David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  Wolf stood transfixed in front of the mirror, staring at the doorknob, wondering what the hell just happened, and what the hell had happened last night. Thoughts and snippets of his and Kimber’s conversation before the fight flooded back into his brain, like a wave that goes out only to join forces with another and come crashing in even harder.

  He remembered that after the pool cue had snapped against his head he’d gotten a good shot in on Carter, and then had been leveled by one of the other two men. And, yes, he remembered telling the bartender to hold off on calling his deputies. He didn’t want the embarrassment of being caught out drinking with a person of interest in the case, and he never liked being broke and beaten on the ground.

  What he did not remember was getting home, or anything else beyond that. Had he drunk that much? Apparently so.

  The truth was, he wondered whether he should feel like a rape victim, or perpetrator.

  There was one thing he did remember, though. Closing his eyes, he thought about the end of his dream.

  They’re dead and it’s all your fault.

  Chapter 46

  Roiling clouds above slid by and the tops of the pines bent in the wind as Wolf walked across the station lot. Looking at the darkness to the north was all the forecast Wolf needed to know that it was going to be a miserable Monday. Fitting, he thought, still waiting for the Advil to deaden the miserable pounding in his skull.

  Tammy glanced up at him and the door clacked.

  Wolf almost made it by her. “Wait, what the hell happened to you?”

  “Hello, Tammy.” He grabbed the door and pulled.

  Tammy stood, making to meet him on the other side through her own door.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he warned as he stepped through the squad room.

  She pulled her eyebrows together and watched him pass. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  Wilson stood from his desk as if ready to refill his coffee and paused. “What happened to you?”

  Wolf ignored the question. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

  “Rachette and Patterson just left to go up to the lake. Baine, too. Rachette and Baine were talking about going into the woods, and Patterson about the rescue team trying again to get what they found at the bottom of that lake. Oh yeah, and Baine says he left something on your desk?”

  Wolf nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “And, sir, Patterson got two calls last night from people who heard shots fired. Both said they heard three shots, but we haven’t found anything yet, haven’t heard anything. We had two units on patrol last night who couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary either.”

  Wolf frowned and nodded. “Okay. Let me know if anything comes of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stepped down the hall and into his office. With a twist of his fingers, he opened the aluminum blinds, letting in the subdued light from outside. Margaret Hitchens was outside her office across the street, bundled in a knee-length dress coat and talking to three other professionally dressed people.

  He narrowed his eyes as he watched Margaret signal toward his office, and the other three looked his way.

  He turned and sat down. The squawk of the chair springs jabbed his brain. After a few seconds of staring dumbly at the wall, he stood and got a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the hallway and downed it. With another half a bottle down his throat, he felt some vitality returning.

  He heard his desk phone’s digital trill and walked back into his office and picked it up.

  “Wolf.”

  “Hey, it’s Lorber. Have you checked your email yet?”

  “No, just a second.” Wolf woke up his computer and logged into his email.

  As he waited for the screen to load he noticed a sticky-note on his desk.

  Done. Check your email—Baine.

  Wolf ripped up the note and put it in the trash. “All right. I’m clicking on your email.”

  “Look at the attachments. There’re three pictures.”

  Wolf clicked on one. “Okay. I’m seeing a watch.”

  The sound of Lorber sipping coffee filled Wolf’s ear. “I found this watch in Nick Pollard’s truck. Notice the way the strap is severed at an angle. I’m calling this the smoking wrist watch.”

  “Mmm,” Wolf said.

  “This is a Swatch watch,” Lorber continued,” popular in the eighties and nineties. Some models are water resistant. Lucky for us, this one was not. Also lucky for us, this watch is made exclusively from plastic parts, which resisted corrosion from the particular vat of chemicals you bathed in yesterday. By the way, how are your genitals doing this morning?”

  Wolf clicked on the second picture. It was a close-up of an arm of one of the murder victims pulled from the lake. “I’m on the second picture.”

