Dana Stabenow - Whisper to the Blood

Mutt was quivering with rage, teeth bared in a vulpine snarl. She snapped and growled, dancing around Kate. She didn't like people shooting at her. "Come on!"

Kate ran around the back of the cafe just in time to see Jim finish knocking the rest of the glass out of the frame and jump outside. "Which way?" Something sang by her ear, followed by the distinctive crack of the Sig. "Fuck!

Jim had his 9mm out. "Stay back!"

"Like hell!"

"Goddammit, Kate, you're not armed!"

"Like hell!"

There was the sound of rapidly receding footsteps and Kate went after them, Mutt shooting past her, a gray streak with her head lowered between her shoulders, long legs eating up the ground, and a feral and terrifying growl issuing from her throat.

They all heard the snow machine start, and rounded a corner in time to see Gallagher start off on somebody's dark blue Polaris.

"Kate!"

"Mutt! Take!"

The gray streak that was Mutt seemed to flatten out and gather speed. The snow machine had to slow for a second to take the corner of the Kvasnikof home and as it did Mutt launched herself in mid-lope and hit Gallagher in the back with all of her not inconsiderable weight. Gallagher rolled from the seat and went tumbling head over heels. Mutt did a kind of mid-air jackknife to make a four-point landing, falling over Gallagher like a net, teeth bared and snapping inches from his face. He froze in place, and then the hand that was still somehow holding the Sig raised it and squeezed.

"Goddammit!" Jim said, and dived, landing on his belly with an ungraceful flop and skidding three feet farther on the snow and ice. Ahead of him, Kate had dodged behind the Kvasnikof house. The bullet hit the house next to her with a deafening bang and startled cries issued forth from all around them.

Mutt went ballistic. She snarled and bit Gallagher on the face, tearing skin and drawing blood, and then she went for his gun hand. Thirty feet away Jim could hear the crunch of bones breaking.

Gallagher shrieked and dropped the Sig. Kate ran out from behind the Kvasnikofs' and scooped up the Sig on the fly, and by the time she slowed forward momentum Mutt had her teeth on Gallagher's throat, that slow, steady, emasculating growl issuing from her own. He made one feeble effort to shove her away. Her jaws closed tighter and she shook her head. He screamed, or tried to. The result was a garbled, gargling sound.

Jim got to his feet. "Kate. Call her off."

"Why?" Kate said, torn between fright and fury. She didn't like getting shot at, either.

"Kate."

"Oh, all right. Mutt, release. Mutt! Mutt, release! Come on, girl, it's okay. Get off him. Off, Mutt, now!"

Mutt looked up at Kate, her jaws bloody from Gallagher's face, wrist, and throat, still that steady rumble, like tank tracks, issuing forth.

Kate grabbed Mutt's ears and shoved her down to the ground, her face right in Mutt's, her own bared teeth inches from Mutt's throat. "No! No! Release, I said! Release!"

"Jesus, Kate," Jim said, shaken.

Inexplicably, Mutt went motionless. Jim wasn't even sure she was still breathing.

For a long moment the three of them remained frozen in place, to the accompaniment of Gallagher crying and whimpering in the background. Jim couldn't say he blamed him much.

A soft, conciliatory whine sounded. Mutt stuck out a long pink tongue and washed Kate's cheek.

"All right then." Kate released her. They both got to their feet. Mutt shook herself and gave another ingratiating whine, touching her nose to Kate's hand. Kate cuffed her and Mutt cringed and whined again. "Oh shut up, you big baby," Kate said, and gave her a rough caress. Mutt bounced in place, yipped, and wagged an ingratiating tail.

"Holy shit," Jim said.

"No big," Kate said. She shook her hair out of her eyes, feeling suddenly, debilitatingly weary. "Once in a while I have to remind her who's still the alpha dog in the pack. She is half wolf, you know."

Nevertheless, Jim made a big circle around the both of them when he went to peel Gallagher off the ground.

The cells at the post were getting crowded. "It's time for you to go home, Howie," Jim said. "I've sent word for Willard to come get you." Howie looked torn between being booted out and scared that his life might still be at risk. "You don't think I killed Mac Devlin anymore," he said, a little crestfallen.

"Sorry, no," Jim said, pushing Howie in front of him. "Ballistics say you didn't. Not with your own rifle, at any rate."

"Well, I didn't kill him. I didn't kill Louis, either, Jim." Jim looked down at him. It was hard to detect truth from bullshit with Howie Katelnikof. The shifty eyes, the sly face, the involuntary instinct to lie his way out of every situation, all these were Howie to the bone and none of them inspired confidence. "You told me the aunties hired you to kill him. Was that true?"

Howie sent an uneasy glance down the hall to where the three Johansens were still smelling up the jail and the cell across the hall where Gallagher had taken Howie's place. He was stretched out on the bunk and was attended by all four Grosdidier brothers, who were in hog heaven at the amount of bandages that were going to be required. "We might even need a Life Flight!" Luke said, ecstatic.

In the other direction Maggie was visible through the doorway, sitting at her desk and pretending her boss wasn't having a whispered conversation with Howie Katelnikof. "Off the record, Jim?"

Jim looked at the ceiling and thought about it. If the aunties had hired Howie to kill Louis and he had, Howie would be guilty of murder and the aunties of conspiracy to commit. If the aunties had hired Howie to kill Louis and he hadn't, all four would still be guilty of conspiracy to commit.

Of course, any charges would be contingent upon Jim's ability to prove said charges in a court of law. With the aunties' unparalleled ability to stonewall so amply demonstrated of late, see Kate Shugak here, he didn't look forward to any conversation upon that topic with Judge Singh. On the other hand, Howie's understanding of "off the record," like his understanding of "immunity," came more from television than hands-on experience. "Okay," he said mendaciously. "Off the record."

Howie leaned in and said in a voice just above a whisper, "They did hire me to kill him. The aunties. I told you the truth about that."

"Uh-huh," Jim said. "And did you? Kill Louis?"

Howie shook his head vigorously. "No, Jim. No, I told you, I didn't. For one thing, I didn't have a shotgun with me that day."

"How did you know he was killed with a shotgun?" Jim said. "Very few people know that, Howie."

Howie's voice dropped even lower. "Like I told you before. Because I saw him."

Jim looked down at him, considering. "I remember. You said you found Louis dead on the road to the Step."

"Yeah." Howie swallowed and looked a little sick. "Yeah. I was driving out the road and he was just lying there. I pulled over and I got out and he was just… lying there, with his chest all blown open. Gut shot." He shuddered.

"Uh-huh," Jim said again. "What were you doing on the road to the Step that day, Howie?"

"I was supposed to pick up Louis when you let him out of jail," Howie said. "He was already gone when I got here. I knew he'd be mad I wasn't here on time, and he told me he had to talk to Ranger Dan, so I figured I'd find him on the road." He swallowed again. "And I did."

Jim took down Howie's statement, for what it was worth, and, after an internal debate that lasted a good five minutes, went ahead and released Howie into Willard's tearful arms. Willard probably hadn't eaten a decent meal since Howie went inside.

"Hey, Howie," Jim said, as they were leaving. "Who was that poaching caribou with you up Gruening River way?"