Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) (10 page)

21

Mina Parkinson hurried back to her apartment on Floor 5. She felt a tingle of excitement, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She was only nineteen, but at times she felt closer to sixty. That was what the town of Shackleton would do if you let it. It sucked the life from you, fed on you until you were nothing more than a dried up husk. But that wasn’t the only reason for her recent lack of enthusiasm. Since her mother died she had come to realize that there were more important things in life than fun, like keeping a roof over her head, paying bills, buying groceries. The meager amount of money in her mother’s bank account hadn’t made it past the first three months and then things got bad, real bad, especially since writing for the newspaper wasn’t a paying gig.

Before she died, her mother held down a job in the town library, which paid just enough to put food on the table, pay the rent, and keep the lights on, but not much else. Now that her mother was gone, Mina needed a paying job. Desperate, she took part time work in the only place that was hiring, Harbor Pacific Seafoods, a warehouse on the edge of town that gutted and cleaned whatever the local fisherman brought in, and sold it to a plant in Anchorage to be turned into pre-packaged frozen seafood. It was a nasty job, but it paid enough cash to keep her going.

When she arrived back at her apartment, Mina grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went into the living room.

When she entered, however, she stopped, alarmed. Something didn’t feel right. She glanced around the room and could not see anything amiss, yet the room felt different. It was then, as her eyes settled on the stack of books, that she realized what was wrong.

The books had been moved.

It looked like they had been knocked over and then piled back up, only now they were in the wrong order. The book she was reading, which had been on top, was now three volumes down.

She stopped, nervous, her eyes darting around the room to see if anything else was disturbed, but it all looked just as she had left it.

Maybe she was imagining things.

Or maybe Decker had browsed through them when he was there and she hadn’t noticed.

She decided that must be it. What other explanation could there be? She turned and headed toward the couch, book in hand. As she did so, there was a sound, almost imperceptible, from the other side of the room.

It sounded like a light footfall.

She spun around, her heart thudding in her chest. But the room was empty. No one was there.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to chalk the whole thing up to her overactive imagination, when she noticed the front door, which she was sure she had closed.

Now it was open, just a crack.

A shiver of fear ran up her spine.

Was there someone in the apartment when she got home, someone who was looking through her stuff? Were they still there, hiding, watching her as she entered, waiting for an opportunity to slip out unnoticed?

She hurried across the room and pushed the door closed, then drew the deadbolt and put the chain on. She leaned against the back of the door, and surveyed the apartment.

Suddenly she didn’t feel excited anymore.

Instead she was uneasy, on edge.

In all the years she had lived in Shackleton, she’d never felt unsafe, but right now she did. It was too much of a coincidence that this happened when she got involved with John Decker. Someone, or something, was running around killing people and here she was jumping headlong into the middle of it. She wondered if she was getting herself into a situation more dangerous than she realized.

22

At four-thirty that afternoon John Decker found himself in the office of town administrator Hayley Marsh. He had barely gotten back to his suite of rooms on the tenth floor when she called, asking if he would stop by a little later. Despite the fact that he had nothing to report – he certainly wasn’t telling her about his little excursion to the basement with Mina or their rendezvous that night – he agreed to meet Hayley anyway.

So here he was.

He glanced around, taking in the bland beige walls and bookcases lined with weighty t
omes on such topics as town planning, accounting and public sector law. A pair of certificates hung in thin frames behind the desk. One was a Finance degree from the University of Anchorage. The other was a master’s degree in Public Administration. Next to these, in the corner of the room, stood an American flag on a vertical pole with a golden eagle perched on top.

“I’m so sorry about last night.” Hayley sat behind the desk, her hands clasped in front of her. “Sheriff Wilder can be a bit of a bear to work with I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine.” Decker wondered if she knew about the sheriff’s warning to steer clear of the investigation. “He feels that my presence here is surplus to requirements.”

“I can assure you that I do not consider your presence unnecessary despite what Wilder may think,” Hayley said. “As I warned you upon your arrival, certain people, not a few of whom occupy positions of authority, are not on board with my decision to seek outside help.”

