by Jeff Carson
“I guessed about Denver. Your outfit could have been any major city these days. And you’re not wearing a wedding ring. I guessed about your daughter. Give me a medal.”
Hawkwood’s left thumb ran over his bare ring finger.
“Anyway, I’m not interested in talking to you about my feelings. Sorry, I know you’re just trying to do your job. But I’m not into it.”
Hawkwood smiled without teeth and nodded. “Let me just talk for a moment, then, about feelings. Feelings sound like a mushy word. I get it. But as far as I’m concerned, they’re the strongest things on this planet. And if you want to see how strong they are, just cage them up. See how hard they can thrash against the bars. No animal can fight as hard as a feeling pent-up inside of a human psyche.”
Wolf frowned. “I’m not interested in talking about the caged animal in my psyche, either.”
The clock ticked a few dozen times.
Hawkwood cleared his throat. “I left Denver to get away.”
“And I’m going to learn how to deal with my bad memories from a man who runs from his?” Wolf felt a stab of guilt, but that lob had been straight over the plate.
Fifty minutes left, if Hawkwood was starting from the time of his late arrival.
The silence took over, and Wolf settled in for a nice long stare.
Thunder rumbled outside.
Wolf eyed the windows. It was considerably darker now. Early for a thunderstorm. They usually hit in the afternoon. A cold front moving in.
“My daughter is ten years old now.”
Wolf flicked his eyes back to Hawkwood.
“I was a drinker. I used to drink a lot in college. That’s where I met my wife, Stephanie—in Boulder. All through school, she was a fellow … enthusiast. Some couples would study at the library. We would study at The Sink.”
Hawkwood smiled and shook his head.
“We were damn good students though. Both of us graduated with honors. We moved down to Denver, where I got my master’s at DU. We got married. Moved into a house in Englewood, and we moved from beer to wine. You know, became more sophisticated with age. We’d finish a big bottle every night. Then it became a big bottle and a small bottle some nights. Of course, I’d hit my vodka too. I kept that from her.
“And then Steph got pregnant with Tina and that changed her in a heartbeat. She quit like it was nothing. She had a kid growing inside of her, you know? She had a compelling reason. I didn’t. I figured the baby wasn’t inside of me. Maybe when the baby came I’d consider it.
“And then the baby came, and I started getting pressure from Steph to kick the bottle. So I quit drinking wine and started drinking vodka behind her back. I’d heard it was the easiest to hide, and the rumors were right. I invented a whole science around hiding my drunken ass from her. I started lying about work, saying I had to travel to various destinations, but I’d stay a few miles away in a hotel and have a bender.”
Hawkwood pulled his eyes from the carpet. “I drank for years, and Tina grew up, and Steph stayed in the dark. But then, right around the same time Tina started really talking a lot, something clicked with Steph. She got wise to me. Must have been something Tina told her about Daddy’s bottle or something. I don’t know. But I remember the day Steph started watching me closely as I spoke. I knew she knew.
“Then one day I was working from home. It was sunny out, and Tina was playing outside. Steph came into my little home office there and stared at me for a bit, then presented me with a breathalyzer. Well, that pissed me off, and I refused. Actually, I didn’t refuse. I simply got up, packed a bag, and got into my car.
“I peeled out of the garage in reverse. I remember Steph running alongside, screaming at me. I ignored her, assuming she was berating me for being an asshole liar or something like that. But she’d been screaming at me to stop. My daughter was coming down the sidewalk on her bicycle at the same time I was reversing out.”
Wolf held his breath.
“Tina hit the side of my car as I backed out. Slammed right into my driver’s-side door. I was so angry at Steph. I was so close to just continuing, backing out, and leaving her to deal with the screaming child. It was her fault, right? She could explain to her kid why she made Daddy do this. But, Jesus Christ, thank God, I didn’t. I opened the door, and saw she’d rolled halfway under the car. I could have killed her.”
Hawkwood stared at the floor.
Wolf swallowed and allowed himself to breathe again.
“So, that was the end of my drinking habit, and of my family. I got sober, and have been for five years, but that’s not enough for my wife.” He looked at Wolf. “And I don’t expect it will ever be enough. And I don’t blame her one iota for thinking so.”
Lightning flickered outside, and the thunder came faster this time.
Hawkwood blinked and sucked in a breath. “You can take what you want from that story. Clearly I’m not a saint, nor could I be considered an expert in marital or family affairs. And I’m not pretending to be.”
Silence fell between them again, broken by a low rumble shaking the windows.
Wolf reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Listen, I have to take this.” He pressed the button at the bottom to wake up the device from a dead sleep. He scrolled, pressed the number for Patterson, and left the room.
Chapter 17
Patterson looked out the passenger window at the passing forest. A meadow opened up down a slope, revealing bright-green aspens shimmering in the front winds of the approaching storm.
“I’ve seen this guy’s house a million times.” Rachette slowed the SUV and leaned toward the windshield.
They were driving on the county road that led to Rachette’s house. Here in the sticks, outside the northeastern edge of Rocky Points, houses were few and far between, separated by dense woods.
