by Jeff Carson
“Good God,” Luke studied the corpse. “What the hell?”
The room looked to have been used by the Jeffries’s as a home office. A desk stood against the north wall, and there were two file cabinets tucked in the corner. The woman was tied to a wooden swivel chair, and it was in the center of the room, directly underneath the overhead light on the ceiling.
Wolf walked around the rear of the corpse, and studied the knots on her hands. They were crude. Double knots, tripled, then quadrupled on themselves.
“It looks like she was being interrogated,” Wolf said.
Luke nodded. “Yeah. It does.”
Dollops of blood, mixed with skin and hair, were flung onto a wooden desk behind the corpse. A framed picture, streaked with red on the glass, stood on the corner of it. It was a pair of teenage children, smiling on a sunnier day some time in the past. The kids both had the same eyes, and the same bone structure on their face. Boy and girl, and the boy Wolf recognized as Wade Jeffries, minus the neck tattoo and burned ear.
“Why kill them?” Wolf asked aloud. “And who?”
“The other EOD guys?” Luke asked.
“But why? They’re all supposedly in hiding, with Wade. Someone looking for Wade?”
“Shit.” Luke pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
Wolf watched her as she stared at the ceiling with impatience.
“Hawes. This is Luke. I need you to go to 392 Dahlia Lane, in Glenwood. You know it?” She listened for a second. “Right. Just west of Main. I need you to check on the occupant of the house, and call me the second you confirm the woman is okay. What? No, now. And call me the second you find out.”
She hung up and looked at Wolf.
“You think Bernadette Richter’s next?” Wolf asked.
“Let’s hope not.”
Wolf’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. It was a phone number he didn’t recognize. Probably Patterson, giving him that call he was waiting for. He forwarded it to voice mail. It was hardly the time.
Luke and Wolf stepped back into the kitchen. The old woman had a neat hole in her forehead and a bigger exit wound in the back of her head, exposing the insides of the skull within.
“They must have broken in from the garage, but they had to have stepped around her, and then shot her.” Wolf pantomimed the scene. “The spatter is toward the refrigerator, or basically toward where they came in from.”
Luke watched on with shifty eyes, seeming distracted by something.
“Let’s call the locals.” Wolf said.
She nodded, but didn’t reach for her phone, so Wolf took his out and dialed the Delta PD. He let them know that they were law enforcement from Glenwood Springs and Rocky Points, and they had just found two dead bodies on scene. The call was brief, and when he hung up he looked at Luke with raised eyebrows.
“Shall we step into the—“
Luke’s phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out.
“Yeah.” She glared at the wall of the kitchen as she listened.
“Good. Stay there until I get there, which will be,” she looked at her watch, “in about two hours, give or take.” She listened for a few more seconds, then held up a finger to Wolf and walked into the other room.
Wolf watched her leave around the corner, and her voice dropped in volume so he couldn’t hear. She spoke quickly, in a flurry of mumbling.
After a few seconds, Wolf walked after her into the other room, curiosity piqued. When he rounded the corner, she was all the way across the room, shoulders rounded, finishing a terse whisper into the phone.
“Then get Shaw to come do it,” she said loudly, and then turned around and rolled her eyes at Wolf as if he could empathize with the stupidity on the other end of the line. “But I don’t want that woman left alone for a second. I have reason to believe she’s in danger. I’ll be there soon.”
Luke hung up the phone without waiting for a response and looked at Wolf.
“What’s up?” She asked.
“Mrs. Richter is all right?”
Luke nodded.
Wolf turned back to the kitchen. “What do you say we step outside to wait for these guys?”
“Haven’t heard a better idea all year,” she said and walked past him, through the kitchen, and out the garage.
Chapter 30
The Delta Police Department ended up storming in with five vehicles blaring their sirens. Wolf and Luke greeted them, and told their stories, and described what they’d touched, and then stood outside in the drizzle talking to the local Sheriff, Sheriff Bradley VanWyke.
“And why were you here, exactly, Wolf?” VanWyke asked.
