Chapter 17
Marshal Boyd's crisp, blue eyes tracked Maxim as he made his way to his desk. The detective made it to work a bit late, still rough around the edges. Without a word of greeting, he slung his jacket over his chair, dropped his hat on his desk, and went for the coffeemaker.
It was a new machine, or rather, an old machine that had been newly donated by one of the officers. Since there were nine desks in the station and eight personnel, the extra workspace was treated as a communal area. The desk was often used by visiting investigators and auditors. It was stocked with a computer, an empty filing cabinet, and now, a single drip coffee machine.
Maxim poured himself some overcooked brew and sneered when he saw it was the last of the pot. Not only would he be forced to drink the sludge but office courtesy obliged him to prepare the next batch. As he set the filter in place, he considered dumping his cup out, but the anticipation of caffeine won out and he sipped it. It had a bit of a kick, and Maxim liked that.
Maxim heard footsteps approaching and turned, casually leaning on the desk. "Good morning, Marshal."
"Good morning, Detective. Since you were out at the reservation last night, I won't mention your tardiness."
"I thought you just did."
Boyd shook his head in a quick, spastic move. He jumped around too much. He was too eager. His sprite-like actions and boyish features were easy targets in the police station, but his last few years working the job had earned him some respect.
"Let's talk about the Seventh Sons," he said.
Maxim finally surveyed the room. The only other officer in the station was Kent. He sat at his desk typing a report, but his ears perked at the marshal's statement. The motorcycle club was the most notorious subject in town, and this new murder was the biggest event since the Paradise Killings.
"I know the Seventh Sons need to be treated as suspects, but it doesn't hold for me so far."
Boyd raised his eyebrows. "That would be great. The last thing we need is for the motorcycle club to be involved. I already have the FBI asking me questions."
"About what? Why?"
"Carlos Doka. The Civil Rights Program sees this as a possible hate crime."
"Fuck that," spouted Maxim between sips of coffee.
"A Native American skinned and strung up on a tree is not a simple act of passion. You said it yourself. There's a message here. After last night's development, it's clear the Yavapai are the target of that message."
"I don't dispute that, Marshal, but this has to do with more than just race." The detective wondered if Boyd knew that already. Maybe he was just allowing the angle to play with the feds to keep away different lines of inquiry. The only thing worse than a race war for Sanctuary was a gang war. The Seventh Sons could have been eviscerated last year. The whole point of the deal Maxim had made with Gaston was so things like this didn't happen again. If it turned out that the MC was involved, there would be an outcry. People would wonder why changes didn't happen the year before. There would be a lot of blame to go around. Heads would roll.
Maxim hoped he wasn't betting on the wrong people.
"Detective, the FBI calls, I listen. We don't need them invading Sanctuary as long as we have a handle on things. The key is to prevent a war between the Yavapai and the Seventh Sons. There are two fronts to fight here. The immediate need is security. We are stepping up patrols and maintaining an active presence across town. I don't know why that body turned up in city limits but we're not getting another one."
Maxim nodded. It was a good move, and it covered their asses if he was wrong about the Sons. Staying out of the limelight, especially hiding from federal eyes, was the driving motivation of a wolf pack. Killing Doka publicly, bringing the body into town—it didn't make sense for the club.
But perception was a hell of a beast. If the public believed the Sons were guilty, the hammer would swing. The marshal's father was the mayor, and if Maxim was a betting man, that was the link to the Seventh Sons. It would explain why the department had protected them in the past. Why it didn't want them in trouble now. The political angle was something Maxim had stayed away from. It wasn't a game he liked to be involved in. Now, he began to wonder if it was a key to the murder.
"What's the other front we need to fight?" asked the detective.
The marshal smiled. "That's where you come in. We need to catch this killer. If you really believe the motorcycle club isn't responsible, then someone else's crime is about to get them, and us, into hot water. Announcing that we caught the murderer is the quickest way to appease the public."
"You mean the Yavapai."
As far as perception went, the opinion of the tribe was paramount. Kelan and the mercenaries had been judge and jury last night. They screamed for blood. As wolves, they'd be able to get it too. Boyd was right to take the oxygen out of that fire.
"They're going to be trouble," admitted Maxim. "And the tribal police won't be any help. Have you talked to them about releasing the skin to us?"
