Divided Sky

by Jeff Carson

  He flicked his eyes to the detective. “One hundred percent.”

  Chapter 17

  A distant rumble of thunder rolled through the valley below.

  The peaks flanking the south side of Ridgway were engulfed in dark clouds. Streams of rain hung down, sweeping over the town. A thin tendril of lightning snapped from cloud to ground.

  “Shit, it’s ten-thirty,” Milo said. “That’s early for a thunderstorm.”

  Wolf silently agreed, but he’d learned to count on surprises when it came to weather in the Rocky Mountains. He’d seen it snow on the fourth of July and watched the sky throw lightning bolts out of a mid-winter blizzard.

  “I’d like to see those footprints,” Wolf said to Milo.

  Milo nodded and turned to walk. “Follow me to the front.”

  “Have a good walk?” Sheriff Roll rounded the corner of Kyle Farmer’s house, Burton, Sobeck, and Triplett behind him. They met at the side of the house, where Milo and Pete relayed the time information they’d gathered with the walk up from Guild’s house.

  “You have a good ride?” Wolf asked Burton.

  “Peachy.” Burton wiped his nose with a shaky hand. His face was only slightly less pale than before. “They ain’t got shit on Jesse so far as I’ve seen.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not sure if you’ve been listening to us, old man,” Roll said, “but from where we’re standing, it’s looking like Jesse more and more.”

  “I’d like to see the front of the house,” Wolf said. “Pete gave us some interesting news.”

  The group walked to the front of the house, where Pete stood near the crime scene tape strewn across the front steps, staring at his phone. Nearby, Sheriff Roll’s FJ Cruiser sat next to two other Ouray County SUVs still ticking from the drive up.

  “What do you have?” Roll asked.

  “These prints are different from the ones leading down to Guild’s house.”

  Roll leaned into the crime scene tape and stared at a footprint on the deck. Wolf and Burton edged up to get a look.

  A large stain of dark maroon, almost black, stood out on the wood next to the front door. Evidence markers littered the deck, indicating now dried footprints that had trudged through the blood when it had been wet. More plastic markers sat on the stairs.

  “You can see the smear there,” Milo said. “Looks like somebody slid the body away from the front door and down the steps. Probably pulling him by his arms or legs. Agent Rushing and his team found traces of blood on the steps, even with the rain.”

  A sturdy front door, inlaid with a glass sun, stood open.

  “Front door was open like that when we got here,” Milo said, following Wolf’s eyes.

  “I’m not seeing any spatter.”

  “None to see,” Milo said.

  Wolf pictured Kyle Farmer answering the door and being greeted by a bullet that lodged in his body, then slumping to the ground and bleeding out. A blade would have left a whole different kind of mess.

  There were dozens of footprints that led into and out of the stain.

  “Did you find any stray lead?” Wolf asked.

  “Nothing,” Milo said.

  “He’s right.” Sheriff Roll was staring at a picture on Pete’s phone. “The prints on the side of that hill are different from these.”

  Wolf took his eyes off the blood stain and surveyed the house. The trim, the hinges, the doorknobs, the windows, were all decent quality. It was the kind of place that in Rocky Points would have fetched over a million.

  He swiveled and saw a single-car A-frame garage matching the house on the other side of the driveway.

  “Not a bad place,” Wolf said.

  Milo sucked in a breath. “You can smell the weed.” The skunky scent of growing marijuana was thick in the air.

  “They have a few dozen of them in the basement,” Triplett said.

  “What about Kyle’s vehicle?” Wolf asked, surveying the driveway and only seeing law enforcement vehicles. “Where is it?”

  “Rushing and his team sent it up to the forensics lab in Montrose,” Milo said. “At first glance, it didn’t look like anything was out of the ordinary with it. No blood. Not like this porch.”

  Wolf nodded and looked at the garage. There was crime scene tape stretched across the door.

  “That’s where he kept the guns.” Triplett said. “And there are more bloody prints in there.”