VanWyke was a heavy man, as most men who played offensive line in College were during, and after, their football-years. His hair was cropped short, or gone, underneath his cowboy hat—Wolf couldn’t remember from the last time he’d seen him, which was over two years ago at a law enforcement conference in Durango. He had a brown handlebar mustache that looked to be kept for weekends on a Harley Davidson, and he stood even with Wolf. His eyes were wide and locked open, with tiny dots for pupils. Coupled with his jerky movements, Wolf knew he was hopped up after seeing the dead bodies inside, and would probably be for the next few days.
“I’m afraid we can’t talk about that, sir,” Luke said, answering before Wolf had a chance.
VanWyke scowled down at Luke. “Oh, really?” He shook his head and looked over at her shiny black Tahoe. “I suppose it’s a matter of national security?”
“Something like that,” Luke didn’t blink.
“Bullshit.” VanWyke turned to Wolf and shrugged. “Come on, Wolfie? You gonna play me like that?”
Wolf sighed and looked at Luke. “I was involved in a shooting the other night. We suspected Wade Jeffries might have had something to do with it. We were just checking in with his family, and we found them like this.” He shrugged. “End of story.”
VanWyke tilted his head and glared at Wolf, then at Luke.
“Wade Jeffries has been MIA in Afghanistan for a year, hasn’t he?” Asked VanWyke. “It was big news around town last year.”
Wolf nodded. “That’s the interesting part.”
“Huh,” he frowned at Luke, then at Wolf. “So, what the fuck?”
“We’ll keep in touch,” Luke said, “We’d like to hear what your forensics team comes up with, but we have to get going.” Luke patted Wolf on the back and turned to leave.
VanWyke ignored Luke and locked eyes with Wolf.
Wolf looked down at Luke and then back to VanWyke. “Yeah, Brad, we’d really appreciate it.”
VanWyke narrowed his eyes. “You leavin’ already?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Yeah, fine. I’ll keep you informed. Not for this suit,” he kept eye contact with Wolf and thumbed in the direction of Luke, “but for the best Quarterback I ever sacked? Twice in one game? Yeah, I’ll keep you informed.” He tipped his hat at Luke. “Ma-am,” and then he walked away.
Luke narrowed her eyes and watched VanWyke leave, then continued on to her Tahoe.
…
They drove the whole hour and twenty minutes back to Glenwood Springs like they had most of the way there—in silence.
Wolf took advantage in the lull to listen to his voicemail—a message from Patterson calling as per his request—and then typed out a message to Rachette and Patterson that said, Rachette, as you were, Patterson, I need you at the station in thirty minutes.
A few seconds later they responded with their own texts and Wolf sat back and zoned out on the passing rapids of the Colorado River.
“You want me to drop you off at your car first?” She asked just before they reached town.
“No, I’d rather stick with you, if you don’t mind.” Wolf said.
She shrugged, showing no sign of annoyance, and exited a different ramp at Glenwood Springs than they’d entered the highway on, and then headed south through the back streets with expert sense of direction. Finally, for the second time of
the day, she stopped in front of Bernadette Richter’s house.
“I’ll just stay here, if you don’t mind.” Wolf said preemptively.
She looked over and creased her forehead. “You don’t want to come back in?”
“Nah, I’ll leave the FBI work to you. Besides, our partnership is supposed to be secret, right?”
She nodded and exhaled. “Thanks. I’ll be a few minutes.”
Wolf nodded, and watched her through the streaming droplets of water on the windshield.
She hopped the tiny picket fence gate and walked with a quick stride up through the yard, and then skipped two steps at a time up the wooden stairs to the front porch. She moved like a ballet dancer with a gun, Wolf thought.
Wolf took out his phone and hit the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey. How’s it going over there?”
“Good,” Patterson said in a chipper voice. “How are things going with you? Any progress?”
“Getting there. On that note, are you back at the station?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on a free computer.”
Wolf heard her soft breathing and then the squeak of a chair.