"They won't do it, but they've allowed Dr. Medina to examine it. The family has also demanded we return the body for cremation."
"Well they can't get it. It's part of an investigation."
"They won't, Detective. Not yet. But it might go a little way towards appeasing them."
Maxim understood the sentiment but placed little stock in it. Then again, he figured they had all they were going to get from the body. The DNA had been collected, the lab tests initiated. The body had told them all it could say. It wouldn't help them catch a killer at this point, only confirm the killer once they nailed him.
Maxim hesitated. He didn't want to ask but figured it was better to clear the air. "What about the CDC?" Boyd's eyes bore into him. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention was tasked with containing werewolf outbreaks. They had not sent a replacement agent to the Flagstaff area since the Paradise Killings. It was only a matter of time.
"A sick person dying is not their concern." The marshal spoke lightly, as the subject required. Kent was probably listening, but he was already in on the secret. Not all officers were, but seeing a prisoner transform before his eyes and nearly kill him had allowed him entry into the exclusive club. When Marshal Boyd referred to a sick person, he meant someone infected with late-stage rabies, otherwise known as lycanthropy. "When a sick person kills a healthy person, then we need to notify them. That's why I want this stitched up fast."
Maxim understood. He wasn't so sure what to do next. The police had searched all day yesterday and had not found the pistol used in the murder. No witnesses had come forward. It was like the body had been dropped out of thin air.
Chapter 18
Wicasa sat at the kitchenette table. His tired eyes had the grim look of experience, as if the sad weight of truth was the inevitable burden of time. Kelan, representing the polar opposite, was too indignant to sit. His muscles were taut. Kayda wondered if he had gotten any rest the night before. She knew that she hadn't.
After the horrific reveal of her dead brother, a mob had built up. Maxim had taken her back to the house but returned to the scene to coordinate with local police. She hadn't seen him again.
She had cried in her grandfather's arms before retiring to the guest room, frightened and unsettled. Her dreams had brought her nothing but disturbing images. Her brother's skin lay on the floor, curled and grotesque. A susurrant voice beckoned her with words that were beyond comprehension. The body began filling with a ghostly spirit; it struggled to stand. Carlos was inside, yearning for answers. Kayda kept calling for Kelan but was ignored. She was alone with Carlos. Empty flaps of skin stared at her, eyeholes with the depths of hell behind them. And his crumpled, twisted arm reached for her.
Kayda shook the thought from her head. Kelan and Wicasa turned at her sudden motion. She wanted to explain but didn't know how. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes.
For the first time, the hard lines around her brother's face relaxed. He put his arms around her and made a calming noise with his voice.
"What happened to him?" she cried. "I saw him in my dream, begging for help, but no one was inside. I don't even know if it was him."
"There's nothing to worry about, Kay." Her brother spoke with a strong confidence that assured her. "I'll fix everything."
She stared blankly past him, past the guilt. In a way, she had always expected this outcome. Carlos was a wanted criminal. He had always acted precipitately, without remorse or caution. How could this
not
have happened? "How?" she asked.
Kelan simply shook his head. She could hear his words repeating in her head.
Stay out of it.
She knew he didn't want her involved. For now, she didn't argue. She just closed her eyes and yielded to her tears.
"He had the wolf's strength," said their grandfather softly, "but not its wisdom."
Kayda felt her brother tense up again. He turned away from her. "He asked for your wisdom, grandfather. Remember? Where were your words of guidance then?"
"His ambition was louder than this old man before you. Do not let your anger drown me out as well."
"Or what?" demanded Kelan, leaning forward onto the table to give the old man a defiant look. "You'll turn your back on me as well?"
Wicasa smiled. It was an expression filled with more pain than Kayda thought possible. But love was in his eyes as well. It was as if he were scolding a young boy for his own good. "When you were young," started the old man, "you had wide eyes for the world. You used to look on it with hope. You once told me you would scale every mountain in Arizona. You used to try so hard with the other boys. But you were smaller than them. You couldn't run faster or climb higher or swim farther. You never had the physical gifts of your older brother, yet you remained so hopeful."
Kelan drew back, suddenly disarmed. Kayda had never heard about a young, hopeful Kelan before. He was ten years older than her. He and Carlos had always been cut from the same cloth, as far as she had known. But recognition was in her brother's eyes. A remembrance of something he once was. Of something lost.
