Night Howl by Andrew Neiderman Page B

he saw King standing defiantly and confidently over Bobby’s folded body. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind until he suddenly realized what it was he saw in the dog’s eyes. There wasn’t any fear; there wasn’t any hate. There wasn’t even any recognition. It was as though the dog were in a trance, as though the dog had been hypnotized.
    That’s why King was so gentle when the police arrived; he wasn’t aware of what he had done!

5
    H ARRY M ICHAELS C OULDN’T remember a time when he had gone up to the Community General Hospital and not seen the emergency room packed with people. It frightened him. The year-round population in Sullivan County wasn’t that big. Someone once told him more people worked within the World Trade Center in New York City than lived in the entire county, yet there was all this sickness, all these accidents, all this confusion and pain. He imagined that working in the emergency room could distort a person’s view of the world. It seemed more like a battleground.
    He went out to the waiting area, got himself a cup of coffee from the machine, and then went to a pay phone and called Jenny. As he expected, she was quite sarcastic, but he enjoyed it. In fact, he’d made the phone call because he needed to hear her caustic wit.
    “Well, maybe I’ll wrap everything up and bring it to you. I’m sure we can eat our dinner off a small table in the waiting room. They won’t mind.”
    “You’d just better go on without me, Jenny.”
    “I suppose you’re right. If I didn’t like eating alone, I’d be half the size. Johnny called. I told him he should call person-to-person whenever he wants to speak to his father. In the long run, he’d save money.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “Dottie’s pregnant.”
    “Again?”
    “You should sound prouder, Harry. It means another grandchild.”
    “But on his salary ... four children?”
    “That’s what happens when the husband is home more than he’s away, Harry. We’re lucky we had two. I guess I shoulda thanked old Chief Stark for giving you an hour off here and there.”
    “All right, Jenny. I’ll be home as soon as I finish up here.”
    “ ’Night, Harry,” she sang. “Everything will be in the fridge as usual.”
    He had to laugh after he hung up. They broke the mold when she was born, he thought, but he was grateful he had found her. She was really his source of strength. Despite what she threatened, she’d be waiting for him when he arrived at home, and his dinner would be warm. Afterward, she would have him relate all the details and she would reminisce some more about Ken Strasser and his wife. Tomorrow there would be a cake for him to bring up to Charley Strasser’s house.
    He took another sip of his coffee and looked at his watch. When he turned around, he saw Steve Blocker, the district attorney, and Lieutenant Carlson of the state’s I.D. bureau coming down the corridor toward him.
    “Evenin’, Harry. You know Tom Carlson from I.D., don’t you?”
    “Yes I do,” Harry said. He had met Carlson on at least three other occasions during the last few years, and each time he had come away with the same bad impression. Most of the state people he knew were intelligent and skillful but unassuming. He wasn’t left with the feeling that the pro’s had come in to take over where the country bumpkins left off. They made himfeel important and essential to any investigation. But Tom Carlson was different. He was smug and egotistical. His handshake was quick and perfunctory, as though Harry were the doorman.
    Carlson was a slim six-footer who obviously took great pleasure and pride in his physical fitness. He stood erect, shoulders back in a military posture. His sport jacket looked custom-made; the firmness in his shoulders and arms was evident. Harry always liked to relate people to movie stars. Carlson, unfortunately, was good-looking and reminded him of Roger Moore. He imagined that Carlson thought himself to be the