  “Okay. The second picture is a close-up of Nick Pollard’s left wrist. Do you see that vertical slash on it?”

  Wolf leaned into the screen. “Yes, I do.”

  “And it just so happens that the angle of the cut on the wrist lines up exactly with the severed watch strap.”

  Wolf clicked on the third picture. It was a close-up of the watch face.

  Lorber coughed into the receiver. “And the third. I give you … the smoking wrist watch.”

  Wolf shook his head, allowing a small smile to reach his lips. “It’s stopped at 8:25.”

  “Eight … twenty … five. There’s even a cute little date and day underneath all that gook that I cleaned off, and it says Thursday, July 4th.”

  “So there’s our time of death,” Wolf said. “Or, correction, the time his truck was dumped in the lake.”

  “Yep. And there are eleven other stab wounds from the same knife on Nick Pollard’s body, and three tears in the vinyl seat of his truck seat that were made by the same blade.”

  Wolf leaned back. “You’d bet your hair on it?”

  “Yes, I would. It’s safe to say that by the time Nick’s truck was dumped in the pond, he was dead.” Lorber made a kissing noise. “And there’s the sound of Kimber Grey’s alibi sealing tight.”

  Wolf stared at the picture on his computer screen, and then up at Wilson’s head peeking inside the office.

  “Sir? You have some company,” Wilson said.

  “Who?”

  “Who what?” Lorber said in his ear.

  “Lorber, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Wolf hung up and looked up to see Wilson gone and Margaret poking her head around the corner with a surprised grin on her face. “Howdy, Sheriff.”

  He needed to have a talk with Tammy.

  “Sheriff Wolf, we’re sorry to bother you.” She stepped into the doorway and looked over her shoulder.

  We?

  Two men and a woman stepped up behind Margaret and craned their necks to see. He raised his chin and smiled politely, recognizing one of the men and one of the women from somewhere that escaped him now.

  “Hello.” Wolf walked around his desk.

  “David,” Margaret stepped aside, “these are all members of the Byron County Council. They were in town this morning and wanted to meet you. You might remember Chairwoman and President Teresa Ball. And Vice Chairman Phillip Henley. And this is Council Member Andrew Kensington.”

  Halfway through the second handshake, Margaret’s face dropped. She stared closely at Wolf’s injured scalp. “What happened to you?”

  Wolf gave a sheepish smile and pointed a finger at his wound. “One of the hazards of the job.”

  Margaret and the council members shared an exasperated look with one another.

  “Can we come in?” she asked. “We’d like to talk for just a few moments.”

  Wolf looked into his office. “Sure. But I only have two chairs. Let’s go into the situation room to talk.”

  He led the way and held the door open. They funneled past him, trailed by their strong fragrances, and took seats on the plastic chairs inside
.

  Wolf pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the white table and sat down.

  Chairwoman Teresa Ball leaned forward on a thin forearm. “I’d like to congratulate you on your recent popularity.”

  She flashed an attractive smile and smoothed her hand over her gray sculpture of a haircut. “We were just in the neighborhood, up from Ashland, checking on the new county building that’s going up.”

  Wolf pulled down the corners of his mouth and nodded. “They’re getting close.”

  She nodded. “They say they’re going to be done by the end of the month.”

  “Just in time.” Wolf smiled.

  “Just in time.” Her smiled faded. “I want to get to the point, Sheriff. We’re here because we want us all to be friends, here in this room. We have some great things already planned for the sustainable growth of this new county, and for this beautiful resort town of Rocky Points, and I think we can all help each other out with the trajectory our respective careers are taking.”

  Wolf leaned back and smiled. “The trajectory our careers are taking? We’ll have to see about me. They still have to count the votes. At least I think so. Isn’t that how it works, Margaret?”

  Margaret’s face froze for a second and then she smiled. “Ha. Of course, David.” She looked at the three council members and then shot a dagger glance at him.

