Bad Wolf (Bad Wolf Chronicles: Book 1) by Tim McGregor

Author:Tim McGregor [McGregor, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: police procedural, homicide detectives, woman sleuth, horror, werewolves, supernatural, Portland
Published: 2011-04-28T16:00:00+00:00

HE DROVE to the crime scene, rain pattering the windshield all the way. Detectives Rowe and Varadero had rotated to the graveyard shift so the incident was theirs. One unmarked car was still here, parked in the gravel beside the CSU truck. Water beaded on the vehicles, the lawn soggy from the overnight rain.

A uniformed officer stood on the porch, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. Gallagher nodded as he came up the steps. “They still here?”

“Yes sir.” The officer stuck her hands in her pockets. “One detective is here, the other one went back. I think the CSU techs are almost done.”

“Cold this morning, huh?” Gallagher watched her shiver.

“I been out here since four this morning,” she said. “The dampness just seeps into your clothes, you know?”

“My truck's still warm. Go sit inside, warm up.”

“I'm okay, sir. But thanks.”

The CSU tech had finished taking pictures and was packing away his camera. The casings spun from Mendes's weapon had been collected and tagged, leaving only chalk circles on the floor. Blue latex gloves were peeled off sweaty hands and tossed in a bag.

Gallagher passed through the foyer into a tall corridor. Detective Rowe sat in a wicker chair sketching a floorplan of the scene into his notebook. A simple but elegant stick figure represented Detective Mendes, with arrows vectoring the angle of rounds fired. Rowe's face was serene as he sketched, losing himself in the simple craft of drawing. At his feet lay the carcass of another dead dog, its hide slick with jellied blood.

“How's Mendes?” Rowe asked without looking up from his drawing.

“Stable.” Gallagher knelt over the carcass. Like the others, the dog was big and fierce, some breed he didn't recognize. But it was mangy too, with bald patches of hide and ribs poking through the skin. “Mean-looking bastard, isn't he?”

“Malnourished too.” Rowe set aside the notepad and pondered the dead dog. “Look at the damn ribs on it.”

“These dogs got a sweet tooth for eating people. Guess it's a long spell between meals.”

Rowe chuckled at that, said, “I read your reports on this guy, how he runs with a pack of stray dogs. Look at these scars.” His pencil ran along scar tissue scored on the neck and snout. “These dogs fight each other. These scars are a telltale sign of signs of some internecine scrap within the pack.”

An eyebrow went up. “You an expert in wild dogs?”

“Saw it on the Discovery channel.”

Gallagher rose and eyeballed the scene. “What do you got?”

“Well, it looks like detective Mendes had a hell of a fight on her hands. She put down this dog then spent her clip in that direction. She ran, got swarmed. See here?” Rowe waved his pencil at the blood smears on the floor. “She got taken down here, put up a fight. See the swipe pattern?”

A red snow angel on the linoleum. Gallagher pictured it in his head, running the events in vivid Technicolor. Mendes, alone and swarmed by dogs, by the animals she feared most.

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