by Jeff Carson
“Windfield is south of Dinosaur National Monument,” Rachette said. “I’ve been there.”
“And?” MacLean asked.
Rachette cleared his throat. “And there’s a dinosaur quarry there.”
MacLean grunted.
“All right,” Wolf said. “So Green presumably exhumed the bones from his dig, which is somewhere near Windfield, Colorado, loaded them up and brought them down to Rocky Points. Has anyone called the university? Talked to the paleontology department?”
Rachette raised a hand. “I called and got nowhere. Everything’s closed on Sundays. But we tracked down Professor Green’s cell number. I called twice and it seems like he has his phone switched off. I didn’t leave any messages at the university or with Professor Green.”
“I’ll take over on the calls,” Wolf said.
“I’ll call the locals,” MacLean said, referring to the local law enforcement in Windfield.
“Keep me in on that,” Wolf said.
MacLean widened his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get back to the crime scene,” Wolf said.
Lorber leaned forward. “We have two slugs inside Ryan Frost. Both .38 special.”
“And no brass at the scene,” Wolf said.
Lorber nodded. “So a revolver. But there’s more. Hernandez and Rachette?”
“The nearest neighbor,” Rachette said, “a guy named Bob Tinniker? You know him?”
“He drives ski resort shuttles,” Wilson said.
“And he lives down the hill from Frost,” Rachette said. “He says he heard three gunshots at 8:15 pm last night at dusk. Which was right around sunset time last night. He swears he heard three.”
“But Ryan Frost only sustained two gunshot wounds,” Lorber said.
Wolf nodded.
“‘The gunshots were like pop-pop’,” Rachette was reading from his tiny notepad, “‘and then a minute passed, then there was another shot’. That’s what our witness said. He says it was strange to hear three shots like that, because usually Frost is, quote, ‘blasting off a lot more rounds when he’s practicing shooting’.”
“And the other neighbors?” Wolf asked.
“They didn’t hear anything,” Hernandez said.
Lorber crossed one long leg over the other. “Judging by the proximity of the shots fired into Frost, I’m going to venture the third shot didn’t miss.”
“But there’s no body,” Wolf said.
Lorber splayed his hands.
“Fingerprints?”
Lorber looked at Dr. Blank.
Dr. Blank shook his head.
“The only ones that are coming up are Frost and his family’s,” Patterson said. “It doesn’t look like our two visitors went in the house or touched anything.”
“And the pistol in the bushes?” Wolf asked.
“Kimber TLE II .45 cal,” Hernandez said. “Registered to Ryan Frost. No shots fired. Only prints on the gun are his.”
“What about the tire tracks and footprints?” Wolf asked.
Patterson clicked her computer a few times and pulled up a file with photographs in it.
Clicking on the first picture, a picture came up on the screen with an imprint of a tire tread pattern clearly visible in fine dirt. “This tread is our UrMover truck. Tread pattern matches those on the UrMover Moving truck, according to the file we received from the rental agency.” Patterson was clicking through the photos continuously now. “The tracks that come after it are from a full-sized pickup truck with Goodyear P265/70R17 model tires.”
“That’s specific,” Wolf said.
“Yes. But the bad news is many American made trucks from 2009 to the present have this exact model tire on them straight out of the factory. That includes Chevy, Ram, GMC, and Ford. In fact, half of our vehicles in this department have the same tires on our SUV’s, but sixteen instead of seventeen inch. The only thing we can gather is that we’re looking at a full-sized, American model pickup.”
“Why not a Toyota?” MacLean asked. “Nissan?”
“Because of the wheel spacing.”
“And the shoe prints?” Wolf asked.
Lorber stood up from the half desk chair looking like a giant climbing out of a clown-car. The Medical Examiner stood six foot six inches tall, three inches taller than Wolf, but weighing at least twenty pounds less. A former hippie that had kept the hair as a memento, Lorber stroked his pony tail with one bony hand and pointed at Patterson with the other. “Patty, hit me with the folder I sent you.”
