Divided Sky

by Jeff Carson

  “Yeah,” Milo said.

  “He mentioned Kyle Farmer’s father called him and told him about the blood you guys had found up at Kyle’s house. And that he was coming after him for answers. Jesse freaked out because of this, and he ran.”

  Wolf eyed the men, gauging their reactions. Nobody seemed concerned with what he’d just said.

  “Something bothering you, chief detective?” Roll asked.

  “I guess I’ve just been wondering—is that true?” Wolf asked. “Did you tell Kyle’s dad that there was blood found at the scene, and that you were looking for his son?”

  They looked at Roll.

  The man seemed to shrink. “I probably shouldn’t have told him about the blood,” Roll said. “He kept insisting on knowing the reason we were searching for Kyle. Why I was calling him in the first place. I had to tell him.”

  Wolf nodded. “Anyway, Jesse said he was freaked out about this news, and he saw you guys coming to get him. He said he was confused and decided to run. He also talked about getting in a fight with Kyle over some girl named Hettie, which he thought would make him look suspicious if something had happened to Kyle.”

  Burton cleared his throat. “He said he had nothing to do with any of this. That it was lining up too perfectly, like somebody might be setting him up.”

  “Did he mention Alexander Guild?” Milo asked.

  “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk about that,” Wolf said.

  “Tell him what you heard from MacLean.” Burton slapped Wolf on the shoulder.

  “What did you hear from MacLean?” Roll asked.

  Burton answered. “That guy Alexander Guild was killed Friday night, right? You told MacLean my nephew Jesse had an alibi for Friday night. That he was with that Hettie girl all night.”

  Roll nodded. “That’s right. I’m aware of what I told Sheriff MacLean. I’m wondering if Jesse said anything to you about the matter.”

  Burton held up his hands, and Wolf shook his head.

  After a few more questions, Roll folded his arms. “Right. Well, we appreciate you coming in. If you don’t mind, we’d like you two to write up an official report before you head back up to Rocky Points. Cassandra can help you with everything.”

  Wolf and Burton looked at one another.

  “Listen, Sheriff Roll,” Burton said. “I was hoping Detective Wolf and I could stay for a bit and hear what you have on the case so far.”

  Roll took his time with a sip of coffee. “I don’t know, Hal.”

  Burton eyed him with that sly lift of his lips Wolf had seen last night.

  Wolf cleared his throat. “Sheriff Roll, I have to be back up in Rocky Points tonight. What Sheriff Burton is saying is we’d love to offer our help for the time being. I’ve been involved in a few murder investigations myself, and I know how overwhelming it can be at the beginning, with all the outside pressure. The onslaught of information. That kind of thing. We’re not trying to add to that pressure, just offer our help. A little more experience in the room never hurts.”

  Roll’s eyes went to Burton.

  Burton had the good sense to put his mouth to his coffee cup.

  Roll nodded slowly, looking like a man carrying a heavy load on his back. “Okay, yeah. That would be fine, I guess. You all okay with that?”

  Special Agent Rushing shrugged. “No problem with me.”

  “Fine by me,” Triplett said.

  Sobeck and Milo nodded.

  “All right, well let’s stop screwing around and get started, then.” Roll paced at the front of the room. “We’ll have to back track a bit for you two.”

  “We would appreciate it,” Wolf said. “Maybe we can add a fresh perspective.”

  The Sheriff nodded and walked to the bulletin board. “This is Alexander Guild.”

  He pointed to a full body shot of a man in a suit. He flashed a smile and thick jewelry on his wrist and hands. A thin, attractive brunette stood next to him, flashing her own brilliant smile. They held champagne flutes and looked off camera as if someone had just cracked a joke.

  “Guild owned a weapons manufacturing corporation. Multi-billion-dollar company that makes bombs, drones, heavy-long-range artillery for tanks, boats, airplanes. Multiple ongoing contracts with the government. Which means he’s very rich, and kind of a big deal around these parts.”