“Okay,” Patterson said, “Just a second, booting up.”
“Great,” Wolf looked up at the house. Luke was inside in open front door, shadowed against the brightly lit interior of the house. He could see Mrs. Richter smiling up at her, and turning to smile at the male FBI agent who stood next to Luke. The door closed slowly, and then shut.
Wolf looked at the perfectly manicured lawn, now soaked in the rain, and the trimmed rose bushes, and the clean soil of the garden on the side of the house, and the mailbox with the flag up, and the fresh outside paint job.
“Okay,” Patterson said. “I’m on.”
“I need you to check on someone,” Wolf said.
Chapter 31
Wolf was still on the phone when Luke left the house a few minutes later. She shut the door behind her and trotted down the wood steps, jogged the path, and jumped the small gate again.
“Ah, it’s getting cold out there,” She said as she slid up into the driver’s seat, “oh, sorry.”
Wolf held up his phone. “No problem, I’m on hold.”
“What?” Patterson said into his ear.
“Yeah.” Wolf said into the phone. “Just let me know, I’ll wait.”
“Ah, okay, just a second,” Patterson said.
Luke drove down the street toward the commercial center of Glenwood Springs, and Wolf listened intently as Patterson rattled off the information she’d gathered.
Wolf listened in silence for a few minutes, only grunting to goad Patterson on. When he was satisfied, he said goodbye, hung up, and put the phone in his pocket.
Luke turned onto Grand Avenue, and headed north toward the FBI field office.
“Hey,” he said looking out the window like he’d just seen something. “Can you pull over? Behind those buildings, in the back alley?”
“What?” She frowned. “Why?”
“Trust me. I think I saw something.” Wolf sat back and gripped the ceiling bar.
Luke shook her head and hit the brakes. “We gonna bust a drunk?”
Wolf kept his intent glare out the window.
She took the next right and then turned in the alley behind the retail shops that lined the main street in town.
“Right here.” Wolf pointed out the windshield toward the back door of a building.
She stopped. “Here?”
Wolf got out, and Luke shut off the engine. There was no traffic on the secluded back alley. Old, tall oak trees blocked the road from most of the rain. There was a low hum from a heating unit on the back of the building, which had a blue painted door that read Monty’s Leatherworks in white stenciling.
Wolf crouched and put his hand on his pistol, then shuffled toward the door.
Luke came up next to him, and pulled her pistol. “What’s going on?” She kept her eyes on the door, and then double took at the sight of Wolf aiming at the side of her face.
“Drop your gun,” Wolf said in a calm voice.
She turned a fraction, and Wolf pushed his barrel closer. “I said, drop your gun, now.”
“What the fuck…” She crouched down slowly and set her gun on the cracked asphalt. “What…what are you—“
“Stand up, and put your hands on the hood.”
She turned and scrunched her face. “No.”
“Do as I say, or I’ll shoot, and then tell the whole story to your special agent in charge, Ms. Richter.”
Luke flushed, her throat constricting.
“I know everything,” Wolf said, “now please, don’t make me shoot you in the leg, and get up against the hood.”
She shook her head and clenched her teeth, then walked to the hood and assumed the position. “Go ahead, have at it.”
Wolf lifted his left arm out in a stretch, and the thick bruise pulsed with agony. Thanks to the information gleaned from Patterson, he now knew Luke was a second-degree black belt and trained in other martial arts. Luke was clearly no pushover, and he needed to be using both hands.
She looked over her shoulder, catching Wolf mid-wince.
“Don’t try it,” he said. “I’ve got a hair trigger setting on this thing.”
He started at the inner thigh of her right leg, and worked down to her ankle, then to the other ankle.
She kicked across and back with her right foot, connecting squarely against the inside of his left bicep.
Wolf jumped back, and her fist breezed past his face less than an inch away. Pain seared through his arm to the point his vision blurred. He could feel a warm trickle of blood running from his stitches down his arm.
Wolf stood still, and aimed at her head, feeling the warmth under his bandage grow. “Last warning,” he said, “next time I shoot.”
