by Jeff Carson
Jed squinted. “Why are you talking right now? I didn’t ask you any questions.” Without warning, Jed pushed past Roll and lunged at Burton.
“Hey!”
Jed’s arm lashed out and the sound of fist hitting flesh spurred Wolf into action, albeit a moment too late. The two younger men sprinted towards them. An elbow buried hard into Wolf’s chest, knocking the wind out of him.
Seconds earlier, Wolf had felt only heartache for the man, and even now he understood the erupting rage, but Wolf was acting on instinct, protecting Burton from the onslaught. He punched, connected with one of Jed’s kid’s faces, and then tossed Jed sideways into a car.
Roll had one of the kids by the back of his sweatshirt and flung him away.
There was a harsh knocking noise behind Wolf, and he looked back and saw Burton had hit the side of the car before crumpling to the ground.
“Freeze, everybody! Now!” Milo had his gun out and pointed at one of the two Farmer boys.
Jed looked behind Wolf and let up.
“He’s hurt,” Milo said.
“Let’s go!” Jed told his sons. They walked toward the truck and the boys climbed inside, disappearing behind the tinted windows.
Jed appeared over the roof. “I’ll be keeping on you, sheriff! You either find out who killed my son, or I will!” He climbed in and slammed the door.
Wolf knelt to tend to Burton, ignoring the rocks pelting his back as the Farmers sped away.
“He’s not looking good,” Milo said. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
If it weren’t for his moving lips, Burton would have looked stone dead.
Chapter 21
“Mr. Wolf?”
The plastic chair under Wolf groaned as he stood up.
“I’m Dr. Wilkinson.” A tall gray-haired man with a tablet computer extended his free hand.
“Hi.” Wolf shook his hand. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s stable right now.”
“What happened?”
“Blood tests are showing he had a heart attack.”
Wolf raised his eyebrows. “How serious?”
“Let’s just say if the paramedics were a few seconds later, he wouldn’t be with us anymore. As it was, they resuscitated him twice on the way here. I’ve scheduled an emergency surgery tomorrow morning.”
“He’s okay until then?”
“No, but his blood alcohol level is point-two-one and that’s too high for our surgeon’s liking. We’ve scheduled the surgery for ten a.m. tomorrow morning.”
“Can I see him?”
“He’s resting. He’ll be out for at least twelve hours.” He looked up from under his glasses. “I understand from Mr. Burton his wife is unaware of what’s going on?”
“I’ve told her,” Wolf said. “Well, I haven’t told her it’s a heart attack. But…I’ll tell her.”
The doctor turned to go, and Wolf returned to his chair. With a sigh he pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Seeing three missed calls from MacLean, he dialed the number.
“You still alive?” MacLean asked by way of greeting.
“Yeah, but Burton’s another story. He had a heart attack.”
“And he’s dead?”
“No, sorry. He’s alive. But after talking to the doctor, it looks like it’s just by a thread.”
“Shit.” MacLean drew out a long breath. “Well, I guess that’s that for his nephew’s case then, huh?”
Wolf said nothing.
“Wolf?”
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t know.”
Silence. “We’re going to see you tomorrow morning at that meeting, aren’t we?”
“I’m gonna stick around and make sure Burton’s all right. They’ll take him up to County Hospital for the surgery tomorrow morning.”
“What time tomorrow morning?”
“Not sure,” he hedged.
“Because by my calculations you have to leave by nine. It’ll take you at least an hour and a half.”
“Yeah.”
MacLean sat silent for a beat. “They’ll get him up to County with or without you, Wolf. What’s going on?”
Wolf considered the question carefully. He’d borne witness to an investigation over the last twenty-four hours. That’s what was going on. Other than protecting Burton from beatings, what had Wolf achieved?
“What’s this meeting about?” he asked.
“It’s about me, and you, and your detectives. And the future of this department.”
“Sounds ominously vague.”
“I told you, it’s not something I’m going to discuss with you over the phone. The time and place are tomorrow morning at eleven a.m. in Town Hall.”
“Is it bad?” The question was supposed to stay inside, but it slipped out.
“Yes. I’m afraid it is, Dave.”
The speaker in Wolf’s ear crackled with static.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” MacLean said, and hung up.
He had two text messages from Patterson and one from Rachette, both asking for an update.
He shot off quick replies and pocketed his phone. With the chunk of technology tucked back away he sucked in a slow breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
“So I said suck it…exactly what I said…doesn’t matter, that’s not protocol and he knows it. The real problem is he’s a little bitch and he needs to learn how not to be one…”
Wolf cracked his eyes and squinted at the light lancing through the hospital waiting room window. Outside, the nondescript Montrose parking lot gleamed in the sun.
“Hey, I gotta go. No, he’s waking up. I’ll talk to you later.”
Wolf sat up and rubbed his eyes, revealing the familiar face next to him.