“So strange how it’s such a small valley, yet so big. One day you think you know everyone and everyone knows what color crap you had that morning, and the next you’re meeting people you’ve never met who’ve lived here for years.”
Patterson pictured herself as an open window, Rachette’s words passing through her like the breeze outside.
“My point is, I’ve driven past here thousands of times. I’ve looked at his house. He’s lived here for years.” Rachette slowed in front of a drive cut into the trees. “This is it, right?”
She checked her phone GPS. “Yep.”
“I knew it.”
Rachette had been talking incessantly for a half-hour, meaning he thought there might be some upcoming action. At times like these, she liked to sit with her breath, to shut up and think. Times like these, she knew she had the wrong partner.
“Looks like his vehicle’s here.”
Her phone vibrated, and she checked the screen. “Wolf’s calling. Hello?”
“Hey, what’s going on?” His voice sounded far away, which happened with half the calls she ever made on her cell in the mountains of Colorado.
“We’re up at Alamy’s.”
“You’re inside already?”
“No. Just got here. Just pulling up to his house now.”
The SUV angled up and revved as they traveled up a steep incline.
“I’ll meet you there,” Wolf said. The line went dead.
“What’s happening?”
“Wolf’s going to meet us here.”
They crested a rise and the land flattened out.
“Damn, that driveway must be hell in winter.” Rachette parked next to Alamy’s red Ford Explorer and looked past Patterson out the window. “But the views are worth it. Look at that.”
She glanced at the valley beside her. The sun was piercing the clouds, setting the carpet of trees alight. Behind it a curtain of white preceded the dark tunnel of a storm. A fork of lightning licked the ground.
“Weather’s rolling in,” Rachette said. “It’s not even noon yet.”
She opened the door and stepped outside.
Behind them, Wilson’s SUV bounced up the incline, then scraped to a stop.
The one-story house was a no-nonsense rectangle design with a sloping tar roof and clean-looking brown paint. The trees had been cut back for an acre or so on either side of the structure, giving the property a light and airy feel.
Wilson’s doors popped shut and he and Yates stepped up next to them. Together, the three men had a lot of muscle mass, and she felt safer for it. She’d rolled up to a lot of properties in her time, and she had a bad feeling about this one.
“Too quiet,” Wilson said, voicing her thoughts.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Spoke too soon.”
“Let’s go.” She took the lead and walked to two wooden steps leading to a front porch framed with sturdy logs.
She pressed a glowing doorbell and stepped back. A generic ding-dong floated out from the tall door. A frosted window was cut into the center of it, revealing a dark interior.
Wilson came up and stood next to her right shoulder while Rachette and Yates held back, hands on their guns.
The house remained still and silent.
She shuffled to the edge of the porch and looked inside the window to the right. It seemed to lead into a living room. Wood blinds were cracked, showing a darkened television and a couch against the opposite wall. A blanket sat like a peeled-open burrito.
“Nothing,” she said, feeling the porch sag next to her from Wilson’s weight.
They stared inside for a few moments, waiting for movement that never came.
“This is definitely his car.” Rachette was down off the porch, looking inside the rear windows of Alamy’s Explorer. “Has rocks inside. Imagine that. Doesn’t look like flagstone.”
Patterson and Wilson went back down the steps, out onto a front yard of grasses and flowers mowed to shin-height.
“Let’s circle the place,” Wilson said.
Wilson veered right, and she followed. Yates walked in the opposite direction toward Rachette.
“Place is kept up decently,” Wilson said. “New roof. New paint.”
“Wolf is on his way up.”
“Oh?” He looked at his watch. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
Wilson said nothing, but he was clearly not saying something.
They walked along the front edge of the house and stopped to look inside a window, but the blinds were closed.
On the side of the house were two windows, both too high for her to see inside.
“Can you reach those?”
Wilson went to the second and got on his toes. “Bathroom,” he grunted. “Nobody.”
As they rounded the back corner, she kept her hand on her Glock, ready for Rachette and Yates coming from the other direction.
The rear of the house had no formal porch, just a dirt clearing leading to some sliding glass doors. A circular grill stood along the siding, smelling of charcoal.
Beyond the dirt, an expanse of grass sloped gently upward, then dense forest.
She stared into the darkened spaces between trees, spotting a single deer. Then another. “Got a few deer in those woods.” She’d seen Rachette pull his weapon on a rabbit before.
“Copy.” Wilson kept his eyes on the windows.
Yates and Rachette rounded the other side of the house.
Rachette raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Patterson.
She shrugged.
Wilson shuffled along the rear siding to the sliding glass doors, and Rachette and Yates pulled their guns.
She pulled hers and backed up into the yard to get an angle.
Wilson took a cautious look, then swiveled to the windows and put his face against them. He knocked on the glass, keeping his nose pressed. A few moments later, he shrugged and turned around. “Nothing.”
More thunder rumbled overhead. The sun had been swallowed by the clouds now and the air grew colder.
Wilson turned and looked into the woods behind them.
“Deer,” Rachette said.
