by Jeff Carson
He scrolled deep into the unused recesses of his contacts for another number. He found it and stared. Dennis Muller.
The last time he’d seen his deceased ex-wife’s father was at the hospital when Cassidy had given birth to Ryan. Wolf knew Sarah’s parents saw Jack, Cassidy, and Ryan regularly, visiting Carbondale to see their great-grandson, but Wolf had not seen or spoken to the Mullers more than a few times since Sarah’s funeral.
Wolf got the sense that they blamed him for her death, although they’d never said as much outright.
Wolf decided that was a topic for another therapy session with Hawkwood and dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey Dennis, it’s David.”
“Yes, hi Dave! How are you?”
They stuttered through some small talk, covering all the bases: Jack and Cassidy, his wife, Angela and her new hobbies, Dennis and his retirement from the construction business and his lack of hobbies.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that…the construction, that is.” Wolf explained the situation with Rick Hammes, and how they were trying to track him down.
“There’s a big project happening in Edwards right now,” Dennis said. “The biggest, by far. They’re creating a pedestrian zone, next to the new Riverwalk section of town. Putting in a hundred thousand square feet of mixed use, a park, and diverting the river for a water park. They have a huge budget on this thing.
“Of course, those workers can’t afford to live in a place like Edwards, Vail, Avon, or Beaver Creek, so, yeah, they put them up in the motels down in Wolcott and Eagle. Sometimes three or four to a room, depending on the worker’s tolerance for such a thing.”
“Are there any other projects around you can think of that might fit the bill?” Wolf asked. “Maybe in Vail or Avon?”
“No. Nothing nearly as labor-intensive as what they’re doing up in Edwards. If your guy dropped his job to come up here and work because they needed help, you want to start in Edwards. Anyway, I’ll make some calls tomorrow morning, but for now I’d start there.”
“You know the construction company?”
“Sterling Star Commercial,” he said without hesitation. “I know the owner well. Here’s his phone number. Tell him I sent you.”
They finished their conversation a few minutes later with a promise from Wolf to have dinner at their house in Vail one evening soon, a promise that had been made at least three times before in as many years.
He hung up and turned back to his desk. With a flick of his thumb he opened the file in front of him and stared at Piper Cain’s picture. Her eyes were different in this photo than in real life. Brighter. Happier.
He read her vital statistics. She was five foot six. One hundred and fifteen pounds. Brown eyes, although he would have described them as black, they were so dark. Like obsidian inlaid marbles. Thirty-eight years old. He would have been almost learning to drive when she was born.
He thought of the way she’d pulled herself up on that fence again. Her lithe body. The way she’d touched his arm. The way she’d been looking at him when he’d cleaned off her hands earlier that day.
“If you hire her you can’t date her.”
He closed the file and stood up, feeling heat on his face. “I thought you left.”
“I did.” Patterson came inside. “And I also told you I’d be right back.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You were pretty zoned out.”
“Sorry.” He rolled his neck.
“Being sheriff used to be different,” she said. “There used to be a lot less stuff to handle when we were in the other building.”
He said nothing.
“Lots of administrative duties. Not exactly your strong suit.”
He stared at her. “That hurts.”
“Not as much as watching you try and do a spreadsheet.”
He smiled.
“I just want you to know,” she said, standing straight. “I’m willing to help, you know. Whatever you need. I’ll be there to do it. I’m up for the challenge.”
He nodded, wondering why the speech all of a sudden.
“How are you doing, Patty?” he asked. “How’s your foot? You have to go home and rest. Seriously.”
He nodded at her hand, and to another manila folder dangling from it. “What’s that?”
“Those are three pieces of paper for you to sign, which gives me and Charlotte the power to streamline some of the procedures in the squad room, taking you out of the equation completely.”
Wolf took it while she stared expectantly.
With a sigh he put the folder down on his desk, fished a pen out of the cup, and signed the three documents. “There,” he said, handing it over.
She grabbed the folder. “Paperwork done in record time. Women like a decisive man of action. Cain would be impressed.”
“It’s time for you to go home.”
Chapter 19
"Two more miles until the exit,” Rachette said from the passenger of Wolf’s SUV.
Wolf bit into his second breakfast sandwich, savoring the egg and bacon taste, washing it down with orange juice.
Outside the SUV’s windows, the pine-covered forests of the Vail Valley gave way to lower flat-topped hills to the west, covered in a carpet of green grass and turquoise sage.
Wolf’s voicemail dinged and he saw he’d missed a call from the Jackson Hole area code. He put it to his ear and listened.
“This is Sheriff Domino from Teton County SD. I got your earlier message. Sorry I missed your call. Tag. You’re it.”
“Who was that?” Rachette asked.
“Sheriff Domino from Teton County.”
“Any new information there?”
“Not yet. Still haven’t talked to him. Did you get hold of Oakley’s parents yet?” Wolf asked.
“Nope. The Teton SD is having trouble locating them. I get the feeling they’re not the caring type.”
“That’s depressing.”
They rolled over a dip in the I-70 interstate highway and Wolf felt the fat on his gut jiggle. He rolled up the sandwich and handed it to Rachette. “I’m done.”
