by Jeff Carson
Wolf walked to the mouse and clicked on the media player on MacLean’s computer. He found the spot of the video and let it play.
“I w-was put up to it. They—”
“Put up to it? What does that mean?”
Wolf clicked stop. “She was about to say ‘they’ something, and Baine cut her off.” Wolf clicked the play button again.
“I was told to,” Gail looked up at Baine, “get to know Deputy Tom Rachette, and then ask to meet him at this exact spot. At this exact time.”
“This exact spot in the photos, at the time of the photos?”
“Yes.”
“By who? Who told you to do this?”
Wolf paused the video again. “She was about to fess up to the truth. She was distraught about it. Scared. Now I’m going to push the play button again. This time don’t say a word.” Wolf eyed MacLean and pushed the play button again.
“Let me be more specific. Did Sheriff Will MacLean of the Byron County Sheriff’s Department put you up to this?” Baine asked her.
Gail Olson’s eyes darted right, then left, and then she looked up at her interrogator. But as she did so, the fear disappeared. “It was. Yes.”
Wolf clicked the stop button. They all looked at him.
“She was going to tell Baine that ‘they’ put her up to the pictures. That ‘they’ made her do it. And Baine cut her off and asked her if MacLean put her up to it, and then she said yes.”
MacLean’s eyes went wide. “Yes. I saw that.”
“She was relieved to tell Baine it was you. At first she thought Baine knew the real truth, and she thought she was going to have to say it on camera. Baine was strong-arming her. He’d told her she didn’t need a lawyer, because it wasn’t an official investigation.” Wolf shrugged. “He might have threatened her. That’s probably why she was so upset at the beginning of the interview. Like I said, Baine can be a pretty persuasive guy. I’m not proud of it. It’s just the truth.”
“Yes,” MacLean said. “I knew this interview was fishy. Baine steered her into saying what he wanted, and she jumped at the chance, because the alternative was … what?”
“The alternative was to face the guys who really made her do it. The same guys who shot and killed a lawyer and his family a couple days ago in Denver. The same guys who ambushed us yesterday, and the same guys who killed my ex-wife.”
The room descended into silence again save the panting dog.
MacLean cleared his throat. “And … who is that?”
“We’ve been calling them the Ghost Cartel,” Luke said.
MacLean blinked. “I’ve never had a run in with any cartels other than a Mexican on a couple years ago. The Ghost Cartel? Never heard of them.”
Wolf stared at him.
“What?”
“I think you’ve unknowingly been working hand in hand with them for years.”
MacLean blew a puff of air past his lips. “Wait. You’re serious. How?”
Who else in your department knew about those photos of Rachette and Gail Olson?
“Lancaster, that was it. He was with me in the meeting with Agent Smith.”
Wolf nodded.
“Wait.” MacLean’s face turned red and he looked like he was punched in the face.
“And the video? Who else saw the video?”
MacLean’s eyes widened. “It was him. Lancaster was the only other person to see that video of Baine and Gail Olson. He’s working with the cartel.”
“And there’s one more thing. You told me you had pictures of me, taken the night of the murders, of me and the suspect in the Cold Lake murders. Of us going into my house, and then both of us leaving the next day.”
MacLean closed his eyes and nodded.
“Let me guess. Lancaster took those photos. He was in Rocky Points that night and he took them.”
MacLean’s mouth fell open. “Oh, Wolf, I’m sorry. It was him. He killed Sarah. It was him.”
“Those pictures would have been a nice thing to show the FBI to give me an alibi for that night.”
MacLean made a pained face. “I know. And when I brought them up to Lancaster, he told me the pictures were gone.”
Wolf stared at him. “And it never crossed your mind that Lancaster killed my wife that night and he was getting rid of the photos to get rid of evidence he was in town that night? To get rid of evidence that he’d killed her?”
The room went silent.
MacLean’s mouth fell open. “Wolf, you have to believe me. Our plan was to use the photos to make sure you were out of the race for Sheriff. But you dropped out.”
“And you never thought about Lancaster being the real killer, and all this slipped your mind until now?” Luke asked. “Yeah, right.”
MacLean closed his eyes. “I told you, I thought about the pictures, and how we could show them to the FBI. But … what can I say? I trusted Lancaster’s judgment about not showing the photos to the FBI. I swear it never crossed my mind Lancaster was responsible. I just thought the photos made it look like, or at least brought up the possibility that we had something to do with the deaths, so it was a good idea to get rid of them. I swear, I had no idea Lancaster was actually involved. But now ... now I’ll kill the man next time I see him.”
Wolf swallowed his anger, and decided he almost pitied the man for being so naïve. So gullible. Because he saw that MacLean was telling the truth, and more importantly he saw that MacLean genuinely felt regret.
MacLean never paused to think much outside the terms of his political aspirations. If he had, perhaps the entire situation would be different. Perhaps Sarah would even be alive.
But Wolf knew he would be misplacing blame if he put it on MacLean. The man was human, with flaws. Others had exploited those flaws and were responsible for all this. It was these other men who Wolf needed to let his anger burn hot for.
