To the Bone (David Wolf Book 7)

by Jeff Carson

  They came onto a straightaway and Wolf gunned it. The transition from pavement to dirt approached fast but Wolf kept his foot on the gas.

  “Levi came back up to the visitor’s center and told Boydell that night. June 3rd.”

  “How do you know that?” Shumway asked.

  “I talked to Megan this morning.”

  “What?”

  Wolf held up a hand. “Let me finish. Megan saw Levi come up to Boydell’s quarters, and then they made a forty five minute phone call to Dr. Talbot up at the University of Utah.”

  Shumway said nothing.

  “For the next month Boydell and Talbot talked repeatedly, and then, according to the phone records, they stopped. It looks like Boydell bought a throwaway phone and started using that to call Dr. Talbot’s office. They were clearly in on the whole second skeleton information, and they were concocting a plan.

  “Only Boydell knows the specifics, because he’s the only one still alive, but basically Levi figured out about the second set of bones and told Dr. Talbot and Boydell.

  “Maybe Levi was distraught and wanted to ruin all those student’s careers. He was upset. Or maybe Levi figured out what they were doing and wanted to get back at Steven by blackmailing everyone down there, and Dr. Talbot and Boydell went along.”

  Shumway looked out his window, shaking his head.

  “All we know is when those three got together with the knowledge of the second skeleton in that hole, they were seeing dollar signs. With Professor Green, they were going to split it four ways. Two hundred fifty thousand each.”

  “Four ways?” Shumway shook his head. “Seven ways with the three students.”

  “Professor Green had no intention of ever coming back to the dig. Dr. Talbot visited him a week after Levi found out about the second skeleton—we know that from multiple sources. And when he visited, Dr. Talbot didn’t even look at the bones, because he already knew what was under those tarps. He wanted plausible deniability if the students and Professor Green were caught selling them illegally. But he wanted a cut of the money, so he drove away with Professor Green and told him the jig was up, and if he didn’t get a cut then they were all ruined.

  “Professor Green decided he would cut the students out, so he bought a plane ticket to Argentina. He left the students thinking they had a payday coming as soon as he returned from Rocky Points. But he never did. We came into their camp instead, and they had no idea what was happening.”

  “And Boydell and Talbot go into Rocky Points behind Professor Green with the intention to kill everyone and take the money,” Shumway said. “They cut out Professor Green and the students, and made it look like Steven did. Let me guess—Dr. Talbot has the same make and model tire we’re looking for from the crime scene?”

  Wolf nodded. “Yes. We looked at Dr. Talbot’s credit card statements. He bought gas in Windfield Saturday afternoon. He stayed in a local motel, using his Visa card. He used his cell phone to call the visitor’s center twice.”

  Shumway frowned.

  “So I don’t think Dr. Talbot knew what was really coming. I don’t think he came into the situation thinking they were going to kill people. Or else he wouldn’t have left such a clear trail of his actions. I think Boydell decided to start killing. He had a whole plan concocted, stealing Steven’s shoes, the revolver, the shovel, the leather gloves, snuffing out Levi to take his cut of the money, and then killing everyone.”

  Shumway scratched his chin and stared into nothing. “Steven and who? Who was supposed to be the second set of prints?”

  Wolf smiled grimly. “I don’t think Boydell thought that far ahead. Or maybe he didn’t even care. He just assumed we’d pin it on one of the other students. He just worried about covering his own tracks. Literally. He got Talbot to come pick him up from the Visitor’s Center so he could leave his truck there and claim he stayed there that whole Saturday night. He wore Steven’s shoes to cover his tracks the whole time and make it look like it was Steven. He wore a big cowboy hat to shield his face when he needed to. He burned the UrMover truck because he knew forensic evidence would be found inside—hairs, fibers. He killed Levi, with Steven’s shovel, wearing Steven’s shoes and leather gloves with latex gloves underneath. Buried Levi shallow in the direction of Steven’s camp, as a subtle reminder of who we’re supposed to be blaming for all of it. And he was even there to literally remind us in person.”

  Shumway stared at Wolf. “Jesus. This just … it’s so crazy.”

  “He’s slipped up in so many ways it would be comical if it wasn’t so sick.”

  “You’re saying he’s just psycho?”

  “That, and extremely desperate. The SLC field office went to Boydell’s daughter in law’s house this morning. She said Boydell was in the process of inheriting a lot of money from an obscure relative she’d never heard of and he was going to help her pay for her son’s blood treatment in Scotland.”

  Shumway nodded. “His grandson a rare disease. He sold his house a couple years ago and moved into that yurt to help pay for treatment.”

  Wolf hit the brakes hard and skidded to a stop at the barbed wire gate.

  Shumway stared at him as a cloud of dust overtook the SUV. “This whole thing is crazy. Are you sure about all of this?”

  “There’s nothing sane about killing four people. You want a better explanation? Like he needed the money to help save his grandson? That those four lives were less important than that little boy’s? Mind you, that amount of cash would have set off all sorts of treasury department alarms. More slip-ups that haven’t even happened for the guy. So yeah. I guess I’m saying he’s just a psycho. A very desperate, very crazy man who is highly motivated to kill people. And your daughter is up there with him. You gonna get the gate or what?”

