The Frenzy Way (11 page)

Skinwalker. Nahual. Werewolf.

Only one shaman lived on the Chautauqua Reservation: Tom Lenape. The old man had known Chief Dan when Dan lived there. Stalk had sought him out, and they became fast friends. Because of Stalk’s experiences in the Adirondacks and New York City, he wanted to learn everything Tom knew about the spirit world. Twice a week the shaman tutored him on such Indian rituals as the Frenzy Way. Tom was the equivalent of a Unitarian preacher: he studied the religions and mythologies of all the Great Indian Nations.

As the cabin came into view, Stalk saw Tom standing on a stepladder, applying a coat of weather protection to the log face of his cabin with a wide paintbrush. The old man wore jeans and a sweater, and a Marlboro dangled from his lips.

Stalk felt a sudden rush of emotion; he had come to love the shaman as a second father. Under Tom’s tutelage, he had undergone the rites of
Saren Antunia
, the vision quest of the Lakota culture. Stalk had fasted, then wandered into the woods until he found a spot that resonated within him. Stripped naked, he sat in a circle ten feet in diameter and prayed to the spirit
Wakan Tanka
for guidance. He remained there for four days, drinking water but eating nothing, ingesting entheogens that caused him to hallucinate. The journey had purified and renewed his soul.

Tom turned at the familiar sound of the Wrangler. He had never seen Stalk drive so recklessly before. Descending the stepladder, he puffed on his cigarette and watched Stalk hop from his vehicle and hurry to the cabin.

“What’s wrong?” Tom said.

“Have you seen the news?” Stalk sounded winded.

Tom shook his head.

“I need your help.”

Mace worked his way through the previous night’s arrest reports, reviewing and signing each one. A knock on his door caused him to look up at Karen Diaz, a civilian typist who worked in the bull pen.

Making eye contact with him, Karen opened the door. “There’s a priest here who wants to speak to whoever’s in charge of the Glenzer homicide. Detective Lane’s in the field.”

Mace stood. “Send him in.”

A moment later Karen escorted a priest into the office.

“I’m Captain Mace.”

The two men shook hands as the typist closed the door.

“Father Francis Hagen.”

Mace motioned to the metal-framed chair before his desk. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Father Hagen made himself comfortable on the worn cushion.

“How can I help you?”

“As I explained to the young woman, I wish to speak to the detective in charge of Terrence Glenzer’s murder.”

“That would be Detective Lane, but she’s doing fieldwork. I’m her supervisor. Will I do?”

Father Hagen gestured with one hand in a courteous manner. “Perhaps. Are you Catholic?”

Mace offered the man a gentle smile. “Once upon a time but no longer. My wife practices, though. Is that close enough?”

Father Hagen returned the smile. “It makes no difference; I was merely curious. I’m also curious about medieval history. Fascinated, you might say. Mr. Glenzer contacted me regarding a certain artifact he had come to possess. I expressed interest in obtaining this artifact and set about negotiating a price for it. Mr. Glenzer declined to accept a fee and agreed to turn the artifact over to me. Unfortunately, Mr. Glenzer was murdered before the transfer of ownership could take place, which puts me in an awkward position.”

Mace wore his best poker face. “May I ask what this artifact is, Father?”

“Certainly. It’s a sword—rather, the hilt of a sword—with a broken blade. Was it recovered from Mr. Glenzer’s condominium?”

“What can you tell me about this sword?”

The priest offered a slight shrug. “Nothing really, I’m afraid. As far as I know, it’s an unknown quantity, a mere historical curiosity.”

Mace clasped his hands. “Now I’m the one who’s in an awkward position. Unless you can present me with proof of ownership, I’m unable to divulge what we found in Professor Glenzer’s residence for fear of compromising our investigation.”

Father Hagen considered this, then nodded. “I see. Perhaps these would be of help.” Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he removed a long envelope with a ragged tear along its top. Then he removed several folded letters, which he handed to Mace. “I have here correspondence between myself and Mr. Glenzer.”

Mace unfolded the letters. Holding one of them up, he said, “Your personal stationery?”

Father Hagen’s expression showed just a suggestion of agitation. “Yes, my interest in this sword is purely personal, not on behalf of the church. It would have been improper for me to use church stationery.”

Mace scrutinized the letters. “Forgive me, but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Do you mind if I scan these so I can enlarge the handwriting?”

The priest furrowed one eyebrow, then relaxed his facial muscles. “As you wish.”

