Page 23 of The Evening Wolves

Emery’s line of sight to Jem was cut off as he approached the side of the station. Next to a steel door, a bucket of sand was peppered with cigarette butts. Technically, the no-smoking policy included the parking lot, but in practice, too many officers and civilian employees smoked to make the policy realistic—at least, that was what people told Emery. As a result, this door saw a fair amount of use during the day shift. It also meant that the snow here was trampled and packed, and that Emery would leave no sign of his approach.

At the front of the building, Jem hammered on the security glass and called, “Hello? Hi, hello? Is anybody in there?”

Emery fished out a key. John, of course, had been required to surrender his keys while he was suspended from duty, and Emery had turned in his official set when he’d resigned. The reality of a small town and an equally small police department, where no-smoking policies weren’t enforced and other, similar regulations saw equal disregard, was that a lot of things never got recorded. A spare key, for example, if you left yours at home one day. And Emery hadn’t bothered to return that one, on the off chance it would be useful. Until now, it hadn’t mattered—John had keys to everything. But tonight—well, tonight, Emery was grateful for that little bureaucratic incompetence.

“Oh my God, thank you,” Jem said. “This cat ran out of nowhere.”

He even sounded upset. Maybe, Emery thought, he should send Colt to boarding school while Uncle Jem was in town.

The key slid into the lock, but when Emery tried to turn it, the lock didn’t budge. He stared at the key for a moment. Then common sense asserted itself. He tried the key again, making sure it slid all the way home, and jiggled it. This time, the lock turned, and Emery slipped inside.

Warm air, full of the scent of toner and wet winter clothing and the station’s old furnace, met him in a darkened hallway. An emergency light hung a pale cone farther down; from above Emery, the red wash of an exit sign fell over him. Distantly, he could hear someone talking—the voice sounded like it was coming from the front of the building, and it sounded like the person was annoyed, which meant Jem was doing his job.

Emery moved quickly down the hallway. His first stop would be John’s office, which meant—most likely—picking the lock. It would also require him to cross the bullpen, where he’d be exposed. It would be the most vulnerable moment of the operation—

The lights came on, and for the first moment, they were blinding. Emery blinked as his eyes adjusted, trying to make out the shape standing in front of him.

“God fucking damn it. Are you kidding me?”

“Dulac?”

The lights went off, and once again, Emery was blind. He waited, listening as steps moved down the hall toward him.

In the shadows, Gray Dulac was an outline: average height, slim build, the lines of his clothing suggesting a suit. He smelled like something medicinal—a liniment, maybe—and like unwashed hair and a chemical fruitiness. The latter was explained when he produced a vape, hit it, and jetted a thin stream from the side of his mouth visible only in the vape’s LED glow.

“What the fuck,” he asked, “are you doing?”

“What are you doing? Isn’t it a bit late for you?”

“I was asleep at my desk until some jerkwad started pounding on the doors. Jesus, that was you too, wasn’t it?” Dulac hit the vape again, and the artificial smell filled the space between them. “This is some kind of joke, right? You’re not serious with this shit, are you?”

After Emery had resigned from the department, Dulac had been John’s partner. He was, in spite of his natural fuckboy tendencies, a competent detective. Or had been. Half a year earlier, a killer had left a light bulb trap, and Dulac had activated it. Shards of glass had damaged his face and one eye, and his recovery had been slow and uneven. He was back on active duty, which Emery considered a mistake—Dulac might be physically fit for duty, but the emotional and psychological damage were still a long way from being healed.

“I was just picking up some of John’s stuff.”

Dulac pocketed the vape. He rubbed his face. “That’s what you were going to tell someone?”

“John is entitled to his personal property, but I thought it would be easier if I came—”

“And broke into the station from the smoke pad?”

“In other scenarios,” Emery said, “whoever found me would not have known how I entered.”

The red light from the exit sign seemed to vibrate.

“Bad luck,” Dulac said.

“Admittedly poor planning. I haven’t slept much. And I’m emotionally dysregulated.”

Dulac laughed. “I bet that’s making you fucking crazy.”

“More or less.”

“What about the cameras?”

“Why would someone have reason to review the security cameras?”

“Ok. What about John-Henry’s computer?”

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