“So what’s next?” Luke asked.
“We need to get Margaret Hitchens and her sister out of jail.”
Chapter 33
Rachette picked a grain of coffee out of his teeth and squinted against the campfire smoke.
Burton, Jack, Wilson, and Munford sat and stood around the fire, sipping their coffees in silence. The Stellar Jays and popping wood was the soundtrack of the morning, which would have otherwise been peaceful had they not known they were going into battle.
Rachette had never felt this before. He’d never been in the military and felt the certainty of an upcoming death and mayhem. Sure, he’d been shot four times and there had been ripping pain that he hoped he never had to feel again, but that had all been in the heat of the moment. He’d never had time to sit and meditate on the fact that he was going to kill or be killed at this time, on this day.
It was like they were soldiers sitting in the cargo plane waiting to jump. Like a duel was scheduled for high noon.
Eyeing the others over the rim of his coffee cup, he was surprised at the calm composure of every single one of them, including Jack.
Most surprisingly Jack, he thought. Or maybe not. He was Wolf’s son after all, and Rachette had never seen a more composed man under pressure than Dave Wolf.
“He’ll call soon,” Burton said, reading Rachette’s thoughts.
Rachette looked up and nodded. “I hope so.”
Munford smiled at Rachette through the billowing smoke.
Rachette wanted to gaze at her, to smile and walk over and give her a hug, but he also wanted to keep his dignity. He wanted to know what this woman was thinking about when she looked at him. She was the only Byron deputy here, and Byron was the enemy.
And what if she could be trusted? What next? Was he supposed to ask her out on a date? Is that the vibe she was giving him? Then he would have to talk to her over dinner, shove his foot in his mouth a few times, then drop her off at her house in awkward silence, and then work with her at the department with her snickering about him with other women, probably with other men, too.
“We’ve got activity down here.” N
ate’s voice scratched through Burton’s Motorola radio. Nate and Fabian had taken up surveillance posts at the intersection of the private house drive and the county road a quarter mile away.
Everyone stood and grasped their firearms. Coffee cups tumbled onto the ground. They stared at Burton with held breath.
“What’s happening?” Burton asked.
“A convoy of FBI vehicles.”
They could hear the rumble of tires all the way from the campfire.
“There’s five of them. They just drove by, heading east.”
Burton frowned. “Copy that.”
“They’re gone.”
They looked at one another.
Burton made a show of looking at his cell phone. Come on, Wolf. Let us know what’s going on.
Chapter 34
Wolf hovered his finger over the plunger of MacLean’s desk phone.
“Please.” MacLean shook his head. “I think we’ve established we’re on the same side, haven’t we?”
Wolf kept still.
MacLean pressed the phone receiver onto his ear and straightened. “Deputy Jackson, this is Sheriff MacLean. I need to speak to the booked in cell F … I don’t care … now. On the phone … just do it or I’ll get someone down there who will.”
MacLean sighed, as if it had been painful to talk to one of his deputies that way.
Wolf pushed the speaker phone button and they waited.
Six minutes passed and a tired sounding Margaret came on. “Hello?”
“Margaret. It’s Sheriff MacLean.”
She kept silent.
Wolf suppressed a smile. Margaret hated MacLean with a passion ever since the picture blackmailing tactic he’d pulled. She still blamed MacLean for Wolf not being Sheriff.
MacLean cleared his throat. “I have someone here with me who wants to talk to you. Please don’t say his name. Got that?”
“Hey Margaret. It’s me, Dave.”
“Da … hi. What?” She lowered her voice. “What’s going on? Are you … are they no longer—”
“We need to get access to Sarah’s real estate transaction records. How do we do that?”
“You and I already looked at them. I thought you said nothing stood out.”
“That was then.”
Bonnie stepped near the phone and spoke up. “Margaret, it’s Bonnie MacLean. I’ve been telling them they just need to get into your intranet. If you give me the username and password, I’ll navigate everything for them.”
Margaret blew into the phone and it sounded like the county building exploded on the other end. “And have you snooping around my figures?”
“Margaret,” Wolf said.
“You can go into the office, grab all her files. I have them all there. Just ask Jeb.”
“I can’t. I’m still on the run.”
“And you’re with MacLean?”
Wolf rubbed his temples. “Margaret.”
“Margothegreat.”
“What?”
“Username is Margothegreat, no spaces. Password is,” she exhaled, “Booboo45.”
Bonnie smirked and jotted down the information on a pad of paper.
“Thanks, Margaret.”
“When am I getting out of here?”
“We’re working on it,” Wolf said.
“Make sure that bitch doesn’t snoop around any more than—”
“Bye bye, Margo.” Bonnie hung up and settled in behind the computer.
Fingers flying on the keyboard, she pulled up a website, logged in, and after a few seconds had Sarah’s profile on screen.
Wolf, MacLean, and Luke crowded behind her and watched her navigate.
“What time frame are we looking at?” Bonnie asked.
Wolf stared at Sarah’s headshot in the upper corner of the screen.
“Wolf?” Luke asked.
