by Jeff Carson
“Why do you think we would have already talked to them?” She asked.
“You had a picture of Jeffries with you yesterday,” Wolf took a sip of his soda and watched Luke. She kept her eyes on the road. “I’ve just been assuming my description raised a flag with you guys,” he said, “like it was an ongoing investigation.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed, and she took a breath before answering. “It was, but we didn’t know these guys were in the country. We knew they were missing in Afghanistan, and your description tipped us off that it was one of them, and that they’re now in the country.”
“From my description.” Wolf looked at her, “You figured out it was one of the four missing men? Not one of the other hundreds of thousands of soldiers either enlisted, or on leave, or once enlisted?”
She nodded. “Well, there was the neck tattoo.”
“But that’s not enough to single the guy out, is it? There’s gotta be thousands of guys with neck tattoos. It’s only recently they’re starting to crack down on tats in the military.”
She held up a hand. “Fewer than you think, and it’s a little more complicated than that. Your description raised our flags because of some…recent developments I can’t talk about.”
“So, like I said. Let’s cut the small talk until you want to explain. Until then, I have an investigation I’m working here, and you’re just inking it up for me with your bullshit.”
She looked back to the road, he to the passing hills, and the tense silence returned.
Chapter 28
Rachette looked up the grassy ski slope and cringed at watching the speed of a mountain biker rolling down the dirt trail above. Nothing was more gut wrenching to Rachette than to see a person disregard his own safety like the maniac kid flying down the narrow path. It was why he stuck to enjoying the mountains on his two feet, rather than on bicycles, or skis, or a snowboard. He’d even seen a kid strap his feet into an off-road skateboard, with four thick rubber wheels, and no brakes. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen that caused such moronic behavior in the population of the mountains. Maybe they needed a few days on a farm in Nebraska.
An instant later the biker flipped over his handlebars, and rolled to a motionless stop. Rachette sucked in a breath and brought his radio to his lips, and then watched with hawk eyes as a group of bikers on the trail went over to assess the damage. The kid got up from the ground, dusted himself off, and smiled at his friends.
Rachette shook his head and turned around to survey the festival grounds below. A couple small restaurants with tall windows glared in the morning sun. Two ski lift terminals turned, and people, hikers and morons alike, swung gently on the chairs on their way up.
In between the two lifts, the stage for the first annual Rocky Points Music Festival looked completely set up, but a swarm of men still hammered and screwed boards, and rods, and screws into place. Some of the men were high on the rafters, hanging lights, and others were on the ground, pulling cable, and others pretended to look busy, and others still just stood around looking like a waste of taxpayer’s money.
Rachette sighed when he saw Patterson and fit her into the latter group of people he’d been observing. She was talking to a man who had a hammer in his hand, and she had Jack and the man enthralled in a story. She was laughing and talking, and Jack was laughing and talking, and the guy was laughing and talking.
This new girl on the force was throwing a big wrench in the cogs of the machine that was the Rocky Points PD. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was just put off by her. She was too…He couldn’t figure out what her problem was quite yet. But there was definitely a problem with her.
A police cruiser came into view in the far distance off to the right, followed by another, and another. Rachette stepped toward the parking lot. One of them was unmistakably a Vail cruiser— a jet-black, shiny new Saab with the Vail PD logo on it. Another was a GSPD cruiser, a Ford SUV, and the last vehicle was a Chevy SUV with the Summit County logo.
Patterson, despite her distance away, saw Rachette’s movement and ran with Jack.
“Finally showing up?” Patterson said breathlessly, meeting him halfway.
Rachette didn’t bother answering the rhetorical, and flawed, question. First of all, they weren’t finally showing up, they were showing up exactly on time. Since they were all staying at the Edelweiss the night before, and for the next two nights, it looked like they’d trained it here in their vehicles.
Patterson made a face at Jack that Rachette couldn’t see, but Jack smiled wide and then looked at Rachette.
“I was joking,” Patterson said. “Looks like they’re raring to go, showing up right on time.”
Rachette felt his face warm, and shook his head. He was going to earn all his measly salary today, babysitting these two. He just hoped these eight officers were going to be less taxing, mentally.
Eight men poured out of their vehicles, looking sharp in their uniforms. They chuckled with one another, and donned their hats, and looked around at the bustling activity.
When they saw Rachette approaching, they straightened and all walked over.
For a ridiculous amount of time, they stood in a circle and shook hands and introduced one another. Each and every one of them looked at Patterson with varying degrees of too-much-interest. Her smile was engaging, and all the men seemed to be enthralled by her.
Rachette suddenly wished he’d requested some female officers to counter the imbalance. Patterson’s presence was already distracting.
“And this is Jack,” Rachette said pulling Jack in front of him. “This is the Sheriff’s son.”
Jack blushed and left the circle of officers.
“Don’t go too far,” Rachette said.
Jack didn’t look back. Instead he stood still and looked up at the mountain bikers.
Rachette turned back to the officers, and watched a tall man from the Vail PD flick a glance at Patterson.
“On behalf of Sheriff Wolf,” Rachette said in a hearty tone, “and the whole Rocky Points Police Department, I thank you for coming to help us this weekend.”
