by Jeff Carson
Wolf looked at Cain, getting no ideas from her, he cleared his throat again.
“You're not just going to go to the dance, are you? Surely you're going to take my daughter out to dinner. Show her a good time on the town first, right?"
"Yes,” Wolf said. “We're going to the steakhouse, sir."
“Which one? Buck’s or Green Acres?”
“Buck’s, sir.”
Her father’s face lit. “Fancy. How are you paying for that? Do you work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where at?”
Wolf looked at Deputy Cain. She stared back, resignation in her eyes.
Wolf remembered how she’d grown up in Summit County. The man was obviously living sometime in the past. “I’m on the ski patrol…in Breckenridge.”
“A little young for that, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Wolf said, offering no more explanation.
Her father looked at him skeptically, then smiled. “What else? Just dinner?
"No, sir. There is a community play at the Playhouse...it's an improv night that I’m taking her to.” Wolf drew on a high school memory of his and Sarah’s senior prom.
Her father laughed heartily. "I've seen the improv show there before. It's funny. You guys will love it." His face darkened and he gripped the shotgun, broke open the barrel just enough to check the shells inside, and show them, then snapped it shut again. "Then you'll have her home by 11, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you harm my girl in any way..." He pointed a finger at Wolf.
"I would never harm your daughter, sir."
"Good.” He looked at Piper, back at Wolf. “Do you like her, son?”
Wolf hesitated.
“I asked you a question.”
"Yes, sir."
“Yes, sir, what?”
“Yes, sir. I like your daughter.”
"Look at her," he beamed at Cain. She looked down at the ground.
"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?"
"Yes,” Wolf said, this time not hesitating.
Cain looked up at him. Tears streaked down her face.
“She does look beautiful," he added.
Her eyes flicked back to the ground.
"Well, you two have a good time. Come give me a kiss, honey."
Cain went over, took the gun from his hands and hugged him. She held out the shotgun behind her and Wolf eased up quickly, took it from her, and backed away, cracking open the barrel and expelling the shells.
Wolf went to the back of his SUV, popped open the back and put the shotgun inside. He grabbed a thermal blanket, shut the hatch and went back. He handed over the blanket to Cain, who took it and wrapped it around the shoulders of her father before steering him into the passenger seat.
"Thank you,” her father said. “I'm cold."
Wolf watched in silence as she shut the door, walked back to the driver’s side, got in, and drove away the way they had come in.
“Everything okay?” A light flicked on the neighbors’ front porch.
“You tell me,” Wolf said. “Are you two all right?”
“We’ll be fine.” The light flicked off and the front door closed as they went back inside.
Wolf stared at the darkened house for a second, watching the two people inside settling down in front of a television.
He got back in his SUV and turned around. Slowly, he eased down the road, coming up on the next house with the sprawling lawn and wraparound porch.
At the top of the driveway near the side of the home, Cain’s Jeep lights blossomed red, and then went black.
He pulled over at the mouth of the driveway, rolled down his window, and watched her escort her father up the side steps, onto the porch, and into the house.
She left the front door wide open, letting the light spill out in a long dagger across the lawn, reaching the road in front of Wolf. He put it in park, turned off the engine, put his elbow out into the cool air, watching through the house windows as she walked her father into a back hallway and out of sight.
She came out into the hallway again, ducked into another room, flicked on a light. After a second the light flicked off and she appeared briefly before disappearing again.
He felt a twinge of guilt looking in on their life. He was unwelcome guest. Had he just helped or almost blown a situation completely out of control? Staring at the still wide-open front door, he remembered her words before. I need to take care of this myself.
Just then Cain came outside, shutting the door behind her. She waved at him and ran down the steps, jogged across the lawn and crunched her way down the dirt driveway to his window.
She put both hands on the edge of the door either side of his elbow. She was slightly out of breath. Her eyes glimmered like pools of oil in the shadow of her face.
“Everything okay?” he asked, shifting back into park.
She said nothing.
“Sorry. Stupid question.”
“I left him here alone,” she said.
“Oh,” Wolf said. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
They stood in silence for a beat. She stared past the hood of his car into the trees, looking like she wanted to say something.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry about—”
He stopped talking, because at that moment she grabbed his arm and squeezed. Her hand was warm and soft. Firm but gentle. It lingered there, and then when she pulled it away it was almost a caress.
“Thanks for your help,” she said.
He opened his mouth to respond, but she turned and ran back up the driveway and across the lawn.
He watched her go, hypnotized by her quick, fluid strides. She climbed the steps two at a time, ducked back inside, flicked off the light, and shut the door, sending the front lawn into darkness again.
Wolf shook his head and fired up the engine. He shifted into drive, and when he started coasting down the road he said, “You’re welcome.”
Chapter 15
Patterson got out the elevator on the third floor and hobbled down the hall to the spacious office she would call her own for a few more weeks. Pretty soon she would be back in the squad room sitting in that desk across from Rachette with all the sights, smells, and sounds that came with.