“All the lights are turned off.”
A repetitive knocking echoed on the wind.
They all cocked an ear.
“What is that?” Rachette asked.
The breeze shifted, and the sound with it.
“It’s a nail gun,” she said.
“Yeah.” Wilson walked back in the direction he’d come. The sound was coming from the front of the house.
They moved to the cars in front and scanned the valley for the source of the sound. There was a clearing down and to the left, further along the road, below and across it. A man straightened, looking like he was floating on the tree tops. He was on the roof or upper floor of a house he was constructing.
“What do you think?” Yates asked.
“Maybe he went out drinking last night,” Rachette said. “Maybe he took an Uber into town and left his car here. Maybe he’s sleeping it off on someone else’s couch in town.”
A low rumble came from below. They watched a vehicle pass on the dirt road, kicking up a plume of dust.
“Let’s call him.”
“Alamy?” Rachette asked.
“I have his cell number.” She pulled out her phone.
“You have a suspect’s phone number programmed into your phone?”
She dialed. Three months ago, she’d called Chris Alamy twice, and she’d added his name to the number to keep it straight.
“That’s pretty disgusting,” Rachette said.
“Only if he did it.” The phone trilled in her ear, but nobody answered.
“Hello, this is Chris Alamy with Preston Rock and Supply. I’m unable to—”
She hung up. “He’s not answering.”
Another car approached below.
“There’s Wolf.”
They stood and watched him slow at the driveway below. His SUV turned and revved hard as it bounced up to them.
He parked behind Rachette’s car and got out.
Wolf kept his eye contact with the house behind them as he joined them at the rear bumper. “What’s happening?”
“He’s not here, sir.” Rachette folded his arms.
Wilson eyed his watch and looked at Wolf with something resembling puzzlement.
Patterson wondered what she was missing. One thing was for sure, though, if Wolf had looked off at the station earlier, he looked worse now.
“We knocked on his front door,” Rachette said. “When no one answered, we checked the rear.”
“Nothing?”
Wilson shook his head. “I looked through that glass for a few minutes. There’s no movement. He’s not here.”
“Or he’s stonewalling us,” Yates said. “That Betsy chick at Preston Rock said he jetted work yesterday, right after he heard about us finding Preston.”
Wolf nodded, appraising Alamy’s vehicle.
“Did you call him?”
“No answer,” Patterson said.
The world around them flashed, and thunder followed a few seconds later. Wind howled through the trees and kicked up dirt around them.
“What’s this?”
Wolf locked his gaze on the ground behind Patterson.
She saw what he was looking at—two tire marks in the soil.
“Rear-wheel drive.” Wolf stepped past her. “Looks like somebody in a hurry. Or did you guys do this?”
“No,” Patterson said. “We pulled up and parked where we’re at.”
“We think he might have gone out drinking last night,” Rachette said. “Could be tracks from an Uber driver. Maybe he’s sleeping it off on someone’s couch in town.”
“Did you call the Pony?” Wolf asked.
“No.”
“Did you try the front door?”
“No,” Patterson said. She looked at Wilson. “We didn’t try breaking and entering.”
Wilson stared at him, unimpressed.
“Okay. I want to take a look around.”
More lightning flickered.
“Better make
it quick,” Wilson said.
Wolf walked to the front windows and cupped his hands.
The valley shook with thunder as Patterson watched Wolf stalk the front of the house.
He rounded to the right where Yates and Rachette had passed before.
Patterson followed him, and the others joined at her heels.
They passed a closed one-car garage. At the side of the house, the land sloped downward toward the forest line.
Wolf whipped around and raised his nose, nostrils flaring.
The wind swirled against the house, but Patterson smelled nothing out of the ordinary—just pine, earth, maybe some rain.
“You smell something?” Yates asked.
“Smell what?” Rachette asked, sniffing too.
They stood with their noses in the air.
“Skunk?” asked Wilson.
“Weed?”
Wolf walked to the garage side door and sniffed again.
They followed him, and Patterson caught the scent of wood siding and gasoline.
She looked down and noticed Wolf had pulled his gun. “You okay?”
He holstered his piece and walked away down the side of the house, but not before she’d noted a flash of anger behind his eyes directed right at her.
The four men continued on, leaving her to contemplate what had just happened.
“I smell it,” Wilson said.
Patterson blinked out of her reverie. She’d smelled it too.
“That’s not weed,” Rachette said.
A window at the corner of the house was darkened by shades, but it was cracked open, releasing an odor from inside through the bug screen. Wolf had pulled his Leatherman multi-tool from the case on his belt and had a knife open. He pried it into the jamb and popped out the screen.
“What are you doing?” Wilson asked.
“Going in.”
“Why?”
Wolf dropped the screen onto the grass. “Consider yourself lucky you don’t recognize that smell.”
“Shit.” Wilson moved closer and helped him push up the window.
Wolf dove inside and disappeared as the blinds slapped up against the window.
“Hey!” Wilson pushed a hand through and lifted the wood slats. “Go to the back door and open it for us.”
They went to the rear sliding glass window.