Gary Brandner - The Howling III

Milo Fernandez entered, glanced at Mrs Thayer and spoke to Ramsay. "Dr Underwood is outside with his report."

"Good. Thank you very much, Mrs Thayer. That'll be all for now."

"You'll catch the… the terrible person who did this, won't you, Sheriff?"

"Yes, we will," Ramsay said with a lot more conviction that he felt. "He won't get away."

Reassured, Mrs Thayer gave him a teary smile and left the office. Ramsay told the stenographer to take a break, and sat back waiting for the pathologist.

Neal Underwood was a man happy in his work. He was plump and pleasant and had thinning blond hair that still had a curl to it. His biggest satisfaction in recent years had been the cancellation of Quincy, the farfetched television show that had a choleric pathologist rushing around shouting at everyone, solving crimes, making fools out of doctors and police alike. Dr Underwood did his job in a quiet and efficient manner, and had far more friends than enemies. He could make small jokes about how his patients never complained, and he did not even mind being referred to around the hospital as Dr Underground.

He took the chair across from Ramsay and laid a folder on the desk between them.

"As savage a killing as I've seen in some time," the pathologist said pleasantly.

"What was the cause of death?"

"My preliminary findings show it to be loss of blood from a severed jugular. The lower face, throat, and upper chest were severely lacerated. Many of the wounds, I'm relieved to say, probably occurred after the victim was already dead. He died very quickly."

"Any guess as to the weapon?"

"You're not going to like it."

"Try me."

"Teeth."

Ramsay let several seconds go by while he held the pathologist's mild gaze. "Teeth?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"Human teeth?"

"Not likely. The human jaw is not constructed for attack. To kill with its teeth, an animal needs a protruding muzzle. That allows the jaws to open like this." Underwood demonstrated with his two hands, touching at the heel, making teeth of his fingers.

"What kind of an animal might that be?"

"Oh, lots of them. Shark, alligator, tiger, hyena… "

Ramsay saw him hesitate. "And?"

"And a wolf."

"Uh-huh. Would you say it's possible to construct a weapon that would make wounds like that, resembling teeth?"

"I suppose it would be possible, but it would make a damned inefficient weapon. It would be an awkward thing to carry around too. Impossible to conceal."

Ramsay pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on, but the next question had to be asked.

"Have you seen a killing like this before, Doctor?"

Underwood nodded slowly. He was no more eager to answer than Ramsay was to ask. "Similar. Several of them."

"Like to tell me where and when?"

"Right here. Last year. During the business at Drago."

Ramsay groaned inwardly. The damned dead village of Drago was destined to haunt him. "What do you think killed those people?"

"Wolves," Dr Underwood said without hesitation. "Yes, I know there hasn't been a wolf sighted around here since the turn of the century, and I know none was ever found, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Wolves. Where they came from, where they went, that's not my problem."

"You heard the stories?"

"Werewolves? Sure, I heard them. Who didn't? But if you think I am going to write werewolves and witches and fairies into my reports… well, forget it."

"It was no wolf that walked into Dr Qualen's office," Ramsay said quietly. "A man walked in there. One man. He carried no visible weapon."

"Sheriff, I don't envy you your job." Underwood slapped the folder he had laid on the desk. "There's my preliminary report. Make out of it what you will. Beyond the medical facts and observations contained therein, I have nothing to offer."

"Easy," Ramsay said. "Believe me, Doctor, I don't want werewolves any more than you do. I've just got to come up with some answer as to how a single man could do that kind of damage in a short space of time, then jump through a reinforced plate glass window to a concrete slab twenty feet down, then run off up into the woods and somehow elude a professional ground and air search party."

Underwood gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sheriff, I'll bet nobody told you it was going to be easy. Are you through with me?"

Ramsay waved him away. "Yeah, thanks, Doctor. I'll be down to talk to you later. Try not to mention you-know-what to our reporter friends, will you?"

"Are you kidding? I walked past a bunch of them in the lobby, and all they're talking about is werewolves. I even saw a couple of them sharpening wooden stakes."

Ramsay could not resist a smile. "That shows how much they know. Stakes are for vampires."

Dr Underwood nodded sagely and left the office.

It was past two o'clock and Ramsay had not eaten since a coffee and donut early this morning. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the omission. He got up and went to the door where the deputies stood guard. To Fernandez he said, "How about seeing if you can scrounge something to eat. I'm not ready to run the gauntlet in the lobby yet."

Before the young deputy could answer, Holly Lang appeared wheeling one of the hospital food carts.

"I thought you men might be getting hungry," she said.

"You're magic," Ramsay told her.

She gave a tray to each of the deputies and wheeled the cart into the office. Ramsay closed the door behind her.

On covered plates there was coleslaw, roast beef, hot rolls, mashed potatoes, and peas. There was Jello for dessert and a flask of coffee.

"Not exactly cordon bleu, but nutritious, or so they tell me in the cafeteria."

"It looks great. And I promised the next meal was going to be on me."

"I'll catch up with you," Holly said. "Dig in while it's hot."

Ramsay began to eat. He could feel Holly watching him. "Go ahead and ask," he said.

"All right. How are you doing?"

"Just swell. It appears that a nice-mannered fellow named Mr Derak walked into Dr Qualen's office, bit him to death, jumped out the window, and disappeared. It's a piece of cake."

"You know Malcolm is gone, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"The nurse, Rita Keneally, says Dr Pastory came in early this morning, had Malcolm sedated, and took him away."

"So?"

"Don't you think there's a connection? This man Derak came here wanting to see Malcolm."

"If there is a connection, I'm sure it will come out when we talk to Dr Pastory."

"But I've asked, and nobody knows where he is."

Ramsay swallowed a mouthful of roast beef. "Holly, I am investigating a murder. I have two capable deputies and more help than I really want from the sheriffs of Ventura and Los Angeles counties. Suppose you stick to curing the sick and leave crime to me."

"God, I hate it when they get condescending."

"If by "they" you mean me, I'm sorry that's the way it sounded to you, but I do have an awful lot on my mind."

"Isn't kidnapping a big enough crime to get some attention?"

"Kidnapping? You're talking about Malcolm?"

"Who else?"

"As I understand it, that was a fairly routine transfer of a patient from one facility to another."

"Bullshit!"

Ramsay lowered a forkful of mashed potatoes back to the plate. From a desk drawer he drew a clear plastic folder with several sheets of a printed form inside. The sheets were spattered with a brownish stain.

"I have here," Ramsay said, "what they tell me are the official and correct forms for transfer of our patient Malcolm from La Reina County Hospital to some clinic. They are a bit messy because they were found on the desk of the late Dr Qualen, who was more or less lying on top of them."

"Have you read them?"

"Well,no, but-"