by Jeff Carson
“Move over Patterson,” Wilson continued, “Jack has a new crush.”
Rachette broke into strained laughter and looked at Jack.
Jack shook his head and picked at a smudge on his jeans. His face bloomed crimson, almost as red as Rachette’s felt.
“Let’s get your hardware out of the car, Rachette. And now we have a lot more to talk about.”
Nate led the way and Rachette followed.
On the way by he snuck a glance at Munford and saw the tiny smile.
Chapter 29
Patterson pressed the call end button of her phone and shrugged.
Lancaster kept his eyes locked on the road. “Still no answer?”
“Still no answer,” she said. “They must be together.”
The radio squawked to life. “Delta 329 please respond. Call sign Delta 329 please respond.”
Tammy was calling for Deputy Wilson, who’d gone unaccounted for an hour ago, reported in by Deputy Yates who had been trying to call Wilson earlier with no luck. Further investigation by Yates and his Byron County partner had shown that Wilson’s squad SUV was parked at his house, and his family vehicle was missing.
This was the fourth try via dispatch that had gone unanswered, and Patterson was having no luck getting Wilson via phone.
She had to look like she was totally bamboozled by Wilson’s disappearance.
Then there was Rachette. Clearly he had missed what she’d said about Lancaster, and her suspicions of him “being bad” as she’d put it. She’d barely gotten the sentence out of her mouth in time, but she was certain it had been undetected by Lancaster. And now every time she called Rachette his phone went straight to voicemail.
Of course, she acted confused about that, too.
Nate Watson’s absence at home tonight after work? That was odd.
She was out here on dark forest roads pretending it was a mystery that Rachette, Wilson, Nate, and Jack Wolf were missing. She failed to mention it would be a good idea to call Burton. Because it was too good an idea, and she already knew they were all together.
And she was here with this freaky ass mute who reminded her of Lurch from the Munsters. She could feel his beady eyes on her skin.
Lancaster pulled over without warning.
She rehearsed counter attacks in her mind: eye gouges, throat punches, pressure point application.
“What’s up?” Her voice cracked.
He pecked at his phone.
Outside, the northern slopes of the ski resort were a silhouette dotted with lights in the post-sunset hour. The headlights illuminated a deer trotting out of the woods. It paused, showed its shining eyes, and then darted away.
“I’m not sure what to think about all this.” Patterson swallowed.
Lancaster was a dark statue.
“You know, it’s a little freaky when you just sit there all silent. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Lancaster looked at her.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Available units we have a report of a stolen car and a vandalized truck at the Tackle Box Bar and Grill at Cold Lake Marina. Available units please check in.”
Patterson snatched the radio and pressed the button. “Bravo 39 responding.”
Lancaster let off the brake and accelerated.
Patterson half expected a showdown then and there with the big man, but apparently Lurch wanted to see what the commotion was.
“Copy Bravo 39 responding to stolen car and vandalized truck at the Tackle Box Bar and Grill at Cold Lake Marina.”
Cold Lake. Patterson thought about the bullet that had whizzed past her head that rainy day three and a half months ago, and then the sight of Wolf jumping headfirst off that cliff.
Her heart skipped a beat. That day was over. But something told her the danger was far from over.
Patterson and Lancaster pulled into the Cold Lake Marina parking lot in between two Sheriff’s Department vehicles.
Outside, the humid, fishy air next to the lake carried a mix of music from the Tackle Box Bar and the static voices of police radios. Walking through the parking lot was an assault to the eyes with the turret lights flickering off the other parked cars, and as they ducked underneath the police tape they were hit with three flashlight beams.
Lancaster walked up to Deputy Baine. “What do you have?”
Baine started at the sudden presence of Lancaster next to him. “Oh, hey. Hey, Patterson.” He composed himself and waved them to the other side of the pickup truck, which was the focus of all the activity. “You can see here on this side, shot to hell with a bunch of 5.56 calibers. Machine gun, either M16 or M4 is my guess.”
“Any blood inside?” Patterson asked.
“None that looks like it’s from gunshot wounds.”
“What does that mean?” Patterson asked.
“There’s a pair of leather gloves in back of the cab with a couple drops of blood on them, and a fast food bag with some blood, too. Doesn’t look fresh or like it’s from the shots.”
A light behind Baine drew her eye. It was a deputy with an LCD screen device that lit up his face as he stared down at it. Their new portable fingerprint identifiers were a luxury that came with the new combined budgets of Sluice and Byron Counties.
“What do you have there, deputy?”
Deputy Yates pulled his mask down, revealing his signature blond mustache that looked like the style that was all the rage two hundred years ago.
“Oh, Yates,” Patterson said. “What d’ya got?”
Yates beckoned them with a finger. “You guys should see this.”
Lancaster led the way.
The digital screen the size of a cell phone’s showed a headshot picture of Special Agent Kristen Luke in a dark blue suit. Yates pressed a button and it was a headshot of Wolf dressed in a brown Sheriff’s uniform.
“I found a lot of their prints,” Yates said, “but most of the prints are from this guy.”
