by Jeff Carson
She kept her eyes on the windshield. They welled and tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she said nothing.
He shifted into drive and let off the brake. She remained silent for the entire return trip, as did Wolf. Back through Denver, past the hogbacks near Morrison, up Floyd Hill, past Idaho Springs, through Eisenhower Tunnel, past the darkened slopes of Copper Mountain, past Vail, down south through Cave Creek—they said nothing, and Wolf swore he never saw her blink.
Growing up, Trudy had been a beautiful girl, and now she was a beautiful woman. It’s where her daughter got her looks. She and Wolf had kissed once in first grade. It was one of those tiny memories imprinted on his mind—a peck underneath a sheet while playing hide and seek. She was a memorable woman, Wolf guessed, and Wolf knew he would remember this drive for the rest of his life. The grief inside his vehicle was like a thick fog and it steamed off Trudy Frost’s unblinking eyes.
They pulled into Rocky Points and headed up the hills toward Nate’s house, which sent a fresh wave of tears flowing down Trudy’s cheeks, probably because the route to Nate’s was roughly the same as going to the Frosts’ home, reminding her anew of what had just happened to her husband, and the emptiness that waited at home for her.
Pulling into Nate’s driveway, Wolf could see the lights blazing bright inside the log home. Stepping out, he was surprised at the cool stillness of the air.
He opened the door for Trudy and she trudged to the front door, standing motionless before it until Wolf opened it for her
Nate’s wife, Brittnie, was standing inside, waiting with sympathetic wet eyes.
The house was quiet and subdued, the opposite of the usual state of Nate’s household. Circus music normally played in his head upon entering this residence, but not tonight.
Brittnie opened her arms and Trudy walked into them.
Wolf set down the baggage and stepped back onto the front porch. Nate walked down the hall and joined him outside.
Sliding the door shut, Nate turned to him with a holy shit expression and walked down the stairs into the driveway.
“How’s it been in there?” Wolf asked.
“Not good. Cassidy and Keegan are in the living room. Jack and Brian are upstairs.” Brian was Nate’s oldest son and Jack’s best friend. “The other kids are asleep. Christ, look at that.”
Nate stopped and looked up.
Wolf had already seen the phenomenon on the way into Rocky Points.
“That’s …” Nate let his sentence die and shook his head.
The moon was full, high above the eastern peaks, and blood red, tinted by smoke.
“Smoke from the Durango fire,” Wolf said. “They say rain’s rolling in tomorrow night. Going to be a monsoonal flow.”
“I was gonna say creepy. Frickin’ blood red.”
Wolf stared up. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
“Well, that’s good … about the rain. Now we can put off cutting those trees of yours for another few years.”
Wolf smiled, feeling grateful for the tiny jab at humor after the long solemn drive.
“I think I have more respect for you now,” Nate said.
“You had respect for me to begin with?”
“I know you always dealt with this type of thing on a first-hand basis, but I didn’t know how hard it was. How draining. You know, being so close to the bad stuff. And that’s just what you do. All day. Know what I mean? Shit, sorry. Don’t want to depress you or anything. I’m just saying.”
Wolf stared at the moon, opting for a change in subject. “I’m headed up to Windfield tomorrow.”
“Big oil up there,” Nate said. “I guess you’ll be putting off your conversation with Jack then, too.”
“What conversation?”
“I could tell you were bent out of shape about it today. Learning Cassidy and Jack were together last night.”
Wolf sighed. There was something else that he could put off for another few years.
“Head in?”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah.”
They walked inside and down the hallway, and Wolf stopped short at the scene in the family room.
Trudy stood arm in arm with her two children, Keegan and Cassidy, like they were lined up and going to say something in unison, like they were acting out a scene in a depressing version of a Disney movie. Six red-rimmed eyes, all an identical shade of Trudy Frost-blue, stared at Wolf with such ferocity that Wolf straightened.
“Are you going to get the piece of shit that did this to my husband?” Trudy asked.