Her face was impassive. She didn’t blink, or make a sound. Just turned around and spread her legs again.
Wolf walked up fast and pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of her right thigh, and checked her left leg from bottom to top. Then he checked her waist, and up underneath her breasts.
“Turn around.” He said stepping back.
She did, and he wasn’t prepared for the hate in her eyes. She glared, like he had just violated her on the deepest level.
He didn’t care.
“Take off your jacket,” he said.
“I’m not—“
“Take off your jacket,” Wolf returned her glare.
She unzipped her parka and opened it, then pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall to the wet ground. Underneath she wore a white long sleeved button up blouse, that was somewhat see-through.
Wolf studied her skin under the shirt. He could see the brighter white line of her bra against the fabric, but the sleeve was loose, and the material and dull light kept her arm hidden underneath.
She followed his eyes, and in a quick move ripped open her shirt. “There, you get a good look?” A button bounced off Wolf’s arm and onto the ground at his feet. He was now looking at her breasts, which were covered with a thin white bra, and her taught abdomen, which was slim and muscular.
“Take off the left sleeve,” he said.
She looked down at her arm and pulled her eyebrows together. “What?” A moment later she widened her eyes. “You think I was there? Shooting at your son?”
Wolf nodded to her arm.
She pulled the sleeve and revealed her thin, muscled arm, and displayed it for Wolf in a twisting motion. There was no bandage, no wound.
Wolf turned around and walked to her SIG, holstered his gun, and picked hers up. When he turned around, she stood unmoved, with her upper body still exposed to the humid chill of the air.
“You can put that back on now,” Wolf said.
She didn’t move, but her defiant glare lowered, and melted into a distant look. “I’m not involved in this,” she said quietly.
“I know.
But you think your brother is,” Wolf said.
Luke slipped on the sleeve of her blouse and bent to pick up her FBI parka.
“Is it you who takes care of her?” Wolf walked slowly back to Luke. “Mow the lawn, trim the bushes, clean her house, take care of the mail?”
She nodded, slipping her jacket on. “Yeah. My brother doesn’t do shit. I’m the one who takes care of her. She’s completely gone, completely helpless, and my brother just ignores her.”
Wolf stopped in front of her. “She remembers you.”
“That’s about all she can do, nowadays. It’s so strange,” she said in a quiet voice, “that she remembers me.”
Wolf flipped her pistol around and held it out handle-first.
Luke looked at it, and then up at Wolf, then took it.
“We need to talk,” Wolf said.
She nodded, holstering her pistol.
“I’m hungry.” Wolf stepped to the passenger door and got in.
Wolf watched through the mirrors as Luke walked slowly around the rear of the SUV with the enthusiasm of a death-row inmate’s last walk. She finally rounded the Tahoe and climbed in without saying anything, fired it up, and drove.
Chapter 32
Special Agent Kristen Luke had been hurt three times by men in her life. Her father had made the first emotional cut, leaving when she was a sophomore in high school to join the Bozeman, Montana PD. She’d never gotten a reason from him for leaving his wife, daughter, and two sons. And she never had got an explanation from her mother. And as far as an apology from her father in the eleven years since he’d left? She’d never gotten that either.
Her father had hurt her first, and probably the deepest. At least that’s what she thought nowadays, now that she was in her mid-thirties and had had plenty of time to sulk about it. But at the time, immediately following his disappearing act, she’d pretended like she didn’t care. She’d pretended to others, and to herself. Which led to a phase in her life that she commonly referred to, to herself, rather than out loud to anyone else other than her best friend, Linda, as the slut period.
In her first year in college at Boulder, she’d found herself more than willing to allow the young men in the dorms into her pants. She figured, if they had the guts to ask, or make a move, she was obliged to ‘give it up’. Though it repulsed her to think about it now, she remembered feeling secure when a drunk guy had been groping her with his warm hands. It had made her feel secure, and wanted. Classic daddy-doesn’t-love-me syndrome.