Demon Child

bite and tear at things with her hands.
        Yet, despite this inwardly directed fury, despite the certainty of her blindness and of Walter's guilt, she did not want to believe that she had been so misled. Surely Walter couldn't be responsible for all this. Surely he could not cold-bloodedly murder a man, as he had Lee Symington. He was gentle and sweet and so very, very reasonable!
        “You,” Richard said. He was unable to believe it himself, as dumbfounded as Jenny was.
        “Looks that way,” Hobarth said. “But I thought you were beginning to suspect me, Richard. I'm disappointed that you were so completely fooled. Of course, that says a lot for my acting abilities. And I thank you for the indirect compliment.”
        “It's your wolf?”
        “Not a wolf,” Hobarth said. He was pointing the pistol at them now, though the beast at his feet was enough to keep them from fleeing.
        “But it is the killer,” Richard said.
        “Oh, yes, of course it is. But it's only part wolf, a very small part-and mostly German shepherd. It makes a fine combination that submits well to the proper training.”
        “Training to kill?” Richard asked. He had pulled Jenny to his side where he could thrust her behind him if necessary. She had come meekly, still confused by this abrupt alteration in circumstances.
        “What else would the United States Army want with such an animal?” Hobarth asked.
        “Army?”
        “I was in Vietnam,” Hobarth said. “Eighteen months.” He reached down and patted the dog's head. He was not finished speaking yet. He clearly enjoyed telling them everything they wanted to know. And that could only mean that he never expected them to be able to pass on the information to anyone else. Their only chance was that his egotism, his need to inform them about how clever he had been, would give them time to trip him up somehow.
        But how?
        Hobarth looked back at them. “I wasn't out in the field, of course. I was a psychiatrist in a second-line hospital. I treated shell-shock, paranoia, all the mental hazards of war. One day, a soldier brought Brutus, here, into the hospital. The dog had taken shrapnel in its shoulder and flank on the left side. The soldier was attached to it and wanted us to save the dog. But it came in when forty-eight wounded men did, and the doctors preferred to let it die and treat the men instead. Since I couldn't touch the men, I had time on my hands, and I used my medical knowledge to patch Brutus up.”
        Brutus growled, as if in approval of the story.
        “I kept him in my own quarters. Ordinarily, that would be dangerous with such an animal, trained to obey one master. But he was so weak from his wound and from loss of blood that he couldn't have harmed a mouse. I had to feed him with a baby bottle for the first three days before he could even lap up meat pap on his own. It was two weeks before he was limping around regularly and two weeks after that before he would have been up to sinking teeth in anyone. Fortunately, as it turns out now, his master, the soldier who brought him in, was killed two days after the dog was wounded. Brutus never saw him again and, perhaps, thought his master abandoned him. But I was handy, easing his pain and feeding him, and he began to look to me as his only friend. By the time he was healthy enough to return to battle, he wouldn't leave me. He had been trained to obey one master, and when his allegiances had to be changed, he switched them to a single man, me. I brought him home with me after I untangled the red tape. He makes a fine watchdog. And, as of late, he has made a fine business asset.”
        Hobarth smiled.
        It was that same, unpleasant smile.
        “But why?” Richard asked. “For God's sake, man-”
        Hobarth interrupted. “Several reasons why. First, Dr. Malmont knew that Cora was an occultist, reading all those books about the supernatural and reincarnation-that whole bit. He-”
        “Wait,” Richard said, shocked again. “Malmont is in this with you?” Before Hobarth could reply, he answered his own question. “But of course he is! He recommended you!”
        “Please allow me to finish,” Hobarth said.
        “Go on.”
        “Malmont told me that there was a family curse and that the quickest way to reach Cora would be through that. Brutus, here, would work out nicely as the mysterious, deadly wolf roaming the estate