  “And what about you three?” Wolf gestured to them. “You don’t have to be voted in?”

  The two men relaxed in their chairs and exchanged a glance. The chairwoman looked down at her hand and tapped a finger. “Yes, we do have to be voted and sworn in, but unlike you we are all running unopposed for the positions we will hold in the newly formed county council.”

  “Ah.” Wolf nodded with genuine interest. “And if I were to be elected sheriff, the bylaws state I would have voting power in many of the council matters.”

  “That’s right.” The chairwoman nodded and her bangs bounced. “You would, on certain issues.”

  He spread his hands. “Just trying to ‘get to the point’ as you say.”

  The chairwoman leaned back.

  The door clicked and creaked open, and Wilson peeked his head inside. “Sheriff?”

  Wolf held up a finger. “I’ll be right out. We were just finishing up.”

  Margaret’s nostrils flared as she white-knuckle-gripped the armrest of her chair.

  “Sir, we have a”—Wilson looked at the four guests and then back at him—“10-79.”

  He popped his eyebrows. “Sorry, folks. I’ve gotta get going.” He got up and left the room.

  The sit-room door latched behind him and Wilson stood staring with a strange expression. “Did you just say we have a dead body?”

  Wilson blinked.

  “What?”

  “It’s … Beacon Light Road, sir. Two 10-79s on Beacon Light.”

  Wilson’s sad eyes answered Wolf’s question before Wolf could line up his words.

  He sagged against the wall. “Who? Who is it?”

  Chapter 47

  Wolf took his time getting to the black BMW sedan. The scratch of radios muffled and the rain seemed to pass through him. As he rounded behind the passenger side and ducked under the makeshift tent, he was laser focused on the alabaster hand dangling from the car.

  It was clenched in a half fist, a single stripe of red on the palm to the first knuckle of the slender pinkie finger.

  The two white-clad deputies stepped aside as Wolf approached.

  A bare arm and leg came into view, and Wolf slowed to a halt. For a few long seconds he stared at her muddy feet, and then his eyes traveled from the bare foot, up the impossibly white skin of the knee to the thigh, all the way up to the side of her buttock, then to the waist and the slinky black nightgown pulled up to her belly.

  For just an instant he allowed himself to look at her exposed black panties. It was unclear whether the movement of being ruthlessly murdered had raised the material above her waist, or whether it had been something or someone else. He moved forward and then stopped before raising his gaze to her face. There are some things you don’t need to see.

  He turned and walked around the back of the vehicle. Tinted windows. Colorado plates. Gleaming black paint covered with orbs of water.

  He ducked under the edge of the tent. A white-clad deputy stepped back.

  The open driver’s-side door.

  Wolf tracked his eyes from the man’s shiny shoes, muddy and scuffed on the top of the toes, up his pressed black slacks, and paused at his fly. The crotch zipper was up and Wolf blinked with something akin to relief.

  The rain slapped the top of the foldout canvas tent as he bent for a closer look at the dead man in the driver’s seat.

  Carter Willis’s face was scratched and bruised, and there was a neat hole in his temple. His eyes were open, gazing into the void.

  Wolf stared, his eyes transfixed on Carter’s groomed hair. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sarah’s face twisted toward him, blonde hair across her face; and though he did not look directly, he could see two white specks and knew that her eyes were open. The most beautiful blue eyes the world had ever seen, and would never see again. There are some things you don’t need to see.

  Wolf backed out of the tent and walked past Sergeant Yates, who stood silently at the rear of the vehicle.

  “Sir.” Yates stepped up behind him. “We found a receipt for the Pony Tavern from last night in the center console.”

  Wolf stopped and faced him.