He held up the device again and it showed a man with snow-white skin, almost albino. His eyes were baby blue ringed with red skin, unsmiling, just like the rest of his face. He was dressed in desert BDU’s.
“Ex-military. A guy named Clayton Pope.”
Two unmarked Ford sedans came squealing into the lot.
Agents Frye and Cumberland jumped out of one of the vehicles, and two other agents took up the rear.
“I want every law enforcement officer over here now!” Agent Frye said as he ducked under the tape.
Yates, Baine, and Lancaster stood still as Frye came to them. The other three deputies on scene materialized from the other side of the lot and came over.
“This is officially a federal crime scene from now on, and the deputies of Sluice Byron County Sheriff’s Department will proceed under my command.” Frye held out his hand to Yates. “What did you find?”
Yates handed over the electronic device.
Frye handled the buttons like he’d invented the machine and then handed it off to Cumberland. Frye mumbled something unintelligible to Cumberland and Cumberland walked away.
Patterson watched Frye’s mind work. First the agent checked the bullet holes.
“Caliber?” he asked no one in particular.
Yates cleared his throat. “5.56. There’s a good one lodged in the center console.”
Frye pointed at the license plate shields on the truck. “Plates are missing. Is there registration inside?”
“No, sir,” Yates said. “No insurance either.”
Frye’s lips drew in a tight line.
“The stolen car was a blue Ford Taurus,” Yates said, “those plates were found over there in the rocks, sir.”
Frye nodded. “Call it in right now. BOLO for a blue Ford Taurus with male and female inside.”
“Already done.”
Patterson watched the contemplation on Frye’s face mixed with a dose of disappointment, and silently cheered for Wolf and Luke’s tactics. They’d switched the plates from the truck to the car th
ey stole, and then removed the registration from the truck. It would buy them time.
Lancaster stared at her.
“What?”
He blinked and looked elsewhere.
“You have something to say, Patterson?” Frye walked over.
She shrugged and glanced back at the huge pickup in front of them, smashed in the rear and looking like a pasta strainer on the passenger side. “Looks like a bad-boy’s truck. That Pope guy in that picture looked pretty bad to me. Muscular, a chip on his shoulder. Must be his truck. Lift kit, dark tinted windows. I think he drove with road rage, and a sense of entitlement. The whole truck says I’ll drive over you if you get in my way, and I’ll get away with it because you won’t see me inside.”
Frye smiled and shook his head. “I’d go along with that profile.
Baine snorted, and then swallowed when Patterson fired him a bullet look.
Cumberland returned with a sheet of paper in his hand, and when Frye read it he gave Cumberland a knowing look. Without a word, Cumberland walked away.
Fry nodded at Patterson. “Come with me please.”
Frye turned and ducked under the crime tape.
Patterson exchanged glances with Lancaster and Baine and followed.
Frye walked fast and far, through the cars of the parking lot, onto a strip of grass and then down to the sand of the lakeshore. Only when the tiny waves splashed to within an inch of his shoes did he stop and turn around.
“Sir?”
“Wolf and Luke steal a truck and come back in town. On the same day Wolf’s son goes missing, so does Tom Rachette and your deputies Wilson and Munford. Your aunt and mother helped get Wolf out, and now all your buddies are helping him now that he’s back in. And you’re telling me you don’t know anything about this?”
“No, sir.”
Frye’s face flickered blue and red. “Cumberland and I checked. There’s a road across the valley from Wolf’s ranch. It climbs up the mountainside, switching back and forth. We found the spot you and Rachette said the FBI were watching Wolf’s house.”
“Whatever. We saw you up there.”
“We weren’t up there.” Frye lifted his eyebrows. “But we found evidence that someone was. There was a pile of cigarette butts, all with the same fingerprints on them. Ran the prints and came up with a match.”
“Yeah?”
“Turns out the man has quite a sheet. Done time in state. Works at a place called Ashland Moving and Storage.”
“So it was someone else watching him?”
“If you know where Wolf is, you need to tell me right now.”
“I don’t.” She looked back toward the parking lot. “Sir. Why are you talking to me way out here?”
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 30
Wolf stumbled on a branch and almost went headfirst into a pine.
“You okay?” Luke whispered.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The darkness was absolute in the thick trees. Too risky to use flashlights at this range, the branches slapped and scraped along their faces while brittle pine needles poked into their hands as they groped their way through.
Ignoring the ache in his thigh, Wolf pressed on and led them at a steady pace, swerving through foliage that reminded him of Thailand and Sri Lankan jungles.
Luke swatted her skin. “Frickin’ mosquitos.”
She had no idea.
“Shhh, we’re close.”
A few steps later the trees ended and they were at the edge of a wide meadow. The whole expanse of flat land was splashed in moonlight, treeless and dotted with lights where houses were built on lots with thirty acres or more between them.
The nearest blob of light was their mark—a single porch light illuminating the front door of Sheriff MacLean’s brand new two story house.
“Let’s go.” Wolf wasted no time hiking across the open space to the road. Veering wide right, he kept out of the light from the front porch and swung around to the rear of the house.
