by Jeff Carson
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
A disgruntled partner of Wolf’s? What in the hell was going on today?
Deputy Munford’s tiny smile flashed in his mind again.
He pressed his thumb on his right shoulder. The starfish-shaped scar was still tender underneath his sweatshirt. His muscle ached, and was less bulky than he was used to feeling.
Not quite healed. But he was here with that test scheduled for tomorrow because he could wait no more. No more daytime television and feeling sorry for himself.
As if that drive to get back into the department hadn’t been enough, now he had two more reasons he absolutely needed to pass that test tomorrow, if it was the last thing he ever did in his life: A disgruntled partner of Wolf’s, and that tiny smile.
Chapter 9
Wolf paddled to the western shore of the river.
He was tucked in the pines on the southern outskirts of town now, having floated his way undetected along the entire 2.7 mile stretch of sage country.
Undetected? It was probably not an accurate word. Wolf didn’t envy the two FBI agents when his escape was discovered.
The canoe bumped ashore and twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. He hopped out and pushed it back into the flowing water.
He stretched his limbs overhead, and as he pulled down on his fleece he realized his paddle holster was missing.
With a sinking stomach, he thought back on his fall down the slope near his house and his dive into the canoe. That was the only feasible spot he could have lost it. Cursing himself, he hiked through the pines toward the rear deck of the Beer Goggles Bar and Grill.
It seemed early to see Jerry Blackman’s old pickup in the parking lot on a Wednesday, but Wolf decided it was a good piece of luck.
He walked to the rear door and knocked three times.
The barred trashcans lined up along the outside wall kept the bears out, but failed to keep the smell of stale beer and bar food from spilling into the damp morning air.
He swore he heard a thump inside, but over the trickling river and referee-whistle calls of humming birds behind him, it was tough to say.
Three more knocks.
Still nothing.
Wolf walked around the side of the building to the front, knowing he was clearly visible to Jerry inside as he passed each of the windows in front.
Stopping to peer inside, he saw no movement, but a single light glowed behind the bar counter.
Crunching along the puddle-strewn parking lot, he eyed the entrance road and thankfully heard no vehicles approaching. He stepped to the front door and pulled on it, but it was locked.
He knocked three more times. “Jerry! It’s David Wolf! Can I come in, please?”
No answer.
Wolf picked up a rock the size of his head and slammed it down on the doorknob. The knob snapped from the door and fell to the ground. He pushed his finger through and the other side of the knob fell onto the floor inside. He pulled the door open and stepped in.
Jerry Blackman stood behind the bar, his eyes wide and his lips puckered.
Wolf stopped. “Hey, Jerry. Don’t shoot. It’s me, David Wolf.”
Jerry held his pose. His lips glistened with spit, and his eyes seemed like they were going to explode out of his head.
“Sorry about the door. I have an emergency. I knocked on the back door. Did you not—”
A cloud of smoke burst from Jerry’s mouth. Drool streamed from his lips as he coughed.
Wolf squinted and waved his hand as he stepped into the pungent cloud of marijuana smoke.
“Hey, Dave. How’s it going?”
“Sorry about the doorknob. I’ll pay for it.”
“Ahhh.” Jerry coughed again. “Doorknob?”
“The door … Can I use your phone?”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?”
“No, it died on me. Listen, I’ve gotta use your phone.”
“Sure, bro. Have at it.” Jerry stood back and pointed at the cordless on the counter. He leaned forward, grabbed the smoking bong and put it on the shelf next to the liquor bottles.
“Thank you.” Wolf pulled out his cell phone and inserted the battery, then powered it on.
“It works.” Jerry smiled. “Nice.”
He scrolled through the contacts and found Luke’s phone number, then dialed the cordless landline.
“Wait. Your phone works now.”
Wolf put the phone to one ear and his finger in the other. It rang several times then went to voicemail. Wolf dialed again and waited.
“What?” Luke voice was barely audible over a loud hissing in the background.
“It’s Wolf.”
“Shit! Where are you?”
“I’m … is this line secure?”
“I hope. Where are you?”
Wolf looked at Jerry, who was staring at him and blinking. “I’m in town.”
Luke exhaled hard into her phone. “You need to get to Margaret’s office as soon as possible. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“I’ve gotta get to MacLean.”
“No, to Margaret. Call me when you get there.”
The line went dead.
He pressed the call end button and looked at Jerry. “Can you give me a ride into town?”
Jerry nodded. “Wait, no. I can’t drive after doing this stuff. That’s against the law.”
“I don’t care. I’m not sheriff anymore. Please, I need a ride.”
“Okay.” Jerry shrugged and walked past Wolf.
Wolf leaned back away from the filthy windshield as a line of Ford Crown Victorias sped past with lights twisting on their roofs.
“Whoa, must be a fire or something.” Jerry leaned toward his filthy side mirror, pulling the truck into oncoming Main Street traffic in the process.
Wolf reached over and straightened the wheel. “Jerry! The road.”
“Whoa, yeah.” Jerry turned bright red, and then combed back his mop hair.
“Up here.” Wolf pointed ahead.
