Lycan Packs 1: Lycan Instinct (4 page)

“Hey, bro, you know I’d never risk...”

Rafe held up a hand, took a steady breath. The fierce tension in his body made him weary. He needed a weekend on his estate, a chance to run free, away from the city and all its demands. The older he got, the harder it became to postpone the search for his mate. But postpone the search, he must.

“I know.”

Gabe would never intentionally endanger the pack; neither could he.

The medical examiner removed his glasses and frowned at his paperwork when Mackenzie and Cooper walked in. His half-eaten chilidog lay within easy reach.

Cooper eyed the body on the stainless steel table several feet away. “Jesus, Doc, how can you eat in here?”

“Why, you hungry?”

“What have you got for me?” Mackenzie asked.

“Your John Doe died about twenty to twenty-six hours before his body was found.”

“Saturday night.”

He nodded. “Sometime between eleven and five. I doubt he was in the alley long when found. Whoever did it stored him for the day. My guess would be a trunk. Found fibers on the body consistent with those you might find in a vehicle.”

That fit with the evidence gathered at the scene.

“But he wasn’t killed by a deadly animal attack.”

Mackenzie blinked. “Excuse me?” Those bites weren’t from a human.

Tancock tossed a small evidence bag to her. “Forty-five caliber slug. In the heart. Bull’s-eye. Probably dead before he even hit the ground. The other wounds were postmortem.”

“You’re telling me someone capped the guy and then fed him to the wolves?”

“That’s what I’m saying. I’m still not certain what breed of animal inflicted the damage, although the bite marks and some hairs found on the body are consistent with canine.” Tancock propped his arms on the counter. “What is certain is the identity of your John Doe. Sent the fingerprints through AFIS. Just got the results back.”

Tancock’s gaze locked on Mackenzie, which sent a chill down her spine. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like his answer.

“Who?” she wanted to know.

“Victor Robertson.”

“The state legislator?” Cooper asked, dumbfounded.

“Without a doubt.”

Didn’t that bite
?

Mackenzie was unimpressed with the elegant façade of Victor Robertson’s home or his pristine lawn. Professional lawn care was common in the more exclusive neighborhoods of North Chicago. She’d bet, for the right price, gardeners would stand watch to catch each leaf before the brilliant colors of autumn could mar the picturesque landscape. Money always bought pretty packaging.

She approached the house as if she were walking to her own execution. Silent. Somber. This was her least favorite part of the job.

With a few words, she’d forever change the lives of those inside the house. There was little she could do to prevent the pain her words would create.

Stepping onto the porch, Mackenzie glanced at Cooper before ringing the doorbell. For once, the famous grin was absent.

“Hello.” The woman who held the door open was a picture-perfect grandma from a Norman Rockwell painting. A tidy cap of short white hair topped a pleasant face with a friendly smile. She wore a conservative cotton dress with lace at the collar. Her only ornamentation was a silver band with delicate engravings on the third finger of her left hand.

“Mrs. Robertson?”

She cast a brief, puzzled glance at Mackenzie’s badge. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

“My name is Detective Mackenzie Lyons. This is Detective Steve Cooper. We’re with the Chicago Police Department. May we come in?”

“Of course, but it’s a bit late.” She moved aside, closed the door, and showed them into the front parlor.

The room had a very formal, Victorian feel. Light, floral, and airy, not unlike the woman seated before them. Mackenzie recognized the concern on her face, held at bay by the control of proper etiquette.

“Now, how may I help you?”

A man’s voice, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, stopped Mackenzie from answering.

“Hang on. Mom, who was...” A young man spotted them as he walked into the room, a cell phone to his ear. “Let me call you back.” He snapped his cell phone shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Richard, come meet Detectives Lyons and Cooper of the Chicago Police Department. This is my son, Richard.”

“Detectives?” With a curious, somewhat wary expression, the son shook hands, his grip firm. Then he stepped behind his mother’s chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. Midthirties. A couple inches shy of six feet, Mackenzie guessed. He had clean-cut dark hair, which topped the vision of a well-dressed yuppie. When his cell phone rang, he cast an aggravated glance at the screen, and then pressed a button that silenced the call.