Wolf swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”
Chapter 11
Wolf dialed the number for the head of the University of Utah’s paleontology department again and listened to the message.
“You’ve reached the office of Dr. James Talbot. I’m not in the office at—”
Hanging up, he checked the dash clock, which said 7:55 a.m., and added a mental note to try again in an hour.
He’d been driving on two-lane highways for just under three hours when he passed a sign that said Windfield 2 miles.
The hundred and seventy-one miles to that point had been mountains, valleys, and rivers until Grand Junction, where he turned north and the land became harsher–less-inhabited plateaus, flat wastelands, and cliffs shaped by ancient seas.
Now two miles away, Windfield winked in the morning light, its streets a checkerboard on the tilted floor of a wide sagebrush valley. Beyond it, the terrain rose in white and red rock cliffs covered in juniper and pinyon trees.
As he rolled into the town limits, he noted Windfield was a less majestic site than its backdrop. The gray asphalt was cracked with lines that had faded out years ago. The lawns were bleached yellow, the trees more brown than green, and the houses different configurations of single and double-wide trailers standing in varying levels of decay.
A stray dog got Jet’s attention as it trotted alongside Wolf’s SUV, and a kid on a four-wheeler drove by on the other side of a barbed-wire fence, his sister in the rear. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve, the girl ten, and she was holding a baby. Monday-morning traffic in Windfield.
Wolf considered stopping and yelling at the kid to get back home and leave the baby, but the kid turned around and sped off in the other direction.
“Here we are,” he announced to Jet instead.
Jet dropped his jaw and panted in the rear-view mirror. Wolf had had no choice but to take the dog with him that morning. His presence so far had been unobtrusive, save the occasional blast of gas. The medicine was working, albeit slowly.
Two turns later and he arrived at the Windfield County Sheriff’s Office without a hitch.
The building was a basic wooden rectangle with a large window in front and a glass door next to it. To Wolf, the structure looked like a nineteen-fifties hardware storefront, but the sign above the door confirmed it to be the Windfield County Sheriff’s Department, along with two brown-painted long-bed trucks with gold WCSD logos on the doors parked in front.
Wolf pulled into a midnight-black asphalt lot and parked between two freshly painted white lines opposite the trucks. He got out. stretching his arms overhead, and let Jet out from the back seat.
The heat rising off the pristine parking lot travelled up his pants legs, and he wondered if his leg hair might curl. His feet sank ever so slightly in the asphalt with each step. With an internal groan, he noted his watch read only 8:05 a.m.
He gazed at the higher elevations, hoping the quarry was on the top, and up on top was cooler.
The two Windfield Sheriff’s Department trucks were Ford long beds, about five to eight years old by the looks of the body design and wear. As Wolf walked in between them toward the front of the building he looked down at the tires, noting they were Goodyear P265/70R17. Both matches to his crime scene.
A blast of cool air pushed his uniform shirt against his chest as he pulled open the front door. Sleigh bells clanked against the glass, announcing his arrival.
Jet hurried in
past his legs inside and Wolf followed.
The room was rectangular, just like the exterior hinted it would be, filled with three desks facing the front window.
A lone man stood up from behind a computer. “Hello. You Deputy Wolf?”
“Yes. Detective Wolf,” he said.
“Deputy Etzel,” the man said, holding out his hand. He was low and squat. Despite the cool air, sweat marks darkened his uniform underneath his arms.
Etzel’s hand was puffy, but clamped onto Wolf’s like a bear trap.
“One moment please.” Etzel walked to the back of the room to an open doorway and leaned against the doorjamb.
It seemed like Etzel had pressing business to discuss, and then, as an afterthought, jerked a thumb over his shoulder and eyed Wolf.
After waddling back to his desk, Etzel said, “He’ll be right out.”