“He’s gonna have a light sensor back here,” Luke said. “Gotta figure a sheriff has some serious security features on his brand new house. Including an alarm.”
“I hope so.”
“You going to tell me what you’re thinking?”
“There’s no way we’re going to get in there without getting shot. So we’re going to have to bring him out.”
“Okay. And how do you plan on doing that?”
When they were in the field off the rear corner of the house Wolf stopped and studied the house. He pointed. “That sliding glass door on the second floor with the big windows next to them, southwest corner. We’ll stay out of sight of those.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where MacLean and his wife are sleeping.”
Luke shook her head and then seemed to give up. “How do you know?”
“I don’t for sure, but they look like where I’d put a master bedroom if I wanted to take advantage of the sunsets.”
“Such a romantic.”
Wolf stood up and jogged directly to the north side of the house. Luke’s footfalls were right on his rear.
Halfway across the plush lawn there was a click and light blazed from three floodlights mounted on the house, turning night into day.
Luke squinted and dove against the house underneath a first story window and Wolf followed.
Right on cue, a faint ringing in Wolf’s ear started, filling the empty space between the sound of pumping blood.
He breathed in through his nose and hard out his mouth. And then again.
“You all right?”
Wolf shook his head to try and launch the noise out of his ear.
“What’s wrong?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“What’s the plan?”
A dog barked inside.
They snuck to the corner and looked down the west side of the house, which was the rear and had a large deck with patio furniture. “Go knock that umbrella over as hard as you can.”
“What?”
“Quick.” Wolf leaned back against the house and blinked, trying to keep his vision from tilting.
“That’s your plan?”
“We need to lure them down here. A noise isn’t going to do it. We need MacLean to come out with his gun.”
“Shhhh, Jeepers!” MacLean’s wife was around the corner on the upstairs deck.
Luke looked down at Wolf and then moved out into the open.
“Where are you—”
“Mrs. MacLean?” Luke’s voice was a trumpet in the silence.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. MacLean said.
“Misses MacLean, it’s Deputy Patterson. I work with your husband.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I need to speak to your husband right now.”
“What’s going on?” MacLean’s voice came from inside the house.
Luke pointed toward Wolf. “My partner and I need to speak to Sheriff MacLean right now.”
Luke looked up with imploring eyes, then ducked and sprinted at Wolf.
Wolf frowned. “What the hell was that?”
“What? Who was that?” MacLean’s voice echoed through the night. “Patterson? What the hell.”
There was a swoosh and a clack as the sliding glass door slammed shut.
Luke held a finger to her lips.
Faint footsteps boomed inside the house. They were rapid. Angry.
Luke pulled her pistol. “You take the back door, I’ll take the front.”
Wolf got up and collapsed to a knee.
“Oh God, are you serious?”
Wolf put a hand on the ground and held himself up from collapsing completely.
“Just stay there.” Luke stood and listened, and then there was a noise and she sprinted away toward the front of the house.
“Freeze.” That word and the sound of a dog barking was the last thing Wolf heard, and then his face hit the cold lawn.
Chapter 31
A putrid r
ag slapped Wolf in the face and he opened his eyes.
Before he could tell what had happened the rag slapped him again, this time on the cheek.
The smell was overpowering.
Then the moist rag swirled against his eye and he flinched back.
“Jeepers,” a female said. “Come here.”
Wolf sat up and opened his eyes. A leather sofa creaked as he perched himself on an elbow.
Luke sat forward in a chair a few feet away, her eyes wide and concerned. “Hey, Wolf. Wake up.”
Wolf sat up and leaned back when his head felt light. The leather underneath him grumbled as he slid forward on his butt.
Panting with a happy smile, a golden retriever stood next to his legs, thumping its tail on the carpeted floor.
“There he is.”
Wolf followed the sound of the deep male voice and straightened at the sight of MacLean tied to a wooden chair with countless wraps of twine. Behind the captive man loomed an elk head. The tongue protruded from its open mouth as if in mid call.
“No, down here,” MacLean said. “Christ, he thinks the elk is talking to him.”
“Wolf.” Luke snapped her fingers. “You all right?”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah. What happened?”
MacLean laughed. “What happened? Ha!”
Wolf ignored him. An older lady with basset hound blue eyes and a disheveled head of silver-blonde hair sat staring at Wolf on a leather high-backed chair. She was unrestrained, but her gaze was defiant as if she were being held against her will.
And then it all came back to him. That’s exactly what was happening. They were at MacLean’s.
“Aaaaand there he is,” MacLean drawled.
Luke stood and motioned with her pistol to the woman. “We need to get him water.”
The woman stood up and slinked away, eyeing Luke over her shoulder as they both left the room.
MacLean stared at Wolf, his goatee dancing as he chomped his lips.
Wolf stood and stretched his limbs. The stuffed fish clock on the wall said 5:30, and the faint light outside the window and mist covered meadow told him it was the morning.
There was a dark wood desk in the corner by the window. One of the walls was shelved from floor to ceiling filled with worn books—mostly mysteries and horror—and the wall behind MacLean was a trophy wall, where three dead animal heads peered down among the brass plaques and picture frames.