Rachette and Hernandez looked at each other and swallowed smiles.
Patterson clicked and a picture of the driveway came up on the big screen. The photo was taken with a wide-angle lens to get the entire space in the frame.
Lorber produced a laser pointer and swirled a green dot around Ryan Frost’s body. “Here we have Frost, and around him we have five sets of footprints we’re worried about—and one set we’re not, which was Sheriff … uh, sorry, Detective Wolf’s. Next.”
Patterson took her cue and clicked the button.
“Here’s a photo of Cassidy Frost’s shoe prints. Clearly her footprints were left last, as they go on top of the other four in question a number of times. It jives with her story that she found her father this morning, and besides, we’ve established Cassidy was out camping with Jack Wolf,” he looked at Wolf over his frameless spectacles, “your son, last night. Jack also confirmed this in his statement to Deputy Munford.”
Wolf felt heat rising in his face, and when Lorber stared at him for a few seconds Wolf raised an eyebrow.
“Right … so that leaves—next—the other four sets of footprints around the body and the rest of the crime scene. Next,” a picture of the ground, filtered digitally with some effects to highlight the footprints came up, “we have two sets of prints—Converse All Stars sized 16 and work boot of unknown brand sized approximately 10 or 11 walking behind two more sets of footprints.”
“Christ,” MacLean said. “My head’s going to explode.”
Lorber stopped and stared at MacLean. “I don’t …”
Patterson cleared her throat. “I think we could probably skip the exact specifics, and just say it’s clear that two men escorted Ryan Frost and someone else from the front door to the spot we found Frost’s body. We are assuming this someone else with Frost was Professor Green, because of the emails. We know these two in question escorted them, because their footprints go over the top of Frost’s and whoever else was next to him.”
MacLean twirled an impatient finger. “I get it.”
Lorber nodded. “Yes. Right. Thank you Patty. Next.”
A hissing sound pierced the air, like someone was letting air out of a tire, and then Jet lurched awake from a deep sleep, licked his teeth, and then dropped his head to the floor again.
“My God,” MacLean said. “I tell you what. Give me the short version, or a gas mask.”
Lorber backed away from Jet and nodded for Patterson to take over.
Patterson scrunched her nose and clicked the mouse, bringing up some more pictures of treads and shoe prints. “Basically the story goes like this. One man drove in with the UrMover rental truck—a box truck we are assuming was rented by Professor Green from Windfield.
“One set of footprints comes out of the rental truck, and a different set, the Converse All-Stars, goes back in and drives it away. Following the rental truck into the driveway was a full sized pickup truck.” She clicked more. “Converse All-Star and the Work Boot got out of the pickup that followed. We’re reasonably certain that Work Boot got out of the full-sized pickup from the passenger side, then left driving the full-sized pickup truck.”
Wolf nodded, seeing what she was getting at. “And let me guess. Converse All Star leaves driving the UrMover truck instead of the pickup truck.”
“Exactly,” Patterson said.
“So we think Professor Green drove the moving truck in to deliver the bones,” Wolf said, “and it looks like two people followed h
im in and got out of their truck.”
“Yes,” said Lorber. “But the delivery doesn’t happen. Because there’s a shitload of bones in the garage,” he pointed to Patterson.
Patterson clicked and a picture of the garage interior came up.
Lorber swirled his laser pointer on the screen. “But no Allosaurus Fragilis.”
Patterson clicked her mouse again.
A picture of an empty space on the smooth concrete floor of the garage came up. It was cordoned off with blue masking tape and had a sign that said Allosaurus Fragilis—Levenworth.
“And,” Patterson raised a finger, “that brings me to the most interesting transaction on Professor Green’s credit card. He bought a plane ticket to Buenos Aires, Argentina, scheduled to depart DIA this morning at 8:27 am. Guess who was not on the flight?”
“Professor Green.” Wolf said.
