Philip’s phone rang and he answered it before it could ring a second time. He assumed it was Dave wondering where he was. It took him a second for his mind to catch up to the one sided conversation he suddenly found himself in. He had to ask the man to start over.
“I said, this is Garcia from Arson,” the man repeated. “Are you coming to get this fire safe or not? I need the room in storage.”
“Fire safe?”
“What is with you Smalls?” Garcia asked. “The fire safe from the Tuttle cabin. You said you guys were going to pick it up.”
“Okay,” Philip said. “I’ll be right there.”
The detective jumped out of his seat and started for the door. The other men only watched his retreat in stunned silence. Matt shook his head and returned to the kitchen. Monte looked at Carl and shrugged.
“That was interesting,” Monte said.
“You could say that,” Carl said. He shifted in his seat. The investigator leaned forward. “Got any other photos for me?”
“I’ve got the one of Tuttle’s stiff,” Monte said holding the photo out to him.
Carl took the photo and looked at it. His face paled as he looked at the gray, lifeless face. The man in the photo was not what Carl expected. The photo was of a man he had done work for at one time. It was Mike Bishop.
Chapter 67
(Accomplice)
The dust raised by Detective Parker’s tires as he parked drifted forward and over the windows like a fog before settling again. Dave stepped out, scanning the ranch house for movement. He had a feeling about Henry Cutter he just couldn’t shake, something about the man that just wasn’t right. Dave adjusted his frame and checked his pistol. He would not take chances without Philip there to back him up.
He glanced from side to side as he approached the front porch. He took the steps slowly watching for any sign there was someone home. There was nothing. He looked through a window and saw no one. He approached the door and knocked firmly on the wood. He waited listening for sounds of movement on the other side of the door. He heard nothing. He knocked again. Waited. Still nothing.
Automatically his hand went to his gun for another check. It was ready. He wished he had waited for Philip or called for backup. He could call now and wait for them to arrive. But another half hour could mean the difference between success and failure. He would have to play this out on his own. Philip was going to meet him anyway, could be there any minute.
Dave backed off the porch. His mind raced with scenario after scenario of things that could go wrong on an approach like this one. If he was right, Henry Cutter was involved in at least one murder, possibly three. One miscalculation and it could be four. Dave was not interested in being number four.
His hand was resting on his gun as he edged to the east side of the house. He chose the side with the least number of windows. The tall and full bushes standing at the corner of the structure gave ample room for a man to hide. His eyes moved quickly so he could watch all angles of approach. No one presented themselves.
Nearing the back corner of the house, he thought he heard voices. He slowed and flattened himself to the wall. Waiting motionless he listened for the voices again. They came very loud and clear.
“Shoot him,” a man said.
“I can’t,” another man responded.
“What do you mean you can’t?” the first asked.
“I mean I can’t,” the second said. “I don’t like to kill.”
“Give me the gun and I’ll do it,” the first said. “Hurry before he gets away.”
“Gets away?” the second said. “Where’s he going to go?”
“He got in,” the first said. “He can get out. And if he heads for town there'll be trouble for sure.”
“Are you sure he’s wounded?” the second asked. “He’s moving pretty good if he is.”
“He’s hurt all right,” the first said. “Now give me the gun so I can finish the job. Two more minutes and I’ll have to track him.”
“Watch it, the safety’s off,” the second said.
Dave slipped his pistol from its holster. He wished he had called for backup when he had the chance. He didn’t have time to wait. He wasn’t going to stand there while these two men killed another in cold blood. He wasn’t sure where they were standing. He did know only one of them was armed. All he had to do was identify the armed man before they could target him. And he had to hope there was no one else there standing by in silence.
Taking a deep breath Dave stepped out with his gun extended moving swiftly and precisely spotting the rifle easily and training his own weapon on the man who held it. He could see two other people standing with the man. None of them looked the detective’s way. Rather, the trio stared off into the distance. With a deep, commanding voice, Dave yelled, “Police! Freeze!”
The three figures turned toward him slowly. Henry Cutter lowered the barrel of the rifle to the ground. Dave tightened his grip on his pistol and dropped into a defensive stance. The three made no move to threaten or retreat. Dave scanned their confused faces. To Henry's right stood Mrs. Cutter. To their left was a man Dave did not recognize.
“Drop the gun,” Dave ordered.
Henry looked at the detective, at his rifle and back at the detective. “Detective Parker, this is an eighteen hundred dollar rifle. I’ll put it down. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to drop it.”
“Put it down slowly,” Dave said, watching to be sure the other complied. He made a quick visual search of the area. “Where’s the other one?”
“What other one?” Henry asked.
“Don’t play with me,” Dave said. “Where is the man you were getting ready to shoot?”
Henry laughed a short chuckle. “Detective, I wasn't going to shoot a man.”
“I could hear you from the side of the house,” Dave said. “You already wounded him. Now, where is he?”
“In the trees,” Henry said. “But he’s a wolf not a man. He was after my cattle. He was injured when the bull caught him in the side with a horn. I was just going to put him down before he got away. A wolf is bad news. An injured wolf is worse.”