“Hey.” Detective Tom Rachette plucked a cup of coffee off the floor and handed it to him. “Good morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
Rachette sipped his coffee. “I heard what happened.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
Wolf checked his watch and saw it was 6:35 am. His detective would have had to leave Rocky Points before five to be here now. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes.”
They sat quietly and drank their coffee. The combination of the cool indoor air and the rays streaming in the window felt good on Wolf’s weary body—he was like Superman gaining power from the sun and Arabica beans, though he was pretty sure Superman didn’t have shooting back pains like he had now.
“Here. Here’s why I came.” Rachette unfolded a sheet of computer paper and put it on Wolf’s thigh. “Here’s some of the questions they asked me last week.” He stood and walked to the window.
Wolf picked up the paper. There was a numbered list scrawled in Rachette’s chicken-scratch writing.
Please assess Chief Detective David Wolf’s ability to do his job since his June hospitalization for a panic attack.
On a scale of one to ten, please rate David Wolf’s current ability to do his job, and explain your answer.
Wolf lowered the paper, revealing Rachette staring at him. “Who asked you these questions?”
“The Council. They asked all of us. Yates, Patterson, me. We each had confidential interviews with them. Margaret and the whole council. I couldn’t keep it secret from you anymore.”
Wolf sipped his coffee, feeling the acid bubbling in his gut.
“Me, Patterson, and Yates all had the same interview. And Patterson wanted to tell you, too. Just so you know. You’ve just been gone. We never got a chance to tell you. I’m not sure if anyone else had the interview besides us. I asked Wilson, and he told me to shut up about it.”
Wolf thought of last night’s conversation with MacLean, and last week when Wilson and MacLean had been speaking to one another in hushed tones, stopping when Wolf came into the room. He’d been with Patterson at the time and assumed their hesitation was because of her.
Is it bad?
Yeah. I’m afraid it is, Dave.
“And I answered the questions favorably,” Rachette said. “In case you’re wondering.”
“That’s none of my business, Tom.”
“It sure is. I answered them favorably.”
Wolf nodded.
More signs from the end of last week now clicked together: The looks from Rachette and Yates as they stood talking at the coffee maker, and the way they’d split when he entered the room. MacLean staring out at him from his office window as he talked on the phone.
“You all right?” Rachette asked.
“Huh? Yeah.”
“Did you already know about this?”
“No.” He eyed his detective. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Yeah. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They sat some more.
“How’s the old man doing?”
“Not good. Needs a triple bypass.”
“Jeez. MacLean said he went down hard, too? Something about a fight?”
He eyed Rachette. “You spoke to MacLean about Burton?”
“Well, yeah. Spoke to him late last night.” Rachette paused.
“MacLean sent you down here.”
“Yeah.”
“To bring me back.”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to escort you.” Rachette looked at his watch. “Got a couple hours before we absolutely have to be on the road. You want to get some breakfast?”
Was the County Council pushing for termination? If so, why was MacLean so keen to have Wolf up there for the meeting? To watch him as the dagger struck home? At one time the man had very nearly been Wolf’s foe. Since then they’d become, if not friends, at least civil to one another.
“I think Patterson is taking your job,” Rachette said.
The words jangled inside Wolf’s brain. He rose and walked to the window.
“I overheard Wilson talking about it.”
Wolf saw Rachette’s sagging posture in the window’s reflection. He focused on his own face staring back. Stubble had grown unchecked for three days, creating a dark carpet fringed with more than a little silver. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and surrounded by wrinkles that seemed deeper than before.
“Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast.” There was a hint of desperation in Rachette’s voice.
“I have to talk to Burton.” Wolf turned and walked away.
Rachette let him pass.
“Excuse me,” Wolf said to the woman behind the reception desk. “I was told I could see my friend once he woke up. We have to leave, and I really want to let him know what’s going on. Last night, the doctor said he’d be out for twelve hours, I was—”
“His name?”
“Harold Burton. He’s in room 313.”
“I’ll put in a call to the nurse’s station.” She picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, I have—"
“David Wolf. Detective David Wolf.”
“A Detective David Wolf to see Harold Burton…I know…” she looked at her watch. “Okay… okay.” She removed the handset from her ear. “She’s checking.”
Wolf nodded and gave her space.
“I heard Cheryl wasn’t even in town,” Rachette said.
“You knew she left?”
“Left? Like, as in left him?”
Wolf shook his head. “Never mind.”
“I didn’t know she left him. Really? You know, I was at Beer Goggles like two months ago, and he was just sloshed the bar. I asked him about Cheryl, you know, “How’s Cheryl doing?” And he basically spat in disgust on the counter. I just assumed he misunderstood me. Got Blackman to call him an Uber. Took me and Blackman all our strength to escort him outside when the ride showed up. That was during the playoffs. I remember, cause the Donks got their asses handed to them.”
They stared at each other.
“Good story.”
“Thanks.”
“Excuse me,” the receptionist said. “You can head on up there. He’s talking with the doctors now, but once they’re done you can visit with your friend.” She smiled sympathetically.