“I have a feeling it’s not the outside help they object to.” Decker had grown accustomed to the strange looks, the whispered conversations, when he entered a room. He had also come to realize that he was viewed with distrust and dislike in certain circles. “I think it is me they object to.”

“It is precisely because of what happened in Wolf Haven that I brought you in, Mr. Decker.” Hayley paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. When she continued, her face had taken on a grave appearance. “Regardless of what Wilder thinks, there is something wrong in Shackleton, and it goes beyond a few wild animal attacks. There have been sightings. People have seen things that they cannot explain, things that scare them.”

“Have you seen anything, Miss Marsh?” John sat on the edge of his seat. He had a feeling that he would soon learn why Hayley was so insistent on bringing him up here. He also hoped he might gain valuable insight regarding the true perpetrator of the killings.

“Yes I have. Two weeks ago, in fact. Although I still find myself doubting what I saw,” Hayley said.

“Go on,” Decker urged.

“I was walking back to the tower late one night.” Hayley’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “It was very dark and wet, with a sleet filled rain that made everything feel colder than it actually was. A cover of low clouds had rolled in from the glacier and shrouded everything with a fine mist. I was alone, and despite having walked the route a hundred times, there was something about that evening that made me pick up the pace. I passed the boat yards, followed the railroad tracks for a while, and then cut across a section of scrubland, following a shortcut that took me through the parking lot instead of forcing me to walk the long way around on the road. Except that before I got as far as the parking lot, I was overcome by a feeling that I was being followed. It was nothing much, the sense of a presence, the sound of soft footsteps in the mist, but when I glanced back nothing was there, just the swirling mist.”

Decker nodded. “So what happened?”

“I assumed the footsteps were another person out late, returning to the tower, only they weren’t. There was this strange sound, a growl of sorts. It drifted on the wind, making it hard to tell which direction it was coming from.”

“A dog perhaps?”

“No. It was different, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I got scared. I ran. I could see the tower rising out of the fog, and I headed toward it, but just before I reached the parking lot something darted in front of me. Something big.” Hayley closed her eyes for a moment, as if she was remembering what happened. When she opened them again they had taken on a haunted look. “I knew it was getting ready to attack, I could sense it, but then a car pulled in to the parking lot and turned in my direction. Its headlights lit everything up, and there, just for a moment, I saw it.”

“And?” Decker wanted to hear what she had to say.

“It had a pale, leathery body. It was hunched over on sinewy, squat legs. Its face was long and inhuman, with pointed ears, large round eyes and a mouth full of needlelike teeth. It watched me for a moment, as if summing me up, and then, before I knew it, the thing was gone.”

“And it didn’t try to attack you?”

“Oh I think it wanted to, but the car scared it away. I didn’t linger out there after that. I ran back to the tower, went straight up to my apartment and locked the door. I didn’t stop shaking for an hour.”

“Did you tell Wilder?”

“I talked to him, tried to tell him that there was something on the loose, but I didn’t tell him everything. What could I say, that I’d seen the bogeyman?”

“So instead you called me.”

“It took some persuading for the town council to agree to bring you here, but they gave in. There have been other sightings you see; rumors were spreading.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“The qalupalik. It’s an old Inuit legend about a monster that lives in the water and sings to lure people close to it.”

“That’s what you think you saw?”

“I don’t know.” Hayley shook her head. “But I am certain that it wasn’t anything natural, and it’s still out there, still killing.”

“Has Wilder made any progress tracking the creature?”

“No, and he won’t either. He thinks it’s a bear or some such thing.” Hayley looked pale, as if the memory of that night still haunted her. “This beast needs to be stopped, Mr. Decker. You need to kill it.”

Decker nodded. “That’s not going to be an easy task with Wilder shutting me out.”

“I know, but there is nothing I can do about that. The sheriff’s office runs autonomously. You are going to have to work around him.”

“Understood. I’ll do my best to stay out of his way,” Decker said. “However, there’s one thing…”

“Yes?”

“It would be useful if I had access to a firearm, just in case I come across your beast. I’d hate to run into whatever is killing people without any way to defend myself.”

“That much I can do.” Hayley tore a piece of paper from a yellow legal pad on her desk and scribbled a name on it. “Go and see Verne Nolan at the tackle and bait shop near the docks. He’s a good guy. He’ll set you up.”