  Roll had his phone out and was taking pictures of the footprints. “Let’s compare these prints to those inside that shed.” The sheriff led them across the asphalt to the single-car garage. Pete, disinterested, wandered into the woods off the driveway.

  Roll pulled on some gloves, then opened a wooden door.

  “Keep your distance, please.”

  They lined up to get a view inside the space. The lights overhead zapped on, rows of machined metal shining brightly. Cool air poured out, smelling of gun oil.

  Burton whistled. “Damn, makes my gun safe look like a box of Altoids.”

  Wolf looked inside and saw rifles of varying makes and models lining the left wall. There was an antique Winchester, a modern model 70, and a half dozen hunting rifles in between. Next to them stood an arsenal of combat weapons—an AK-47, M16A2, and a whole selection beyond that hanging on display.

  Lining the narrower back wall, running the width of the converted single car garage, were three shelves angled toward the floor, covered in padded green felt like you’d find on a poker table. The chips laid out were handguns.

  On the floor against the right wall, two open wooden crates revealed enough ammunition, some of it illegal, to supply an army. On a nearby workbench sat a Hornady ultrasonic cleaner and reloading station with all the newest, shiniest top-of-the-line toys for a gun enthusiast.

  There were more footprints, however, which most interested Roll. He stood over one and took a photo. “Yep, these match the ones on the front porch.”

  “So there are two different people we’re dealing with here,” Milo said.

  Wolf noted a vacant slot where a rifle should have stood against the wall.

  “That’s where Kyle kept his .50 cal,” Milo said, watching his eyes. “We found it lying on the workbench.”

  “For you to find it,” Wolf said.

  “Yep.”

  Wolf stepped away from the crowded doorway and backed onto the driveway.

  “Maybe those prints leading down the hill are Kyle Farmer’s,” Burton said, backing out of the entrance. “Or all these prints in blood could be Kyle’s. Hell, we don’t have a body. You guys have no DNA match yet. We have to keep options open. Maybe Kyle Farmer is on the run. You guys ever consider that?”

  They stared at one another.

  Another clap of thunder echoed up the valley. The sun was covered by a fast-moving cloud, dropping the temperature a few degrees.

  “Hey! I got something!” Pete’s voice came from behind the shed.

  They followed the tracker’s voice to the rear of the building and saw him in a crouched position, studying the ground in front of him.

  Roll pushed his way to the front. “What is it?”

  “Got another boot tread. This pattern matches the bloody ones. See how it has that star tread right in the middle?”

  “Shit.” Roll got close. “How’d we not see this before?” he looked up at his deputies for an answer.

  They said nothing.

  “Sorry,” Roll said, digging his fingers into his temple. “I know, we’ve all been going full steam since that call to Guild’s house. Anyway, that’s why we brought you in, Pete. Good work.”

  Pete got up and looked down a steep slope that fell off the back of the gun shed.

  Wolf stepped close and saw a perfect print set in dried mud. “Just to be clear, it rained Friday night up here? And then last night, Sunday night. But didn’t Saturday night?”

  “That’s right,” Pete said. He put up a hand toward the sky. “Friday night it must have rained at a perfect eastern angle t
o muddy up this backside of the shed. Which left us some mud, so our killer left us a print. But last night’s rain must have been angling in from the west, so the shed kept our print dry and preserved.” He pointed to the storm approaching now from the southwest. “Can’t guarantee what’s gonna happen with this approaching rain now.”

  They turned and looked toward the darkening western sky.

  Roll nodded at Sobeck. “Photos, please. And get something to cover this so Rushing can cast it when they get back up here.”

  Sobeck hurried away.

  Pete and Wolf must have had the same thought, because they both looked down the slope and began walking toward a disturbance in the soil underneath an old-growth pine.

  The ground was covered in pine needles rutted from the recent rain, punctuated by gouges where it appeared someone had slipped and fallen. But it was more than that. Beyond the riotous indentations preserved under the tree were tracks of a very different sort.

  “What is it?” Roll appeared next to them and looked down. His eyes widened in comprehension. “Shit. Look at that.”

