David Wolf series Box Set

by Jeff Carson

  Wolf and Lia left the morgue and drove to the carabinieri station. The underbelly ground floor was devoid of people, though the odor of sweat hung thick in the stagnant air. Apparently this floor was closed on Fridays.

  “What is this place anyway?”

  Lia looked over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “Immigration office.”

  Wolf nodded and followed her up.

  Lia turned the corner at the top of the stairs and almost slammed into an officer jogging out of Colonnello Marino’s office. “Che cazzo!” she said, coming to a stop.

  The officer paused, then apologized and moved on.

  A silence had fallen over the room, and everyone was stealing glances at them.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Wolf asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go talk to Paulo.”

  They walked on and everyone resumed talking, looking toward Wolf and Lia. Lia led the way to the computer genius in the back room.

  “What the hell is happening, Paulo?” she demanded.

  “Oh, good morning.” He didn’t smile. “I couldn’t trace Dr. Rosenwald’s phone. I found that his latest credit-card transactions were normal enough. Local groceries, and then a payment to the Albastru Pub on Friday night at 10:43 p.m. His car is missing at his apartment building. We are looking for it.”

  Wolf and Lia looked at each other.

  Paulo shifted uncomfortably, now speaking at a million miles an hour. “His passport had no activity on it. Rosenwald doesn’t seem to spend much time online. Anyway, we don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

  Lia frowned. “And why is that?”

  “Because they just found him.”

  Wolf’s eyes widened. “Where?”

  “Near the lago by the Osservatorio di Merate. Lying in some weeds.”

  Chapter 32

  Lago Sartirana was a large lake in Wolf’s eyes, even though Lia described it as a retention pond. It was surrounded by dense vegetation and hills on the north side, where a bright-yellow villa reflected the morning sun. A trail circumnavigated the oval lake, the main access point being at a straight outflow canal at one end.

  Wolf and Lia parked there and got out. To the left of the straight canal stood a few locals—some curious onlookers, some uncurious fishermen throwing in their fishing lines. To the right, local Poliziotti stood smoking cigarettes in front of a couple of portable barriers. Lia and Wolf walked by them without receiving a single glance.

  Wolf noted the strange non-interaction. “They didn’t say a thing to you.”

  “That was my ex-boyfriend from high school. He’s an asshole, and he knows it.”

  Wolf resisted a laugh and glanced over his shoulder at the officers, now staring them down as they walked along the lake. One of the officers looked to be sick to his stomach, or love sick, Wolf thought, as the others taunted him with slaps on the back.

  “Poor guy,” Wolf said. “He still loves you.”

  Lia scoffed and said nothing.

  The path was well worn. Fishermen’s trash was strewn about—hooks, weights, old brightly colored lures, brittle knotted line, and lots of cigarette butts.

  The lakeshore itself didn’t look much cleaner. Plastic and glass bottles bobbed above the water line. A thick film of algae had blown up against the rocks and mud, piling on itself in small folds of bright green. The smell was that of stagnant lake water with frequent whiffs of raw sewage. It wasn’t a lake for swimming in.

  After a quarter mile, they came around a bend and the trail forked. The main trail went to the right, away from shoreline, and to the left was a narrow trail into wilder, dense marshland. There, the carabinieri were milling about.

  Wolf followed Lia onto the path into the thick brush. They stepped on roots and rocks to keep out of the mud and puddles that had accumulated after the recent rain.

  Rossi came into view off to the left, bent over a short distance away. He saw them and walked over.

  “Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  Wolf looked behind Rossi. “Hi. What’s the situation?”

  “We have found our elusive Dr. Rosenwald. A few hours ago, an anonymous tip was called in.”

  A handful of carabinieri officers stood about smoking cigarettes. Wolf and Lia stepped under the perimeter tape toward an officer in heavy-duty rubber overalls who was bending over and taking pictures of something on the ground.

  The body was well hidden. Whoever had found it couldn’t have been on the narrow trail into the marsh the officers had just come in on. That person, or persons, would have had to have come all the way into the underbrush to see the body. Maybe chasing a dog. Or looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or maybe a million other reasons.

