Читать книгу Wolf Tales II - Kate Douglas - Страница 6

San Francisco, California—January 1986

A gun-metal-gray sky closed in upon the small group of mourners standing near an open grave. Ulrich Mason glanced down at the tiny hand clasped in his and wondered once again how any father went about explaining death to a six-year-old.

Mommy’s gone to live with the angels? That, of course, raised the question of why Mommy loved the angels more than she loved Tia or Daddy. God needs Mommy in heaven? How could God possibly need Mommy more than they did? Mommy belonged here, alive and laughing, her strength a tangible support in the structure of their lives.

The small fingers wrapped in his large hand trembled. Ulrich took a deep breath and closed his eyes against the pain.

Damn you, Camille!

How the hell could she leave them like this? Damn her, she’d done things her own way, in spite of the risk.

How the hell was he going to survive without her?

And what about Tianna? Ulrich leaned down, lifted his daughter easily, and held her tightly against his shoulder. The expected, “I’m a big girl, Daddy. Put me down,” went unsaid. Instead he felt Tianna’s bony little frame shudder, heard her soft, broken sigh, then lifted his chin to make room for the defeated press of her head against his throat. She tucked herself tightly under his jaw. Tianna’s wild frizz of blond curls, so beautiful against her deeply bronzed skin, tickled his ear.

The minister’s soft words floated in and out of Ulrich’s reality. Caught in the rhythm of Tianna’s warm breath against his throat, he inhaled her clean, fresh-soap, little-girl scent. He was only peripherally aware of the scuffling and quiet movements of the few mourners standing around the grave and the steady hum of traffic on a nearby freeway.

Ulrich let his memories wander back to Camille. Warm and alive, she paused just outside his consciousness, smiling that secretive, seductive smile that had caught and held him so neatly just eight short years ago.

He felt her warmth, her love, her strong, courageous nature, and, most of all, her amazing sensuality surrounding him, holding both of them close. Camille’s beautiful eyes, caught somewhere between green and gold, sparkled in the sunlight. She raised her hand, her silky skin shades darker than their daughter’s, and beckoned him, calling….

A soft tap on his shoulder yanked Ulrich back. He blinked, noticed the minister had closed his Bible, saw the other mourners now talking quietly among themselves. Ulrich turned slowly to see who had touched him, who had dragged him away from visions of Camille.

A tall, powerfully built young man wearing Marine Corps dress blues stood beside him.

“Captain Mason?”

Ulrich shifted Tianna’s slight weight in his arms. She sagged against him, asleep finally after so many sleepless nights. “Yes. I’m Ulrich Mason.”

As tall as Ulrich and darkly handsome, the mourner could have been any young marine officer, though there was something about him, something Ulrich sensed beneath the clean-cut surface. A friend of Camille’s? A lover? Ulrich didn’t recognize him—at least, not at first.

“I…” The man looked away, down at his sharply polished shoes, back at Ulrich. “I am…”

The truth exploded in Ulrich’s mind, took the breath from his lungs. Suddenly made sense in a most horrible manner. “You are the one who shot my wife.” Ulrich nodded at the man’s stricken look. “I thought so.”

“I am so sorry, Captain Mason. It was a horrible accident, it was…”

“It was inevitable.” Ulrich sighed and rubbed his chin against Tia’s silky crown. Suddenly he felt much older than his forty-three years, and very, very tired. He stared into the younger man’s amber eyes, eyes very much like his own, very much like Camille’s, and knew exactly what he had to do.

“You…this…all of it makes Camille’s death even more tragic, if that is at all possible.” With one last glance at the dark scar in the earth, the final resting place for his beloved wife, Ulrich turned away.

The young man waited, obviously confused. Ulrich stopped. “Aren’t you coming?”

“With you?”

“Of course.” Impatient now, facing the path he knew his life must take, Ulrich shifted his small daughter’s weight in his arms and led his wife’s killer across the wet grass toward the parking lot.

Ulrich tucked the soft blanket under Tianna’s chin, brushed the tangled strands back from her forehead and left a light kiss on her temple. He watched her a moment as she settled into sleep, so much like her mother in spite of her lighter brown skin and yellow hair, it made his heart ache. He backed away quietly with a prayer in his soul that somehow they would find a routine, a way to go on.