“A wolf?”
“That’s what I said,” Henry said. “And if our resident animal rights activist hadn’t been the one holding the rifle when he showed himself he’d be a dead wolf. Now, partially thanks to you, I have to track it down and kill it.”
“That’s going to have to wait, Mr. Cutter,” Dave said. “I need to ask you some more questions.”
“It can’t wait,” Henry said. “If someone crosses the path of that wolf while it’s hurt like that it’s likely to attack. There’re a lot of ranches out this way. Some of them have kids. I’m not willing to let it go.”
“I can’t let you go after it,” Dave said.
“I’m going, detective,” Henry said, stooping to pick up the rifle. “You’re welcome to come along if you can keep up and be quiet. Otherwise, wait here or shoot me.”
The rancher turned away and started for his truck. Dave looked at the others who only shrugged. Dave considered the situation. He could shoot the man, an armed suspect fleeing the scene. He didn’t like the idea of shooting anyone in the back. Any doubt about the man’s involvement with Bolder would find him being lynched in the press. He decided quickly what he had to do. He gathered himself up and jogged after the rancher. The two of them were going on a wolf hunt.
Chapter 68
(All Good Things)
Gary Rivers sat in his office with his legs propped resting on a desk drawer he pulled open for that purpose. He was reading through the day’s mail that made it through Stephanie’s initial screening. She sorted the pieces into three piles: the bills, current clients and potential clients. The items that did not make it to his desk were junk mail and want-to-be clients with no potential. What remained still made an impressive stack of letters.
He was in a good mood. He had made some productive phone calls first thing in the morning. He had already found
a couple query letters he thought interesting. And his wife was not pestering him about the family reunion her parents were planning.
He had her followed a year ago and discovered she was cheating on him. He also discovered he knew the man she was sleeping with. At first he was furious with her. He planned to divorce her and throw her out on the street. Later that night while he waited for her to return home after one of her encounters, he realized he could do anything he wanted and she could never say anything because she was already cheating on him. He revamped his plan, canceled the divorce and set into motion a scheme to give him all the freedom he wanted.
Within a few months he had secret bank accounts and an apartment down town where he could go hide when he was expected to make an appearance he didn’t want to make. At first she complained at his sudden disappearances. Eventually even that ended. They were comfortably living separate lives. Even with their unspoken arrangement he was sure she would want him to make an appearance at the reunion. So far though, she had said nothing.
“You have a call on line two,” Stephanie called to him.
“Thank you,” he called back before picking up the phone. “Gary Rivers speaking.”
“Cancel the deal,” a frantic voice said to him.
“What?” Gary said. “Who is this?”
“It’s Carl,” the man said. “Cancel the deal with the Tuttle woman.”
“Why?” Gary said. “Besides, it’s too late. The deal’s done. Contracts have been signed all around.”
“Get out of them,” Carl said sharply.
“I can’t get out of them,” Gary said. “What’s wrong?”
“The man in the morgue isn’t her husband,” Carl said.
“Morgue?” Gary said. “You went to the morgue?”
“No, I didn’t go to the morgue,” Carl said. “Will you listen to me? The body she claims is her dead husband isn’t her dead husband.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s Mike.”
“Mike?”
“Bishop.”
Gary felt the blood drain from his face. He froze, unable to move, to speak, to think.
“Gary,” Carl said. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” Gary muttered. “Mike died in a plane crash, Carl. It can’t be him.”
“It’s him,” Carl said. “I saw his picture. There’s no mistaking his face.”
“But . . .”
“Gary,” Carl said. “You have to get out of those contracts. You have to distance yourself from Sarah Tuttle. The man claiming to be Allan Tuttle probably is and if it comes out that you sold his manuscript without his permission you can kiss your career goodbye.”
“I can't just drop the contract. I negotiated the sale,” Gary said. “I can't just withdraw it. They would never work with me again. There has to be another way.”
“I can’t think of one,” Carl said. “I mean as soon as this guy can prove who he is, he’s going to sue anyone who publishes his book. The publisher won’t be too happy with you.”
There was silence on the line.
“Gary?” Carl asked.
“”Yea, I’m here,” Gary said. “What if he wasn’t able to prove who he was?”
“What do you mean?” Carl said.
“What if Allan Tuttle wasn’t able to prove he was Allan Tuttle?” Gary repeated. “The truth wouldn’t come out.”
“True,” Carl said. “The only way that’s guaranteed to happen is if he actually died. I mean otherwise he’s going to keep trying. And sooner or later someone is going to listen to him.”
“So, what you’re saying is,” Gary said, “he needs to die.”
“That’s the only way you’ll come out of this all crisp and clean,” Carl said. “I don’t see that happening. He isn’t exactly old. And he isn’t likely to have an accident sitting in his cell.”
“We could bail him out,” Gary suggested.
“Why? To up his odds of having an accident?” Carl asked. “The chances still aren’t good.”
“You could arrange an accident,” Gary said.