“Thank you so much.” Rachette leaned an elbow on the counter.
“Uh huh.” She busied herself with her computer.
Chapter 22
“You look like shit.” Wolf meant every syllable.
Burton’s mustache wriggled as if his mouth had stretched into a brief smile, but his upper face held the lifeless gaze of a lobotomy patient.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not particularly bad,” Burton said. “Hung over as shit, need a drink, the doc is telling me they’re going to cut open my chest and put some leg veins on my heart, which means they’ll have to cut open my leg. But they gave me a painkiller that’s starting to work on the pounding headache that starts at the five stitches they put in my scalp. So, yeah. Good.”
Burton leaned back on the pillow and clamped his eyes shut.
“You okay? You need a nurse?”
“No. I’m just sore. And I don’t like thinking about what they’re about to do.” Burton’s eyeballs moved behind his lids.
“I heard you saw the light last night.”
“Oh yeah, the dead thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t remember seeing a white light, if that’s what you’re getting at. No opening into the next world.”
Wolf smiled. “You were probably looking the wrong direction. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna want to look down next time.”
Burton opened his eyes and smiled back, then he closed them again. “I knew I was headed somewhere like this. Just never thought I’d get there.” When his eyes opened, they shimmered. “Cheryl was right. I’m killing myself. And not by a thousand cuts, but with a sledgehammer.”
Wolf watched a flock of birds pass by the window. Low clouds skated across the sky, leaving inky shadows on the heaving landscape to the south.
“I can’t keep drinking a bottle of whiskey or scotch every two days. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking.”
That you would die if you stopped? Wolf thought. That the liquid hitting your lips sent calming shudders through your body?
“I’m done. I’m freakin’ done. Right now, you’re looking at a new person. This…this is the end of Hal Burton the drunk old man. He died last night. Twice.”
Wolf nodded. “Good.”
“Yeah. Good.” He closed his eyes again.
Wolf watched out the window some more. “Listen, you know they’re taking you up in the ambulance. I’m not sure what time they’re leaving, but…”
“But you have to be up for that thing. The meeting with the County Council.”
Wolf said nothing.
“You’d better get up there. But you remember one thing about whatever they’ve decided they’re gonna do to you.”
“What’s that?”
“You remember that you don’t do the work for titles, or money. Or recognition.”
Wolf thought there were worse things in life. The titles led to money, which led to a sense of security, which led to him being able to do his job without any fear, which led to recognition for a job well done.
“You do the work because you’re a dumbass.”
Wolf nodded. “Hmmm.”
“You’re an idiot. What I mean is, you have no freakin’ choice. You wake up, and you skulk around this life looking for people who need help, and you help them. You go to the store, you see some old nitwit who can’t reach a box of cereal and you help him.” Burton made a fist. “You ain’t got no choice.”
“What exactly was in that pain pill they gave you?"
“You don’t give a shit if people are writing about you in the papers, making you look like a nutty piece of fruitcake.” Burton laughed. “You know I’m speakin’ the truth, brother.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Burton’s face relaxed. “You do the job because that’s what you’re wired to do. Don’t you forget it.”
“T
hank you, sir.”
Burton nodded, as if he’d said his final piece about that. Wolf hoped so.
“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I spoke to Cheryl a few minutes ago. She’s back in Rocky Points. She’s going to meet me at the hospital.” He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. A tear fell down past his nose and disappeared into his mustache.
Wolf stared out the window and gave Burton a moment to gather himself.
“Any news on Jesse?”
“I haven’t been in touch with anyone,” Wolf said.
“That bracelet in Kyle Farmer’s hand.”
“Yeah?”
Burton looked at Wolf. “It was Jesse’s.”
Wolf stepped toward the bed, wondering if it was the drugs talking. “You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
Wolf remembered the way Burton had walked away from Kyle’s body. “How are you so sure? You’ve seen him twice in two decades.”
“I gave the bracelet to his dad when he came to Rocky Points all those years ago. Bought it at that trinket place on Main that used to be there. Remember the place that used to have the penny-flattening machine?”
Wolf’s eyes glazed over as he remembered going into the shop with his father. They’d left that day and gone to the railroad track to flatten coins the old-fashioned way.
“The Blonde Creek Miner,” Wolf said.
“Yeah. Holy cow, that was the name. Place went out of business when I was sheriff, and I can’t believe it lasted that long. Sold nothing but useless junk.”
Useless junk. That was the going product line of most businesses on Main Street.
“I recognized it when I saw it, with the rounded silver rectangle tag—it’s got a particular border. And when he read the inscription…I have the same one at home. We both got one that same day.”
“So Jesse got the bracelet from his father,” Wolf said, “and wrapped it around Kyle’s finger before he buried him? And then he texted you for help? How does that make sense? He would know you would have recognized it when they dug up Kyle. Why would he bring attention to himself, when he’s working so hard to cover his tracks otherwise? Like, by taking out his cell phone battery?”