close.”

“True. But it does suggest he’s at least a little familiar with the Pumphouse. He could have crossed paths with Gould there.”

“Offered him some work and when he got up here...what? I don’t smell any blood and even Baker’s scent is faded.

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