To the Bone (David Wolf Book 7)

by Jeff Carson

  Patterson ignored the smell as it permeated the cab and climbed up her nostrils. Normally it was a well-established rule that Rachette put his “dips” in outside, in the bathroom, anywhere but in front of her, but he also used to have a little sister he liked to beat up on when he was a kid and liked to treat Patterson as her from time to time.

  “It fits,” Rachette said, finally looking over. “Embers blow off the truck, set the brush on fire.”

  “No shit.”

  “But Barker called up there and they said they hadn’t seen the truck.”

  She shrugged. “We know how communication can get muddled sometimes.”

  Rachette cranked the wheel, hit the lights, and pushed the gas. “It fits,” he said again, tapping the wheel. “Nice work.”

  “It all came from the thought of setting you on fire.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  Chapter 19

  The SUV kicked sideways off another rock and Wolf lurched in his seat.

  Shumway reached the bottom of the decline well ahead of Wolf. Hitting it way too fast, his truck bucked and bounced high with an explosion of dust.

  Slowing to a crawl, Wolf edged his way off the same section, and then he reached the flat dirt two-track road below.

  After hanging a hairpin right, the road continued over a low hill ahead.

  Dr. Mathis had been right, there was no way a UrMover truck could have made it down that slope. Much less back up it.

  So how did they get the bones out? There was also no way they packed a 75% complete, twenty-five foot high set of dinosaur bones into the bed of one truck and went up that hill on Saturday afternoon. They probably split the bones between the two trucks.

  Or maybe there was a storage unit, Wolf thought with a nod. That would make more sense—shuttle a few bones out, store them in a unit, repeat the process over time until the whole skeleton was out, then load them all up in a rented UrMover truck and drive down to Rocky Points.

  Wolf eyed Jet in the rearview mirror. “You all right?”

  Jet opened his mouth and panted.

  They were at the bottom of a canyon now with a dry wash on Wolf’s left, and gradual, juniper, pinyon, and boulder covered hills on either side of it.

  Winding side to side, up and down, it was an easy drive.

  A quarter mile later Wolf pulled up behind Shumway’s parked truck and stopped.

  Shumway was already out and leaning on his door.

  Wolf shut off the engine and stepped outside.

  There was a lingering whine of a commercial jet overhead. A blast furnace wind rustled the sage and junipers, and there was a hiss of sand blowing across the ground. A tarp flapped in the distance, and Wolf peeked through the swaying foliage and saw three people doing the same to him.

  He opened the rear door and Jet lumbered outside after a brief protest and loped to the shade of a tree and lay down in the powdery dirt.

  Wolf grabbed a couple pairs of rubber gloves from the box on his floor and shut the door.

  Wolf walked to Shumway, who stood with a hand on his holstered Glock.

  “You have the warrant?” Wolf asked, holding out a pair of rubber gloves for Shumway.

  Shumway took the gloves and nodded and then extended a hand. After you.

  Wolf passed him and led the way. Off the road and down a gradual slope they walked.

  There was a red tent to the right, a blue one beyond it, and darker blue tent off to the left. In the distance there was a fluttering blue tarp that was set up at an angle, shading a large pit.

  The camp had all the fixings of a paleontology dig, with shovels of all sizes and types strewn about, dusty brushes near the hole in the ground, leather gloves, and then there were the paleontologists.

  “Good afternoon,” Wolf announced.

  Standing in front of the complex of tents, they were all there—Steven Kennedy, his wife Felicia, and Molly “Mo” Waters—and they were all staring at Wolf.

  A trio of camp chairs sat underneath a white shade tent that was staked at the corners, and three paper plates with half-eaten sandwiches lay on a fold out table. Underneath the table was a box haphazardly filled with dry goods and in the dirt stood a half-empty bottle of scotch.

  “I’m Detective Wolf from Sluice-Byron County, and this is Sheriff Shumway from Windfield County.”

  They nodded, their faces frozen masks.

  Steven stepped forward first and held out a hand.