Without Camille. He’d never imagined anything like this. He’d always thought he would die first, of course…but not for many, many years. A slight sound from below caught Ulrich’s attention, brought him back to his place here in his daughter’s doorway at the head of the stairs. There was no use putting it off any longer. With a last glance toward Tianna, Ulrich went down to talk with the man who had changed all their lives with a single, well-placed gunshot.

It felt terribly awkward, waiting here in the living room, surrounded by photos, keepsakes, and the almost palpable essence of the woman whose life he’d ended. Waiting while her grieving husband put their beautiful daughter to bed, wondering why he’d agreed to come here, knowing there’d been no other choice.

Lucien Stone reached for a small portrait on the mantel and looked into the eyes of Camille Mason. He’d seen pictures of her, snapshots in color and black and white, photos the press had splashed all over the front page in the five days since she had died, but not this one. Not one of her smiling into the lens, laughter evident in the sparkling eyes, the deep dimple on her left cheek. Damn, other than Tianna’s lighter coloring, their daughter was the spitting image of her mother. What was she now? Five, maybe six…. Tianna Mason was going to drive her father crazy someday…along with every little boy in the classroom.

Luc was still staring at the photo when Tianna’s father entered the room.

Carefully he set the picture back on the mantel and turned toward Ulrich Mason. A rookie cop fresh out of the marines, Luc had heard of Mason, though never met him before. As big as the San Francisco Police Department was, Luc knew very few officers outside his own precinct.

The huge man stood on the last step. His broad shoulders stooped, his entire body shouted exhaustion, grief…the misery of a strong man brought down.

All Luc’s fault. If only…

Ulrich straightened and was immediately the imposing, intimidating figure Luc recalled from the publicity photos, the standard shots of the young police captain whose beautiful wife had been tragically killed.

Mason’s demeanor and voice commanded attention. “You’re still a rookie, aren’t you? New to the force?”

“Yes, but…”

Ulrich stepped into the room. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened last Friday, exactly what you saw.”

Luc took a step back, challenged by the quiet threat in Mason’s voice. He fought an unexplainable urge to grovel at Mason’s feet. “It’s in the reports, sir. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

“No. Not your official report. I’ve read it, the one that says you saw a naked African-American woman run out of the woods and thought she was a threat to a group of schoolkids. Tell me, Officer Stone, what really happened. Exactly the way you recall. What you saw that night. This is between you and me. It’s not for the police. It’s not for any court proceedings, nor any investigation. It’s for me. Camille Mason’s husband. I want the truth.”

The truth. Did he really believe anymore? Luc stared down at his hands, remembering. When he looked up, Mason was handing him a glass of brandy. A peace offering? The crystal goblet reflected the light from the overhead chandelier and felt warm in the palms of his hands. Luc took a deep breath and almost smiled at the stupidity of his next move.

He would tell Ulrich Mason exactly what he saw before he killed the captain’s wife.

First Luc took a long swallow of the brandy and blinked against his quick tears from the potent liquor. He cleared his throat and stared into the glass as he spoke.

“I was patrolling north of the park, close to the Presidio. There was an ‘all points’ out. Someone had spotted a wolf running near Fulton Way. It sounded absurd, but the orders were real and the dispatcher seemed serious. The caller said the animal snarled at a group of tourists and then disappeared into the bushes as though headed back into Golden Gate Park. Since I was close, I went for a quick look. I thought I heard screams coming from a wooded area near the Japanese Tea Garden. I drew my weapon and ran toward the sound.”

He paused here, at the point where the truth he told Mason differed from the official story in his report. “That’s when I saw it. Not a naked woman, definitely a wolf. Beautiful, alert, not at all like the pathetic creatures you see in a zoo. The animal turned and stared at me…. It wasn’t afraid but I was stopped cold by a sense of uncanny intelligence, of almost human understanding.” Luc paused, shook his head in denial, then whispered, “I had the strangest feeling, as if the wolf knew something about me, some great secret.”

He turned and looked at Mason, caught in the image, the sense of wonder, of disbelief he’d felt. A wolf in Golden Gate Park! Mason stared back at him, unblinking.