Jerry mashed the brakes and Wolf caught himself before slamming into the dashboard.
“No, up there. Another block.”
“Okay, yeah. Man, this stuff is really potent. Sorry.”
Wolf wiped his palms on his jeans and scanned outside. All the trouble just blew by them at sixty miles per hour. So he hoped. There was no sign of sheriff’s-department SUVs, and as far as he could see through the dirt-caked windows, no sign of anymore FBI vehicles.
“This is perfect.”
Jerry slowed at a more reasonable rate this time, his front tire popping up on the curb as he stopped.
“Thanks, Jerry. If they ask you what you did, just tell them you gave me a ride into town. You don’t know anything else.”
Jerry’s eyes glazed over like he was trying to add two ten-digit numbers in his head.
“Never mind.” Wolf shut the door.
“Hey, Dave.” Rich Chancelor, a local having a cigarette outside the coffee shop, nodded at Wolf.
“Hey, Rich.” Wolf felt exposed already after the exchange and buried his face inside his fleece collar. He walked fast to the end of the block and hung a right.
On the opposite corner squatted the abandoned Sluice County Sheriff’s Department station building he’d spent so many years of his life in.
The blinds inside the windows were drawn and the dirt parking lot was overrun with hip-high weeds.
He gave a silent greeting to it and marched to the front door of Margaret’s office.
The Hitching Post Realty logo was frosted on the glass of the door, and when he pushed it open a string of sleigh bells clanged.
Margaret stood up from her desk and her wheeled chair slammed into a filing cabinet behind her. “David.”
“Margaret.”
The door swished shut behind him.
His friend pulled her mass of silver curls into a ponytail and fastened it back, all the while locking her eyes with his.
Normall
y cool and confident, quick to speak with a razor-sharp tongue, Margaret was mute, her face tight, mouth clamped shut.
It was a side of Margaret he was unused to seeing. “Kristen Luke told me to come here.” He stepped to the windows and peered outside. When Margaret kept silent he turned to look at her.
She had her desk-phone receiver pressed against her ear and was tapping the keypad.
“Whoa. Who are you calling?”
“Kristen.” She stood straight and closed her eyes. “Come on. Come on.”
He turned back to the windows.
“Hey. He’s here … okay …”
“Let me speak to her.”
She held up a finger. “Okay … seventeen … I’ll call her. She’ll come. Okay, I have to go …”
“Wait.” He held out his hand. “I need to talk to her.”
Margaret reluctantly handed him the receiver.
“What’s going on? Where are you?” he asked.
“You have to go with Margaret. I’ll meet you guys.”
“Where?”
“Margaret knows. You have to move, now. They’re going to see you’re gone from your house and they’re going to throw up containment road blocks.”
“Wait. I don’t care. I need to stay here. Here’s where we’ll get answers.”
“You have to leave because I have the answers. So get your ass moving and get in Margaret’s car. Now.”
The line went dead.
He exhaled and gave Margaret the phone.
She put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“She hung up. So I guess I’m going with you.”
Margaret grabbed her keychain from the desk and walked.
Wolf eyed the empty room. The computers on the other desks were running, screensavers bouncing across the screen. There was an email on the nearest screen, abandoned in mid-creation.
“I sent them all away.” She walked to the door and pulled it open. “Move it.”
Her tone and the sleigh bells snapped Wolf into action. He walked fast outside and followed to her SUV.
The engine was already howling when he climbed into the passenger seat, and they were backed out of the parking spot before Wolf had closed the door.
“Shit, duck.”
Wolf saw what she meant, but it was too late.
Tom Rachette stood on the corner, staring wide eyed as Margaret rolled through the stop sign and turned north on Main Street.
“Get down.”
Wolf ignored her, locking eyes with Rachette.
Dressed in plain clothes, Rachette held a coffee in one hand and stood with his mouth open.
As they drove down Main, he twisted in his seat and kept staring, until Rachette turned and walked the opposite way.
“Cops, cops, get down.”
Margaret slowed to the side of the road as a line of screaming and flashing Sluice–Byron SD vehicles flew past.
Wolf never saw them go by, because he was curled up on the passenger-side floorboard.
Chapter 10
Patterson took another deep breath and steeled herself for the inevitable sight that would confront her as they drove up the inclined driveway to Wolf’s ranch property.
Wolf was hands down the best man she’d ever known. Someone was doing this to him and everyone was taking the misdirection hook, line, and sinker.
As they passed through the headgate, the scene rising into view was mayhem: unmarked Fords flashing, men and women pouring out of the SBCSD vehicles, their turrets flashing blue and red through the haze.
Lancaster was unable to drive very far, so he pulled into the grass and parked.
He got out and marched double-time down the driveway. Patterson took her time following, in no hurry to see David Wolf being arrested for murder.
She passed Wilson and nodded.
“You hear?”
“Hear what?” She stopped.
“They found the gun.” He nodded toward the barn and smiled. “But not him.”
“Are you serious?” A jolt of electricity passed through her body.
“Yep.”
“What did you say, Sergeant?” Lancaster walked toward them.
