“An animal?” Landeta asked.
Louis stood up suddenly, pacing a slow tight circle. “This is nuts,” he said.
Landeta was reading something. He looked up. “Listen to this,” he said. He began to read another passage from Man Into Wolf.
“‘Murderous sadistic assaults are sometimes committed by well-educated, highly intelligent persons with no previous convictions or with a record showing no more, at worse, than minor sexual irregularities.’” Landeta closed the book. “Or so says the good doctor Robert Eisler.”
“Shrinks. It’s all bullshit,” Louis said.
“Not always,” Landeta said. He pushed the magnifier lamp away and sat back in his chair, looking at Louis.
“All of us get desperate enough to do bad things,” he said. “For most of us, it’s just selfishness, but for a few, it’s something darker at work. Face it, we’re all just a couple of genes removed from the things that crawled out of the slime.”
The clock chimed again, ten times.
Landeta rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired,” he said. “My eyes have had it.”
“Mel, come on —-”
“No,” Landeta said firmly. “Tomorrow. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
Louis hesitated then nodded. He pocketed his notebook and started to gather up the reports and books he had brought.
“Leave the books, okay?” Landeta said.
Louis put the books down and began picking up the empty bottles and the pizza carton.
“Leave that, too. I can do it.”
“Okay. We’ll get back on this tomorrow at the station.”
Landeta’s eyes were shut but he nodded. The man looked bone tired. Louis started to the door.
“Kincaid.”
Louis turned.
“Look, you’re right,” Landeta began, “about the way I’ve been acting.”
“Forget it,” Louis said.
Landeta shook his head. “I have a lot of shit to deal with right now. You were just in the line of fire. I’m sorry.”
Louis just nodded.
“See you at the station,” Landeta said.
He shut off the magnifying light and his face fell into the shadows. For a brief moment, Louis found himself thinking about Landeta’s own selfishness, how it had driven him to hang on to his badge. He wondered what it must be like for him. It was one thing to stop seeing yourself as a cop. It was another thing altogether to stop seeing anything at all.
Louis let himself out of the apartment and went down the hall into the lobby. The door banged shut behind him and he paused on the steps. A heavy shroud of humid night air wrapped itself around him, smelling of the river close by. He drew in a deep breath and looked up.
There was no moon tonight. A moment later, he heard a sound, like a low wail, coming from Landeta’s apartment. It was Ray Charles again, singing “Blackjack.”
Louis looked back up at Landeta’s window, then started down the empty street.
CHAPTER 33
Louis glanced up at the clock. It was nearly two a.m. He had left Landeta’s apartment more than three hours ago, but he was still pumped up.
He looked back down at the book he had been reading, but the words seemed to blur and hover on the page. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was tired of looking at Latin, tired of trying to decipher words he didn’t understand.
He looked at Issy, who was sitting on one of the books, staring at him. He reached out and ran his hand along her back. The cat arched under his touch and rose, stretching and moving away. Louis picked up the book she had been lying on and looked at the spine. The Myths and Customs of the Asturian People.
He had forgotten that Frank had written something about Asturias in one of the wolf books. Louis leaned back in the chair and opened the book.
One of the first pages was a map of Spain, with a blue section in the north that identified Asturias. Louis opened to the first chapter and read:
Once an ancient kingdom, now the principality of Asturias remains somewhat isolated from the rest of the world. It is one of most beautiful yet least known areas of Spain. Flanked by mountains in the south and the sea to the north, Asturias has been protected from the influences of the invaders that have flowed through Spain throughout the centuries. The result is a folk culture distinct from that of the rest of Spain, with a strong Celtic and Roman tradition stretching back over thousands of years.
Louis thumbed through the book. He stopped at a chapter Frank had dog-earred, titled “Asturian Rites of Passage.” Louis scanned the chapter, stopping when he came to a section called “The Festival of the Wolf.” He read slowly:
In classical Rome, February 15 was celebrated as Lupercalia or festival of the wolf. Teams of young men gathered in a cave on Mt. Palatinus where they sacrificed dogs and goats. They would then smear the blood on their bodies, dress themselves in the animal skins, and competed in a race, which drew huge crowds of observers. The ritual involved the men running through the villages and attacking women in the crowd, whipping them with narrow strips of goat skin, which was supposed to appease the gods and encourage fertility. But for the majority, the ceremony was merely a venting of emotional passion. The enormous crowds, the impatient suspense, and the watching of the naked men made for an occasion of wantonness.