Page 69 of Wild Wolf

"I don't know what to tell you. You’re barking up the wrong tree.” He forced a laugh. "I'm not dressing up as a werewolfrunning around town. That seems dangerous. You're likely to get shot with the way things are around here. The island is flooded with crazies.”

"That much is certain," I said. "You mind if we take a look around your apartment? I'd love to see your work."

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"Like I said, I really need to get to class.”

"It will just take a minute," I said. "We won't disturb anything."

"Do you have a warrant?”

"No, but we can get one.”

Oren shifted uncomfortably again. "If you really think I'm a suspect, then you should get a warrant. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. I need to get dressed."

Oren closed the door and latched it.

"That's our guy," Jack said.

"100%,” I said. “There's no doubt in my mind he still has the suit. You don't get rid of something you worked that hard to build. And it's gotta be covered in blood.”

"You think he’s keeping it at the apartment?"

I looked at the ground. JD and I scanned every inch of it as we took the switchback staircase down to the ground level. There wasn't a drop of blood on the concrete.

"I don't think he would walk through the apartment complex wearing the suit,” I said. “He's probably got some kind of case or bag to store it in. If he was smart, he wouldn't keep it at the apartment. Oren’s a bright guy. But he's got a blindside."

"It's in the trunk of his car. He goes out cruising around, looking for unsuspecting victims. Finds a place to park, suits up, does his dirty work, comes back to the car, gets out of the suit.”

It was as plausible a theory as any.

I called Denise and asked her to run background on Oren. She pulled up his DMV records and told me he drove a black Corsa K4. It was a sporty hot hatch, popular with twenty-somethings.

JD and I made our way to the parking garage and searched for the vehicle. We found it in a space parked on the second level. The residents had assigned parking. For an extra fee, you could get two spaces.

We went over the car with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any traces of blood on the door handles, seats, trunk lid, or dash.

There was nothing.

The car looked like it had recently been washed, and the dark-tinted windows made it hard to see inside.

There was no doubt in my mind that the cargo area had to contain blood transfer evidence—unless Oren was smart enough to line it with plastic then dispose of it after each kill. The retractable cargo cover made it impossible to see the contents.

I called the sheriff and updated him on the situation.

"How solid are you on this guy?”

"I’d bet my career on it."

"You two don't have careers. You’re volunteers.”

"You know what I mean."

"I'll put a deputy on him 24 hours a day. You two can take the first watch.”

"I think our resources are best spent elsewhere.”

"Why did I know you were going to say that?”