“Just then a group of five or six kids came racing around the bend in the walking trail. They were screaming their heads off. I couldn’t tell if they were scared or playing, but they headed right for the wolf. I shouted at them but I don’t think they heard me. The wolf turned and crouched down low. I could see its teeth and I thought it might attack. It looked threatening, ready to spring. The kids were coming closer and I just reacted. I shot it. There was a moment of silence, the recoil of the gun in my hand…. I’m amazed I was accurate at that distance.” Again, he shook his head.

“I swear the wolf understood exactly what I’d done. It looked right at me again, and the really odd thing was, I felt almost like it was trying to talk to me, somehow to communicate. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I…” Luc hung his head, feeling horribly sad, not a little bit foolish. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and looked up, directly into Mason’s eyes. “I thought, for the briefest of moments, that the wolf forgave me, that it understood why I had to shoot it, but I know that’s impossible.”

He shrugged away the image—those intelligent eyes, the beautiful creature he’d killed. If only…Shaking off the sense of disbelief, Luc slowly continued. “Before I could react, the animal dropped in its tracks. The kids scattered, still screaming. By the time I reached the clearing, they were gone. Detectives were able to locate a few of them. They all heard the gunshot, but not one of them saw the wolf. They thought I was shooting at them and that’s why they ran.”

Ulrich Mason sipped at his brandy. His eyes were so deep-set, it was hard to tell their color. Luc had the strange sense he was gazing into his own eyes.

“What happened next?

Once again Luc stared into the brandy, wishing there were some way to change time, to return to the man he’d been before. He took a deep breath, remembering, and had to clear his throat to speak.

“I radioed for backup. I didn’t say I’d shot a wolf. I mean, in Golden Gate Park? I couldn’t believe it. I reported I’d fired my weapon and might have hit a large dog. Then I went to check on the wolf, to make sure it was dead. Instead of a wolf, I found a woman lying in the grass, naked. She was young, African-American, very beautiful. I checked for a pulse but couldn’t find one. I’d aimed for the wolf’s shoulder, hoping to hit something vital. The bullet had gone through her chest. She was dead. It wasn’t until the next day I discovered the woman I killed was your wife.”

Luc sat down hard on the leather couch, the brandy snifter clutched in both hands. He still had no idea how it had happened. How his bullet, intended to protect a group of children, had killed a woman. “I swear, Captain. I saw a wolf. I did not shoot at your wife. I don’t know how the hell…”

Almost to himself, Mason whispered, “Always, you did it your way. Ah, Camille. I never dreamed…” Mason sighed. “Let me tell you about my wife, about Camille.”

Luc felt the sofa dip as Mason sat down next to him, but he continued staring into the amber depths of his brandy.

“First, though, difficult as this is, I must thank you. You’ve been truthful even though your mind disbelieves what your eyes have seen.”

Luc raised his head and stared at Mason. The older man looked back at him, his eyes the same odd shade of green and amber as Luc’s. Why, Luc wondered, did that seem so terribly important?

“As unbelievable as it sounds, when you saw the wolf, you saw Camille, my wife.” Mason looked away. He coughed, rubbed his hand across his eyes. Luc felt as if his own heart broke, mortally wounded by the fathomless pain in the other man’s voice.

“She was unique in many ways, a woman of the forest. A woman destined to be my mate, the perfect match for me…but she was not what she seemed. Camille was not merely of African-American descent. She was a member of a unique race, a separate species, actually, long forgotten, often misunderstood. A species that gave rise to fearful legends and fantasies, almost all of them false. Still, she was impetuous, often careless, but always beloved. She was Chanku.”

“What?” Luc leaned back to better see Ulrich. The man appeared lost in his own world of dreams and thought. “What do you mean…Chanku?”

“Chanku. A species of wolf native to the Himalayas.” Ulrich turned and looked straight into Luc’s eyes. “A species of wolf, but also human. Interchangeable, able to shift from one form to the other, with the intelligence of a human yet all the senses of its wild counterpart. The wolf you saw was my wife. The shift back to her human roots occurred at the time of her death. Camille, myself, our daughter…and, if I am not mistaken, you, Lucien Stone, are all Chanku.”