The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2)

by Jeff Carson

  Rachette squinted and saw that Wolf was sitting on his dirt bike. Wolf kicked twice and then a puff of smoke came out the back. Then he jerked his head up, and swayed it a bit side to side. It was like Wolf’s helmet was too heavy for his body, or like he was drunk.

  Very drunk.

  “Stop!” Rachette yelled.

  Baine stopped and they got out.

  The motorcycle jerked forward with the low sound of a four-stroke engine, and then tipped to the side. Wolf had planted a foot just in time, barely keeping the bike up as it wobbled and lurched forward, all the while the headlight swinging between the side of the house and the trees beyond. Then he peeled dirt out the back tire, rounded the right side of the house, and zipped out of sight.

  They walked to the hood of the Explorer and watched the halogen light flicker through the trees, then come to a dead stop, followed quickly by a loud crack, and then complete silence.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Rachette pointed back. “Turn off the engine. Turn it off!”

  Baine ran back and shut it off.

  They watched quietly as the halogen on Wolf’s bike, now halfway up the hill behind Wolf’s house, pointed straight up the trunk of a pine tree. The still night carried Wolf’s shuffling and grunting from over a hundred yards away, and the bike light righted itself once again. Then the bike roared to life, and zoomed away at an unsafe-looking speed.

  The red taillight bounced out of sight, and the thumping engine finally faded behind the sound of crickets.

  “I’m calling.” Baine looked to Rachette, ducked in the vehicle and grabbed the radio.

  Rachette didn’t protest. The truth was, Rachette didn’t know what to think.

  Baine was wide-eyed and spilling it all to Sergeant Vickers.

  “Deputy Rachette and I witnessed Sergeant Wolf proceeding in his vehicle the opposite direction from Sheriff Connell’s. We noticed what looked to be a lot of blood on the side of Sergeant Wolf’s face, and he was acting suspicious. So we decided we would follow him to his house. Then we saw—”

  Vickers held up a hand and leaned towards Baine. “Blood on the side of Sergeant Wolf’s face, son? And you decided to pursue an obvious suspect at that point in complete radio silence? Not calling this in to your fellow deputies, who would be obviously interested in a tidbit of information like this on the night their Sheriff had just been shot five times. Murdered! You didn’t call this in?”

  Rachette stepped forward. “Sir, it was my idea to pursue Sergeant Wolf without calling it in.”

  “I’m not talkin’ to you, son.” Vickers spoke slowly, holding up a hand in Rachette’s direction.

  “I’m not your son, sir.” Rachette couldn’t help it. The slick hair, each mark of the comb grooved into his head, the perfect five o’clock shadow, the unisex cologne slathered on his skin, the silky condescending voice that commanded ultimate respect, not one iota of it deserved, the way he entered a room and asked, How we doing? We? He couldn’t stand Sergeant Vickers. Or was it Sheriff Vickers now?

  Vickers turned and looked at Rachette, holding his expressionless gaze for what seemed like a full minute, and then turned back to Baine.

  Rachette walked away through the group of lurking deputies and approached what looked to be Wilson’s vehicle driving up the road.

  Deputy Wilson teetered out of his SUV and walked over, adjusting his pants like he always did, apparently not liking the tight fit on his ample frame. His partner, Hayburn, wasn’t far behind, out the passenger door.

  “What the heck’s going on?” Wilson was a fellow second year. His pupils were wide open, and he didn’t blink. It was the second time in two days the full roster of deputies had convened on Wolf’s property, and just like the first time, everyone was pumped full of adrenaline.

  “I don’t know.” Rachette wasn’t going to speculate. There was no denying it, though. It wasn’t looking too good. Wolf’s blood had been found on the accelerator, brake pedal, and floor mat of his SUV. Boot prints were found trudging through Connell’s blood at the murder scene. There were five shell casings found at the scene. It would be a simple matter to match any fingerprints on the casings to Wolf’s.

  He didn’t like it one bit. But he sure as hell didn’t believe Wolf had done it. Or if he had, he’d have had a good reason.