  Yates looked down at his feet. “Sir, I was on patrol last night, and I saw your truck there. You were there last night, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Yates held out his hand. “Sir, I gotta …”

  Wolf stared at his hand for a second, his mind too numb to comprehend what his deputy was doing, and then it hit him. He unholstered his service pistol and held it out, butt first. Yates took it with a rubber-gloved hand and ejected the clip. He held it up, counting the rounds, and checked the chamber. Wafting the barrel in front of his nose, Yates flared his nostrils and stared into the distance. He shook his head, jammed home the clip and handed the pistol back to Wolf.

  “Good enough for me.”

  Wolf took it with a nod, his gut churning from the exchange.

  He looked back at the BMW and then down the road that led down the mountain toward town.

  A quarter mile away, barely visible through the rain, Wolf saw a figure alongside the road. Pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The wriggling in his gut became a thrashing wild animal, a gorilla trying to break out of a cage. Jack.

  He began walking.

  Chapter 48

  Patterson gripped the ceiling handle and held her breath as Rachette sped up Beacon Light Road. The SUV’s wheels skidded on the wet asphalt, catching just before they slid out of control.

  “Careful,” she said, but she wasn’t about to tell him to slow down. Halfway to the lake, they’d received a call from a freaked-out Wilson. The news had been nothing short of a mental bomb detonation.

  She and Rachette had not spoken on the way to the lake for one reason, and now they were silent for another.

  Sarah was dead.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. Three gunshots, the two calls last night had said. At the memory, her eyes welled again. This time she let the tears stream down her face like the water across her passenger window.

  “God damn it,” she said.

  Rachette reached over and squeezed her arm.

  Flashing lights marking their destination came into view through the mist, and they sank back in their seats as Rachette revved the engine.

  A figure standing on the right shoulder came into view, and Rachette swung into the oncoming lane to give a wide berth. As they passed, Patterson gazed out through wet eyes, seeing a curious look on a teenaged face framed by a cinched hood.

  Her head whipped back. “Shit. That was Jack.”

  “What?” Rachette let up on
the gas.

  “Yeah. That was Sarah’s new house we just passed. Jack doesn’t know yet?” She looked at Rachette.

  Rachette looked in the rearview mirror. “Damn. I don’t know. What do we do?”

  “There’s Wolf.” She pointed out the windshield.

  Rachette jammed on the brakes and stopped in front of Wolf, who was marching down the edge of the road.

  Patterson’s breath caught when she saw Wolf’s eyes underneath his hood. They were blood red and swollen, unblinking, staring past their vehicle.

  She hit the button and lowered the window.

  Wolf sidestepped the front of their SUV onto the muddy shoulder and walked past without pausing.

  “Sir …” The next word was impossible for her to choose. She looked back at Rachette and rolled up the window. “There’s nothing we can do. Let’s go up.”

  They drove on, parked behind a flashing SCSD vehicle and got out.

  Patterson stepped into a patch of mud straight out of the SUV and slipped, barely catching herself on the door before she went down. With spread legs, she shut the door, zipped up her jacket against the cold, and then gingerly walked around to the asphalt.

  Rachette stopped next to Yates at the top of the driveway. They stared down the road at Wolf’s receding figure, now barely visible through a passing bank of fog.

  “What the hell happened?” Rachette asked no one in particular.

  Yates gestured to the black luxury sedan. “The homeowners discovered the car this morning. They live in Denver and this is their second home. You can see for yourself.”

  Patterson followed Rachette. Dread pressed down harder with each step she took, and she focused on Rachette’s unwavering steps to get her there.

  He went to the driver’s-side door where Deputy Tyler was collecting forensic evidence.

  Patterson ducked into the tent, determined to work the scene as she would work any other.

  She flinched at Sarah’s vacant stare, and it threatened to turn Patterson’s resolve to rubble, but she pressed on. She had a job to do. She noted the trickle of blood that had oozed from a neat hole in her forehead. The rear of her skull was misshapen, but there seemed to be no exit wound. A wound on the upper right of Sarah’s chest had bled profusely, running down her right arm, which dangled off her exposed right thigh.