Wolftown, Part Two

The wolf charged John. He yanked the antiquarian bookshop’s door open and squeezed into the bookshop. Simultaneously, Schuster activated his lights and sirens, and accelerated, and began firing his gun.

As the bookshop door closed, the wolf cracked the glass. Schuster’s car hydroplaned and skidded sideways onto the curb. John flattened himself on the floor but had seen the wolf gallop away.

Schuster stood in front of the bookshop and continued firing. John rushed out, hands raised, and saw the wolf dodge from a doorway to an intersection.

“Hey! Stop! It ran away! Stop! I was in a safe place! The wolf couldn’t attack!” John also yelled other comments.

Schuster alternated chasing and shooting the wolf, radioing throughout, and John chased Schuster. The wolf crossed the intersection a second time and bolted down the block.

Just when two patrollers and a wolfjäger splashed up, Schuster emptied his magazine, and the wolf turned a corner.

“Are you okay?” Schuster reloaded.

John took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Schuster resembled a snapped rubber band five minutes ago, but now he looked glued together, and the glue was still wet.

“The wolf isn’t, but I’m fine,” John said.

The armed patroller asked, “Why were you chasing the wolf away?”

“Okay, guys, everything is fine.” John wondered why Schuster tolerated the patroller’s revolver.

“Come on, Dogzilla.” The wolfjäger and handler ran, but the other patroller asked,

“He aided and abetted a suspect. I heard him.”

“You go that way and around in a circle.” Schuster pointed.

“But he helped the wolf.”

“I was present at the time.”

Over the patroller’s objections, Schuster said, “Mr. Dalton, you can go ahead and lower your hands.”

John did.

Schuster spoke deliberately and firmly. “Let’s get back on track. Circle the block, meet up with your partner, and patrol. Radio observations.”

The patroller complied.

“Okey-dokey, we will be stuck here for a while because I discharged my weapon,” Schuster said.

“Your arm is bleeding.”

“It’s fine. I mean we will be here. You are a witness now. Let’s go back to my car.”

“Have I broken a law?” John asked.

“No, sir, but you witnessed the wolf, and Wolftown would appreciate your cooperation in the investigation.”

John understood little of Schuster’s radio message.

“I’d like a lawyer to be present before I say anything,” John said.

“Okay, no problem.”

Sitting in the police car with the door open, Schuster juggled fresh bandages and the radio, both urgent issues. Once John noticed, Schuster accepted his help with the bandage. It was the first time John saw sutured wolf bites in person, and the shooting had torn and separated several stitches. The long pattern and the smaller punctures matched a large carnivore’s teeth, and the welts and scratches were inconsequential.

Schuster and the police dispatcher struggled to send more police officers to the scene. He told a patroller with the other police officers to lend his walkie-talkie to Officer Matthews. “You guys are two blocks away and can’t get anybody here?” Schuster asked. Convincing Officer Matthews to use his radio, Schuster forced himself to speak calmly and evenly. Then his volume increased with every word: “No, Dustin, I’m not going to investigate my own shooting alone! Come on! Get your asses over here, damn it!” He restrained further outbursts and regained his composure.

Finally, the supervisor intervened, and Schuster’s taut rubber band tendencies relaxed.

Observing Dogzilla, John wondered if some people reported false sightings: a wolfjäger misidentified as a wolf. Dogzilla was approximately the same size as a Great Dane, St. Bernard, or English mastiff. His tail and head resembled a German shepherd’s, though his pointy ears sat further apart, closer to a wolf’s position. Soaked fur emphasized his pointer dog shape. Medium-long, bushy fur covered him—mottled and darker on his back and sides, with a light underbelly, and pale facial and leg markings. Especially in low visibility and from a distance, a frightened person unfamiliar with comparing canines might become confused.

On John’s last trip, he met a wolfjäger breeder, Ruby Klug, who said that Germans bred the dogs to hunt wolves and bears. Wisconsin banned hunting wolves, and the dogs mangled anything smaller than a fox. Most hunters trained the wolfjägers for elk and deer.

In 1982, some wolfjägers escaped Ruby Klug’s property, and two or three bred with wolves. Though she, Happy Howlers, animal control, and government departments searched and captured some, the wolf-wolfjägers caused mayhem. Then they mauled a young girl to death. Wolftown requested the public’s assistance in trapping or killing them. The effort succeeded. Although many people supported euthanizing them, Wayne welcomed them into Happy Howlers and had them sterilized.

Between the patrollers’ suspicions and the risk of another attack upon the wolf, John decided to accept Schuster’s offered ride. He overheard an argument between Schuster and another policeman, whom Schuster thought should take John to the police station and question him. The policeman, Matthews, thought he had more important duties. They compromised: Schuster transferred John, and Matthews would question him when time allowed.

Regarding riding in a police officer’s car, John was less than thrilled. He felt all right with Schuster, who uncovered police corruption, which threatened his career. Though John considered himself minimally cooperative, Schuster accepted his hesitations.