  Shit. There wasn’t a good reason for murder like that. If Wolf did that...

  He shook his head and looked up at the stars on the cloudless night. He didn’t know what to think.

  Everyone turned toward the gate as a roaring diesel engine and pair of headlights rose into view.

  Rachette perked up as Vickers stopped talking to Baine and walked towards the approaching lights. He was straightening his shirt and adjusting his belt, waiting with a solemn expression.

  As the large Ford diesel truck thundered closer, Rachette could see the double-horseshoe symbol on the door.

  Gary Connell cut the engine and stepped out of the truck, or more like fell out of it, stumbling onto his knees, then got up and marched to Vickers. “Where the fuck is he?”

  Vickers took off his hat and said some low words that Rachette couldn’t hear, pointed towards the barn, then the hills beyond the half-charred house.

  Gary Connell was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and streaming, and his upper lip was shiny with snot. He wiped both on the long sleeve of his flannel pajama top and walked alongside Vickers.

  Rachette noticed Gary Connell still had slippers on and felt a twang of pity for the man. Rachette hadn’t had many interactions with Gary Connell over the couple years he’d spent in town. In fact, he hadn’t said a single word to him other than nice to meet you as they shook hands at some point in the previous summer.

  The guy’s attitude emanated a power and confidence he hadn’t seen on anyone else but Wolf. And for sixty or so years old, he was in damn good physical shape. Put it all together – the man, the money, and the power – and he was an imposing figure, to say the least. So when Gary locked his wide eyes on Rachette’s, pointed, and marched straight towards him, Rachette’s pulse couldn’t help but raise a few BPMs.

  “You’re Rachette?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why didn’t you call this in earlier?”

  Rachette sucked in a breath and set his feet, wondering if he was about to get strangled for the second time in less than eight hours. This time by Dad.

  “Sir. We-I didn’t think that—“

  Gary waved a hand. “We don’t have any time to listen to your bullshit answer.” His voice quivered as his eyes bore into Rachette’s. “I know who you are, and how you’d do anything to protect Wolf.” He stepped close and pecked his chest with a finger. “Just know this, Rachette, if anything else goes wrong from now on, you’re out of a job. I’ll see to it personally.”

  Rachette nodded and noticed Wilson shuffling away from his side, into the quiet obscurity of the rest of the men.

  To Rachette’s relief, Gary turned and walked on, raising his voice to address the group of men.

  “Sergeant David Wolf killed my only son tonight. Shot him five times.” His head dropped and his body shook, sobbing. “Where did he go?”

  Gary stared at the ground for a few seconds, then looked sideways and lifted his head. “That was a question! Where did he go?”

  Rachette cleared his throat. “Sir, he was on his—“

  “Not you.” Gary’s voice was ice as he pointed a shaking finger at Rachette.

  Baine spoke up. “Sir, when we arrived, we witnessed him get on his motorcycle. He had a backpack on, and was dressed in black. He went up the hill around the back of the house. He looked intoxicated, I think. We witnessed him crash the motorcycle into a tree, then he picked up the bike and continued around the mountain on that trail.” Baine pointed. “That trail up there.”

  Gary narrowed his eyes, looking to the moonlit mountain. “This is a dangerous man, deputies. Five shots, two to the head, three to the body.” His voice was steady as he stared into nothing.
“That’s what he did to my son.”

  He paced in front of the deputies, looking at the ground, then stopped. “I just want to remind you men that David Wolf is an ex-Army Ranger. A trained killing machine. Don’t be fooled for one second. The man you have gotten to know over the last few years is gone. The smiling face, the friendship you may have garnered with him over the years.” He looked pointedly to Rachette. “That is long gone. You saw what he did to my son last week, and now he’s finished the job.” He shook his head. “He’s snapped.”

  The men glanced at one another with wide eyes. Uncertainty gave way to resignation, and then gave way to determination for the task at hand.

  Rachette narrowed his eyes. The quickness with which everyone had turned against Wolf was beyond unnerving.

  Gary looked to Vickers and nodded his head.