  Triplett made a noise into his coffee, drawing eyes to him. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Kind of an asshole,” Roll said. “A lot of people didn’t like him for what he did.”

  “What did he do?” Burton asked.

  “You hear about the shooting we had down here last October involving Guild?”

  “I haven’t heard of that,” Burton said.

  Wolf vaguely remembered reading something about a shooting down in Ridgway, but he’d been too preoccupied with his own life last fall, with the court appearances and all, to pay it much attention.

  “Right,” Roll said. “Might as well start there. Milo?”

  Detective Milo stood, then sat on the edge of a plastic table in front of Wolf and Burton. “Last October a local man named Ray Winkle, Hettie Winkle’s father, began a feud with the now deceased Alexander Guild. Ray was a former enlisted. Served in Afghanistan the same time Sobeck and I did. Ray came back with some issues. PTSD.”

  Wolf nodded.

  “You serve?”

  “I did.”

  Milo nodded, as if confirming what he’d already suspected. “Ray lived here all his life. He was an elk hunter, and he used to take a trail west of town that leads into the Uncompahgre wilderness called the Chimney Mountain Trail to get to his favorite hunting grounds.

  “Alexander Guild moved in ten or so years ago onto a plot of land up near the trailhead, built one of his many houses up there. Anyway, that trail that passes through a small piece of Guild’s land.

  “For years, he let people use that section of trail. But, for some reason, this last year Guild decided he was going to make that piece of land off-limits.”

  Milo picked up a pen and drew a square on the whiteboard. “Here’s the barbed wire fence he put up.” Milo drew a line that came up from the bottom of the board, cutting across two points on the square on the lower right corner. “And here’s the public trail, which is now cut off in two places by that fence.”

  “Why not just walk around the bottom corner of his land?” Burton asked.

  Milo drew another square butting diagonally with the first square. “Because he owns that piece of land, too. And it’s already fenced.”

  “Everything above those two squares is public land?” Burton asked.

  Milo nodded. “Everything north and south of his two parcels is public. And everything to the north is now cut off…unless you want to drive for three hours to access it from the south.”

  Milo drew an X in the two spots the trail crossed the land. “He installed two gates with combination locks on them—one to get into that piece of trail passing into his land, another gate to get out. The only people who could go through it had to get the combinations from Guild. And those people had to be Guild-sponsored hunting outfitters. He flat-out refused other access to the public. Not even to government agencies.”

  “Devious bastard,” Burton said.

  “Devious bastard who was acting completely within his rights,” Sheriff Roll said.

  “Still a devious bastard.”

  Roll shrugged. “Not gonna argue with that.”

  “Ray Winkle thought the same,” Milo said. “First, he was hopping the corner of the two parcels of land, and Guild was calling us up there to intervene. We gave Ray a slap on the wrist, but Ray escalated things and showed up with some lock-cutters a week later. Cut his way through the gates and went about hunting as he always did. Mr. Guild came in to our office and complained. We brought Ray in, slapped him harder on the wrist. Gave him a trespassing ticket. From that point it got out of hand quickly, ending with Guild shooting Winkle.” Milo splayed his hands. “Apparently Ray show
ed up again with the lock cutters, and according to Mr. Guild, this time he was brandishing his rifle. Mr. Guild felt threatened and fired, shooting and killing Ray Winkle. With the Colorado Make-My-Day law and Mr. Guild’s story, the DA wasn’t inclined to take any action against him.”

  Triplett made another noise.

  “And now you know the story,” Milo said.

  Milo tapped the photograph next in line, which looked more like a closeup of highway roadkill than the man in the previous picture. “This is how we found Alexander Guild the other night.”

  “Which night?” Wolf asked, with the lack of sleep he had to strain his mind to remember it was now Monday morning.

  “Saturday night.”

  “My God. They said he was shot,” Burton said. “That looks like he had a stick of dynamite strapped to his head.”

  “Fifty caliber bullet does interesting things to a skull,” Special Agent Rushing said.

  Wolf had seen a similar aftermath in person once. He had to rein in his thoughts from straying too far.