“You’re done?” Rachette looked inside the wrapper. “I’ll take it.”
“Take it, then.”
Wolf watched out of the corner of his eye as Rachette ingested the sandwich like a horse eats an apple. They passed a sign for Edwards, one mile ahead.
“You trying to lose weight or something?”
Wolf frowned. “Why? Do I need to?”
“You could drop ten or fifteen. You’ve been getting bigger over the last six months or so.”
Wolf took his foot off the gas and coasted down the off ramp. “I’m glad you came with me this morning.”
“Eh. Some of us gain weight as we get older. Join the club. It’s about time you put on some L-Bs.”
After following a maze of cones, they circled the town for a few minutes, passing two erected cranes, a dozen big machines, and a squadron of hard hat-wearing construction workers milling around the steel skeletons of buildings and carved-out ground.
Wolf noted a group of men pouring concrete for a sidewalk wearing the same reflective vest he had found in Hammes’s duffel bag. Of course, a construction vest was a construction vest and everyone had one on, here at this site and probably a thousand more across the country. Not at all that unique.
“Over there,” Rachette said, pointing toward two white trailers sitting in a dirt parking lot choked with pickup trucks. “Looks like the hub to me.”
Wolf turned and rolled past white pickup trucks emblazoned with a star logo that said Sterling Star Construction.
"Hey, would you look at that?" Rachette said, pointing out the window as they rolled past a Jeep Grand Cherokee with Sluice-Byron County stenciled on the side.
“That’s Cain’s vehicle,” Rachette said.
Wolf’s pulse rose. “Huh,” he said.
“Are we supposed to meet her here?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell’s she doing here?”
Wolf parked next to a truck and they got out into air shaking with the rumble of tractors. A chill breeze carried the scent of diesel fumes.
Wolf led the way through the parking lot, eyeing the empty interior of Cain’s vehicle as they passed on their way to two double-wide trailers.
They stepped up a flight of flimsy stairs into the first trailer, whose door was propped open.
Inside Cain had her back to them, pushing her phone screen toward a woman seated at a desk.
The woman was in her sixties and pulled down a pair of glasses from her nest of hair onto her nose. “Nope. I don’t recognize him, sorry.”
Wolf cleared his throat and Cain turned around. She did a slight double take and straightened, putting the phone in her pocket.
"Hello, sir." Her face reddened.
“What are you doing here?” Rachette asked.
“What have you found out?” Wolf asked, staving off a confrontation in front of the civilian.
Rachette stood down, realizing this was not the time or place.
“I…was just asking Mrs. Cranlin here if she could tell me if Rick Hammes worked here. When his name didn’t come up in the system I showed her a picture. She doesn’t recognize him.”
“Cranson,” the woman said. “My name’s Cranson.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Is that right about Mr. Hammes?” Wolf asked Mrs. Cranson.
She gestured to the computer. “I don’t have him in the system.”
“Is that normal?” Wolf asked. “To not have your laborers in the system?”
“We have both employees and independent contractors,” she said. “The employees are in the system, but we also outsource some of our labor with another firm from Grand Junction called Logiwork Services. I could give you their phone number. They have their own system that sometimes doesn’t sync up with ours.” She dug into a drawer, apparently searching for the number.
“No thanks,” Wolf said. “No need to trouble yourself.”
Mrs. Cranson stopped, raising the glasses to her head.
“Who’s the best person to show this picture to?” Wolf asked. “Can you point us to a supervisor? A manager?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. You could go across the street and talk to the supervisor. He’ll be the one with the red hard hat.”
Wolf nodded and then looked at Deputy Cain. She stood with her back rigid, avoiding eye contact.
“Thank you."
“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Cranson said. “You’ll need hardhats and an escort.”
She stood up and went to a closet, producing three hardhats for them. While they donned their headgear she got back on the phone and made a call in a hushed voice.
“…they want to talk to some workers…I don’t know… I don’t know. Bye.” She smiled. “Somebody will be here in a few minutes. You can go outside to wait if you like.”
Wolf led the way outside and was greeted by two corporate-looking men wearing button up shirts, jeans, and white hard hats. Both of them carried rolled up plans in their fists.
"Something I can do for you officers?" said the shorter of the two men.
"Deputies," the other man said.
“Oh, yes. Sorry about that. Sluice-Byron County, I see now. Can we help you?"
"We're looking for a worker named Rick Hammes.” Wolf said. “Shirley up there said he wasn’t in the system so we’d like to ask around.”
“Right.” The shorter of the men took charge. “He must be with Logiwork then. This way.”
They walked across the street. Once to the other side the man whistled and a supervisor walked toward them.
After a round of introductions, Wolf produced his phone with a picture of Rick Hammes on screen. "Do you recognize this man?”
The guy looked at it and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Don’t know his name, but yeah.” He pointed toward a group of workers in the midst of pouring fresh concrete. “He’s over there.”
“Thanks.” Hammes was currently in the hospital sixty miles south fighting for his life, but Wolf let it go and walked over to the concrete workers, Rachette, Cain, and the two corporate men still in tow.