  Standing just about Wolf’s height, six-two or three, he was slim and fit, looking better in the face than he had in the DUI photo Wolf had seen earlier. His eyes were clear and bright, intelligent, and his skin was deeply tanned.

  Steven’s smile was confident and easy, framed by dark brown stubble. He tipped up a worn New York Yankees ball cap with one hand and shook with the other.

  “Steven Kennedy, nice to meet you. This is my wife, Felicia.”

  Felicia squinted underneath a wide brimmed hat and then stepped forward with outstretched hand. “Hi. Felicia,” she said.

  Felicia was thin and small and athletic, and looked like she feared no ultraviolet radiation anywhere but on her face, because she wore a tank top and short cargo shorts, which displayed her sunbaked cocoa skin.

  Molly Waters stepped forward. She wore a baggy tee shirt and jeans with hiking shoes. A few strands of white hair jutted out from underneath her floppy hat, which shadowed her freckled face. She glared at Wolf with her small eyes and swallowed, offering no greeting.

  “Mo?” Wolf asked.

  Her grip was rock solid. “Molly. My friends call me Mo.”

  Wolf nodded. “And Professor Green? Where’s he?”

  Molly’s hard gaze dropped and she took a step back.

  “He’s up at the University,” Steven said. “Had some business up there. What’s this about?”

  “What kind of business?” Wolf asked.

  Steven shrugged and the two women pretended like they’d gone deaf.

  “Eighteen year, huh?” Wolf asked.

  They all three frowned with confusion.

  “The scotch.” Wolf pointed behind them. “Glenlivet 18 year. That’s an eighty dollar bottle there. You guys must be connoisseurs. Or are you celebrating something?”

  They all kept their attention on the bottle, lips closed, waiting for someone to say something.

  “Yeah,” Steven said with another winning smile. “We don’t drink much, but when we do we want it to be the good stuff. What can we do for you officers?”

  Shumway stepped next to Wolf and stopped.

  Steven held rooted to his spot and raised his chin.

  “We’re looking for Professor Green,” Wolf said.

  “And like I said, he’s not here. Is there anything else we can help you with?”

  “Yes,” Wolf said. “We need to take a look around your camp. You can help by standing still right here while we do.”

  Wolf made a production out of pulling on his rubber gloves, unnecessarily snapping the material a few times.

  “You can’t do that,” Steven said.

  “Yes, we can.” Shumway produced the warrant and handed it to Steven. “We have a warrant right here.”

  Wolf stood still and studied their boots while Steven read the warrant with Felicia.

  “Hey, what the hell? It says here you’re looking for a gun. W-what?” Steven’s confidence had disappeared. “Why are you looking for a gun?”

  Molly’s breathing was accelerating.

  “Something wrong, Molly?” Wolf asked as he stepped past her.

  “Yeah. You’re looking for a gun. What the hell does that mean? Someone’s been shot and you think we did it?”

  “I never said anyone’s been shot,” Wolf said. “Do any of you have any weapons on you now? A gun?”

  “No, we don’t,” Steven said.

  Wolf lifted Molly’s baggy tee shirt and checked her waistline. The other two were clearly not packing underneath their slim fitting clothing.


  “Hey, are you arresting her?” Steven asked. “You can’t search her like that.”

  Wolf ignored him and stepping to the red tent, he unzipped it and looked inside. It was strewn with women’s clothing, though he couldn’t tell which woman’s it was. Outside the tent’s opening hung two pairs of panties clipped to clothes hangers.

  “Like what you see?” Felicia asked.

  Wolf caught the tail end of a snarl on Felicia’s face as he ducked inside the opening. It smelled like perfume and campfire, and he got to his knees and started rooting around under her sleeping bag and strewn clothing.

  “Just tell them.” Molly said outside.

  “I will, just—”

  “Tell us what?” Shumway asked.

  Wolf started to duck out of the tent and then paused at a revelation. Clearly Felicia lived out of the tent, but there was no sign of her husband ever being there—no sleeping bag, no musky body odor scent of a man who showered little. No man’s clothing.

  Wolf backed out and stood up. “Tell us what, Molly?”

  Felicia spoke up first. “We have a gun.”