“Will do.” Decker stood up.

“I’ll let him know you are coming and tell him the town will foot the bill.”

”Thanks.” Decker turned to leave. He was about to walk through the door when Hayley spoke up again.

“John?” she said, using his name for the first time that afternoon.

“Yes?” Decker glanced back over his shoulder.

“Be careful.” Hayley looked worried. “I’d like to keep the body bags to a minimum.”

“Me too,” Decker replied, and then he was through the door and walking toward the elevator.

23

The tackle and bait store stood on a barren patch of land near the docks. Behind it, a smattering of fishing boats bobbed on their moorings, safe inside the bay, and beyond that the wide expanse of the ocean disappeared to a cloud filled horizon. The battered wooden hut looked like it might collapse at any moment, but given its location, the building had stood up to more than its fair share of storms over the years. Atop the structure, fixed to the roof, a large rectangular sign announced the name of the place, and underneath, in smaller lettering the words, BAIT – RODS - GUNS.

It was getting late already, well past six o’clock, when Decker arrived, and he expected the store to be closed, but to his surprise the sign hanging on the door stated that they were open until 9 P.M., even though there wasn’t a soul in sight. Decker wondered how much business the shop did. He suspected it made most of its money catering to tourists who came up to Alaska during the summer months to fish.

He entered and immediately noticed the musky, odorous smell that permeated the air, something akin to mothballs and rotten fish. Rows of fishing poles lined the walls, along with racks of lure and bait. Carousels housing hooks and other fishing odds and ends were packed so tight into the small space that it was hard to maneuver. No spare inch of floor was wasted. Along the back wall, behind a counter with a glass front and worn wooden top, hung several harpoon guns of various sizes. Behind the counter sat a man of at least fifty, with a face that looked like it was chiseled from stone. He watched Decker approach with eyes that shone bright and blue under a heavy brow.

“You must be John Decker.” The man’s voice was deep and rich.

“My reputation precedes me.” Decker approached the counter, weaving around a couple of tubs marked
live bait
.

“Hayley said you’d be by. I’m Verne.” He leaned on the counter on arms twice as thick as Decker’s. A tattoo poked out from under his sleeve, an eagle atop a globe with words the
Semper Fidelis
underneath.

Decker eyed the tattoo. “Marine, huh?”

“Long time ago,” Verne said. “You serve?”

“No,” Decker said.

“I hear you’re in the market for a gun.”

“You heard right.” Decker’s eyes dropped to the glass counter, to the rows of firearms lined up within. “And I hear you’re the man to talk to.”

“Damn straight. If I don’t have it, it ain’t legal.”

“Good to know.” Decker was sure that Verne had some weapons of the illegal variety too, but of course he wasn’t going to come out and say so.

“So what can I get you?”

“A pistol. Something small that I can keep close.”

“That’s an easy one.” Verne reached into the glass case and came up with a snub nosed black gun. “This here is the Glock 27. It’s got some weight and won’t raise too many eyebrows when you stash it about your person.” He reached in again and came up with a second pistol. “This one is the Kahr PM9. It comes in at a little under 14 ounces, so it won’t weigh you down. If I had my choice these would be the top two.”

“What about night sights?” Decker asked. He hoped he wouldn’t need the gun, but if he did he wanted to cover all his bases.

“Sure. I can fit them to either gun.”

“Good to know.” Decker examined the guns, weighing them in his hands. He liked the feel of the PM9, but he was more accustomed to the Glock, so he motioned toward that one in the end. “I’ll take the Glock with night sights.”

“Good choice. You’ll be wanting ammo, I’m sure. One box do you?”

“For now.” Decker nodded. He went to pick up the Glock.

Verne reached out and placed a hand on the pistol, preventing Decker from lifting it. “I’m not going to regret this, am I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Technically it’s illegal to sell this gun to you, being that you’re not from around these parts, and I don’t want to wind up on the wrong end of any federal charges.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” Decker said. “Besides, I’m not buying it, the town is.”

“Good point.” Verne lifted his hand. “Now how about I get you those night sights.”