She pulled the blinds up all the way, letting the view to the west fill her vision. At 6:15 a.m. the sun had not yet risen above the peaks that caged in the eastern half of the Chautauqua Valley, but the land outside was brightening into full beauty.
She loved this time of the morning, before the swing shift started, when the bustle of the nighttime deputies clashing with the daytime starters riled the building into a frenzy of activity. This was her time.
She set down her stuff, grabbed her crutches, and went out into the squad room for a coffee. Wolf's glass-enclosed office was dark, the blinds pulled tight, and she wondered if he was sleeping inside again.
“Hey there.” A voice called from the squad room.
Charlotte Munford-Rachette stood up from her desk and stretched her arms overhead. “How’s your ankle feeling?”
“You scared me.” Patterson hobbled over. “It’s feeling better this morning. But not by much, I guess.”
Charlotte’s eyes were half-closed and bloodshot. Her normally vibrant smile was subdued.
Patterson looked at the stack of paperwork on Charlotte’s desk. “What are you doing?”
Charlotte suppressed a yawn. “I’m just trying to catch up.”
Patterson sighed, seeing the familiar pile of paperwork that had been on her desk yesterday. “I talked to Wolf yesterday about those,” she said. “He and Wilson miscommunicated. They won’t come in this late anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”
Charlotte nodded. “Thanks. To be honest, it’s not that bad being out of the house bright and early for a change. I’ll let the nanny change the peed sheets for a change.”
“Oh no. Rachette?” Patterson used his last name, knowing Charlotte had started referring to her own husband
by his last name to avoid confusion with their son, Tom.
Charlotte laughed. “No, he hasn’t peed anywhere interesting in a few years. The plant is doing much better.”
They chatted some about the efficacy of overnight diapers, until Charlotte picked up a sheet of paper from her desk. “You want to know something interesting I just saw?”
Patterson looked over her shoulder. “Sluice-Byron County Pension Fund contribution to stop…” her voice faded as she read the name printed on the sheet.
William James MacLean.
“What does this mean?” Charlotte asked. “They want to stop paying contributions to his pension? Now? When he’s about to be reinstated?” She slapped the paper down. When she turned around her eyes were alight with mischief. “Or, are we seeing the first evidence he’s really retiring? That he’s not coming back?”
Patterson blinked. Holy cow. Maybe her hair-brained idea yesterday wasn’t so crazy. Maybe she was about to be Undersheriff after all. Her breathing tensed. How did she feel about this? What did this mean?
She checked herself. Just wait a minute. This was crazy. She had to be wrong.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t know.”
“But why stop contributing to his pension, then?” Charlotte pecked her finger on the paper. “And look at the date? It’s the date he’s supposed to return.”
Patterson shook her head. “Listen, that’s not what I’ve heard. You know him, he’s pretty financially savvy. He’s making some play that’s beyond our comprehension.”
“I think he’s retiring.”
“Please don’t start that rumor.”
Charlotte straightened and backed away. “Geez. Yeah. I wasn’t going to, I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Nothing. Yeah. You’re right. It’s weird, but we have no clue what it means. We’ll know in a couple weeks.” Charlotte got busy checking paperwork again.
Heather watched her, thinking about telling Charlotte to refrain from telling her husband. She thought about reminding her that people like Rachette spread rumors through the county building faster than viruses spread sickness. But she knew that no matter what she said it was too late. This was going to be dinner conversation tonight at the Munford-Rachette household.
“Please tell Tom to not tell anybody,” Heather said. “Not until we know more.”
Charlotte put on a short-lived appalled face, then shrugged. “I’ll tell him to shut up about it.”
“I’m sure that will work. See you later,” Patterson said, crutching to Wolf’s office.
She popped open the unlocked door and ducked inside.
Wolf’s sleeping bag wasn’t on the floor.
She stood in the silence, thinking about that sheet of pension paper she’d just looked at. She was inclined to think Charlotte was right, although she’d never handled any HR matters so she didn’t know what to think.
Patterson looked around the office. The space was surrounded by people depending on you, looking through the windows to see what you were doing. Judging. Criticizing. The glass walls of this office bore the load of the rest of the building. If they cracked, a lot of people would be crushed.
She could help Wolf do it, though. With both of them holding up these walls, this place would be rock solid. Things wouldn’t slip through the cracks the way they were now. There would be no cracks.
Wilson was good, but she would be better. Was that egotistical? No, it was just fact.
Wolf’s desk was clean, devoid of paperwork for once, the shiny oak reflecting the slivers of light streaming through the blinds.
She backed out and shut the door, and then stopped at Charlotte’s desk one more time.
“Not to start any more rumors or anything,” Patterson said.
Charlotte looked around at the empty room. “Yes?”
“But have you heard anything about Wilson leaving?”
Charlotte nodded. “Yeah. He’s been looking at that job down in Denver. Assistant Chief of Police or something, right?”
“Yeah. But there’s no official word on that?” She gestured to her desk. “No official human resources paperwork coming through?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. Why?”
Patterson turned and left before the conversation turned into uncharted territory. “I’ll see you later.”