  The first piece of the body Wolf saw was a Converse Chuck Taylor poking out from the dense foliage. It was light gray with mud, the original dark-blue hue of the shoe barely discernible underneath.

  From the shoe, Wolf moved his eyes upward. Jeans, button-up white shirt strewn with dried mud and blood. He looked back at the knees. They were darker, with a circular mud pattern similar to how his brother’s jeans had been.

  Wolf tracked his eyes all the way to the face. He knew he would remember this for the rest of his life, as each dead body he encountered was a new mind-branding image he could never un-see.

  The left side of Dr. Rosenwald’s head had caved in. It was a blow much at the same angle as his brother’s bruise, but delivered with lethal force. He figured Rosenwald had received at least two blows. He narrowed his eyes. Three or more blows were more likely. The first hit had probably opened a wound that gushed with blood. The second, third and other blows had occurred in the same spot, leaving some spattering on the clothing.

  The channel in the skull was deep. There was serious aggression behind the blows, pounding the same spot over and over again. Wolf could see gray folds of brain within the wound.

  “How many people have been walking in here?”

  “Ricardo and I have been taking care of forensics for the last hour. The anonymous caller must have been in here, and who knows how many people he was with. We’ve had no officers come in here, on my order. But there are footprints everywhere.”

  Wolf agreed. Surveying the immediate vicinity, he saw little yellow A-framed plastic evidence indicators strewn about in an illogical display—a bent twig here, a footprint there, a cigarette butt too old to be relevant.

  But no matter what Wolf thought, he had to admit that this was a difficult, if not impossible, scene to read. The heavy rainstorm they’d encountered yesterday while they ate pizza had hit this area hard as well and had drenched the body. It was sopping wet underfoot. The deluge could have washed away numerous pieces of evidence. Still, a few things caught Wolf’s eye—the most definitive being two cattail reeds at Rosenwald’s hip.

  They’d been bent twice, which was completely unnatural—physically impossible without the help of human intention—once when the body had fallen on them, and again when the killer bent them back up, probably to ensure better concealment of the body.

  Which indicated that Rosenwald could have been dumped here after he’d been killed. Which meant maybe he hadn’t been killed here. Which told Wolf there may be a crime scene still out there to be looked at.

  “Estimated time of death?” he asked.

  Rossi looked at Wolf with tired, bloodshot eyes. “Looks like three, maybe four, days. Nothing definite. But Ricardo says most likely over the weekend. Could have been sometime Friday night.”

  “Underneath? What’s it look like?” Wolf pointed and bent down.

  Rossi barked to the forensics officer to come over. They rolled the body to the side and looked underneath. Lia put her hand on Wolf’s shoulder and got down to look with them. Rossi put on gloves, and pulled the body to the side with the forensic specialist.

  Underneath, a mat of leaves, grass, and branches were stuck to the back of Rosenwald’s head.

  A fresh waft of death and decay filled Wolf’s nos
trils with the movement of the body.

  Dark-brown dried bloodstains covered the back of Rosenwald’s neck, shirt, and the underlying vegetation.

  “Blood on the vegetation underneath. The blood coagulated around the grass, sticks, and leaves behind his head. Looks like he was dumped soon after he was killed. The blood was still flowing down his neck, not yet coagulated.”

  “Yes,” Rossi said. “That’s what I was thinking as well. So we swept the scene, couldn’t find a weapon.”

  Wolf was looking in the distance through the thick brush. Just past the group of officers, now smoking and pantomiming soccer plays, the silver reflection from the observatory dome winked at them through the trees. No more than a few hundred yards away.

  “There,” Wolf said, pointing. “Is there a path from here to the observatory?”

  “Wolf,” Rossi said, pulling off a glove and touching his shoulder, “let me finish, my friend. We have been here for over three hours surveying the scene. I have found out much. We couldn’t find a murder weapon here but, yes, we followed the trail to the observatory.” He walked back toward the narrow trail. “Come.”

  …

  They followed Rossi down the narrow trail, to a small path that joined from the right. An officer stood guard at the narrower-still pathway, staring at the screen of his phone. Rossi grunted an order at the officer, and he looked up from his phone with a red face, then pocketed it quickly.