A group of hard-looking men stood with trowels and large brooms, smoothing out the gray concoction that poured out of chute at the rotating back of a concrete truck. A couple of them noted the approach of law enforcement and nodded in their direction.
They wore the reflective vest. All of their pants and boots were crusted with concrete.
Wolf walked to the nearest worker, a tall man with tattoos peeking through deeply tanned skin, and flashed his picture of Hammes again. "Do you recognize this man?”
The man raised his sunglasses. “Yeah. Why?”
“Can you tell me his name?”
“How come?”
“We just want to make sure he works here,” Rachette said.
The worker dropped his sunglasses back on his nose. “His name’s Rick. Hammy or something.”
“Hammes,” another worker standing next to him with a shovel corrected him. “Rick Hammes.”
Wolf turned to the man with the shovel. He had bright red hair that flowed out from under his hard hat, and he looked no older than twenty-five. He ambled over, grabbing his baggy jeans by a thick belt and giving them a hike.
“You know Rick?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah.”
“What’s your name?”
The man’s eyes bounced between the cops in front of him.
“Answer the question, son,” the corporate man who’d walked them over said.
Wolf turned to him. “I think we’re all good here. We’ve found who we came here to talk to. You two can leave us if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, okay. But if you’re arresting him I need to know. I’ll have to cover any losses for the day.”
“Arresting me?” asked Red Hair.
“No,” Wolf put up his hands. “Nobody’s getting arrested. We just need to ask some questions.”
They stood watching as the corporate men left and crossed the street again.
“Your name?” Wolf asked again.
“Wayne.”
“Wayne. Nice to meet you Wayne.” Wolf introduced himself, Rachette and Cain.
Wayne’s eyes raked Cain up and down. “What’s going on with Rick?”
“He’s been shot.”
That ripped Wayne’s attention back to Wolf. “Shot?”
The tall worker behind Wayne overheard and relayed the information to the others.
“I’m afraid so,” Wolf said.
“Is he dead?” Wayne asked.
“No. He’s in the hospital down in Sluice-Byron County. He underwent surgery last night. The doctors say there’s a good chance he’ll be okay. They said the surgery went well.”
“Whatever. Guy’s a prick.”
“Ah.” Wolf nodded. “How do you know him?”
“He’s my roommate down at the hotel.”
“Down in Eagle?” Wolf offered.
“Yeah. I got paired up with him. He snores like a pig. Mean all the time. Threatens me. Talks about being in jail. Have you seen his tattoos? Scary guy. A real dick.”
“So, you didn’t know him before,” Wolf said.
“No. The agency put us up together.”
“When is the last time you saw him?” Wolf asked
"He left yesterday morning before the sun came up. He took the day off. Said he had to go home to check on his dog, get some new clothes and stuff, and come back up.”
"And how about last Friday night?” Wolf asked.
"What about it?” Wayne asked.
"Was he in the hotel room with you?”
Wayne shrugged. “Yeah. Like, with me? What are you asking?”
“No, I mean, did he ever leave on Friday night? Maybe, around midnight or even later than that?”
Wayne shook his head. “No. We were all up drinking still at midnight. Friday
night we were out getting it done in town.”
“What does ‘getting it done’ mean?” Rachette asked.
“I don’t know. Having a few beers. Trying to get laid. Getting it done.”
The other workers behind Wayne slowly went back to work, keeping an ear cocked toward them as they smoothed a fresh batch of concrete.
“How late were you out that night?” Wolf asked.
“We closed down the bar over here. So, like one-thirty? Must have been.”
“And then what after that?” Wolf asked.
“We caught a ride back to the hotel, you know, with the phone app?” Wayne shrugged.
“And then what?”
“And then we went to sleep. And then we got up five hours later to come back up here. Frickin’ hung over as shit.”
“You guys work on the weekends?”
“Yeah. Work never stops here. We do Saturdays. Get Sundays off, though. Sucks. But I guess it'll be over in a couple of months and I’ll be broke again and wishing to work Saturdays. So, I guess I can’t complain."
"Did Rick work last Saturday morning, too?”
"Yeah."
"Is that right?” Wolf asked another guy looking toward them.
“What?” the guy asked back.
“Was Rick Hammes working with you guys last Saturday?”
The guy looked like he didn’t want to answer, but gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
The guy put his head down, spreading concrete with a shovel.
"You say he left yesterday morning?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why early in the morning?” Rachette asked. “Why not the night before?”
“Because we work until dark?” Wayne shrugged. “He wanted to sleep instead of drive all the way down to Dredge, he said. Said he was beat.”
"How long has Rick Hammes been working with you guys here?” Wolf asked.
“Like, ten days or so? He said he got hooked up from a friend who knew a guy at Logiwork.”
“Has he gone home at all since he came to work here?”
Wayne shook his head. "No.”
"So he never went home?" Rachette asked.
"That’s what I said.”
“Okay, then. Thanks for your time,” Wolf said.
“Yep.” Wayne turned and joined the men smoothing the concrete sidewalk.