His mother smiled. “Could you tell me what this is about?”

“Mrs. Robertson—”

“Please, call me Pearl.”

Mackenzie’s hands were damp, her mouth dry. There was no simple way to do this. Nothing could lessen the blow. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re here about your husband.”

“If you’re here to speak to Victor, I’m afraid he’s not home.” Her smile turned to a frown, her left hand slowly moving to cover her heart. “Is something wrong?”

“Ma’am, your husband is dead.”

Words. A few words, but they had the punch of a tidal wave. The woman flinched as if the impact was physical. Shock, disbelief, and dismay chased each other across her face. Mackenzie knew the unbearable pain of loss wouldn’t be far behind.

“No. That can’t be. Victor’s in Springfield. He was... No, you must be mistaken. Not my Vic—” Her voice broke, her eyes pleading with the detectives to recant.

“I’m so sorry,” Mackenzie repeated.

Pearl blindly reached for her son’s hand, latching onto it like a lifeline. “Richard? Tell them they’re wrong.”

“I’m here, Mom.” His voice was barely a whisper. He stared at Cooper. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Cooper said. “I’m so sorry.”

Visual identification by a family member was unnecessary and would only cause more pain. Mackenzie withheld an explanation on the condition of the body, but added, “We confirmed his identity through a fingerprint match.”

She watched helplessly as Richard knelt in front of his mother and Pearl collapsed into his arms with convulsions of sorrow. They clung to one another for long moments. Mackenzie elbowed Cooper and pointed to a box of tissues on the end table. He grabbed the whole box and held it out until Pearl noticed and tugged several tissues free with fumbling fingers.

“Thank you.” Her voice was softer, weaker. She twisted the tissues as tears continued unchecked down her face. “He just had a physical a few days ago. He was fine. I don’t understand...” Then, the inevitable questions began to flow. “When? W-what happened to my Victor? How could he be dead?”

“Where is he? I want to see my father.”

“That won’t be possible at this time,” Mackenzie answered, watching anger begin to boil in the son’s eyes, “but I’ll contact the medical examiner to find out when he can release the body to the family for burial.”

“Medical examiner?” Richard asked.

“Standard procedure for unattended or questionable deaths.”

“Questionable? What do you mean?” Pearl asked.

“He was murdered.”

“Murdered...” Richard uttered an oath and pressed his palms to his eyes as he stood and turned away.

“No! Oh, God, no.” Pearl’s dam of tears broke again, sending her into another fit of hysterical sobbing.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The words felt like acid on Mackenzie’s tongue. They would always be inadequate. “But we need to ask you some questions.”

Richard’s expression changed from stunned fear to fury. “Can’t that wait? My God, don’t you see this is hard enough?”

Although tears poured down her mottled face, Pearl said, “N-no. Let them speak. If it’ll help...I’ll...I want to help.”

Richard paused, then closed his eyes, and nodded.

“When was the last time you saw your father alive?” Mackenzie asked him.

“Saturday. He and Mom were leaving for a black-tie event that night.”

“Th-that’s right.” Pearl sniffled. “We went to the Drake Hotel for a fundraiser for a group that helps gamblers overcome their addictions. Victor is opposed to any more expansion of gambling and recently made it a cornerstone of his political platform.”

While his mother spoke, Richard busied himself at a bar in one corner of the room. He returned with two glasses. “Here, Mom, drink this. It’ll help calm your nerves a bit.”

Pearl took the glass, adding it to the tangled wad of tissue in her grip. Richard sat and sipped his own drink, his hand a touch shaky.

Cooper pulled out a notepad as Mackenzie started the interview. “Did Mr. Robertson come home that night?”

“Yes. Victor and I arrived back home around ten thirty.”

“Did you remain home after that?”

“Yes. I went straight to bed. He said he had some paperwork to do before coming to bed.” Pearl stared at the full glass cradled in both hands on her lap. “He’d planned to be in Springfield for the week, so he left first thing Sunday morning. He’s always been a morning person.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh, well, let me see. He was already gone when I woke up, and that was around seven. I have to be at the church by nine to prepare for Sunday school. I’m a teacher.”

“So you didn’t actually see him come to bed or leave the next morning?”