  “Looks like somebody was walking,” Pete said, “and then fell on the pine needles. They dropped something really heavy. And then decided to drag it down the slope.”

  Thunder rumbled up the valley. A quick glance in the direction of the storm indicated there was a lot of rain coming out of the clouds, and they would be getting soaked within the next few minutes.

  “We have to move.” Roll’s voice was breathy. He turned and looked up the slope. “We have to move! Sobeck, Triplett, get anything and everything we can to cover evidence before this storm hits!”

  Sobeck was bending over the footprint at the top of the slope with Triplett looking on.

  “Let’s go!”

  The two deputies broke toward the vehicles.

  Pete was already moving down the slope, following the groove and tracks. Milo and Wolf followed. The air flickered from a finger of lightning overhead, followed by a rumble of thunder as they skidded down the loose dirt hill.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Wolf turned around to see Roll on the ground, grabbing his arm. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Go!”

  A minute later they were down the mountainside and onto flat land. Grass bent in waves, and a grove of aspen trees hissed in the freshening wind. There was a stream that cut through the bottom of the valley, surrounded by tall brush whipping on the gusts.

  Milo and Pete had their eyes locked on the ground, walking through the grass. Wolf followed and saw it didn’t take a professional tracker to see where they were headed. Because in the distance, amid the green foliage near the aspens stood a single earthen mound.

  Chapter 18

  Wolf joined them at the oval pile of dirt shaped suspiciously like a grave. Clumps of grass had been cut by a shovel blade, strewn aside, the dirt smoothed by rain—a rain that had last fallen on Friday night.

  Sobeck and Triplett bounded up to them, out of breath. Sobeck had a DSLR camera around his neck, Triplett a handful of tarps under his arm.

  “I would get some pictures of that dirt before that storm hits,” Wolf said. “It’s been smoothed by rain.”

  Sobeck snapped some photos, and his flash became indistinguishable from the lightning zapping around them.

  “Got three tarps,” Triplett said. “That’s all I could find.”

  “Let’s cover this up!” Roll said. “And we need to get Rushing up here, ASAP.” The sheriff pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. “Crap. I don’t have reception. You have any?” he asked Milo.

  Milo looked at his phone and shook his head. “You?”

  Wolf checked. “No!”

  “I do, just barely.” Sobeck handed his phone to Roll.

  Roll made the call to Agent Rushing, a finger in his ear as he yelled into the receiver of the cell phone. He hung up. “They’re on their way. They said to cover this as best we could and wait for them.”

  Triplett and Sobeck unfurled a tarp. It snapped in the wind, threatening to fly away. Wolf and Milo retrieved some stones by the stream. Together they all covered the mound with the tarp and used the rocks to weight it down.

  Wolf looked up the slope and saw Burton still standing near Kyle Farmer’s gun shed. The old man made no move to climb down and help them, and Wolf was grateful for it. He didn’t feel like carrying somebody back up that slope.

  “What now?” Sobeck asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.

  The wall of rain slid up the valley, almost on top of them. Wolf zipped his Carhartt all the way and eyed the grove of aspens.

  They all had the same idea and moved to the relative shelter of the trees just as the rain hit. The drops were frozen, stinging exposed skin as they came sideways. As they huddled with their backs to the onslaught, Wolf caught sight of something yellow in the grass.

  “You have an evidence bag?” he asked Triplett, who pulled one from his pocket. Wolf grabbed it and headed into the rain, bending in front of what was a yellow-strapped headlamp. He bagged it and ran back to the trees with his find.

  He handed the bag to Triplett, who handed it down the line past Sobeck, Milo, and then finally to Roll. Roll slipped it into his jacket pocket, not bothering to speak over the raging deluge.

  They each took a white tree trunk for shelter and waited out the storm.

  Chapter 19

  Special Agent Rushing knelt over the mound and inserted a gloved hand into the dirt. The rest of them watched in silence.

  Wolf stood with his hands in his pockets. The rain had passed, leaving the ground drenched and the grass matted. The afternoon sun had broken through the tail of the storm, and steam rose from the field. Low caterpillar clouds clung to the mountains in the distance. Once again Ridgway glinted below, far in the distance.

