Blood Hunt

“No, just wanted to see how you’re doing. Ed serenades me when he’s worked this shift.” She sounded wistful.

Garreth smiled. “I won’t try competing with him.” Or risk some FCC voice breaking in to tell him his signal did not conform to regulations and now he needed to fill out a stack of forms explaining the violation.

Cutting across the tracks from the Sonic to work his way down the other side of Kansas Garreth took note of the vehicles parked in the lot beside the VFW. Employees inside cleaning up, but with an extra one tonight, parked close to the street. A Dodge Caravan that still remained when he drove up the alley later. He pulled in behind to check it and noted a handicap placard hung on the rear-view mirror.

“That van is Martin Lebekov’s, Maggie’s father,” Doris said when he ran the plates. “Has something happened to it?”

Garreth quickly moved to check inside the vehicle and found a man lying sideways across the front seat… snoring. The man in the wheelchair leaving earlier. The wheelchair sat where a rear seat normally would and the van had hand controls. “No, it’s 10-4.” He hoped. He shook Lebekov. “Sir…Mr. Lebekov. Wake up.”

It took shaking him several times for Lebekov to groan and push himself upright…white hair, weathered skin, big powerful-looking hands, both legs ending at the knees. Garreth recognized him now as one of the mechanics at A-1 Auto. He squinted at Garreth. “Who are you? What’s wrong?” Then the squint focused on Garreth’s badge and he groaned. “What time is it?”

“About two. Are you all right?”

“Not really.” He sighed. “A member died today, Rich Wiltz. He was a Navy pilot in the Pacific in World War II and broke his back when he got shot down. They said he’d never walk again but he did, and carried mail here for thirty years. We were toasting him and I got toasted, too.” He smiled wryly. “I thought maybe if I just rested a little I’d be okay to drive home, but…maybe not.”

“We can call someone to come after you, Maggie or your wife.”

Lebekov shook his head. “I lost my wife ten years ago and I hate to wake up Maggie. She worries enough about me already.” He grimaced. “But I suppose I have to.”

“Tell you what,” Garreth said. “I’ll drive you home, and if you give me your keys and tell me how to work the controls, I’ll come back after my shift and drive your van home. Maggie doesn’t have to know you broke curfew.”

Lebekov grinned. “Done.” On the way home with the wheelchair folded in the rear seat of the patrol car, he said, “Maggie’s talked about you, I mean, complained about you. She thought there had to be something wrong with you to come work here. But now I understand you had a bad experience out there?”

“Yes.” To change the subject he said, “You’re too young for World War II. Did you lose your legs in Korea?”

“Oilfield accident after Korea. Some pipe rolled on me. You’re single, right? You ought to ask Maggie out.”

That change of subject caught him flat-footed. “Ah, Mr. Lebekov — ”

“Call me Martin. Look, Maggie is too serious. She needs to get out and have some fun but she says all the single men here are neanderthals, either thinking her being a cop is a joke or they want to be humped in handcuffs. Not that a roll in the hay wouldn’t be good for her, just not that way.”

Garreth said nothing. He hoped that was alcohol talking, and Martin remembered none of it in the morning.

The rest of the shift passed quietly and after he delivered the Caravan, Garreth went for his blood run with four quart bottles tucked in a backpack. He filled them from six steers and by the time he finished had collected an audience of two coyotes. They stayed back at his orders but like the coyote that first night, seemed fascinated by him and accompanied him most of the way back to town. Falling into bed, memory of the run lingered with him, the exhilaration of moving effortlessly through a beautiful October night, the stars brilliant in a moonless black sky, the coyotes running like ghosts around him. All that spoiled it was the memory being his alone. With dawn pulling him into sleep, Garreth reflected that Helen Schoning had it wrong. Solitude was lonely if you never had anyone to share a memory with.

10

Maggie left typing reports that evening to follow Garreth into the locker room, face tense. “I woke up last night when I heard someone in the driveway and saw you getting my father out of your patrol car. What did he do?”

“Nothing wrong.” Garreth buckled on his gear belt. “He had a few too many in honor of Rich Wiltz and I gave him a ride home.”

Her face relaxed but still reflected uncertainty. “You could have called me.”

“Why bother waking you?”

“What about the van?”

“After my shift I drove it to your place. Martin thought you’d worry not seeing it there in the morning.” Garreth settled the belt more comfortably on his hips. “He says you worry too much about him.”

Her face tensed again. “What else did Dad say about me?”

Before she finished the question, Garreth had a lie and innocent expression ready. “Nothing. Why?”

She let out her breath. “No reason. Thank you for helping him.” After a moment of hesitation, she smiled and added, “Let’s be careful out there.”

The mantra they all had now, thanks to Hill Street Blues, but not what she first considered saying, he thought. Still, watching her hurry out, the warmth in that smile was enough, reassuring him the last frost had melted.

Though what he really wanted, he decided as the week wore on, was the key to dealing with Duncan. No need to be buddies but working together would be more comfortable without this intermittent flare of resentment.

As on Wednesday, when Sue Ann dispatched Duncan to a domestic between a mother and daughter. Duncan radioed back, “I’m not getting between those two wildcats again. Let Seven work his voodoo on them.” And later he pulled up beside Garreth outside Gfeller Lumber to say, “Were the Ketzners fun? Though I don’t suppose they gave you any trouble.”

In fact they had, being so angry they fought his control. It had been a tightrope walk, focusing alternately on mother and daughter, always on the edge of losing them…until the daughter obeyed his suggestion to go to her room. A retreat punctuated by a slamming door as she left his control.

“You know,” Duncan said, “you’re so good at this, you’re probably going to end up handling all the domestics. Unless you teach me the secret, too.”

Garreth sighed. “I’ve told you, I don’t know why people and dogs respond to me the way they do. Maybe I have an authoritative voice.”

“Okay.” Duncan spread his hands. “Keep it to yourself. But that’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.”

After Duncan left, Garreth banged his head on the steering wheel in frustration…and went off to take a report on Halloween decorations stolen from a yard. Something they would probably have to deal with several times in the next two weeks. The up side: the address let him cruise past Anna Bieber’s house afterward.

Anna stood on her porch talking to a neighbor woman at the bottom of the steps.

Garreth pulled to the curb and climbed out. “Hello, Mrs. Bieber. How are you doing this evening?”

Anna peered at him. “Do I know — oh, you’re the young man looking for his grandmother.” Her brows rose. “What are you doing in a police uniform?”

He smiled at her. “I like Baumen so well I decided to settle here.”

Her forehead furrowed. She seemed about say something when his car radio came on. “Baumen Seven, we need a welfare check on Hattie Cromer at 203 East Maple. Her daughter in Victoria has been trying to call her for several hours without getting an answer.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Garreth touched the brim of his cap and hurried back to the car.