  Vickers took the silent cue and stepped forward. “There’s more guys. We’ve got a positive match on fingerprints taken from the knife found at the stabbing last night. They’re Wolf’s.”

  Rachette’s pulse raced.

  “Deputy Rachette. Can you tell us all who Mark Wilson is?” Vickers asked.

  Rachette blinked and shook his head. “Wait. What?”

  “I asked you, can you please tell us who Mark Wilson is, Deputy Rachette?”

  “I’ve…I’ve never met him, sir.”

  “I didn’t ask that. Can you tell us who he is, please?”

  Gary was glaring at Rachette with a snarl on his face.

  Vickers held his determined stare.

  “Mark Wilson is now sitting in critical condition in County General,” Vickers said, “And who do you think is there to comfort him as he sits on the brink of death? His girlfriend. Sarah Muller, formerly known as Sarah Wolf.” Vickers let his glare linger on Rachette for a few more seconds, and then turned to the others.

  “We’ve got a mass murderer on the loose. He’s stabbed his ex-wife’s boyfriend, and now killed our Sheriff. We need to stop this man before he kills again.

  “I’ve got K-9 units on the way from Summit County, and we’ll have a chopper at our disposal tomorrow morning. Right now, I want every deputy down at the station in thirty minutes for a briefing. Then we’re out to find us a killer.”

  “If I may intercede here, Sergeant Vickers.” Gary sniffed and wiped his eyes, stepping forward.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I think he may be coming after me. He called me yesterday, after this happened,” he pointed to the charred remains of the ranch house kitchen, “on Derek’s phone. I don’t know, you guys might have seen it. He seemed pretty angry, then I heard that fight break out from over the phone.” He breathed a heavy sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know why, but I just think it may be a good idea to check the trails that lead north to my ranch. Or any of the trails behind the ranch as well. He’s out for blood. And I have a feeling his sights are on me.”

  Rachette studied Gary. Was Gary behind the explosion yesterday? Was Wolf right? Rachette looked at the tinted windows of Gary’s Ford Truck. Was that big ex-Navy SEAL that Wolf was talking about in there?

  “Thank you, sir.” Vickers finger-combed his stiff hair and bowed his head. “We’ll find him, sir. Words cannot express how sorry we are for your loss.”

  Gary sniffed, looked to the stars as a tear streamed down his cheek, and then walked to his truck.

  “All right! Let’s get going!” Vickers twirled his hand above his head and the men scrambled to their vehicles.

  The front of Wolf’s property exploded into the sound of engines firing, lights bathing the grass and surrounding trees. Over it all, Rachette heard Gary’s diesel roar to life as it reversed into the field. For a moment, its headlights stopped on Rachette.

  Rachette stood still, squinting into the blinding beams.

  “Rachette, let’s go!” Baine’s voice was barely audible over the erupting engines.

  Rachette stood unmoved.

  The diesel rolled slowly forward for a few feet, like a bull beginning a charge. Then the front wheels turned and it thundered away down the way it came in.

  Chapter 26

  Gary watched Buck scale the side of the large excavator and shove his head into the open compartment that exposed the inner workings of the monster. Slivers of light escaped from the engine housing as he dug around, then he jumped down and went to the rear, opened another compartment, and put on the screw cap.

  Then he climbed into the cab and fired it up.

  The excavator jumped from the torque of the roaring engine and spewed a cloud of smoke from the exhaust.

  And right there was the reason he kept Buck around.

  Earl was high on the hill keeping watch — a less impressive, but just as vital role.

  The boom raised, the stick extended, and the bucket dug in high on the scree pile, and then pulled down. He lifted a pile of big rocks, twisted the cab, and dropped them to the ground with a thud Gary could feel in his feet.

  Gary took a Cohiba Behike out of his pocket, cut it, and lit it with a wooden match. He only ever smoked the ultra-expensive brand of cigar on occasions when he’d accomplished a major feat. Completed tasks that particularly drained him. Whether it was a successful bear kill with a bow, a successful land deal, a successful merger, or whatever. It had to be an incredibly difficult task that took all his skills and pushed him to the limits in terms of will power and determination. Then, and only then, would he give himself the satisfaction of smoking a Cohiba Behike.