Schuster searched and handcuffed John, assuring him it was routine for both people’s safety and particularly important because John rode in the front seat. Foster’s blood had soaked the backseat and dried. Though Schuster rinsed the floorboard and wiped down the interior, blood dribbled and dotted the police car. Also, his bitten arm had stained the driver’s side.

“You’re a wildlife biologist, right?” Schuster asked.

“Yeah, though I’m more familiar with African, Asian, and South American animals than with wolves.”

“How did you end up on three continents?”

“I worked for a charity concerned with the illegal wildlife trade.” Mentioning that he burned out and quit seemed thoughtless, compared to Schuster’s recent experiences.

“Believe it or not, I really hate seeing animals suffer.”

“I agree with you about that, but I was okay in the bookshop.”

“Can I ask you a question that is about wolves?”

“Sure.”

“I couldn’t tell visually, but I fired seventeen times. We found fifteen bullets, and one of them went through the wolf.”

John prevented himself from saying, Poor wolf, aloud.

“I’d say I shot it three times. If it’s the same wolf, I shot it five times total today, and one of the shots grazed it,” Schuster said.

“In the same day?” John asked.

“Yeah. My question is, should the wolf be dead, let alone able to attack?”

“It survived somehow, but it should be dying, and too weak to find a safe place to die.”

“I was trying to kill it both times. I hit its hip and chest.”

“It shouldn’t have galloped.”

“Did you see blood?”

“No, but it was moving fast, and I couldn’t see well. The rain probably washed off blood, too,” John said.

“I’d say he was high if he was a human, but he is a wolf. Here we are.”

Schuster parked behind Wolftown City Hall.

Wolftown’s police station was inside City Hall, and Schuster brought John through the police entrance. In an office area, one police officer worked at a desk. A middle-aged woman knocked on the Chief of Police’s office and entered.

Schuster looked around the seated people and pointed John to the lawyer. Kevin Miller snored under a newspaper, but fumbled and rustled to the surface.

“Hi. Sorry to wake you up,” John said.

Kevin waved it aside.

“Officer Lang said you were a lawyer?”

Kevin nodded, standing up in black socks, and shook John’s hand. “Kev—” he yawned, “excuse me.”

“My name is John Dalton,” John said. “Officer Schuster said to wake you up.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Kevin Miller. I offer any legal services people need, issues with the wolf are pro bono.”

“How did you know?”

“I came here yesterday for that purpose, among others. I might not be available otherwise. Let me wake up for a moment.” Kevin stretched, then retrieved his black shoes from under the chair. He wore a loose paisley tie, partially untucked white shirt, and a brown suit; the jacket hung over the chair’s back.

Kevin tidied up in the restroom. John wondered how he managed to fall asleep in the awful chairs.

In one of two interrogation rooms, John told Kevin what happened since his arrival in Wolftown. Kevin asked, “Does something specifically bother you?”

“The local authorities sanction killing the wolf, and I’m worried if a man with a wolfdog murdered people, the wolfdog will be killed,” John said.

“Other than professional concerns, what concerns you?”

“The corruption,” John asked.

“It is completely separate from the wolf attacks. You may feel better if you know the Chief of Police is unavailable,” Kevin said.

John raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“There are strong reasons to prefer the Deputy Chief of Police,” Kevin said.

“Vincent Woods. Honestly, I think you have scarcely anything to worry about. You can expect routine questions. Why would anybody suspect you?”

“I grew up in a bad LA neighborhood. I made two of my life goals not being shot at by anybody and not being killed by a gang. I don’t want to see a police shooting, too.”

“The police supervise the patrollers closely, but they have been threatening or going beyond their authority. I know what people think of them, and how police respond to them.”

John and Kevin made small talk while waiting for Officer Matthews’ arrival.

Officer Matthews rushed, impatient for the questioning’s ending. Kevin predicted the questions accurately, until Matthews left, and Lang entered with two evidence bags. Both held fur, one wet and one dry.

“Just a moment,” Kevin said. “Why are those pertinent?”

“They may help our investigation,” Lang said.

Pointing between John and Lang, Kevin said, “I would like a minute alone with you, then him, or you, then him. Either order.”

“Me first,” Lang said.

Kevin opened the door a minute later, calling into the lobby, “You had opportunity yourself, Danny!”

“Oh, go tell him,” Lang said.

“He expects me to tell you.” Kevin sat.

“About what?” John asked.

Lang stuck his head in. “You wanted him to be informed before I questioned him and if I told him, you would want to listen, and if you listened, you would find something objectionable.”

“Why didn’t you say so first?” Kevin asked.

Lang muttered, “End with the strongest point,” as the door shut.

“We grew up together,” Kevin said.

“You seemed to know each other,” John said.

“Have you been to the local museum, by any chance?” Kevin asked.

“Last time I visited. I understand that some Wolftown residents think the wolf is a werewolf or böxenwolf. It’s a kind of werewolf?”

“Yes, and I think Lang will ask you about them. How do you want to answer?”