  Pieces of orange ribbon were tied in small bows in various spots on the limbs. Rossi stopped at one and pointed to it, then moved to another and pointed. There were rust-colored bloodstains, not washed off by any recent rainstorms, sheltered by the dense foliage above.

  They hiked up a small rise, slapping mosquitoes and pushing aside branches, and broke through to a farm road that led toward the observatory in the distance. Tall cornstalks with fat cobs lined both sides of the road.

  Another couple of officers with two German shepherds were fifty yards ahead, talking on the top of the rise.

  When they reached them, Rossi stopped and turned to Wolf and Lia.

  “The dogs found a weapon here.” Rossi gestured toward the side of the dirt road. Both dogs growled; one of them barked with teeth bared, slobber flinging from its lips. The dog yelped as the officer ripped it back, following with a sharp smack on the top of its head.

  Rossi yelled at the two men, who pulled the now crouching dogs away to the observatory. He bent down and pointed closely at a tubular groove in the mud.

  “The dogs found a copper pipe here on the ground. It had large amounts of blood on it still, on the underside, and fingerprints. I’ve had it taken for identification. We should know shortly whose they are,” he said.

  “Good,” said Wolf. “About time we come up with some useful evidence. So, otherwise, the dogs didn’t pick up any other scent here?”

  “No, but they picked up a scent on the grounds of the observatory, even after the rains.” Rossi raised his eyebrows and exhaled. “It looks to be where Rosenwald was killed. Then it looks like he was dragged down here, the weapon ditched in the corn here, then the body dropped down where we found him.” He pointed back to the lake.

  The lawn of the observatory was even more unruly than Wolf remembered, with foot and a half long grasses, weeds, and wildflowers making it difficult for him to walk without lifting his feet high with each step. It was damp, too, squishing with each step, holding moisture from yesterday’s downpour or an over-zealous lawn watering, or both.

  Other than the unkempt lawn, it was a meticulously manicured yard space. There were rounded bushes of all kinds in all sorts of smooth shapes. Vines clung to the rear of the entire building and the exterior of the rounded dome by design—touches that Wolf hadn’t paused to admire the night before.

  Rossi led them past a familiar spot. Wolf saw two wide skid marks in the lawn. He looked at Lia and at the marks as they walked by.

  She followed his eyes and nodded.

  Rossi continued, unaware of Wolf and Lia’s exchange, toward a large circle of crime-scene tape. “Here is the spot.” Rossi pointed as he came to a stop. “The dogs located a lot of blood in the lawn here. It seems to be where he was killed with the pipe.”

  Yellow evidence A-frames were everywhere inside the perimeter, numbered all the way to thirty-five.

  Wolf grabbed the tape and ducked halfway under. “Can we go in?”

  Rossi looked hesitant, then nodded and ducked under the tape. “It’s wet. Good choice of shoes you brought to Italy.” He looked at Wolf’s old leather work boots. “Keep close to me.”

  Wolf followed, and stole a glance toward the area of the perimeter fence he’d hopped last night. The clothing he’d used to aid his climb over was gone.

  Rossi led the way through the soggy lawn, their feet sucking and sloshing with each step. Mud patches were visible at the roots of the lawn. Wolf bent down next to a small yellow plastic A-frame evidence indicator. It was almost impossible to discern any difference between the spot and the surrounding area, all except for a tiny shard of white. Another nearby A-frame tent marked a larger piece, this time with skin and hair on it.

  “The dogs were going nuts in this spot. The forensics team found a lot of skull fragments. The largest concentration is there,” Rossi said, pointing at the number-one plastic indicator. “That is a large concentration area of blood.”

  Wolf stepped to the area and crouched down, looking intently. He imagined the A-frame evidence tent to be Dr. Rosenwald’s head, then imagined his body lying on the ground. He swept his gaze in a tight spiral around the marker, working his way out.

  Five feet from the evidence marker at two o’clock, a pair of indentations captured his eye. Wolf stepped over and felt the ground. There were two holes, just about the size of knees. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye. Dr. Rosenwald had knelt down right here and received the first blow to the side of his head.

