Chapter 12

Although you can technically get from one end of Central Park to another in about 10 minutes, given the fact that the total area is 840 acres, and this Gypsy is directionally challenged, it took me around 40 minutes to find the crime scene.

The sun was setting, the tourists going back to their hotels, and the true residents of New York were starting to come out. I knew I needed to hurry if I didn't want the area to be compromised. Plus I was pretty sure that whoever was out about now would not have seen anything of any use.

CSI had done a great job collecting all of the evidence, but there is something to be said for actually going to the area where the crime had taken place. Not to mention trying to find someone that might have actually witnessed it.

The first thing I noticed was that we were dead in the middle of the woods in a place called The Ramble. It was far from pretty much anything but forests, more forests, and a lake. I mean, it was beautiful scenery, but a little too far out of the way for someone to want to go on their own. The worst part was that there were no cameras around to catch a glimpse of the murder.

A part of me was hoping that it was going to be close enough to the Central Park Zoo to be able to say that an exhibit got loose and killed the guy.

Well, that would explain the bite mark I guess, but that bullet wound was harder to figure out. Could it be that the victim was shot first, the body left in the middle of nowhere and a wild animal came and took a chunk out of it?

I would have to wait for Kowalski to come back with the M.E's report before we can really narrow down anything.

I left the Park and returned to the office to wait for my partner.

It took him an hour and a half before he showed up with the M.E's report. He silently handed me a copy and went to sit down at his desk.

"How did it go?" I asked, willing to be somewhat friendly. No point in making enemies if you don't have to.

"Fine," he snapped.

Ok then. That was that.

I shut my mouth, found my own chair, and began to study the report.

The first thing I noticed? The bullet was a 9mm, but instead of it being made from brass, this one was silver. Silver… my heart stopped for a second and then started to race.

Hoping I had read way too much into that since I just left the Silver Smith, I continued through the rest of the report. Besides the bullet, nothing else really stood out for me.

I put the M.E's report to the side and picked up the CSI's. Once again, everything seemed normal, well, normal for a murder in Central Park, until I read the words 'wolf hair'.

Nope, not today, I am not dealing with silver bullets and wolf hair today. Sorry Bossman, but I am putting my foot down. "I think I'm going to head home," I said to Kowalski, not really expecting a comment, and I left the office.

But I didn't go straight home…

I stood on the sidewalk, outside the glass doors of one of the most beautiful buildings that I had ever seen, looking up at the horse logo. I had all the feels, but the strongest one was the feeling that I was going to be sick to my stomach.

I was knocking on the door of the Boogeyman's house, hoping that he would open it for me. I was only on my second knock when a security guard walked up to the other side of the door and unlocked it.

"Sir is waiting for you upstairs in his office. He has turned on the elevator for your convenience. When you leave, please stop by the security office to the left and we will take you out."

I nodded my head. I was going to follow his directions to a 'T' to make sure that I left the building with my head attached.

I took a deep breath, stepped into the elevator, and made my way up to where a Van Helsing was waiting for me.

"You and your partner are really on the same page," Van Helsing said as soon as the elevator doors opened. He was waiting for me in the seating area outside of his office.

"Huh? Kowalski was here?" I asked, the confusion evident on my face. "Why would he come here? We aren't even on The Specialist case right now."

"You aren't?" he asked.

"Nope."

"So why are you here, Little Cub?"

Little Cub, I wasn't too impressed with that nickname, but I was not going to argue with the man. "I have an issue and I was hoping that you could help me."

"You know that there is always a price for helping."

"I know, and I will pay. Please let me know what you require in return."

"Let's see what you need my help with first," he replied, taking off his tie and getting comfortable on the couch.

"There was a murder in Central Park, off the paths in the middle of nowhere." I knew I wasn't being as exact as a Knight would require, but my stress levels were through the roof. I could have sworn that my fingers were turning to ice.

I rubbed my hands together to get some warmth in them and continued. "The victim had his neck ripped out and a bullet through his forehead."

"I still don't see how any of that would involve you asking me for help," Van Helsing said, standing up. He walked over to the oversized chair that I was sitting on, knelt down in front of me, and took my fingers in his hands. Slowly he started rubbing his hands over mine, trying to warm them up. "You're cold," he stated.

I nodded my head, silently freaking out. "None of that is your problem. If that was all there was to the case." His head snapped up and looked me in the eyes. He seemed to know where this was heading.

"Both the gunshot, and the sharp force trauma happened at the same time, so it can't be determined what happened first."

"You're stalling, Little One, tell me all of it."

My eyes look at him and all of a sudden, I had an enate desire to tell him all my deep, dark secrets. Stupid Hunter.

"The headshot came from a silver bullet and there was wolf hair on the body. Tell me, Silver Smith, are there still werewolves in the world?" I blurted out before I could get my thoughts back in order.

"Silver Smith," Van Helsing said in a slow, luxurious manner as if he was tasting the words after a long time. "It has been years since someone has called me Silver Smith. Why don't you call me Viktor instead? Tell me, Little One, how much of our world do you know?"

Once again I felt that pull to tell all my secrets and once again I fought the impulse. "Enough to know who you are, but probably not enough to be able to keep me alive."