  Shumway’s breathing went shallow, like he finally realized the true gravity of the situation. He launched out into the dust. Unhooking the barbed wire, he walked the gate open as fast as he could.

  Wolf drove through and Shumway ran and got back in, and just as he shut the door, three Windfield Sheriff’s Department vehicles flew by them, leaving them in a new roiling brown cloud.

  Wolf hit the gas.

  Chapter 36

  Bradley Boydell walked between the wind-twisted junipers and stopped at the pinnacle of the hill. Grains of sand hissed against his pants and dust swirled against his face. As he dug his knuckles into his eyes, giving them a good massage, he saw the flash of the pistol and the man’s head jerk forward.

  He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. The haunting reminders of what he’d done were relentless.

  In the army he’d killed, but only with the pull of a trigger from a distance. He’d never looked into the eyes of someone who knew it was coming like he had four times now.

  Now he felt like a walking zombie—a corrupted, diseased former-self, wandering through the motions of life in a world where he didn’t belong. Looking into the eyes of those four people had done it to him.

  No. It had been eleven years ago, looking into the eyes of his son as he had taken his last breath. That changed a man. That made every pliable thing in a man hard. Frozen. Brittle.

  And when Jeremy had contracted the disease he had cracked.

  He was fractured like a shattered windowsill clinging to its frame. The only thing keeping him from falling into a million pieces was his grandson’s heroic fight.

  The good night’s sleep had served him well. He always liked getting his blood pumping, his lungs heaving, and this hike was making him feel better still.

  Standing on a rounded hilltop, he looked down at the shining windows of the visitor center. It had been a week since he’d been here, where he could always count on getting some peaceful time with himself, away from the cluttered minds of the two young people he was stuck with every day in his dead end job.

  Speaking of that, he checked his wrist and saw he had ten minutes until the 9 a.m. opening. It was time to unlock the place, make his excuse to the two kids,
and head out.

  He had a long day ahead of him. He had some shady individuals he would have to do business with to help launder the cash and send it to Scotland via some means he still didn’t quite understand. Some way of manipulating online bank accounts and sending electronic payments.

  He clenched a fist, thinking about the day, because he knew these men would be younger. They would think him a soft old coot and be out to steal his money, using electronic jargon to confuse him out of thousands of dollars.

  Hitching up his belt, he felt the Beretta M9 he’d acquired in the army wedged against the waistband of his pants and his freshly showered skin. He pulled it closer to the tight spot next to his hipbone and began walking.

  He paused, because a line of cars was already kicking up a plume of dust in the distance. He could scarcely remember the last time they’d had three visitors right at opening. And why were they following so close to one another? They were like a caravan, clearly together.

  He squinted and brought up his hand. They were far away, but Boydell’s vision had always been sharp, even in his old age, and he could clearly see that the three vehicles were identical.

  Trucks.

  With flashing lights.

  Everything inside of Boydell’s body moved at once.

  For five seconds he watched with constricted breath. His heart pumped wildly in his chest.

  But it was strange. Because the trucks were all slowing down. Yes, he was sure of it. The three trucks were inching close to one another as they slowed.

  The tension in his body melted as he saw the three trucks pull to a complete stop and the driver’s doors open. They were at least a mile away, but Boydell could see the tiny dots of men milling about next to their trucks.

  Maybe they were doing a search of the desert in that spot. But why? There was nothing there.

  The hairs on his neck began crawling. They were convening, preparing something. The three stick figure forms of men walked to one another and stood in a tight cluster in the middle of the road.

  They were waiting for something.

  Why were they standing in the middle of the road like that? Were they blocking people from coming up, and waiting to move on him? He came to his own conclusion and took off at a run down the hill.

  Slipping every few steps, he landed on his ass and felt the gun dig into his hip.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  He forced himself to slow down to a manageable speed, which was tough because his thoughts were racing.

  All he could think was he needed to escape. He needed to get in his truck and drive. He knew this country better than all three of those deputies combined. There was more than one way to get off this plateau without passing along that road. He had the money stashed in his truck. He could get through, and he could get to Salt Lake City.

  Out of breath, his feet stomping the ground with hurried steps, he reached the bottom of the hill behind the visitor’s center and began jogging.

  “Mr. Boydell?”

  Boydell froze and reached back for his gun on his hip, but stopped himself short. It was Megan. He forced a smile. “Hi, Megan.”

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Megan was standing near the rear door to the visitor’s center, and only then did Boydell realize she was waiting for him to unlock the door and begin the day inside the building.

  “Are you going to open the door?” she asked.

  Boydell stared at her, trying to gauge her expression. Was she messing with him? He looked toward Phil’s yurt, which stood flapping gently in the breeze.

  “Where’s Phil?”

  She smirked. “It’s Tuesday, remember? He’ll probably sleep another five hours.”

  Was she in on this whole thing? Was she trying to trap him? It would have been dumb to think otherwise, so he pulled out his pistol and pointed it at her.

  She held up her hands and backed into the wall of the building. “What are you doing?”