Patterson nodded. “And like we said, he hasn’t returned the moving truck.”
They went silent for a moment.
Lorber folded his arms. “So he’s probably toast, too. These two guys knock on the door with gun raised, force Frost and Green out of the front door by gunpoint. Frost was no dummy, was packing heat, but he didn’t have it drawn and the two culprits made him take it out of his waistband. Had him chuck it in the bushes. Shows that Frost didn’t suspect danger until they pointed their gun. Might be a clue right there. They might have known who was at the door. Didn’t think they were dangerous.”
Patterson nodded. “Two shots for Frost, one shot for Professor Green. They take the cash. They take the bones. They … go somewhere.”
“And where’s Professor Green’s body?” MacLean asked.
Patterson shrugged. “Back of the pickup? Back of the moving truck?”
They went silent for a beat.
“Makes sense,” Rachette said. “Professor Green missed his flight. The rental truck hasn’t been returned.”
Lorber folded his long arms and widened his stance. “We’ve gotta find Professor Green’s dig team. Senator Levenworth was right, he had to have a dig team. And this whole trip to Argentina is fishy. Points to motive.”
“How?” MacLean asked.
“Think about it,” Lorber said. “The dig team had to be in on the bones sale, right?”
“And Professor Green buys a ticket to Argentina,” Patterson said, “due to take off this morning. He’d already decided to take the money and run.”
Rachette shook his head. “That makes no sense. How big and heavy is a million bucks in hundred dollar bills? Like half a dump-truck full?”
Patterson pulled up Google and typed in the question.
“20.4 pounds in bundles of hundreds.”
“Still risky taking it on a plane,” Rachette said. “You’d have to check it in luggage, and hope some airport worker doesn’t steal it. Then, hope you don’t get searched in customs when you land.”
Lorber nodded. “Let’s say he’s willing to take that risk.”
“A big risk,” Rachette said.
Lorber ignored him. “But the dig team figures out what he’s going to do, maybe they come across his plane ticket to Argentina, or whatever. They follow him down here and get the money, and off him.”
“And Ryan Frost,” Wolf said.
They descended into silence again.
“And leave a whole hell of a lot of prints and tracks,” Hernandez said.
Lorber raised a stick finger. “But no trace evidence. No fingerprints. No hair.”
Patterson clicked her mouse and a photo of the UrMover box truck in question came up. “Basic white paint. This is a ten foot model.”
It was scratched and dinged to hell on the sides. There was a black and white logo with a guy winking and giving a thumbs up. Underneath it said UrMover Moving, Windfield, CO, and a phone number was listed.
“I’ve called up north to Brushing PD and Summit County,” Barker said in a voice louder than needed, “the truck hasn’t come up on their radar.”
“And south?” MacLean pressed him.
“Same thing. Nothing found south of Williams Pass. Ashland PD said no. We’ve got a BOLO out everywhere.”
Wolf nodded at Patterson. “You have the credit card transactions for Professor Green. I take it he didn’t purchase gas in the last 24 hours?”
Patterson shook her head.
Wolf split two fingers and pointed at Patterson and Rachette. “You two head out right now and get to the gas stations down south. Retrieve footage.”
Patterson paused for a second, glanced at her watch, then nodded and stood up.
Rachette frowned and looked up at her, like she had agreed to kill someone without an argument.
“Wait,” Wolf said, “I forgot. It’s Sunday night. You have something going on, don’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Rachette said, “if you count a bridal shower as something important.”
“It’s no problem,” she said. “This is more important. They’ll understand.”
The room fell still and silent.
Wolf pointed at Hernandez and Barker. “You two go instead.”
“How far south?” Hernandez asked.
“Those UrMover trucks come full to the rim with gas. We know Green didn’t fill up from Windfield down to here. Figure out the distance it could have driven to on the remainder of gas and check all those stations within that circle radius,” Wolf said.
“And what if Professor Green drove down here from Windfield, and then gassed up with cash in town?” Rachette asked with a raised finger. “It could have gone further then we think.”
