Detective James Arklow didn’t believe in monsters…until he met her.
Detective James Arklow is a practical man, an ex-cop with a bad back and a thriving private practice. Enter Mandy Veedon, an attractive but unbalanced young woman, who claims she was raped by a werewolf. Arklow is skeptical, but as the case progresses, he begins to suspect that his client may be telling the truth.
She sighed, stood up from her groaning swivel chair, and peered out through her window. She split the slats on her blinds, letting in the garish golden light blinking from the bail-bondsman’s office across the street. “I was raped,” she said.
“Why don’t you go to the police?” I asked.
She let the blinds go, and turned around. It was time for another link in the smoking chain. She grabbed
yet another cigarette from her desk. She offered me the pack. I shook my head; it had been almost ten years.
Mandy asked, “You’re not obligated to tell the cops what I tell you, are you?”
“If you are intending to commit a crime, to harm yourself or someone else, yes I am. If I have information which might aid the police in their investigation, yes. But I’m not allowed to give up the name of my client. If I disclose your private information, I could lose my license.”
That answer suited her. We were both quiet for a moment. The sound of a car alarm going off came from the street. “I can’t go to the police,” she said, “because they won’t believe me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I was raped by a werewolf,” she said.
She watched my face for a change in expression. I had been in law enforcement for too long to give her
“You believe me?” She asked.
“I believe you were raped,” I said.
“That’s good enough,” she said.