“Thank you.” Mace fed the letters into his desktop scanner, handed them back to Father Hagen, and faced his computer screen. Opening the files, he skimmed the letters. “Neither one of you is very specific. You both keep referring to ‘the artifact,’ almost as if in code.”

Father Hagen leaned across Mace’s desk. “Actually, Mr. Glenzer makes reference to ‘the Blade.’” He pointed at a paragraph in one of Glenzer’s letters.

The Blade of Salvation.
“Ah yes,” Mace said. “That could mean a sword, couldn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Mace opened another file. “Father, this isn’t exactly cut-and-dried. I’m not sure I can tell you what you’d like to know right now. Even if we do have what you’re looking for, it’s still evidence in our investigation.” He pressed the Print Screen button. “I’m going to give you some forms to fill out. Mail them to the address on them. Even under the most optimistic of scenarios, we won’t be releasing any of Mr. Glenzer’s items any time soon. With any luck there will be a trial, and that’s likely to be a drawn-out process.”

“I’m disappointed to hear that.”

“Father, is this sword you’re inquiring about valuable enough that someone might have murdered Glenzer to get their hands on it?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Well, how much did you initially offer him for it?”

“It was a modest sum, I assure you.”

Mace stuffed the forms into a large envelope, which he handed to the priest. “Here’s my card. May I have yours? If I’m able to share further information with you I promise to look you up.”

“Of course,” Father Hagen said, locating a card. “In return, I’d appreciate it if you contact me if you learn anything else about this sword of Professor Glenzer’s.”
Subtle enough
, he thought.

Father Hagen’s eyes showed a flicker of understanding. “I appreciate your candor.”

Mace showed the priest to the door. “Thank you for coming by.” He watched the man exit the squad room, then sat at his desk and keyed the information on the business card into his contacts folder.

The apartment door opened, and Graham Hanson looked out at Patty and Willy. The college student wore no shirt, and his ripped abdominal muscles, sweaty hairline, and heavy breathing suggested he had either been working out or having sex.

Patty thought she saw disappointment in his eyes. “Hi, Mr. Hanson. Remember us?”

“Like it was yesterday,” Graham said. “Oh, it
was
yesterday. Did you think of something else to ask me?”

Patty wanted to strangle the smug wiseass. “Actually, this isn’t about Professor Glenzer. It’s about your classmate Sarah Harper.” Graham’s facial muscles froze. “Ah. Sarah. Bad news, that.” Patty refrained from looking at Willy.
Something interesting here
. “How well did you know her?”

Graham smirked. “Better than some.”

“Would you mind being a little more specific?”

“Okay, sure. We hooked up once at a bar. Then we went to her place.”

“What bar?” Willy said.

“I don’t know, man. Some joint down here. They all bleed together, you know?”

“What happened at Sarah’s apartment?” Patty said.

Graham snorted. “We made beautiful music together, and then she kicked me out. She was only interested in one thing. Forget about making me breakfast.”

Go figure.
“Were you aware of any relationship she might have had with Professor Glenzer?”

Graham did a double take. “That crazy old man?
Please.”

“How long ago did you and Sarah hook up?”

Graham shrugged. “I dunno, a couple of months ago.”

“Thanks for your time. There’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?”

“Sarah had genital warts. You’d better get yourself checked out. I hear the laser surgery is a painful remedy.”

Graham’s cocky attitude drained from his face.

“Have a good day, Mr. Hanson.”

Father Hagen climbed into the front seat of his Cadillac.

“Well?” Pedro said beside him.

“They have the sword. The captain wouldn’t come right out and say so, but he wanted me to know they have it.”

“Can we get it from them?”

Father Hagen shook his head. “It will be very hard. You and I don’t have the influence it will take. The monsignor will have to make other arrangements. Will you be returning to Rome now?”

“No,” Pedro said. “Not until I’ve killed this Beast, with or without the sword.”

I was afraid of that
, Father Hagen thought.

“And I’ll need your help.”

Willy laughed as soon as they exited the building. “Sarah Harper did
not
have genital warts.”

“It felt good to watch that arrogant little shit squirm.”

They stopped at a hot dog vendor, and Patty lit a Marlboro Light while Willy bought a sausage loaded with sauerkraut and onions.

“I hope you have breath mints,” Willy said as pedestrians swarmed past them.

Patty exhaled. “Like your breath isn’t going to stink after eating that.”

Biting into the sausage, Willy gestured at a newspaper vending machine stationed on the sidewalk. “It’s starting already.”

The headline on the front page of the
Post
screamed, Greenwich Village Monster!

“Did you think it wouldn’t? Leave it to the
Post.”