Gary Brandner - The Howling II

"Yes, it was."

"Will you be good enough to come into the office?"

Karyn looked questioningly at Chris.

He said, "Is it all right if I come along, Sergeant? I'm a friend of Mrs. Richter."

Vasquez's cool brown eyes took in the two of them. "A friend, you say?"

"That's right. We knew each other back in the States."

"Don't mind me," Audrey said. "I'm just passing through."

Vasquez gave her a chilly smile. To Chris he said, "I have no objection if you wish to come."

Chris turned to Audrey. "This shouldn't take too long."

"What the hell, take all the time you want," Audrey said. "I'll be in the bar."

Chris patted her knee and smiled. She turned away. He shrugged and joined Karyn and Sergeant Vasquez as they crossed the lobby to enter the small office tucked in behind the registration desk.

Vasquez put them into hard-backed chairs facing him as he sat behind a small desk. He offered his pack of Mexican cigarettes and took one for himself when they both declined. He inhaled deeply, then leaned forward across the desk and fixed them with a steady brown gaze.

"The two of you were together this evening?"

"That's right," Chris answered. "Miss Vance was with us."

"Ah, yes, the young lady in the lobby."

Chris nodded.

Vasquez regarded him for a moment without expression, then he turned to Karyn.

"Mrs. Richter, do you know of anyone who might want to kill you?"

"Me?"

"The young people were murdered in your room. The lights were out. It is possible that the killer was after you and did not see his mistake until it was too late."

"I just arrived in Mazatlan," Karyn said carefully. "I don't know anyone here, except Mr. Halloran."

"Ah, yes." The policeman switched his attention to Chris. "And you, sir, have you any opinions about this tragedy?"

"I don't know any more than Mrs. Richter," Chris said.

Vasquez held Chris for a long moment with his somber gaze, then turned it on Karyn. When neither of them reacted the sergeant relaxed a little and gave them a cool smile. "It was just a thought. The truth is we are fairly certain who the killer is, but I do not wish to overlook other possibilities."

"You know who did it?" Chris said.

"In a crime of passion such as this, we look first for the husband. In this case we have no husband, but we do have a former lover of the girl. A man given to violent acts, I am told. He worked here at the hotel and was discharged a month ago."

Karyn bit her lip. "Are you certain this was done by a man?"

"It is not a woman's crime, senora," said Vasquez.

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh?" The policeman assumed an expression of polite attention.

Karyn felt her face growing warm. She looked to Chris for help, but he gave her only a tiny shake of his head. "I just wondered," she said, "whether it could have been — an animal."

"Impossible," the policeman said at once. "I do not wish to make light of your suggestion, senora, but there is no animal capable of doing what was done to those two young people."

A uniformed policeman entered the office. He looked quickly at Karyn and Chris, then spoke to Vasquez. "Con perdon…"

"Que?"

The policeman spoke rapidly in Spanish as Vasquez listened and nodded. The man placed an envelope on the desk in front of the sergeant as he spoke. Vasquez opened it and peered inside. From a pocket he produced a pair of tweezers, which he used to withdraw the contents of the envelope. He held it up to the light and examined it, then set it down carefully on the desk. A thick tuft of coarse tan fur. He said something to the man in uniform, who saluted and went out.

"It seems the killer left something behind when he went out the window," said Vasquez. He picked up the tuft of fur again in the tweezers and displayed it proudly, like it was a rare butterfly. "One of the men found this caught on the torn window screen."

Karyn and Chris stared at the bit of fur. Neither of them spoke.

Vasquez smiled thinly at Karyn. "I'm sure it is not what you think, senora. Torn from a fur-lined jacket, I would guess. It will be most helpful when we pick up our man."

Karyn started to speak, but caught a warning glance from Chris, and held back.

"There is something, senora?" said Vasquez.

Karyn shook her head. "No, nothing. Is it all right if we go now?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you both for your time."

They walked out of the manager's office and across the lobby. Most of the guests by this time had drifted off to their rooms.

"We can't let them arrest an innocent man," Karyn said.

"What do you suggest? Going up to Sergeant Vasquez and saying, 'Hey, I think those people were killed by a werewolf who used to be my husband'?"

"Please don't be sarcastic." Chris passed a hand over his brow. "I'm sorry. Getting tired, I guess. But I don't think you have to worry about an innocent man being locked up. Despite what you might have read, the Mexican system of criminal justice is reasonably competent."

"I suppose so," Karyn said wearily. "And you're right. There really is nothing we could do." Without warning she yawned.

"We'd all better get some sleep," Chris said.

"Let's find the manager and arrange for a room for you."

Senor Davila, now fully dressed, but still unshaven, said yes, a room in the main building could be made ready at once for Senora Richter, since a number of guests had suddenly checked out.

As Karyn filled out a new registration card, Chris snapped his fingers.

"Damn, I forgot about Audrey. She's still waiting in the bar."

"You'd better go and get her," Karyn said. "I can handle things from here on."

"I'll see you first thing in the morning," Chris said. He hurried away toward the bar.

Karyn finished signing in for the new room while Senor Davila sent a boy out to see about bringing her things in from Cabana 12. She sat down in a chair in the lobby to wait, and massaged her eyes.

"Senora?"

She looked up, and for a moment could not place the stocky man with the luxuriant moustache who had spoken.

"Luis Zarate?" he said with a rising inflection. "The taxi from the airport yesterday?"

"Oh, yes," Karyn said. She waited for the man to speak.

"If the senora will permit, I think I can be of assistance."

"Thank you, but I won't be needing a taxi tonight."

"No, senora, not a taxi, but you do need help, maybe, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"The young Blanca, and her novio, Roberto, they died tonight, I think, in your place."

"How do you know this?" Karyn asked. She watched the man intently.

"There is much I know. Remember, I told you I have gypsy blood. I know it was no man who killed Roberto and Blanca."

"Who, then?"

"Not who, senora, what. These killings carry the mark of lobombre. The werewolf."

IN THE PART OF Mazatlan away from the sparkling beaches and bright new streets was a section of the city called La Ratonera, the rathole. It was a neighborhood where the sightseeing buses never came, and only a foolhardy tourist ventured. The streets were cracked and pitted, the buildings crusted with the filth of decades. Doors were always closed, windows covered. The air was heavy with the smell of human feces and human despair.

From La Ratonera came the used-up prostitutes, the burned-out thieves, the hopeless drunkards and the dying dopers. At night they moved like shadows along the broken streets, in the light of day they shut themselves inside.

Here, in a musty room behind a nameless cantina, Roy Beatty lay face down on the thin mattress of a rusted iron bed. The wallpaper of the room had long ago peeled away to the brown-stained plaster. Vermin scuttled through piles of debris in the corner.

Marcia Lura stood with her arms folded, looking down at Roy. She was oblivious to the squalor around her. The grace of her body and her fierce beauty made her seem an alien being in this lowly place. The green fires in her eyes snapped with suppressed rage.