  Detective Milo gestured to the line of photos showing the body at different angles. “Here’s his back deck. You can see those woods in the background. They’re a little over a hundred yards away.”

  A stone’s throw for a sniper rifle, Wolf thought.

  Detective Milo picked up some papers, found a pair of frameless reading glasses and put them on. The man’s already intelligent eyes seemed to go up a few IQ points.

  “You said you found Alexander Guild on his back-deck Saturday evening?” Wolf asked. “Who found him?”

  “Deputy Triplett had the good fortune to see him first.”

  Triplett lowered his coffee cup from his mouth. “We got a call from two men who had planned to meet Mr. Guild, a father and son up here visiting from California. They said they’d been driving the day prior, Friday, all the way from San Diego and ended up staying down in Farmington.” Triplett looked over at Sobeck.

  Sobeck nodded.

  Triplett continued. “They said they’d been keeping in touch with Guild and told him they’d be up from Farmington in the morning after a night’s rest. When they arrived here Saturday morning, on schedule, they went to the front gate of his property, called on the intercom system, got no answer. Cell phone, no answer.

  “They figured he was out on an errand, had his phone off or something, so they hung out in town for a while. Tried again, no answer. After the fourth or fifth try they started getting worried and they came to us.

  “Sobeck and I were first responders. Sobeck stayed out with the two guys while I hopped the fence and walked up to the property.” A shudder passed through Triplett and he huffed a breath. “I went around the back of the house, where there’s a walkout basement. I saw a bunch of blood and brain had dripped between the wood down onto the ground.”

  “Thank you, Deputy,” Roll said.

  Triplett snapped a nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “And the father and son’s alibi checks out, I take it?” Wolf asked.

  “We checked with the motel down in Farmington,” Milo said. “The father used his credit card to pay, and the motel operator confirms they were down there Friday night.”

  Wolf nodded and looked at Special Agent Rushing. “And do you have an estimated time of death to corroborate their alibi?”

  “Nine-thirty-eight p.m., Friday night.”

  Wolf popped his eyebrows. “That’s specific.”

  “We have security video from Mr. Guild’s house.” Milo gestured to Special Agent Rushing.

  Agent Rushing turned the device’s screen toward them, showing a video window. The video was paused, showing the back of a man, presumably Mr. Guild, leaning on a deck’s railing. A white time stamp on the bottom of the screen read 9:38:03 p.m.

  “Want to see?” Special Agent Rushing’s eyebrows were raised, his words heavy with seriousness.

  “Sure, why not?” Burton said.

  The man swiveled his eyes to Wolf, who considered the question, then nodded.

  After tapping the keyboard, Rushing leaned back, allowing room for the men to crowd around the screen.

  “Here it comes,” Triplett said.

  And come it did. One second Alexander Guild was standing, smoking a cigarette on the deck, the next he was hurled back, his head becoming a much wider and amorphous entity. Mist swirled angrily, and when it dissipated, Alexander Guild lay still on his back, arms and legs splayed like he was making a snow angel.

  Knowing for certain what was coming when Rushing had pushed the button, Wolf had anchored his eyes on the blackness beyond the man’s moment of death, and he’d caught a flash in the distance.

  “Did you see it?” Detective Milo asked.

  “Yes,” Wolf said. “Just about Guild’s one o’clock.”

  “See what?” Burton asked.

  Rushing scrubbed the video back.

  Wolf took the opportunity to stand and look away, and he almost ran into Deputy Sobeck. The man’s skin was slick with sweat.

  Sobeck turned and shook his head. “Seen enough death in my days to last me.”

  Wolf’s mind reached back to his time in the Army, and the sound of chattering gunfire filled his ears again.

  “I saw it,” Burton said. “The gunshot in the trees. So how does that bring us to my nephew?”

  “Sir, I’m gonna go use the restroom,” Sobeck said.

  Roll nodded. “Sure thing.” He and the others watched the man leave.

  “He’s been spooked by this case,” Triplett said.