“Where is your Sheriff?” One of the Glenwood Springs officers asked. “Still dealing with that shooting?”
Rachette looked at the big officer. The badge said Richter, and Rachette pegged him at least six-four, two hundred thirty pounds, and in his early forties. He had closely cropped brown hair and a bushy brown mustache. He was a man’s man, and probably a force to be reckoned with on the football field back in his day.
“Yes. He is, Officer Richter,” Rachette said. “I didn’t see you at the hospital yesterday morning.”
“That’s because I wasn’t there,” said Richter. “We had a lot of things to take care of, because we were coming here.”
“Yes,” Rachette said, eyeing the tall officer. Rachette wondered how he was supposed to read the man’s last statement. Richter kept a neutral face and didn’t blink.
Patterson cleared her throat. “We realize you’re all leaving pressing situations at home,” she said, “and taking time away from your families isn’t any fun, either. But, like Officer Rachette said, we really appreciate it. Hopefully we can accommodate you gentlemen adequately, and, well, hopefully we can all have a fun time working with one another in the process.”
Richter, along with the other seven men, broke into a smile and nodded at one another.
Patterson looked up at Rachette with raised eyebrows, and Rachette forced himself to smile and nod. “We’ll be helping with general security today, and a little bit of setup, and then tomorrow the first acts will be coming on at around sundown. Patterson, why don’t you lead everyone to the area in front of the stage, and we’ll continue our orientation. I’ll be right there.” The men scattered and began following Patterson, and Jack turned and joined them. “Officer Richter,” Rachette called, “could I talk to you a moment?”
“Yes?” Officer Richter turned around and looked down at Rachette.
“I just wanted to k
now how the investigation was going?” Rachette asked. “I was, kind of wishing I was involved in that investigation as well. That’s my Sheriff that was shot the other night, after all.”
Richter nodded.
“So? Any news?”
“I don’t know,” Richter said, “you'll have to ask your Sheriff. I’ve probably heard just what you have. I think they got a bullet casing, and some soil samples, but when I talked to the station this morning on the phone, they said they weren’t getting any hits.”
Rachette frowned. “No hits? What do you mean? AFIS? Or CODIS?”
“Like, no prints. I’m not sure about the soil samples.” Richter looked over Rachette’s head, like he was itching to leave.
Rachette nodded and waved him by. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
Rachette pulled out his phone and dialed Wolf.
“Hello?” Wolf’s voice was choppy in Rachette’s phone.
“Hey, it’s me. How’s it going?”
There was a pause a second too long.
“Do you hear—“ Rachette said.
“Hey, not bad,” Wolf said. “Listen, I’m glad you called. I need to talk to Patterson.”
Rachette rolled his eyes and looked at the group of officers walking away. Richter had jogged to catch up and was talking to Jack.
“She’s, not here, I’ll go get her.”
“No,” Wolf said, “don't worry about it. Just have her call me as soon as possible.”
“Okay, will do.”
“Later,” Wolf said, and the phone went silent.
“Hello?”
Rachette checked the screen of his phone and saw the call was disconnected. He shook his head and shoved it in his pocket, then trudged after the group of men, and one very annoying woman.
Chapter 29
Wolf and Luke drove southwest on I-70, along the meandering Colorado River, for forty minutes and then headed south on highway 50, along the portion of Colorado known as the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains, or simply, the Western Slope.
Long, sweeping valley floors rose to flat-topped plateaus as far as the eye could see, or as far as the shape of the earth allowed if one had perfect eyesight on a clear day. Today, however, the clouds had rolled in, and showers dumped out of the clouds like shower heads spraying white plumes against the landscape ahead of Luke’s Tahoe.
Wind buffeted the vehicle side to side, and the vastness of the landscape outside, along with the elements, made Wolf wonder how those early settlers, after just trudging their way through the unforgiving Rockies, ever looked at the landscape beyond and decided to keep going.
As they approached Delta, the dry, brown landscape, dotted with low bushes and trees, became greener, if not only because of human intervention. Fields of various crops were on both sides of the highway, and there were orchards of peaches, and apples.
Delta, and the area of the Western Slope to the north, around Grand Junction, was known for being places that grew great produce. Peach orchards, and even wine vineyards, thrived in this portion of the country, and that’s apparently exactly what had brought Wade Jeffries’s family here however long ago, because they were approaching a house that was on a small hill, smack dab in the middle of an orchard of peach trees.
The house was a newer looking one-story building. There was a bright coat of navy blue paint on the house, and it looked like the back yard was still in the middle of being landscaped. A small earthmover sat idle in the back yard, and a stack of brick near the rear door of the house sat near a new brick patio, which was half-finished.
“Nice place,” Luke said. It was the first thing either of them had said in over forty-five minutes.
“This is the house Jeffries grew up in?” Wolf asked.
“Yep. The file says he was born in town, raised right here. Father was killed in some sort of agricultural accident eleven years ago. And Jeffries went into the army shortly there after.”
“Is this their orchard?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah. It is.”
“And who took care of the family business when he was off disarming bombs in the Middle East?”