“Detective Wolf!” The sheriff came out of his office fast, with hand outstretched. He was just about Wolf’s height but a bit thicker and softer, probably ten years older than Wolf—early fifties by the look of his graying, closely cropped full head of hair that was cut into a cube. His skin was tan and his mouth stretched in a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “Sheriff Shumway. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too Sheriff.”
“And who’s this?” Shumway asked, bending down to scratch Jet’s head.
“That’s Jet.”
“I didn’t know you were bringing a K-9 unit.” Shumway stood straight and shrugged, looking slightly annoyed. “I guess he could come in handy.”
“He’s a retired dog from the Vail PD. Just a pet now. I’m taking care of him. I hope you don’t mind.”
The sheriff smiled again and walked back to the doorway. “No, no problem. Come on back. Maybe he could stay out here, though. I’m allergic.”
“Stay here,” Wolf said to Jet, and he pointed by the front door.
Jet did as he was told.
Shumway waited patiently at the entryway to his office and slapped a hand on Wolf’s back as he passed. “Have a seat.”
Wolf sat in a squeaking metal chair covered with cracked fake leather.
The wooden desk in front of Wolf was immaculately clean, smelling like polish. A green glass pull-chain lamp perched on one corner and two manila folders—one thick, one thin—sat conspicuously in the center.
“Have a good drive?” Shumway asked as he walked around his desk. His khaki sheriff’s uniform was dusty and wrinkled, like it was on its fourth day of use between dry cleanings. With a grunt, he collapsed into a pillowed leather chair and put his hands on the folders.
“Not bad,” Wolf said.
“You must have gotten an early start.”
“I did.”
“I have to say, we’ve all heard about the Cold Lake incident you had down there last year.” He shook his head and whistled. “What a whacky case that was. Can’t even make that stuff up.”
“It was interesting.”
He gave Wolf a smoky-eyed nod. “I was sorry to hear about your loss. We were all sorry.”
“Thank you,” Wolf nodded.
“I talked to Sheriff MacLean last night for a while. He had nothing but praise for you. How’re you liking being chief detective?”
“It suits me.”
“Don’t miss the politics of the Sheriff’s Office, eh?”
Wolf shook his head.
Shumway leaned his head back and laughed, and it shook the room. When he was done, he pulled back one of the folders and glanced inside, then shoved it in the top drawer of his desk.
The room fell silent and Shumway seemed lost in thought.
“You guys have something else going on too?” Wolf asked.
“What’s that? Oh, no. No, it’s just … a personal matter.” He slapped the thick folder that remained and opened it up. “So, damn shame what we have going on. I heard about your personal connection to the victim. Goddamn shame, and we’re here to help you catch these sons of bitches. No matter what it takes.”
He gazed hard into Wolf’s eyes.
“Good,” Wolf said.
“Status is: There’s one way in and out of that dino quarry we’ve got up there, and I sent two deputies to monitor it as soon as I talked to Sheriff MacLean last night.” He opened the folder and slapped a piece of paper down. “I got a warrant to search the dig camp for the murder weapon, the pistol used to shoot and kill Mr. Frost, and for the two pairs of shoes that left those tracks at the scene.”
“And the dig team is still there?” Wolf asked.
“Yep. My two deputies went into the park and confirmed last night, then they fell back and monitored to make sure they didn’t leave.” Shumway raised his eyebrows. “I followed MacLean’s request to stand down on bringing them in.”
“Thanks. I’d like to be there for the pickup and initial questioning.”
“I understand.” Shumway spread three photographs that were on top of the stack. “Here’s what we have on our students at the dig. They had to submit photographs along with a digging permit application with the county. We had them on file here.”
“A permit to dig … in the dinosaur quarry park? On BLM parkland?”
“Neither. They’re on private property. Still have to file though. They’ve set up camp in the park. They straddle the line, with the dig right on the other side of a dry river bed in private property and their access to it through the BLM park.”
Wolf nodded. “I see.”
Shumway tapped the first photograph. “First guy here? Steven Kennedy. We picked him up for DUI last year in town. Stuck him here in our jail cell for two days until his wife bailed him out. How he’s still on the university-sponsored dig team after that, I have no idea.”