Patterson went back to her office and pulled another chair over behind her desk to prop her foot on, groaning as the pressure and pain released.
For the next thirty minutes she sipped her coffee and worked quietly, while echoing voices grew to a crescendo as seven o’clock neared.
Two sharp knocks rapped on her door and Wolf ducked his head inside. "Good morning.”
He stepped in and sat down. "I saw that spreadsheet and report. It looked really good. I just sent it off to Margaret."
She set down her pen. “You did? I wanted to go over that with you before you sent it."
He shrugged. "Why? It was perfect. No reason to. Seriously. Good job."
"Well, I just wanted to know if you wanted to make any changes."
"Do you think there needed to be changes made to it?"
She shook her head. "No."
Wolf smiled. "That's why I sent it off. Really, it was great. I knew you were perfect for the job."
She nodded, eyeing him. He was in a better mood than she’d seen in a long time. Maybe it was the load of the report off his back.
"What?" Wolf asked.
"Nothing."
“Did you talk to Hammes’s parole officer yesterday?” Wolf asked.
She pushed a manila folder forward. “There’s his file.”
As Wolf opened it up, Rachette barreled through the door, knocking as he entered. "Hey, what's going on in here?"
“Hammes’s parole file,” Wolf said, flipping pages.
Rachette stopped behind him, looking over his shoulder. “Yates is down with Lorber, checking on the prints off those beer bottles and Mary Dimitri’s autopsy.”
“Good,” Wolf said. He tapped his finger on the sheet in front of him. “There’s nothing in here about Rick Hammes working at a construction company in Aspen or Vail.”
“Did you talk to his boss at the casino?” Rachette asked. “I was hoping maybe he quit amicably. Maybe told somebody where he went next.”
Patterson looked at Wolf. The sheriff kept his head down.
“Sir?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you talk to Hammes’s boss at the casino restaurant?”
Wolf flipped a page. “Uh. No. I actually didn’t get around to it.”
Rachette frowned, looking at Patterson. Patterson shrugged.
“I thought you and Cain went to the casino,” Rachette said.
“We did. We talked to Mary Dimitri’s boss, though. We found out she was working until seven P.M. Monday night. She left alone. So she was killed Monday night, or early Tuesday morning.”
“We have to track down Rick Hammes,” Patterson said. “And… why, exactly, didn’t you talk to his former boss at the casino restaurant?”
Wolf sat back, finally looking up at her. “Deputy Cain’s father had…an episode. I had to go help her with it. When it was over, it was late. I was tired. I came home. I slept. I’ll go back up today and finish the interviews.” Wolf dug back into the file.
Rachette popped his eyebrows and mouthed the words, Deputy Cain.
Wolf turned around. “What?”
“Nothing, sir. Yates is down talking to Lorber.”
“You already said that.”
“I did. Yes, I did.”
Yates came into the office, knocking. “I was just down talking to Lorber.”
“So we’ve heard,” Patterson said. She put her foot up on the chair, savoring deflation of pain out of her ankle again. “What did he have?”
Yates held up a piece of paper in his hand and fluttered it. “He found prints on the two beer bottles matching Ham
mes.”
“Okay,” Rachette said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Yates read from the paper. “The bullet hole in the top of her skull was the same size as the one through the top of Chris Oakley’s head. Same stippling on her chin. As Detective Rachette and I ascertained yesterday, none of Mary Dimitri’s neighbors heard any gunshots Monday night, or the night before.”
“The Sheriff just told us he spoke to Mary Ellen’s boss at the casino,” Patterson said. “She was working Monday night until seven p.m. So, she would have been shot Monday night, or early Tuesday morning.”
Yates nodded, pointing at the paper. “Lorber’s report puts the time of death around midnight, Monday night.”
Yates put the sheet of paper on Patterson’s desk, still holding another couple of sheets in his other hand.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The warrant you were going to ask me to get for Hammes’s arrest.” He slapped it on the desk.
“And?”
“The search warrant for his house.”
Wolf scooped them up. “Let’s go.”
The three men walked out of the room at full speed, leaving a swirl of their aftershave and, in Rachette’s case, cheap cologne, in their wake.
With a sigh she got up, the blood thumping back into her foot, hammering down with an explosion of pain with each hop as she went to her door and closed it. Once back to her desk she sat again, put her foot up, and gripped her computer mouse.
She clicked over to her email and saw a new one from Margaret Hitchens, her aunt and mayor of the town of Rocky Points. It was a reply from an original email from Wolf to Margaret including the report and spreadsheet. The County Treasurer, Leo Helms, and the other members of the county council budget committee, Mike Barrish, and Jack Herschel, were CC’d along with Patterson.
She clicked it open.
Excellent work Heather and David! I’ve already spoken to everyone and we like it. Looks like we will be able to move forward with this. We’ll stay in touch if we need anything else, but really this is above and beyond. Excellent job.
Patterson stared at the words, pride welling up inside her.
She had to admit. She could get used to this.
Chapter 16