“Well, no, I guess not, but his car was gone, so I assumed...”

“His car? He wouldn’t have taken a cab to O’Hare and flown to Springfield?” Mackenzie exchanged a look with Cooper. Outside of those working the case, nobody knew the murder had taken place elsewhere. They were searching for a second crime scene as well as the killer.

“No. He didn’t like to fly, although he’d never admit it.” Pearl’s smile trembled with tender sadness. “He always said, ‘A representative of the people should be well-grounded, not prone to flights of fancy.’ He’d rent a bus when campaigning. He liked to visit people on their own turf...door to door. You can’t do that at thirty thousand feet.”

“He was campaigning?” Mackenzie asked.

“Not for office, but he was always campaigning for some issue he believed in. And he still preferred to drive his car to Springfield...see the state he represented.”

“And you weren’t concerned when you didn’t hear from him?”

“Oh my no. I never thought anything like this could happen. He was a safe driver. I would’ve tried to reach him if I hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow night. He always checked in around midweek.” Pearl glanced from Cooper to Mackenzie. “I’ve been a politician’s wife for a very long time, Detective Lyons. Being separated for brief periods, because of campaigning or what-have-you, is nothing new to me. I’ve learned to entertain myself.” She gave her son a teary-eyed smile. “I had children to raise and, now with them grown, I have time for my charity work.”

Richard interrupted with a question of his own. “Do you have the person who did this?”

“Your help will go a long way to helping us catch the person responsible,” Mackenzie reassured them.

“You haven’t told us where or how this happened. My father didn’t...he didn’t suffer, did he?”

Cooper’s pencil stilled as Mackenzie gave the son a sympathetic gaze. “I’m not at liberty to give all the details surrounding his death because of the ongoing investigation, but I can tell you his body was found in Chicago, on the Southside.”

Pearl asked, “The Southside? Why would he drive there?”

“We’re not sure he did. Can you tell us what kind of car he drove?”

Pearl watched Cooper take notes as she described the vehicle, then looked at Mackenzie. “Was my husband carjacked?”

“That’s why we’re investigating. Do we have your permission to have a forensics team check out your house and garage?”

“What for, if he was in his car?”

“It’s procedure, Ma’am. Your home was the last place he was seen alive.”

“All right. Yes, of course.”

“Do you mind telling me where you were Saturday night?” she asked Richard.

“On a date with my girlfriend.”

Cooper looked up from his notes. “Her name and address?”

“Is all of this necessary? I don’t want her disturbed.”

Cooper said, “We need to confirm the whereabouts of anyone connected with the victim.” He quickly wrote down the name and address Richard spouted.

Mackenzie asked, “Does anyone in your family own a large dog?”

Pearl looked confused by the question but answered, “My daughter and her husband own a poodle.”

“What about friends, employees, neighbors?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, why? Oh wait, one of Richard’s friends has a big dog.”

He shook his head. “I doubt that’ll help, Mom.”

“Why don’t you tell us anyway?” Mackenzie asked.

The son shrugged. “When Mom stopped by my place, I was keeping Anthony’s dog temporarily while he arranged to move back East.”

“They met at Princeton,” Pearl added.

“Mom, please. That’s hardly important. When he moved, he took the dog with him. He’s not here anymore.”

“When was this?”

“Week before last. Anyway, he’s a friend of mine, not my father’s. He and my father didn’t know each other, never met, so I don’t see how it could be relevant.”

“Okay. Did Mr. Robertson have any enemies? Anyone who may want to hurt him?”

Pearl frowned. “No. My Victor is...was such a precious soul. He worked to help people. He was a good husband, a loving father, and a proud grandpa. I can’t imagine anyone being so angry that he’d want to kill him.” Silent tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes.

“What about fights? Arguments? Did he seem disturbed about anything recently?”

“He was a politician, Detective. I know people don’t believe in honest politicians, but my husband was an honest, caring man, and he liked what he did. He worried...” Pearl bit her bottom lip, cast a quick glance at her son, and shook her head.

Richard said, “He was always arguing over this bill or that proposition. This was not his first term. My father knew how to play the game. His negotiations were always on the up-and-up.”