  He’d probably been hit once, fallen to his side, and was then finished off with numerous blows to the head, right at the number-one evidence marker. Wolf knew there would be chunks of skull, brain matter, and blood strewn everywhere. Probably under the soles of his boots.

  He stood up and shuffled to the side, feeling another slight depression under his foot. Massaging the ground with his hands, he found two more depressions a few feet from the others. Realization sent a jolt of electricity up his spine. The mud circles on John’s jeans now made perfect sense. His eyes closed slowly as he felt the knee depressions where his brother had taken his last conscious breath.

  Rossi’s phone beeped in the tone of a police siren from within his pocket. He pulled it out and opened it. “Pronto?”

  Rossi held up a finger to them and meandered his way back toward the crime-scene tape.

  Lia knelt down next to Wolf. “What are you doing?”

  “Remember those circles on the knees of my brother’s jeans?”

  “Yes?”

  “There were similar circles on Rosenwald’s jeans, but less noticeable. Probably from being out in the rain.” Wolf lifted his hands and pointed down. “There are four indentations right here on the ground. Two for each man who knelt down.”

  Lia let out a gasp and bent down to see for herself. “Ma-donna.”

  “Have you spoken to anyone at the observatory yet?” Wolf stood up, turning to Rossi.

  Rossi was twenty yards away with his phone to the ear, looking at Wolf with wide eyes and propping an index finger. He looked to the trees and asked some sharp questions, then closed the phone, keeping his head bowed for a few seconds. He pocketed the phone and looked to Wolf with a pained expression.

  “What?”

  “That was forensics at the station. They have the fingerprints match on the pipe.”

  “Let me guess. A Romanian national.”

  “No, Sergeant Wolf,” he said with a deep breath. “They are your brother’s fingerprints.”

  Chapter 33

  “What?” Wolf’s head spun as a spla
sh of molten lead hit his stomach.

  “They are your brother’s fingerprints.” Rossi folded his arms and looked to his feet.

  Lia put her hand on Wolf’s shoulder.

  Wolf and Lia walked to Rossi, looked back at the evidence tents strewn about, then ducked underneath the crime tape.

  Wolf walked slowly away to the observatory gate, turning his head to look at the skid marks as he passed. He continued on through the gate and out onto the dirt road, turning back toward the lake, toward the way they’d just come.

  Rossi and Lia followed in silence, keeping their distance from Wolf.

  Wolf continued until he reached the groove in the mud where the pipe was found and swiveled around. “This is too perfect.”

  Rossi and Lia stopped and looked at him with neutral expressions. Silence enveloped them as Wolf bent to study the impression in the mud.

  Finally, Wolf stood and faced them. “My brother’s being framed for the murder.”

  Rossi blinked and looked to the ground at his feet. Lia shifted uncomfortably and lowered her gaze, too.

  As Wolf watched them avert their eyes, his impatience mounted. “So let me get this straight. He beats his friend to death, then drags him down here along the road, leaving the copper pipe right here for anyone to find. Why not throw it out in the cornfield at least? Or a better idea  ...  toss it in the lake a few feet away from where he supposedly dumped the body.”

  Lia pointed toward the lake. “David—”

  “No, I’m not buying it,” he said, shaking his head. “There are just too many questions that don’t add up to anything. You just felt those indents in the ground, Lia. And you saw the marks on his jeans. My brother was kneeling down next to Rosenwald and got hit by this same pipe.” Wolf pointed to the ground and glared at them.

  “Okay, let’s completely ignore that fact, and say my brother beat Rosenwald to death. Why lug the body all the way down there to the lake when he’s just going to go kill himself at home?” Wolf looked up to the sky. “Here’s a good question  ...  How did my brother get home? There’s no way he walked. His girlfriend said she heard the crash at one fifteen that morning. There’s no way he went home on foot; he wouldn’t have made it in time. I’ll tell you how he got home. His body was removed from this lawn, by someone else, and taken to his apartment to be strung up from a chandelier, that’s how.”