The blood had soaked into the clothing. If we could find our creature, it would be covered in blood, too. The snow was surprisingly clean for the amount of carnage. There was a thick pool of blood to one side, at least a yard from the body, but right next to the body-size impression. The dead man had lain by that stain long enough to bleed quite a bit, then been rolled over on its stomach, where it had lain long enough for the skin to freeze to the snow. More blood had pooled underneath the body while it lay facedown. Now here the body lay faceup, but no fresh blood. The body hadn't been turned over the last time until after he was very dead.
I called up, "Who rolled the body over?"
"It was just like that when I came on the scene," Titus said.
"Holmes?" Chief Garroway made her name a question.
"He was faceup when we got here."
"Did Williams move the body?"
"I didn't ask," she said.
Great. "Someone moved him. It'd be good to know if it was Williams."
"I'll go ask him," Holmes said.
"Patterson, you go with her," Titus said.
"I don't need..."
"Holmes, just go," Garroway said.
The two deputies left.
I went back to looking at the body. Had to think of it as a body, couldn't call it a "him." If I did that, I'd begin to wonder if he had a wife, kids. I didn't want to know. It was just a body, so much meat. Don't I wish.
I shone the penlight on the mishmashed snow. I stayed on my knees, nearly crawling on the snow. Me and Sherlock Holmes. If the creature had come up behind the man, there should have been some mark in the snow. Maybe not a whole print but something. Every print I found wore shoes. Whatever had done this hadn't worn shoes. Even with a herd of squabbling cops trampling through there should have been some imprint of claws and animal tracks. I couldn't find any. Maybe the crime techs would have better luck. I hoped so.
If there were no prints, could it have flown in? A gargoyle, maybe? It was the only large winged predator that attacked man. Except for dragons, but they weren't native to this country, and it would have been a hell of a lot messier. Or maybe a lot neater. A dragon would simply have swallowed the man whole.
Gargoyles will attack and kill a man, but it's rare. Besides the nearest pack was in Kelly, Kentucky. The Kelly gargoyles were a small subspecies that had attacked people but never killed. They were mostly carrion eaters. In France there were three species of gargoyles that were man-sized or better. They'd eat you. But there'd never been anything that large in America.
What else could it be? There were a few lesser eastern trolls in the Ozarks, but not this close to St. Louis. Besides I'd seen pictures of troll kills, and this wasn't it. The claws were too curved, too long. The stomach looked like it had been cleaned out by something with a muzzle. Trolls looked frightfully human, but then they were primates.
A lesser troll wouldn't attack a human if it had a choice. A greater mountain troll might have, but they had been extinct for more than twenty years. Also they had a tendency to snap off trees and whap people to death, then eat them.
I didn't think it was anything as exotic as trolls or gargoyles. If there'd been tracks leading up to the body, I'd have been sure it was a lycanthrope kill. Trolls had been known to wear castoff clothing. So a troll could have tramped through the snow, or a gargoyle could have flown up, but a lycanthrope... they had to walk on na**d feet that wouldn't fit any human shoe. So how?
I would have slapped my forehead, but didn't. If you do that at murder scenes, you got blood in your hair. I looked up. Humans almost never look up. Millions of years of evolution had conditioned us to ignore the sky. Nothing was big enough to take us from above. But that didn't mean something couldn't jump on us.
A tree branch snaked out over the hollow. The penlight picked out fresh white scars against the black limb. A shapeshifter had crouched on the bark, waiting for the man to walk underneath. Ambush, premeditation, murder.
"Dolph, could you come down here a minute?"
Dolph walked carefully down the snow-covered slope. Didn't want to repeat my performance, I guess. "You know what it is?"
"Shapeshifter," I said.
"Explain." He had his trusty notebook out, pen poised. I explained what I'd found. What I thought.
"We haven't had a rogue lycanthrope since the squad was formed. Are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure it's a shapeshifter, but I didn't say it was a lycanthrope."
"Explain."
"All lycanthropes are shapeshifters by definition, but not all shapeshifters are lycanthropes. Lycanthropy is a disease that you catch from surviving an attack or getting a bad batch of lycanthropy vaccine."
He looked at me. "You can get it from the vaccine?"
"It happens."
"Good to know," he said. "How can you be a shapeshifter and not a lycanthrope?"
"Most often an inherited condition. The family guardian dog, beast, giant cat. Mostly European. One person a generation has the genes and changes."
"Is that tied to the moon like normal lycanthropy?"
"No. A family guardian comes out when the family needs it. War, or some kind of physical danger. There are swanmanes. They are tied to the moon, but it's still an inherited condition."
"That it?"
"You can be cursed, but that's really rare."
"Why?"
I shrugged. "You've got to find a witch or something with magic powerful enough to curse somebody with shapeshifting. I've read spells for personal shapeshifting. The potions are so full of narcotics that you might believe you were an animal. You might also believe you were the Chrysler building, or you might just die. Real spells for it are a lot more complex and usually require a human sacrifice. A curse is a step up from a spell. It's not really a spell at all."
I tried to think how to explain it. In this area Dolph was the civvie. He didn't know the lingo. "A curse is like the ultimate act of will. You just gather all your power, magic, whatever, and focus it on one person. You will them to be cursed. You always do it in person, so they know it's been done. Some theories think it takes the victim's belief to make a curse work. I'm not sure I buy that."
"Are witches the only people that can curse people?"
"Occasionally somebody will run afoul of a fairy. One of the old Daoine sidhe, but you'd have to be in Europe for that. England, Ireland, parts of Scotland. In this country it'd be a witch."
"So a shapeshifter, but we don't know what kind or even how they got to be a shapeshifter."
"Not from a few marks and tracks, no."
"If you saw the shifter face-to-face could you tell what kind they were?"
"What animal?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Nope."
"Could you tell if they'd been cursed or if it was a disease?"
"Nope."
He just looked at me. "You're usually better than this."
"I'm better with the dead, Dolph. Give me a vamp or a zombie and I'll tell you their Social Security number. Some of that is natural talent, but a lot of it is practice. I haven't had as much experience with shapeshifters."
"What questions can you answer?"
"Ask and find out," I said.
"You think this is a brand-new shapeshifter?" Dolph asked.
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"The first time you change on the night of the full moon. It's too early for a brand-new shifter. But it could be a second, or third month, but..."
"But what?"
"If this is still a lycanthrope that can't control itself, that kills indiscriminately, it should still be here. Hunting us."
Dolph glanced out into the darkness. He held his notebook and pen in one hand, right hand free for his gun. The movement was automatic.
"Don't sweat it, Dolph. If it was going to eat more people, it would have taken Williams or the deputies."
His gaze searched the darkness, then came back to me. "So the shapeshifter could control itself?"
"I think so."
"Then why kill the man?"
I shrugged. "Why does anyone kill? Lust, greed, rage."
"The animal form used as a murder weapon then," Dolph said.
"Yeah."
"Is it still in animal form?"
"This was done by a half-and-half form, sort of a wolfman."
"A werewolf."