“I’ll tell them I don’t know much about them, and I’d be telling the truth.”

“I can easily stop the böxenwolf line of questioning. Just say so, anytime.”

“But why do the böxenwolves matter to the police?” John asked.

“I highly doubt the police force in general believes in the böxenwolf, as in, believing a man can turn into a wolf. Who could turn from one thing into something else? But just the same, we can’t separate Wolftown’s emergency procedures from the böxenwolf legend. Maybe at some point, the emergency procedures and laws will change, but at the moment, we have them. Wolftown laws state that being a böxenwolf in and of itself is not a crime and that a person who commits a crime while being a böxenwolf cannot receive a lighter or heavier sentence or unlawful treatment owing to his transfigured state. It was a reaction to Germany’s treatment of werewolves. Maybe I can predict the questions.”

“Sure,” John said.

Kevin’s questions included idealizing wolves or having an interest in tanning and taxidermy, German folklore, alchemy, and Satan. According to legend, the Devil gave a person a wolf pelt girdle or belt that transformed the wearer into a wolf. But in exchange for the gift, or as a condition of receiving the wolf strap, the wearer either performed the Devil’s work or the Devil possessed him. Therefore, Kevin explained, in the 1980s Wolftown, people voluntarily turned wolf straps over to the museum or police. Without mentioning specifics, Kevin said that modern experiences contradicted the occult theory. Wolftown citizens owned wolf straps; police found all kinds of things in crime scenes. He doubted Lang would ask about Satan, but the idea mattered to the legend and Wolftown’s history.

Lang asked if John had been to Germany or Poland, killed a wolf, or acquired an uncured wolf pelt or a cured wolf pelt product, or instructions for tanning a wolf hide. He omitted questions Kevin considered unlikely—like idealizing wolves or having an interest in alchemy, German folklore, or tanning and taxidermy.

“This is an example of a suspicious object.” Lang passed John an evidence bag holding a strip of dry fur. “Can you identify the object?”

John felt sorry for the animal. “It looks like a wolf strap from the museum, but I don’t know if this was the one I saw on display or not,” he said.

“Do you notice anything about it?”

“Why?” Kevin asked.

“I’m asking him as a wildlife biologist and because he had some idea about what it was.”

“I’ll answer,” John said. “Can I look at it up close?”

“I brought a pair of gloves and a magnifying glass. Don’t let it trail on the floor.”

The bag listed the fur’s dimensions (about five feet long and seven inches wide), so John pulled out one end, from which dangled a rawhide string. He examined it. “It is a cured strip of animal fur, probably from a wolf or a coyote. I think it is wolf fur, though. Wolves have darker fur on their backs and lighter fur on their bellies, but I can’t tell if it came from the wolf’s back or side. The fur is white and grey, probably from an older wolf. A wolf grows a thick undercoat in winter and sheds it in the spring, and the fur doesn’t have an undercoat. The wolf was probably killed in summer.”

John thought the muddy fur belonged to a young but full-grown wolf, and it died in spring or autumn. The strip changed color from creamy to mottled brown and black, and along with its shorter length, indicated the skinner lay the hide flat and cut side-to-side instead of lengthwise.

The wolf straps’ musty, stinky wolf odor had faded, but the first strap smelled like the plastic bag and the second like Wisconsin’s forests and mud. Furs he sniffed in second-hand stores absorbed perfume, cigarette smoke, closet must, or dry-cleaning chemicals, none of which applied to either wolf strap.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Lang said. “You are free to leave now.”

“I’d still like to offer assistance or stay to observe,” John said.

“Mayor Dwyer knows, and you need his permission.”

Lang suggested waiting with Kevin, since the wolf response used a buddy system, among other teamwork, close contact, and communication methods. Kevin was willing. To demonstrate cooperation, John agreed.

Since John needed to update Paula, his boss, Kevin directed John to a pay phone and returned to his seat.

“If you don’t feel safe now, you will feel less safe later, and don’t forget about the floodwaters,” Paula said.

“I won’t. I want to stay and find out what is going on. I’m making more observations now than I could last time. If it gets too weird, I’ll leave.”

“Weird how? The werewolf?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to express it yet, but I’m thinking of something. I think we would miss a lot if we came back later, and I don’t know if it would be a cover-up or people unwilling to talk to strangers.” John spoke over Paula, who stopped talking. “Somebody can find out if they try, but a lot of people wouldn’t try, or they overlooked something, or something has to fit the right way to be understood, or people have impressions. Somebody reconstructing events wouldn’t figure it out easily, and I don’t think I could understand it. I don’t know if multiple observers could, or if they would come to one conclusion. I’m wondering if a local could, but I don’t know if they would try, or if they want to. Sorry, I interrupted. What did you say?”

“Be careful,” Paula said. “Thinking of something else?”

“Like I said, I don’t know what I’m thinking yet.”

“Now, be really careful.”

“I’m probably fine, but the wolf isn’t. I’ll call again before leaving City Hall.”

(Next part coming Friday, June 21, 2024.)