Well, they were called werewolves so she supposed wolf was the preferred term. It certainly seemed more socially acceptable than dog. And just think, before Henry came into my life, I never used to worry about things like that... She'd have to remember to thank him.
"That's right." Peter nodded. "Our family owns a large sheep farm just north of London, Ontario... "
The pause dared her to comment but Vicki kept her expression politely interested and her mouth shut.
"... and Silver was shot in the head when she was out checking the flock."
"At night?"
"Yes."
"We thought about telling the police that someone had shot one of our dogs," Rose continued, "and at the time that's all we thought it was, some dickhead with a gun who had no way of knowing she was anything more. These things happen, people lose dogs all the time." Her voice broke on the last word and Peter butted his head against her knees. She threaded her fingers through his hair and went on. Touch appeared to be important to them Vicki noted. "But the last thing we need is police roaming around and asking questions, you know, seeing things, so the family decided to deal with it."
Peter's lips drew back off his teeth; long and white, they were his least human feature.
If "the family" had caught up to Silver's killer, Vicki realized, justice would have little to do with the law and the courts. A year ago she would have been appalled at the idea, but a year ago she'd had a badge and things had been a lot simpler. "So what did you tell people who asked where your Aunt Sylvia had gone."
"We told them she'd finally decided to join Uncle Robert up in the Yukon. She always talked about doing it so no one was very surprised. Aunt Nadine - she was Aunt Sylvia's twin... " Rose swallowed again, hard, and Peter pressed closer. "Well, she stayed out of sight for a while. Twin bonds are pretty strong with our people and she kept having to howl. Anyway, Monday night, Ebon - Uncle Jason - was shot in the head while he was out checking on the ewes with fall lambs. No one heard anything and we couldn't find a scent anywhere near the body."
"High velocity rifle, probably with a silencer and a scope," Vicki guessed. She frowned. "Sounds like quite a marksman; to hit a moving target at night... "
"Monday was a full moon," Henry broke in. "There was plenty of light."
"Wouldn't matter with a scope. And there wasn't a full moon the night Silver was killed." She shook her head. "A shot like that, two shots... "
"That isn't all," Rose interrupted, tossing something across the room. "Father found this near the body."
Vicki flailed at the air and the small lump of metal landed in her lap. Silently cursing her lack of depth perception, she dug around in the folds of her shorts and when she fished it out, stared down in puzzlement at what could only be - in spite of its squashed appearance - a silver bullet. She closed her teeth firmly on her instinctive response. Your uncle was killed by the Lone Ranger?
Henry reached over her shoulder and plucked the dully gleaming object from her palm, holding it up to the light between finger and thumb. "A silver bullet," he explained, "is one of the traditional ways to kill a werewolf. The silver is a myth. The bullet alone is usually enough to do the job."
"I can imagine." A .30 caliber round - and Vicki knew the slug had to have been at least that large to have maintained any kind of shape at all after traveling through flesh and bone and then impacting into the dirt - fired from a high velocity rifle would have left very little of Ebon's head in the wake of its passing. She turned again to Rose and Peter who had been watching her expressionlessly. "I take it that a similar bullet was not found by your aunt's body or you'd have mentioned it?"
Rose frowned down at her brother then they both shook their heads.
"Doesn't really matter. Even without the bullet, the pattern points to a single marksman." Vicki sighed and leaned forward on the couch, resting her forearms on her thighs. "And here's something else to think about; whoever shot Ebon was shooting specifically at werewolves. If one person knows you're wer, others will too; that's a given. These deaths could be the result of a community... "
"Witch hunt," Henry put in quietly as she paused.
She nodded, not lifting her gaze from the twins, and continued. "You're different and different frightens most people. They could be taking their fear out on you."
Peter exchanged a long look with his sister. "It doesn't have to be that complicated," he said. "Our older brother is a member of the London police force and Barry, his partner, knows he's a wer."
"And his partner is a marksman?" All things considered, it wasn't that wild a guess. Nor would it be unlikely that said partner would own a .30 caliber rifle when any six people in any small town would likely own half a dozen between them.
The twins nodded.
Vicki let her breath out in a long, low whistle. "Messy. Has your brother confronted his partner about this?"
"No, Uncle Stuart won't allow it. He says the pack keeps its trouble within the pack. Aunt Nadine convinced him to call Henry, and Henry convinced them both that we should talk to you. That you might be our only chance. Will you help, Ms. Nelson? Uncle Stuart said we were to agree to whatever you charge."
Peter's hand was back on her knee and he was staring up at her with such single-minded entreaty that she said without thinking, "You want me to find out that Barry didn't do it."
"We want you to find out who did do it," Rose corrected. "Who is doing it. Whoever they are." Then, just for an instant, the fear showed through. "Someone is killing us, Ms. Nelson. I don't want to die."
Thus lifting this whole discussion out of the realm of fairy tales. "I don't want you to die either," Vicki told her gently. "But I might not be the best person for the job." She pushed her glasses up her nose and took a deep breath. Both deaths had occurred at night and her eyes simply didn't allow her to function after dark. It was bad enough in the city, but in the country with no streetlights to anchor her, she'd be blind.
On the other hand, what choice did they have? Surely she'd be better than nothing. And her lack of vision didn't affect her mind, or her training, or her years of experience. And this was a job that would count for something, it was important, life or death. The kind of job Celluci still does. God damn it! She could work around the disability.