  “You are,” he said. She was trapping him.

  “What?”

  “You’re in on it, aren’t you?”

  “In on what? Mr. Boydell, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. Don’t.”

  He walked to her and waved the pistol to the left. “Let’s go. We’re going to take a drive.”

  She stood frozen like a dumb deer.

  “Move!”

  Stumbling, she thrust her hands up and walked around the building, all the while whimpering to herself.

  “Into my truck. You’re driving,” he said.

  Chapter 37

  Wolf slid to a stop next to the scarred ring of earth that used to be Levi Joseph’s campfire and shut off the engine.

  Levi’s tent was still there, the table with his personal effects still there, in fact the whole campsite looked unchanged, despite the law enforcement activity the night before. The only indication they’d been there was the new footprints and yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter, which was fastened to poles and bouncing in the wind.

  “Etzel come in,” Shumway said into his radio as he climbed out.

  Wolf let Jet out the back of the truck and ducked underneath the tape.

  “Go ahead.”

  Shumway followed Wolf and Jet. “We’re at the camp.”

  “Copy that. Let us know when to move.”

  “Will do.”

  Shumway put the radio back on his duty belt and jogged up next to Wolf.

  They trudged up the path out the rear of the camp to the top of the plateau in silence. Shumway had not said much on the way up the two-track road, and neither had Wolf as he concentrated on avoiding boulders, trees, and cacti.

  The plan was simple: sneak in from the rear and get into position, making sure neither Megan nor Phil were in harm’s path, then bring in the cavalry and move on Boydell.

  Still silent, Shumway was already breathing hard halfway up the sandy rise.

  “You all right?” Wolf asked.

  Shumway picked up his pace and took the lead.

  Wolf felt the strain in his lungs and legs. He’d let himself get too soft over the past year, and he vowed then and there to change that. Adrenaline helped power him forward though, and he kept the new pace easily enough.

  At the top the land flattened and they entered a maze of juniper trees and man-sized sage bushes. Though flat as a pancake, there was sporadic foliage obscuring their view. Depending on the moment in time, they could see as far as fifty yards ahead. All the while the top of the visitor center, the concrete dinosaur spine, jutted above it all, shining in the sun.

  Wolf estimated the distance at a half-mile, and checked his watch. “Can you pick up the pace?”

  Shumway shot him a hard glance and grunted in response, and then he sped to a pace just below a jog.

  Jet trotted behind them, happily stopping at a hole or bush of interest, then running briefly to catch up before doing it all again.

  For five minutes they swerved between bushes and trees, catching glimpses of the building as it grew closer, and all that time their crunching footsteps and huffing breath was the only sound. Until there was something else.

  “Wait,” Wolf said pulling to a stop. “Stop.”

  Shumway ignored him for a few steps than stopped and turned. He put his hands on his hips and bared his teeth. “What?”

  “Hear that?”

  A car engine revved and there was a squeak, then another staccato burst of gas followed by more squeaking.

  “Someone’s driving toward us.”

  Shumway turned away from Wolf and walked around a juniper to get a look. Just as he went out into a clearing, he stopped and hurried back to Wolf. “There.”

  After a long squeak the engine revved and then shut off.

  “Shit,” Shumway said. “It was a quarry truck. I think it was Boydell. Fifty yards that way, coming straight at us.”

  Wolf pulled his pistol and Shumway did the same.

  Peering through the gaps in the foliage,
there was a thump of a car door.

  “He’s out,” Wolf said. “You go left, I’ll go right.”

  Wolf skated right, keeping his gaze focused through the branches of the nearest juniper. Wolf crept to the right and saw a shiny bumper, and then the front of a quarry pickup truck, and then the whole thing. Wolf paused, because both doors were ajar.

  Why?

  “Come out boys! I saw you!”

  Wolf and Shumway locked eyes and held still.

  “Daddy!”

  Wolf’s stomach sank.

  “Got your daughter here Shumway. You have five seconds to come out in the open or I shoot her in the head. Five, four, three …” Boydell counted with barely a second pause between numbers. “Two.”

  “Okay, okay! Hold up Bradley!” Shumway held his hands high in the air and ran out into the clearing between him and Wolf. “Please, Bradley. Don’t hurt her.”

  “Drop the gun.”

  Shumway lowered his gun and dropped it with deliberate, slow movements. “Now your buddy. I saw someone else moving behind that tree.”

  Wolf clenched his teeth. Damn it. They had gone from ambushing Boydell to walking straight into him in mere seconds. He searched his mind for ideas and came up empty.

  Jet appeared from behind a sage and trotted at Wolf, oblivious to the gravity of the situation entirely. He stopped and jammed his nose into an animal hole.

  “I’ll give you three seconds! Three, two …”

  Wolf ran into the clearing with his arms up, pistol aimed at the cloudless sky.

  “Okay. There you are,” Boydell said. “Drop it, Wolf.”

  Wolf dropped the pistol on the sand.

  Boydell had Megan in a headlock with a pistol to her temple.

  Her head was tilted to the side as the barrel of the gun pushed hard against it, and she was on her tiptoes, held that way by Boydell’s wiry-armed chokehold.