Suddenly the mundane moment became overwhelming. Magical. The three family members understood each other unequivocally. No denials or accusations were spoken. Nobody stormed away or tried to change the subject. They paused in the kitchen as the bond between them became something tangible. Something real and hard and unbreakable.
Wicasa took a long breath and slowly shook his head. "I never blamed you, sweet Kelan, but I have never forgiven Carlos for what he did to you."
And just like that, the moment shattered. Kelan spun away, his defenses at full alert, his anger welling. "This again!" he exclaimed, moving to the other side of the room. His shoulder carelessly brushed Kayda as he passed. "The wolf is a part of me now. It could have killed me, but it didn't." Kelan turned to face his grandfather, scowling at having his childhood weakness revealed. "Don't you see, grandfather? I'm not that powerless little boy you remember. I proved strong. I lived. Carlos knew what was inside me. He knew his bite wouldn't kill me. He was the only one in this family who ever put that kind of faith in me. But ever since then, you thought us animals."
Wicasa shook his head again. "I do not blame the wolf for its nature. I blame the little boy."
Kelan shoved the first loose object he could reach on the counter. It was an old plastic toaster and it exploded against the wall in a rain of burnt crumbs. "And this is what comes of turning your back on your family," he said solemnly.
"Keekee," chided Kayda, seeing the wounded look on Wicasa's face. "He didn't mean for this to happen. None of us did."
"But it happened," returned Kelan. "We need to deal with it."
"First," cut in Wicasa, his voice sounding more authoritative, "we need to understand it."
The old man gestured for them to sit down. Kayda didn't feel like it but she respected her
pahmi's
wishes. Kelan stood firm, attentive but willful.
"Many nights ago," said Wicasa with a reverent wistfulness, "during a period of long drought, Wolf searched desperately for water. Days passed. Wolf was dying. His bones began wilting from the inside out. But then he saw Crow in the sky above him, flapping his strong wings proudly. Wolf followed Crow as he flew across the plains until he landed by a small bank of water and drank. Wolf was hungry and thirsty and couldn't believe his good fortune. He ran at the water, guzzled greedily, and snapped at Crow any time he neared. 'Stand your ground, Wolf,' said Crow. 'There is more than enough water for the both of us.' Wolf laughed and said, 'But I am hungry as well, and it is my nature to devour the weak, just as it is yours to fly away from the strong.'"
Kayda and Kelan stood surprisingly silent. They had heard about the wolf and the crow before. Wicasa was a sage of the tribe, passing on the old stories, which he thought were more than trite lessons. It had been so long for Kayda that she smiled as she heard the words, both familiar and foreign, as if they were a homecoming.
The old man continued. "So Crow did what was in his nature and flew away. Wolf laughed and drank and filled his belly. But then the watering hole dried up, and Wolf went thirsty again. This time a great storm cloud came into the sky. It approached slowly and, just when Wolf could not take it anymore, thunder cracked, and it rained.
"But Crow flew under the cloud and spread his wings. The rain never made it to the ground, and Wolf was never able to drink. 'I am of the sky,' said Crow. 'It is my nature to soar, and it is yours to scurry below. So go, Wolf. Scurry. Scrounge. And look to me no more.' And so it was that Crow taught Wolf a lesson."
Kayda smiled as her grandfather finished. It must have been ten years since she'd heard the parable. It made her reminisce about her childhood on the reservation. The folktale didn't have the same effect on Kelan.
"This is all we are now," he intoned. "Storytellers. All this talking and sitting. We're content to let our greatness slip away like it never was. Well, that's not good enough for me. You can talk of wisdom and animals and lessons. I'm going to teach the Seventh Sons that the Yavapai are strong."
"And so the wolf is destroyed by his own nature," said Wicasa.
Kelan scowled. "There's more to the story, grandfather. That's the short version—the one in the children's books. Carlos always told me that the wolf eats the crow in the end. That it gets the last laugh. And besides, I'm not gonna let words stop me from avenging my brother." Kelan stormed from the kitchen and Kayda followed.
"Where are you going?"
"Keep away from this, little sister. Keep away from me."
"I want to help."
"This is no place for schoolgirls."
"Carlos was my brother too. I won't just forget about this!" Kayda screamed the last part just as Kelan was about to leave the house. Her brother turned to her, hard lines etching out his scorn.