  He puffed gently, walking away from the deafening diesel, rolling the soft cylinder of perfection between his fingers, knowing he’d earned every molecule of the fragrant smoke that streamed out of his nostrils.

  Sure, Young had pulled the trigger and done the dirty work, but Gary’s acting job was a thing of beauty. Gary sucked in the delicious vapor and narrowed his eyes, watching Buck shovel rocks in the distance.

  A thing of beauty was putting it way too mildly. It was more like the completion of an entire life’s work. He deserved more than this four hundred fifty dollar rolled up piece of shit for what he’d just accomplished.

  He’d played his part for the last twenty-five years. Jesus. It had been twenty-five years since he’d learned that weak excuse for a human being wasn’t even his son. His wife had paid for the lie. Immediately. He’d made sure of that. And ever since her untimely death, he’d been paying for it a thousand-fold.

  For twenty-five years he’d been putting on the act of his life, pretending to care about that worthless sack of muscles to leave suspicion off him for Derek’s mother’s death. Well, he was finally done paying. It was like finally selling off a toxic asset. No more pretending. His acting career had just culminated with the Oscar-worthy performance he’d put on for the Sheriff’s Department earlier, and now he could retire.

  He relaxed his grip on the Cohiba and puffed it gently again.

  A husky voice warmed his ear. “Gotcha.”

  Gary turned, flipping the cigar out of his mouth and onto the ground in a shower of sparks. “Jesus Christ! Don’t do that!”

  Young stood back and stared towards the excavator.

  Gary was beginning to think there was something supernatural about this guy. “Did you drive here? Where’s your car?”

  “It’s down the road.”

  Gary eyed him as Earl’s voice scratched through the radio. “You okay, boss?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Gary put the radio back on his belt, picked up the cigar with a quick brush and lit it again. Young was smiling at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Young was studying him with a slight look of…was it respect? “I just didn’t think you’d be so, normal. You know, after your son was so brutally murdered tonight and all.”

  “He wasn’t my son.” Gary’s voice was almost inaudible. He puffed a few times and flipped an ash onto the ground.

  Young raised his eyebrows and eyed the excavator with his patented expressionless gaze.

  They stood in silence watching B
uck work the machinery.

  “So?” Gary gave him a sideways glance and held out his hand.

  “So what?”

  He turned to Young. “What do you mean so what? Where is it? What the hell do you mean, so what?”

  Young smiled again. “Relax. He didn’t have it on him. It’s probably at his house. I obviously couldn’t get it last night.” His eyes bore into Gary’s. “I’ll get it.”

  “Shit.” Gary hissed. “What about him?”

  Young’s eyes were half closed. “He’s headed towards us, just like we thought he’d be. He stopped about halfway, probably to pass out for the night. I’m heading to your house now to get some rest, then I’ll get him in the morning. He won’t stand a chance tomorrow.”

  Gary glared at Young and knew he meant every word, but still. “I’m telling you, this guy isn’t a pushover. You’ll have to watch your ass with him now. He knows you’re coming.”

  Young’s face didn’t move a millimeter. Did he breathe? The guy was a zombie, for God’s sake.

  “Pretty slow going.” Young finally said, nodding to the excavator.

  “Well, good thing you have plenty else to worry about besides what goes on here.”

  Young stared at Gary. “Oh, I’m not worried about what happens here one bit.”

  A chill swept up Gary’s spine as he thought about that. “Well, if this doesn’t work out, you’ll be out of a job, for one.”

  “And that’s all I’d be. Out of a job.” Young slapped Gary on the shoulder, hard, then turned to walk out the gate.

  Chapter 27

  Wolf crouched in a hole on a bare mountainside high above tree line. At over twelve thousand feet, it was still well below freezing in the shaded southwestern slope. Just a few feet away, the eastern side of the mountain was bathed in the warmth of the rising sun. But he didn’t want to risk any reflections.

  He huddled his chin underneath the neck of his frosty jacket, and with as little movement as possible, scanned the terrain below through his high-powered binoculars.