  Shumway raised his eyebrows and gripped his pistol.

  “Where?” Wolf asked.

  “It’s for emergencies, you know?” Steven said, twisting and pleading to Shumway too. “There’s frickin’ animals out here. Rattlesnakes galore. It’s dangerous. Not that we ever use it. We’ve actually never even used it. It’s Green’s gun.”

  Wolf nodded. “I understand. Can you show me where the gun is please?”

  Steven stepped toward the white shade tent, and then veered to the backside of the second tent.

  “Slowly now,” Shumway said, drawing his pistol all the way out.

  Steven gave him a double take and raised his arms. “Jesus, I’m not … it’s there. Hanging from Professor Green’s tent.” He pointed and his jaw dropped.

  “Come back over here.” Shumway crooked a finger and held his pistol loosely at his side.

  Steven stood frozen, still looking.

  “Right now,” Shumway said.

  Steven raised his arms higher and walked fast, back next to the two women.

  Wolf rounded to the other side of the second tent. An empty leather holster hung from a hook off the tent fabric. The retention strap was unbuttoned and bouncing in the breeze.

  “I swear it’s usually there,” Steven said.

  “What?” Molly’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? It’s not there?”

  “I don’t know, he must have taken it,” Steven said with clenched teeth.

  “Oh my God.” Felicia put both hands over her eyes.

  Wolf peeled open the half-circle zipper and slipped inside of Professor Green’s tent. It was hot, the air stagnant, and a single fly buzzed against the domed nylon interior.

  A light cloth sleeping bag was neatly laid out with a pillow at its head opening. Two pairs of white socks were lined up next to each other, and next to that lay a stack of neatly folded clothing. The shirts were all button-up, the shorts cargo. A worn copy of a book called Systematics and The Fossil Record lay next to it all.

  Wolf lifted the lid of a wooden box. It was full of rocks and crystals, and a carton of .38 special rounds. He pulled a pen from his chest pocket and lifted open the box lid. Half the rounds were missing.

  Backing out of the tent he said, “Got a box of .38 specials. Half of them are gone.”

  “Well, this is definitely not looking good for you three,” Shumway said.

  “Why?” Steven turned around. “What did we do?”

  Wolf walked to the third tent and poked his head inside. There was a dirty pair of men’s jeans wadded up in the corner, and a men’s tee shirt. Everything was small. Mo Waters’s tent.

  Wolf dug through the clothing and personal effects and found no pistol or pair of Converse shoes, not that she’d have worn a sized 16 shoe.

  Wolf ducked back out and stood. “I’m confused. Where do you sleep, Steven?”

  Steven lifted his chin. “Down the wash a ways.”

  Wolf pointed to his right and then left.

  “That way.” Steven pointed to the west.

  “Why do you sleep away from the rest of the camp?”

  “That’s not really any of your business,” Steven said. He glanced at Shumway and back at his wife, looking like he instantly regretted the outburst.

  Felicia stared into the distance. She had thoroughly checked out of the conversation.

  Shumway was squinting in thought, flicking his gaze between them. He’d seen Felicia’s reaction too.

  “You have a pair of Converse All-Stars, Steven?” Wolf asked.

  “Nope,” he answered immediately.

  Felicia’s steely gaze cracked, and she scratched an eyebrow.

  Molly seemed to flinch at the question too, but she recovered and looked at a nearby bush.

  “We had a homicide down in Rocky Points Saturday night,” Wolf said. “A fossil dealer was shot once in the head and once in the back. The two slugs found in his corpse were .38 specials, which I’m sure we’re going to find match those bullets in that box.”

  They said nothing.

  “We just had a conversation with the people at Dig One, Steven, and they say you have a pair of purple Converse All-Stars.”

  Steven made a so what gesture and said, “Not anymore. Haven’t had them for over a month.”

  “And why’s that?” Wolf asked.

  Steven licked his lips. “I think an animal took them.”

  Shumway snorted.

  Wolf resisted smiling and frowned instead. “That’s what you’re going with? An animal took them?”