“Good question,” Luke said, “I guess it had to have been his sister and mother. Julie and Wanda Jeffries. Julie’s the sister.”
Wolf nodded and eyed the house as they drove up the final stretch of the dirt driveway. “It looks like the orchard is doing well. This house looks completely renovated, and then some.”
Luke nodded. “Yeah.”
They parked in the driveway next to a Nissan X-Terra that had a temporary plate taped in the rear window.
“New truck,” Wolf said as they got out.
The air was cool and shifty, and the breeze carried a few droplets of moisture from the shapeless clouds that blanketed the sky.
Wolf zipped up his hooded sweatshirt, wishing he’d pulled his jacket out of his SUV before they’d left the field office parking lot.
The windows were covered with heavy drapes that hung still—no one peeking outside to see what uninvited guests just pulled into the driveway. The house was quiet, and so was the surrounding land, with nobody in sight in the orchard below.
The garage door was open to their right, revealing a riding lawnmower inside, and an old Toyota Land Cruiser taking up the bulk of the space.
Something caught Wolf’s attention, and he pulled up his sweatshirt and drew his gun.
“What?” Luke stepped next to him with her gun drawn, following his gaze into the garage.
“Look at that door.”
The door in the garage to the interior of the house was open a crack, and it looked to had been forced, because the doorknob was hanging by a screw. Wolf looked closer, and saw that the cheap aluminum knob looked mangled, like a squeezed beer can, and had a hole through it. The door itself was splintered with a dark hole in it also.
Wolf and Luke crouched and aimed their guns ahead as they entered the garage. Wolf aimed with his right hand, letting his now throbbing arm hang limp by his side.
Luke stopped and backed herself against the rear of the Land Cruiser, and Wolf continued past her.
“Hey,” she hissed.
Wolf toed open the door and aimed his pistol inside. A dim hallway stretched for a few feet, ending at an equally dim kitchen, where a stainless steel refrigerator sat humming on a tile floor.
Wolf waved his injured arm for Luke to follow him, ignoring the punch of pain in his bicep, and stalked inside. The smell was pungent, and it was unmistakable that they were going to see some kind of grizzly death in the next few steps, probably to the right, judging by the pattern of blood spatter on the refrigerator, and the brightening light in that direction, suggesting the space opened up.
Wolf flipped a switch on the wall. The hallway lit up, and the spattering on the refrigerator brightened to a dark maroon. He stepped soundless, keeping his pistol aimed, and watched a puddle of dried blood come into view on the black and white tiled floor. And then he saw a head of gray hair, and the motionless body of a woman in a pink nightgown.
“Careful.” Luke whispered behind him.
Wolf was being careful, but knew they had most likely missed the window of danger. No one shot a woman in a kitchen, then stuck around long enough for the smell to kick in, then hung around to really breathe it in.
Luke darted into the next room gun-first, and Wolf followed behind her. The next room was dark for an instant, and then was bathed in yellow light after Luke clicked on a wall switch. She strode fast through the room and into a narrow hallway. Wolf followed right on her heels, with gun at the ready.
Luke stopped at a t-junction of the hall, and looked at Wolf. She pointed to the right, and she disappeared to the left.
Wolf took the right, and walked down the dark hall toward two closed doors. The one on the right had a sliver of light shining beneath it, a faint horizontal line of natural light. The one on the left was pitch black.
He twisted the knob on the right, and flung open the door
, ready to fire. It was a small bedroom with a queen-sized bed, an open closet, and an open door to a bathroom.
He swept the room, checking the closet, under the bed, and the bathroom, then peeked out. The quick-moving shadow of Luke crossed into another room down the hall.
He reached for the next door and opened it. He couldn’t see a thing in the pitch-black room, but a humid stench punched him in the nose, even worse than the smell they’d encountered in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Wolf said involuntarily, calming his gag reflex through sheer willpower.
Wolf raked the back of his hand across the wall inside the door, and felt it slide across sticky patches, until he found the light switch. He flipped it on, and saw an unmistakably dead person tied to a chair.
The first thing that Wolf noticed was the hair. The head was slumped forward, exposing the top of the person’s head, and it was cut in a boyish style. It was matted with blood, with only a wisp of the true color blonde showing through.
Wolf studied the rest of the corpse, and realized it was a woman in her twenties. Two exposed breasts, grayish-white, with dark black nipples, protruded from underneath strands of blood-soaked rope. The rest of the body was naked, covered in downward streams of dried blood.
“Clear!” Luke said from somewhere behind him.
“In here!” Wolf responded.
Luke ran down the hall and flew into the room with gun raised.
“Jesus,” she stopped on a dime and turned around with a hand over her mouth. “Jesus.”
Wolf bent down and looked up at the face. It was unrecognizable with all the damage to it. The nose was sideways and flat, mouth open and jaw sideways, and one of the eyes seemed to be caved in.
“Julie Jeffries. She was beaten to death,” Wolf said.
“No shit. Oh God.”
Wolf went to the window and pulled open the heavy drape. It squeaked open, letting in a few photons of natural light. The sound of rain pattered on the window in a steady rhythm. Wolf noticed there was blood on the glass underneath the drapes. It looked like someone had closed it up after the deed was done.