"That dream you had was a charade. You think Carlos would have turned to you for help? We don't need you." And he was gone, the door slammed in his wake.
Kayda stood at the edge of the kitchen, feeling brittle again. She leaned against the wall and pondered Kelan's words. "Maybe he's right. Carlos picked on me just as much as the others. In fact, everybody in the tribe wanted to be like him. They probably picked on me
because
of him. Carlos was the last person who would have sought my help."
She heard the metal leg of the chair scrape against the kitchen tile and turned to see her grandfather standing up. "Let me help you,
Pahmi
." She moved to support the man but he brushed her away.
"Wolves and wisdom," he said. "They are stories, but they are told for a reason. You are a woman. You don't have the strength." Kayda didn't say anything. For a moment, she thought her grandfather was taking Kelan's side. "You lack the wolf," he said. "To compete, you need to be wise."
The words hit the young woman like a rock. She thought about the crow and the wolf. She thought about her brother's crumpled skin, reaching out to her. Then she thought about the raven, flying high above the Jewel of Prescott. The hunter's moon.
"Who are the Seventh Sons?" she suddenly asked with razor focus.
Her
pahmi
glared at her. It was clear he didn't want to answer, but he surprised her by doing so. "Wolves. Criminals. Associates of your eldest brother."
"The other Paradise Killer? She was one of them?"
"She was their leader. Like Carlos, she crumbled under the weight of her decisions. Shame has been brought to both our families. Now your brother is in the same danger. The blood of brothers is a vile stimulant. It incenses the body into action."
"I want to help,
Pahmi
."
He nodded slowly. "So you do not mean to leave us?"
Kayda bit her lip. She tried to hide her shock. How did her grandfather know she was just stopping by? But then she understood the deeper meaning of his question. If Kayda truly wanted to help the family, what else was she willing to put off for it?
"I... I don't know. I'd like to help. We both know that Kelan could use a level head."
He nodded. "And what would you do?"
Kayda ruminated on the question. It made her feel silly because she didn't have a strong answer. She bet her brother already had a plan. He was probably already working at it. "I need to understand first. Carlos was killed in Sanctuary. That police officer talked to me last night. He already knew Carlos was dead. I need to talk to him again. And maybe talk to the Seventh Sons."
It wasn't a good answer, but she knew her grandfather would approve. Information seeking was his way, not warfare. "Wiha, you must open your eyes. Attune yourself to the world." He led her to the garage door and opened it. "See what everybody else sees, but understand more. Then you will see more."
Kayda beheld the dusty garage as her grandfather flipped the light on. It was filled with tools and boxes and old keepsakes from her grandmother. The room was used as storage instead of housing cars and had a musty smell, as if the door hadn't been opened in a long while. But one thing didn't fit.
Kayda passed the boxes and lifted a tarp. Underneath it was a motorcycle, black and rusty and worn. The girl had grown up around the bike. She'd hitched a ride on it before but had never driven it. It belonged to Carlos. It was his hobby. Not many of the other Yavapai had followed suit.
"Your brother left it here when he got a new one," he said. "The police have that one now, I think."
Kayda turned back to the bike and ran her fingers along the metal handlebar. It was rough under her skin.
"I want you to have it, Wiha. If you need to go to Sanctuary, you have my blessing. If the Yavapai depended only on the wolf, then we would doom ourselves."
It was clear they shared the same worry: Kelan might do something rash. Kayda didn't see how her involvement could harm anything, but she also wasn't sure what she could do to stop her brother. He had a mind of his own, more than ever, now that Carlos was dead.
"Is it true what Kelan said?" she asked plainly. "About the wolf eating the crow at the end of the story?"
Her grandfather's lips stiffened. After a moment of hesitation, he finished the folktale.
"Wolf and Crow made a pact. They agreed to be friends and help each other. But the next time Wolf was hungry, he pounced on Crow and ate him up. 'You should have known,' he said. 'It is my nature.' Then when the rains came he drank and drank and worried about Crow no more. But the rains didn't stop. The clouds kept coming. The rivers widened and the waters rose, overtaking the land. Mighty Wolf climbed the highest mountain, fighting off all the other animals who tried to stand with him and save themselves. And the tide kept climbing. 'Where are you, Crow,' he cried, 'that could pick me up and fly me to safety?' Even as the sea flooded over him, Wolf never saw his mistake."