  There was the sound of tires squealing outside, and car doors thumping shut. Roll went to the window and spread open the blinds with his fingers. “Shit.” He hurried out of the room.

  “What is it?” Triplett got up and followed him.

  “The Farmers,” he said.

  Wolf trailed after them, and caught Roll telling Cassandra to stay seated and inside, which only fired Wolf’s adrenal glands.

  Everyone poured out of the building at a full run.

  “Get back! Freeze!” One of the deputies had his gun pulled and was aiming at three men in front of him.

  “Freeze right now!” Another pulled his sidearm.

  Down on the dirt road, three men dressed in camouflage and flannel stood defiantly. In front of them a man in uniform was on his knees, holding his face. Behind them, a black Chevy pickup with raised suspension, knobby tires, and tinted windows was parked at an angle across the road.

  Sheriff Roll waved his hands over his head. “Whoa! Stand down, deputies. What’s going on?”

  “This asshole just punched me in the face!” The deputy stood up.

  The oldest of the three men clenched and unclenched his fist, looking none too sorry for what he’d done.

  “Okay, let’s put our guns down,” Roll said. “You heard me. Please back away.”

  “What’s going on?” Burton asked Wolf, standing next to him on the lawn.

  Wolf shook his head, watching with tensed muscles. His first clue the three men were related came when Roll had called them the Farmers, but even without that tidbit of information it was easy enough to see they were a father and two sons. The oldest looked to be in his fifties. He stood over six feet tall and had muscles to spare. His two sons were a touch shorter, but just as sturdy. All three had the same red hair.

  “Jed, what are you doing?” Roll asked.

  “You know damn well why we’re here,” the elder Farmer said. “We’re here for some answers about my son.”

  “And you’re punching law enforcement? You know I can arrest you for that right now, right?”

  “He was in my way. Where’s my son?”

  “We’re trying our best to figure that out, sir.” Sheriff Roll held out his hands. “That’s why we have all these people out here, working around the clock. We’re searching for your boy.”

  “That him?” Jed Farmer pointed his log of an arm at Burton.

  Burton poked his own chest. “That who?”

  Mr. Fa
rmer stepped forward and the crowd of men closed in.

  Guns were raised, but Jed Farmer was unconcerned. His boys stepped forward to flank their father.

  “Are you the one who brought Jesse in last night?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “He’s your nephew?”

  “He is.”

  “Well? What did he say?” There was desperation in his voice.

  Burton shook his head. “About what?”

  “About what? You piece of shit. I’m talking about where’s my son!” Spittle flew from Jed’s mouth.

  They all stood in silence, watching Jed.

  “He told us you three were chasing him,” Burton said. “He said you think he did something to your son, but he didn’t.”

  “He’s lying.”

  Burton said nothing.

  “He’s lying to all of you! He knows where my son is! He knows! He might be hurt!”

  “We’re working on that piece of the puzzle right now, Jed,” Roll said. “That’s what we’re doing. Right now. Right now, we’re working on this. You coming in here like this is not helping.”

  Farmer’s eyes searched the men, skipped over Wolf and then came back. “Who are you?”

  “Chief Detective Wolf of Sluice-Byron County.”

  “Were you the one with him last night, too?”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Is your friend telling the truth?”

  “He is.”

  Farmer stared at him, then backed up and walked to his truck. The two boys turned and walked to the passenger side.

  “Sheriff, it’s probably time you figure out what Jesse Burton said to his dear old uncle last night when he was out in that desert hiding from you all. Like, why was he running? Maybe he mentioned something about that. Maybe you should ask him why’s he acting that way if he’s not guilty? And then ask him where my son is!”

  Roll opened his mouth to speak.

  “I’m through talking to you, Sheriff.” Jed climbed into the truck and the engine roared to life.

  “Watch it!” somebody yelled, as exhaust shot from twin oversized pipes and gravel spat from the tires.

  The crowd moved over to the lawn and watched the truck speed off, skid into a left turn and rev out of sight.

  “Sir,” Triplett said. “We can go after them. Put them away until they cool off.”