There was a long pause. “Gary. I’ve known you a long time. I like working for you. I’m going to be honest with you. What you just asked of me, well, it ain’t going to happen. I don’t kill. Sure if you shoot at me I’ll shoot back. But I don’t kill innocent men.”
“You’re right,” Gary said. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. I . . . I just panicked. You know how fear affects the mind. Of course I wouldn’t want him killed. Forget I mentioned it. I’ll think of something. You know me. I always do.”
“Okay,” Carl said. “I understand. Listen, I am going to get out of here on the next flight back. And I’m going to forget about this. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Gary said. “I’ll need it. You take care and send me an invoice. I’ll make sure it gets paid promptly this time.”
“That would be nice,” Carl laughed. “Different. But nice.”
Gary set the receiver down. He stared at the phone thinking about all the things they had discussed. He thought about how his wife was going to act when she found out he was going to lose everything. She would probably leave him for her boyfriend. No great loss. Stephanie and the rest of his staff were another thing. What would they do if their jobs were gone?
“Stephanie,” he called out.
“Yes, sir?”
“Could you come here, please?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
He could hear the chair roll back from her desk and her footsteps as she approached his door. She walked in and crossed half the office before stopping. She was looking at his face and he could see his concern reflected in hers.
“Stephanie,” he said. “I may have a problem.”
Chapter 69
(Wolf Hunt)
Henry's truck bounced and slid down the road, which was really no more than tire impressions created by previous vehicles. Dave held the door handle with one hand and the console with the other trying to maintain some semblance of composure. He was quietly impressed with the old rancher’s ability to keep the truck continuing in the right direction. More vocally he expressed his grief over being thrown into the metal frame of the truck’s interior.
“I thought you said it was injured,” Dave shouted at the man.
The rancher shifted the gears and gunned the accelerator again. Dave’s head bounced off the back window and he cursed.
“He’s injured alright,” Henry said.
“Then what’s the hurry?” Dave asked. “How far can he get?”
“He’s hurt,” Henry said. “He isn’t going to die. He’s just going to be over cautious. He’s going to strike out at anything he feels threatened by. And if he makes it to the suburbs he’ll feel threatened by anyone crossing his path. We have to stop him before that happens.”
The truck slid to the left and Henry spun the steering wheel to correct. Dave’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his hold. He looked over at Henry and saw that the man was smiling. He wondered if the rancher was silently laughing at him or if the man was simply enjoying himself. A moment later the truck slid again and Henry’s smile broadened as the wheel spun in his hands. Watching the man, Dave concluded two things; Henry was enjoying himself and he was at least a little crazy.
Shortly after regaining control of the vehicle Henry told Dave to hang on. Since Dave was already hanging on, he furrowed his brow in desperate concern. Even as Dave clutched his handholds more fiercely Henry stomped down on the brake and turned the wheel sharp to the right. His foot moved swiftly from brake to accelerator and he stomped down hard sending the truck forward again toward a small roadway cutting through the trees. They bounced and the front-end of the truck rose into the air before slamming back down violently. The two men were tossed about inside the cab, kept in their seats only by the seatbelts cutting into their waists and across their torsos. The truck continued down the road out of Henry’s control. Dave watched in horror as the road turned away. Top
ping a crest, they were on a slope leading through a stand of trees. Dave reached out for the steering wheel, unable to grasp it before being thrown back against his seat. Several trees stood like guards before them. Helplessly, Dave could only watch as they continued to gain speed.
Closing his eyes, Dave braced for the impact he knew was coming. His mind raced with images of a life both professionally fulfilling and personally empty. Thoughts of his disastrous marriage and children he never had were followed by images of chances he never took and experiences he never tried. His mind raced and he wondered how much the impact was going to hurt. He wondered if he would die instantly or if it would be a slow, painful process.
The truck slid and Dave’s eyes snapped open. The trees were no longer in front of them. He looked to his left and saw Henry spinning the steering wheel wildly. Through the driver’s side window, Dave could see the trees still coming at them, although more slowly. The sound of crunching metal and splintering wood filled the air. The sudden jolt threw Dave toward the driver’s side. The seatbelt gripped his waist, ribs, chest and collarbone. A distinct snapping sound filled the cab and Dave wondered which bone is was. Next to him, Henry hit the door and window. The glass shattered and sprayed the occupants.
“Damn it!” Henry shouted. He checked his body moving each extremity one at a time. He turned to Dave. “Anything broken?”
“Maybe,” Dave said through clenched teeth. He did not mention how badly his ribs ached.
“Can you move?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Henry said. “Now, get out.”
Dave looked at him questioningly. The expression in Henry’s face was clear. The detective opened his door and rolled out of the crippled vehicle. Henry followed and in a few moments the two men were standing on the side of the makeshift road they had just missed. Henry cradled a rifle in one arm. The other arm he held close to his chest. Dave held an arm close to his body as well trying desperately to relieve the pain he felt in his ribs. The other hand he rested on the grip of his service revolver. They moved, both limping; Henry's much more pronounced.
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