Hernandez turned to Rachette. “The local gas stations would be within that circle, Einstein.”
Rachette tilted his head. “Oh, yeah.”
“Rachette, you take the local stations. Hernandez and Barker head south. Then we’ll start north tomorrow morning. It’s been a long day, and it’s looking like it’s going to be a long one tomorrow. Do what you can tonight and we’ll get started bright and early tomorrow.”
“What about north?” Rachette asked. “Who’s going to check out this dig team?”
“I am.” Wolf walked up the aisle of the room. “Jet, come.”
“Alone?” Rachette asked.
“I’ll have local support.” He nodded at MacLean to follow him and walked up the aisle of the room.
MacLean stood up and walked after him. “Where are you going now?”
“To the airport to pick up Ryan Frost’s wife.”
“DIA?”
“Yep.”
MacLean followed silently through the doors into the squad room.
“Can you do me a favor?” Wolf asked.
“Shoot.”
“Watch Jet while I’m gone.”
“No.”
Wolf stopped and turned, and Jet did the same.
“Have you smelled him? I’m not putting that bag of methane with legs in my office.” MacLean looked around the squad room. “Have one of these grunts do it.”
“I’ll put him in my office. Nate Watson is dropping off some medication down at the lobby to help his gas. I need you to give it to Jet. It’s important. If his bloating gets out of control he could die.”
MacLean rubbed his silver goatee and stared at Jet. “Fine.”
Jet raised an eyebrow.
“How do I give it to him?”
“Shove it in some food.” Wolf pulled out his wallet. “Piece of cake.”
“Where’s the food?”
Wolf handed him a ten-dollar bill. “At the store.”
Chapter 8
Wolf stepped into his office with Jet following. The metal and wood furniture shined in the afternoon light coming in the window like a nuclear detonation so he went to the windows and cranked the blinds.
A brochure sat conspicuously on the desk. He picked it up and leafed through it. “Who in the hell?” Wolf said under his breath. He dropped it in the trash, sat in the leather chair and closed his eyes. The material beneath him was slippery and
smelled like industrial cleaning agents, just like the rest of the building.
His phone chimed and vibrated in his pocket.
Margaret Hitchens.
He stared at the screen for the duration of the call and set his phone down, and now the brochure made perfect sense. If there ever were a time to avoid a Margaret Hitchens call, it was now. The owner of the largest real estate brokerage in the county, Margaret Hitchens was a hard-nosed motherly figure in Wolf’s life, even more so now that Wolf had lost Sarah.
It was clear she felt it was her duty to make sure Wolf was on a proper path of healing, and it was getting on Wolf’s nerves.
Margaret had foregone leaving a message, and the phone started its vibrating and chiming all over again. She was going to call until he picked up. Every once in a while she did that. A week ago, out of curiosity, he’d let her call six times in a row before he’d finally picked up.
He poked the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Margaret.”
“Hi, David,” she said in that smug, knowing tone of hers that she had no clue she used.
“I’m in a meeting. I can’t talk right now.”
“Bullshit. I just talked to my niece and she said you just walked into your office with Jet.”
Wolf needed to go over some rules of phone call engagement with Patterson. “You’re so resourceful.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. Did you get the brochure I left on your desk yesterday?”
Wolf leaned over and looked in the trash. The brochure was gone.
He frowned, wondering for a second if he’d gone crazy, and then he saw Jet. The dog sat staring at Wolf, the brochure sitting in his mouth. He stepped to Wolf and dropped it at his feet.
Wolf stared at the brochure, which was now folded and covered with slobber, and then shook his head at Jet.
“You’re working with her?” Wolf asked.
Jet tilted his head.
“What?” Margaret asked.
“Nothing.” Wolf threw the brochure back in the trash.
“And what do you think?”
Wolf said nothing.
“David, you remember what brought Sarah back from the brink of depression?”
Wolf stood and peeked through the blinds.