“I think we should start from the beginning. I mean, how many transactions can she have since she started three years ago?”
“One hundred eighty four.” Bonnie whistled. “Christ, that’s like five deals a month. I would have liked to have this girl on my team.” She covered her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, David. I’m such a heel talking about her like that.”
“Let’s just start from the beginning.”
She clicked the mouse and a list from three years ago came up. She scrolled down slowly, and just like the last time he’d seen the list nothing seemed unusual.
They seemed to all be single-family homes, purchased by individuals. Once in a while there were batches of properties labeled with the same date, purchased by the same person or business entity.
“There.” Luke pointed at the bottom of the screen.
Scrolling into view came five properties in a row, all purchased by the same company.
“WCB Incorporated,” Luke said. “WCB, wasn’t that the same initials on the insurance card in that guy’s truck?”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah. But it was WCB Holdings, I think.”
“Yes. But it’s quite a coincidence.”
“Yes it is.”
Wolf leaned forward. “These properties are all to the south. They were in Byron County before the merger. Is that normal? For an agent to go out of the county to sell homes to someone like that?”
Bonnie shrugged. “If she’s good, she goes where the sale takes her.”
“Is there a way to look at those houses?” Wolf asked.
She nodded and opened another internet browser tab. “I’ll just look up the MLS numbers on Google.” She cut and pasted the first number and then clicked the result.
A website listing of a house came up.
“What a dump,” MacLean said.
And it was. A low house that measured 2,340 square feet according to the statistics listed, it looked to be the kind of place a serial murderer went to hatch plans. The white siding was stained with streaks of brown, the roof was sagging in the middle with two holes visible in the first picture.
Windows punched out, a pair of breasts were scrawled in spray paint on the garage door, which itself hung askew behind six foot high weeds.
“Maybe they were interested in the land,” Bonnie said. “Look here. Forty-one acres. But … hmmm … it’s out in the middle of nowhere. There’s no well. Electricity, but no well water? They’d have to haul in the water in truck loads. No gas service. Pretty useless piece of land if you ask me. Way too remote. I’m sure the roads out there are a mess, too.”
Wolf nodded. “And the other properties?”
She looked up the next one.
It was similar in every way: run-down, in the middle of nowhere, a big lot of land.
All five of them fit the same bill.
“Look for more transactions by this same company, please.”
Bonnie scrolled fast, and they all watched the column, waiting for the initials WCB.
They appeared again near the top of the list.
“Here you go.” Bonnie leaned back. “Two transactions, looks like, five months ago. This last spring.”
Wolf pointed. “But these two were in Sluice County.”
She nodded. “Yeah, looks like they were.” She looked up the MLS numbers on Google and once again the two properties were run down, on large plots of land, and in the middle of nowhere.
“Let’s pull back on that map,” Wolf said.
Bonnie pulled back.
“Can you do directions from here,” Wolf said.
She pushed the directions button from their current location and pointed. “That one’s just a few minutes from here.”
Wolf turned to MacLean.
MacLean leaned back. “What?”
“You have any guns in this house?”
MacLean stared at him. “No. I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”
“Get your guns.”
MacLean left the room. “Do I have guns? Ha!”
Chapter 35
Patterson sipped her coffee and squinted against the sun blazing into the windshield.
> Lancaster bounced in his seat as they drove from the asphalt to unpaved road, his mirrored glasses reflecting the mountainous landscape ahead.
They were traveling up in elevation along the winding dirt road, past expensive homes built out of large tracts of forest, on the way to Dennis and Angela Muller’s house.
Sarah’s parents themselves were back in town from Vail because of the news of Jack gone missing, and brought into the station on the FBI’s orders for questioning. At least that was the official reason. Patterson now knew they were being held for protection as much as anything else.
And now Patterson and Lancaster were out here playing a game of charades, though only she was aware of it. At least she hoped. She was acting like there was still a chance to find Jack Wolf, though she knew he was no longer missing.
Rachette, Wilson, Munford, Burton, and who knew who else were with him. She was certain of that. Maybe even Wolf himself.
For the third time she picked up her coffee from the cup holder and put her phone down in its place.
She needed to establish a pattern, showing Lancaster that that was going to be how she handled her phone today: leaving it out in the open repeatedly.
Once again she picked it up and pushed the button, as if anxious to see if any news had come in since the last time she’d looked at it. Seconds ago.
Lancaster kept his mirror shades forward, but she knew he was looking. He was an observant man. Hopefully just not so observant that he suspected she was pulling off an act.
She swallowed another bitter sip of coffee. The third strong cup was not helping her nerves any.
But her fidgeting was helping her play the part of concerned family friend of Jack Wolf, wondering where the hell he’d gone missing to.
She had to calm down.
She was thinking about it too much. She thought about her mother, and wondered how her night sleep had been on a hard jail cell cot. Poor Mom. This was a woman who used two Thermarest pads underneath her sleeping bag when she went camping. Those jail cell cots were like concrete.
She wished she could tell her to not worry, that they were keeping her there for her own safety now.