It was always startling for Patterson to hear Lancaster’s voice, because the man spoke at an octave lower than everyone else, and he did so very rarely. And at this volume? She could hardly remember him enunciating so clearly in the past few weeks she’d been partnered with him.
For a big man, Lancaster had small, beady eyes. Right now, they narrowed to slits. “He escaped?”
Wilson shrugged. “That’s the news.”
Lancaster turned and jogged toward the front of the house, and this time Patterson ran to catch up.
A group of suited agents gathered in front of the covered carport, staring at another agent some distance away as he held up a plastic bag with a pistol inside.
The barn doors were wide open, and the Assistant Special Agent in Charge that had interrogated her, and his big-ass sidekick, were conferring with one another. The barn seemed to be off limits to everyone save two white-clad techs with cameras inside, taking pictures.
Upon closer inspection, Patterson saw that Agent Frye was studying the ground intently, and his sidekick—Cumberland, that was his name—was watching his boss.
Frye followed a line on the ground and looked up at Patterson. No, past her.
He walked fast, keeping his eyes down, and the crowd suddenly went quiet, taking notice.
Marching fast past Patterson and Lancaster, Frye snapped his fingers. “Buntham and Vincent!”
“Yes, sir,” an FBI agent answered quickly.
Agent Frye continued walking and everyone followed, including Patterson, eager to keep within earshot.
“I’m looking at Mr. Wolf’s footprints here, walking off the property. The scrape marks on the ground inside the barn indicate he was carrying something heavy.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the agents, either Buntham or Vincent, said.
“Ah. Here.” Agent Frye paused underneath the headgate wooden arch of Wolf’s property and pointed at the ground. A conga-line of agents and sheriff’s deputies stopped along with him.
Frye looked up at the agent he’d been speaking to and the agent swallowed. Though a man of slight build and under-average height, ASAC Frye was clearly intimidating to his agents.
“A boat.” Frye walked down the hill, across the dirt road, and stopped at the embankment overlooking the river. “Did you happen to see him as he passed you in his boat, Agent Buntham?”
Buntham stared at the water with an open mouth.
“Buntham!”
“Yes, sir. We did. We thought it was a fisherman. Just a … boatist.”
“A boatist?”
Buntham lowered his chin.
“I want roadblocks on north and southbound Highway 734, and a bird in the air checking the river for our boatist.” He locked eyes with Patterson.
Patterson stepped back, unprepared for the intensity and focus of the man’s gaze searing into her.
“Deputy Patterson.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I want to speak with you. Everyone move!”
Another agent raised his voice and started giving orders, and the crowd dispersed fast.
As Frye stepped close, a shadow passed over Patterson’s face, and she saw Lancaster stood right next to her.
“What did you and Wolf talk about?”
“What? When?”
“Yesterday. When you were here.”
She hesitated.
“Answer the question.”
“I … he … we went for a walk and he showed me your surveillance teams.”
Frye’s face soured.
“And, I don’t know, he hasn’t been back into work for months. He’s no longer sheriff, he’s healing, he’s out of the loop. We meet every week or so to go over the news.”
“What kind of news?”
Patterson glanced up at Lancaster’s dead-eyed stare.
�
�News—”
“I want the actual news, Deputy,” Frye said. “If you tell me the news by using the word news again I’m going to toss you in this river.”
She clenched her jaw and stood straight. I’d like to see you try. “He was concerned about the sudden increase in surveillance. He wanted to know what had changed. I told him the FBI had been talking with me and Deputies Rachette and Baine in the last few weeks, but he wanted to know why you had three teams watching him. I think he was getting antsy about his state of being, and was frustrated with the current investigation into the death of his ex-wife, and how he and his deputies were being implicated.”
Frye nodded with a humorless smile.
She lifted her chin.
“Sir,” Lancaster said, “we’d like to help in any way. And as soon as possible.”
Frye looked up at Lancaster. “Yes, Undersheriff. Thank you. Why don’t you and Deputy Patterson help with the southern roadblock.”
“Yes, sir.” Lancaster nodded and twisted on his heels.
Patterson stayed where she was.
Frye watched Lancaster step away and then leaned into Patterson. “Stay available, Deputy.” Then he marched away after Lancaster, leaving her alone overlooking the river.
Flowing high on its banks, the gurgling Chautauqua sparkled in the warming sun.
She hoped Wolf had used the river to get far away, and then had gotten off it as soon as possible.
“Patterson!” Lancaster called out.
She jogged to catch up.
Chapter 11
“What the hell were you doing? He saw you.”
Wolf cracked an eyelid. “He won’t tell anyone.” He could barely hear himself over the growing ringing in his ear.
“This is crazy.” Margaret jabbed the power button on the radio.
The country music was silenced and nothing remained but the ringing.
Keeping his eyes closed, he breathed deep to calm his queasy stomach.
“Are you all right?”
He exhaled, inhaled again.
“Wolf?”
“Yeah. I just need a minute.”
The minute turned into forty minutes of silence. He wanted to ask about the specifics of their plan, but he didn’t have the energy. Through slit eyelids, he observed life happening around him, giving over his trust to Margaret Hitchens and Kristen Luke.