The man in the mugshot photo was in his mid-twenties, handsome, but looked like he’d seen better days. Brown hair askew, his green eyes were puffy and drunk, his thin face covered with a two-day brown beard. He held up a black sign with his name, date, and booking number on it.
Shumway pointed at the next photo. “Felicia Kennedy, Steven’s wife.”
The picture was a full-body shot, taken outdoors, of a brown-haired woman also in her mid-twenties. She was dressed in a tank top, cargo shorts, and a big hat that shaded most of her face, but Wolf could still tell she was very beautiful. Thin and athletic, she was tanned deeply from being out in the sun. Her eyes were kind and her smile wide, flashing perfect teeth.
“She’s also in the graduate program at the University of Utah. I’ve never met her. I wasn’t here when she bailed out her husband.”
Shumway tapped his index finger on the third photo. It was another full-body shot of a woman. On the heavier side, this woman was dressed in a flannel shirt and cargo shorts, flashing bright white legs. Her hair was bleached blonde and spiked, and her face was pale and serious, with smallish eyes glaring into the camera.
“Molly Waters. Another paleontology graduate student at the University of Utah.”
Wolf picked a fourth photo out of the stack, which was a full-body photograph of Green. All skin and bones, the man wore khaki pants cinched too high on his waist, a dusty button-up shirt rolled to the elbows, and a satchel on his hip with the strap slung across his torso. He rounded out his outfit with a brown hat that plunged his spectacled face in shadow.
“Then we have Indiana Jones,” Shumway said with a chuckle.
Wolf nodded. “You ever met Green?”
Shumway shrugged. “I’ve seen him around. Never really talked to him. He’s kind of … I don’t know … mousy. Runs around town with his head down, never talks to anyone. Doesn’t break any laws as far as I can tell, so we don’t butt heads with him. But, of course, now he’s involved in some stuff, isn’t he?”
“Looks that way.”
“The way I see it, looks pretty cut and dried.”
Wolf leaned back in his chair. “How do you figure?”
“We’ve got the mentor-professor Green who corrupts the students into agreeing to se
ll these Allosaurus bones they find. Probably under the guise they’d be splitting the money four ways. A quarter-million to each of them. Mentor-professor helps students do the work, all the while knowing he’s going to take the money and run on these poor saps. Professor plans to skip town to Argentina with the money. Students find out. Students follow professor and kill fossil dealer in the skirmish, and then kill the professor himself. Students take the money. Come back. Done.”
Wolf tilted his head side to side.
“You have another theory?”
“I like your train of thought,” Wolf said. “But I have some questions that don’t add up.”
“And what are those?”
“For one, why are they here waiting for the cops?”
Shumway shrugged.
“And where’s Green’s body? And where’s the rental truck?”
Shumway pointed. “You guys said the witness heard three shots fired, and only two slugs were found in the dealer.”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah, I know. But until we have a body, until we have a murder weapon, the shoes, the money … it’s all speculation.”
With that, Shumway slapped the desk with both hands and pushed back in his chair. “Then let’s get to work.”
Wolf stood up. “What about this land? Who owns this land they’re digging on?”
“It’s a guy from Washington State.” Shumway hesitated for a second, then walked past Wolf and out the office door.
“Who exactly?” Wolf asked as he caught up.
“Etzel, get the statement paperwork ready. We’ll be coming back with those three students I talked about.”
Etzel looked up from his desk. “You got it.”
Shumway looked at Wolf. “Guy named Errol. James Errol. Lives in Seattle. Owns a shitpot of land all over the west.”
“What does he do with it?”
“With that piece out there? Has six thousand acres and eleven oil wells working around the clock.” He looked at his watch. “Makes a ton of money, that’s what he does with it. You know where the Windfield Dinosaur Quarry visitors’ center is?”
“I’ve got it entered in my GPS. But I’d like to start with the UrMover truck-rental place.”