  “Did I stutter? I keep my shoes outside the tent. One morning they were gone. So, like I told you, I don’t have a pair of Converse All-Stars. Why are you asking me, anyway?”

  Wolf looked at Mo and Felicia. They met Wolf’s gaze, as if their earlier stress was gone with Steven’s explanation.

  “How far?” he asked.

  “How far what?” Steven asked.

  “How far to your tent?”

  “Up a couple of bends.”

  “And your truck?”

  “Up next to my tent.”

  “Okay. Let’s go take a look. You lead the way, then Felicia and Molly can follow, and then the Sheriff and I will take up the rear. But first, I want you to take us by the dinosaur bones and show us those.”

  The three students stood in frozen silence.

  “Why?” Steven asked.

  Wolf waved his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Steven exhaled and crunched past Wolf. Felicia followed, smelling like a fresh spray of the perfume that permeated her tent. Mo Waters followed, giving Wolf an unreadable look on the way by.

  Shumway gave him the after you hand again.

  They passed underneath the shade-tent and squished their way through the dry wash, and then climbed up a few yards onto the other side.

  “Is this a private land dig?” Wolf asked. “Or part of the BLM park?”

  Mo turned around. “The dig is on private land. That side of the wash is BLM.”

  Wolf nodded, sneaking a glance at Shumway. The sheriff might have blinked, but that was it. “And where will these bones go once they’re dug up?”

  “To the university,” Steven said stopping at the edge of a wide and deep pit. “The land owner donated them.”

  Wolf was confused by Steven’s actions. He was looking down like the bones were still there, like he was willing to play this off until the bitter last second.

  Wolf and Shumway reached the edge of the pit too, and Wolf stiffened. What the hell?

  Inside the enormous pit were stone-colored fossils. Judging by the skull and rest of the bones, it was most definitely an Allosaurus, and to Wolf’s untrained eye, it looked to be about 80% complete.

  Chapter 20

  Patterson stepped on a carbonized chunk of stick and it crumbled under her boot.

  “Shit, ah,” Rachette said behind her.

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nbsp; A gust of wind kicked up a blast of soot and ash from the surrounding landscape and whipped it into their faces.

  Her eyes stung as she clamped them shut. Holding her breath, she put her face into her sleeve and tried to wait it out.

  Patterson dared a peek and saw Rachette stumbling away. She followed his lead and a few seconds later they were back outside the fire line in sagebrush country.

  “Damn. Nice idea.” Rachette brushed his face and scalp.

  Tasting charcoal, she spit and saw flecks of black in her saliva.

  A Brushing fireman named Danny Chase, a quick talking individual with a bushy goatee, stepped away from Patterson. “Careful.” He smiled and winked, and then his eyes raked up and down Patterson for the third time in as many minutes.

  They stood at the apex of a V-shaped burn pattern, so the line of scorched earth extended away from them in two directions.

  “Nothing at all?” Patterson asked.

  “Couldn’t find anything,” Chase said. “Not that uncommon. It was a fire. The source of it could have burned up in the flames. But this is definitely the ignition point. Like I said, our lead investigator is due in later today and he’ll check it out. Sorry.” He lifted his hands and turned a circle. “No charred moving truck.”

  She turned to face the county road where their vehicles were parked a dozen or so yards away up a slope.

  “Classic cigarette butt fire,” Chase said. “If you ask me.”

  “But you didn’t find the butt.”

  “Right. But those were some high winds Saturday night. It could have landed in the top of these bushes here, ignited it, and then kept blowing along with the flames until”—he snapped his fingers—“poof. Gone.”

  Rachette spit a wad of chew out of his mouth and it stuck to a dry branch.

  She turned away and walked back toward the SUV.

  Rachette kicked pebbles against her heels as he followed. “You like it up here in Brushing?”

  “Not bad. Wish I was in Rocky Points like you guys. A lot more action down there. Got my application in with your department actually. I guess they’re hiring a driver down there. We’ll see.”

  Rachette made an uninterested noise.

  They ducked through the barbed wire, Chase making too much effort to help Patterson in the process, and reached their SUV’s.