Raised by Wolves

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

THE KOKANEE CREEK police station occupies half a small brick building in the center of town; the other half houses the public library. Across the street there’s a hair salon and a pub; down the block there’s a cafe, an antiques store, a kayak rental place, two churches, and the Dollar General.

In other words, the town of Kokanee Creek isn’t much more than a wide spot in the road.

Chester helps the girl out of the car and escorts her into the station, while Randall takes the boy. Pearl Riley’s on dispatch, and her eyes go wide when she sees those rough-looking kids. “Are they from the Grizzly?” she gasps.

“Call Lacey,” Chester tells her. “Have her bring food.”

He turns to Randall. “I don’t know if they can’t tell us who they are, or if they won’t , so we’re going to have to figure it out for ourselves. See if anyone’s reported missing kids. Runaways, maybe. Start with Washington, Oregon, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho—but go wide. They could be from anywhere. Call Dr. Meyer, too. We’re going to need physicals. Drug tests.” He runs his hand through his graying hair. “We got any extra socks lying around?” he asks Pearl. “If not, see if Lacey can find some.”

Chester takes the girl by the elbow and maneuvers her over to fingerprinting. As he raises her cuffed hands to the ink pad, he takes in how hard and calloused they are. She’s got the palms of a weatherbeaten rancher. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, before pushing her thumb into the ink pad. “It’s just for identification purposes.”

She holds herself perfectly still and silent the whole time. So does the boy, for all ten fingers, but he pants audibly.

“You’re doing good,” he says to the kids. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

The boy gives a little whimper. His ferocity’s all gone. His thin shoulders slump.

“We’re going to need to keep you here for a little bit,” Chester goes on. “Till we figure out where you belong and find whoever’s looking for you.”

“If them two were mine, I’d say good riddance,” Randall mumbles.

Chester glares at him before turning back to the kids. “I hope you can continue to stay calm, because it’ll be a lot more pleasant for all of us that way.” The girl glances nervously at the jail cells with their peeling paint, their old-fashioned bars and locks. “Yep,” he confirms. “That’s where we’ve got to put you for now.”

As they approach the first cell, a figure calls out from one of the concrete beds.

“Who ya got there?” Dougie Jones rasps. Dougie lives ten hard miles outside of town, so last night he’d put himself in jail to sleep one off. “Is that Ray? I told that fool not to drive.” Dougie sits up and rubs his eyes. Does a double take. “Well, slap my ass and call me Susan, you’re mighty young to be scofflaws!” He grins at Chester. “All you need is two more criminals and you’ll have to hang a No Vacancy sign on the jail.”

“Or you could leave ,” Chester points out.

Dougie considers this. “Maybe after snack time.”

“There is no snack time,” Chester says.

Dougie shrugs. “Hope springs eternal.”

Once the kids are inside the cell together, Chester reaches through the bars and removes their handcuffs. “You’re safe here now,” he says. “When we find your folks, we’ll do our best to get you out of here. Though that won’t necessarily be the end of your troubles.” He shakes his head. “What were you thinking, acting like that?”

The silent girl just stares at him. But the boy walks over to the far corner and turns to face the wall. It takes Chester a second to realize what he’s doing.

“Hey!” The little shit’s pissing in the corner, four feet away from the toilet. “What the fuck!” Then Chester shakes his head. “Okay, I get it. You had to mark your territory. Because you’re a damn wolf or whatever.”

The boy turns around and bares his teeth in what might be a grin.

“They ain’t even housebroken?” Dougie cries.

“Pearl!” Chester yells. “Randall—one of you. Bring me some Lysol and towels.” Pearl comes hustling over, and Chester takes the supplies and shoves them through the bars.

Chester watches the girl struggle to make the spray nozzle work. Is she stupid? he thinks. Strung out? Finally she manages to squirt the cleaner on the floor, and then she wordlessly directs her little brother to wipe it up.

Chester offers them soapy paper towels for their hands and faces next. It won’t make them smell better, but he figures that at least it’ll get the blood and dirt off.

By the time these various messes are taken care of, Lacey’s walked down the street with takeout from her diner, and the smell of burgers overpowers the smell of Lysol. The boy comes up to the bars, sniffing madly.

“Miss Lacey brought you some food from her restaurant,” Chester tells him.

“My cook called in sick,” Miss Lacey adds, “so I made it myself.”

The kid snuffles the bag all over, drooling, before his sister takes it away from him and opens it.

She looks up at Chester with her cold gray eyes. “Thanks, Officer,” she says. “And thank you to Miss Lacey, too.”