  Rushing’s hand stopped and he looked up at the crowd that had gathered around him.

  “You feel something?” Roll asked.

  Rushing nodded and pulled dirt away, revealing a black tarp.

  Burton leaned into Wolf to get a better view. The old man had finally made the trek down the mountain. Although Wolf was still wondering how Burton would get back up the hill, he was now grateful for the alcohol vapors filling his nose, because the faint scent of death swirled in the still, post-storm air.

  Triplett pinched his nose, while Sobeck stepped back. Pete seemed unfazed.

  “Okay, we’ll excavate.” Agent Rushing sat back on his heels. “You guys can leave us to it.”

  “How long is that going to take?” Roll asked, sounding affronted.

  “It could take hours.”

  “Screw that. Cut it open.”

  Agent Rushing’s mouth hung open. “I’m not going to do that, sir.”

  “We need to know right now if that’s Kyle Farmer. Cut it open.”

  Rushing sucked in a breath, let it out.

  “Move.” Roll took a Leatherman multi-tool from his belt and knelt.

  “Careful,” Special Agent Rushing said, standing up to make room for the sheriff.

  Roll flipped out a blade, held it with his fingertips and sank the steel into the plastic.

  The blade sliced open the tarp without the slightest resistance. After Roll opened a two-foot section, he pushed one side open with the blade.

  The suspense ratcheted higher as another layer of black tarp was revealed. Roll dipped the tip of the blade into the plastic again, and this time when he sliced, ghostly white skin covered in brown hair came into view.

  “Careful! Don’t cut him.” Special Agent Rushing knelt next to Roll. “Give me the knife.” He held out a latex-gloved hand. “Come on.”

  The increase in smell pushed back them all back, including Pete this time, except for Agent Rushing, who leaned close.

  “Ah, shit.” Triplett stumbled away and coughed.

  “It’s him?” Burton asked.

  “It’s him, alright,” Roll said.

  Wolf had never seen Kyle Farmer until now,
and just like every other dead body, he could have gone without seeing him today. He turned away and shuffled toward Burton, the image of closed eyes, stubbled face smeared in blood, and a mouth hanging open at an odd angle fresh in his brain.

  “Looks like he was shot here, below the collar bone. And one straight to the heart,” Rushing called out.

  “Damn cold out here.” Burton’s chin bounced with uncontrollable shivers, and even with a borrowed Ouray County SD rain coat zipped up and hood cinched around his head the man looked pre-hypothermic. “Freakin’ freezing.”

  Wolf’s chills were gone, warmed by afternoon sun now poking out through the clouds, though he was still soaked to the bone. He suspected even a raging fire would fail to stop those shivers wracking Burton’s body.

  “Jesse says he was with Hettie all night,” Burton said. “And she’s corroborating. What I want to know is what’s with the second set of boot prints?”

  Wolf had no answer.

  “Cause, that means two guys, right?” Burton asked. “One guy offing Alexander Guild, another Kyle.”

  “Hettie could have been in on this, too,” Wolf said.

  Burton eyed him. “Hey Roll!”

  Roll looked at him.

  “What’s this Hettie chick like?”

  Roll blinked. “Not sure how to answer that question.”

  “I mean, you think she could have drug Kyle’s body down here and buried it? Is she big and burly like that?”

  “No way,” Triplett said. “She’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet. Skin and bones.”

  “Does she have size twelve men’s feet like those boot prints up there?” Burton asked.

  “Nope,” Roll said.

  “You think Hettie could have done this?”

  Roll eyed him, then reluctantly shook his head.

  Burton looked at Wolf. “You think Hettie did this?”

  “I didn’t say she brought the body down here. Or buried it. I’m just saying she could be lying about being with Jesse Friday night. He took out his battery. Why? To hide his location, that’s why.”

  “This was definitely somebody big and strong,” Triplett said. “You move Kyle Farmer’s body, you’d better be big and strong.”