by Jeff Carson
“Yeah, as you probably just heard,” Rachette said, “the crowd will be getting bigger. I really have no clue what to expect, since it’s the first year and all. But so far, it seems to be going off without a hitch.”
Patterson joined them and nodded without saying anything. Rachette gave her a quick nod, but otherwise ignored her, and McCall tipped his hat.
“How’s it going?” McCall asked.
Patterson looked up at McCall and nodded, not saying a word.
Rachette frowned at the strange interaction.
“Hey, stay here. I have to call Sheriff Wolf real quick,” Rachette said.
Rachette walked away, past the line of lit poles and up into the grass field toward the ski slope. He dialed the number and listened to the unanswered rings, then left a message.
“Hey, it’s me again, finally somewhere quieter to talk.” He looked back over at Patterson, McCall, and Jack. “Everything’s fine. Jack’s still showing off for Patterson. Give me a call.”
When Rachette returned, Jack was hogging Patterson’s attention, and she seemed to be fine with it, standing a few feet away from McCall.
Rachette shook his head and leaned to talk to McCall again. “I think it’s going pretty well so far. I heard the condos and hotels are nearly sold out, and the camp grounds are completely booked.”
McCall nodded, watching Patterson.
Rachette turned to her. “Hey, Patterson, I need you to go to the front gate and join Wilson.”
Patterson turned and flicked a glance between Rachette and McCall. Then she nodded with a hint of resignation.
“Okay, I’ll see you guys later.” She turned and walked away.
Rachette watched her go for a few seconds.
“She’s cute,” McCall said.
Rachette turned and looked at McCall, and then smiled when he realized he might have been scowling at the remark.
“Uh, yeah. She’s cute, I guess,” Rachette said.
McCall laughed. “I mean, for you. I’m spoken for. I just think she probably likes you.”
Rachette scoffed and frowned like he’d just whiffed a cow patty. “Yeah. Right.”
“I have to take a whiz,” Jack declared.
McCall raised his eyebrows and looked down at him. “Me, too.”
“Ah, okay,” Rachette said, looking up toward the merchandise tent.
“I can take him up,” McCall said, looking at Rachette. “If you want. Seriously, I could use one, too.”
Rachette felt like he was being asked to break some sort of rule, but he liked McCall and he trusted him. McCall had been at the hospital that morning with Wolf and Rachette, and had gone back up to the mountain with Wolf. It was like they had forged a bond through Wolf.
“All right.” Rachette nodded. “Keep a good eye on him.”
“You got it. All right, let’s go.”
They walked away around the back of the crowd and disappeared into the sea of bouncing heads.
A few seconds later Rachette turned his head at the sound of thumping feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” Patterson asked between labored breaths.
Rachette scrunched his face. “What? What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be up with Wilson.”
Patterson shook her head and looked past him. “I don’t like that guy, and you’re sending him off with Jack unattended?”
“That guy was helping Wolf investigate the shooting, Patterson. He’s a sheriff’s deputy, and a damn good one. They’re going to take a leak, and they’ll be right back. Chill out.”
“Seriously, that guy gives me the creeps, I …” She shuffled on her feet, and looked past Rachette. “They went to the bathrooms?”
Rachette nodded. “Yeah. They’ll be right back.”
Patterson was already walking away after them. Rachette rolled his eyes and felt his pulse race. This chick was really getting on his nerves, and now she was suggesting he wasn’t doing his job. He turned and watched her go, started to walk after her, then stopped and waved his hand. Fine. You go annoy someone else.
Chapter 47
Wolf craned his neck to look out the Tahoe window when they pulled into the Mountain Goat Bar and Grill parking lot. The lit sign, perched high on the steel pole, was taunting something in his subconscious, and that something was clawing at a locked door in Wolf’s mind.
The parking lot was full, so Luke drove around the back of the building to find an open spot. She parked and Wolf got out. He walked back around to the front and stood looking up.
Luke stood next to him. “What? For the love of God, speak.”
Wolf stared at the neon sign. It was the profile of a mountain goat, standing in front of a tall peak. Wolf squinted, blurring the sign into a more basic shape—a tall triangle surrounded by a dark-blue circle.
“We have to go in here.”
“Okay. And why?”
Wolf just shook his head. He didn’t know why yet.
They threaded their way through two GCSD vehicles parked against the building and walked to the front door.
The air inside was warm and humid, thick with the smell of bar food. And it was loud. A lot of men, and only a smattering of women, stood around the bar, laughing, yelling, and drinking beers in thick mugs or dark bottles. Some wore uniforms, others loosened dress shirts and slacks, with only a few in plain clothes. Several patrons turned to look their direction, letting their gazes settle on Luke for a second, before finally returning to their conversations.
“Two?” an impatient looking hostess appeared, pulling out two menus from behind her podium. “Sir?”
Luke looked up at Wolf, and Wolf turned to the hostess. “We’ll just be going to the bar, thanks.”
“Okay, have a good time,” she said, shoving the menus back in the slot. She walked away through the packed dining room area and disappeared into the kitchen.
Wolf stood still and looked around, taking in the interior of the place. There was a wood-framed glass case filled with merchandise next to his head. A dark-blue T-shirt was tacked to the wall inside it, blue coffee mugs, a blue hat, and a square handkerchief.
Wolf’s eyes widened. “There.”
Luke stood next to him.
“Jeffries was wearing that on the trail,” Wolf said, pointing at the handkerchief. “I remember he pulled it up out of his coat to cover his face when he passed us. I remember the white logo pattern, and the dark-blue color. I’m sure of it.”
Luke frowned. “This is a cop bar. And a lot of the guys at the field office hang here, too.”
Wolf looked back toward the group at the bar. The conversation had dropped considerably, their attention drawn to Wolf and Luke.
“I’m sure,” Wolf said and walked in.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked, following behind him.
“You come here a lot?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Been a few times, with my brother. And a few times with some guys from the office.”
Wolf wormed his way past two guys who stepped aside, and another tough-type who didn’t, and then leaned on the bar.
A fit-looking middle-aged bartender caught his eye and held up a finger.
Wolf waited patiently and scooted aside for Luke to come next to him. She pressed close and they looked around at the faces. More than a few men eyed Wolf with raised lips, looking like they wanted to start trouble. Bullies, looking at a big enough man who’d made a big entrance, with a beautiful girl, and an arm wound.
Wolf had been in the situation before, an outsider in another clan’s territory. Suspicion was painted on each of their faces—they were wondering just what this duo was up to.
“What can I get you?” The bartender was looking at Luke.
“Who owns this place?” Wolf asked.
The bartender bent forward and pointed at Luke, ignoring his question. “I’m asking the lady.”
“And he’s asking you a question,” Luke said.
The bartender looked meaningfull
y down the line of patrons on either side of Wolf, and leaned forward. “And who’s asking?”
Wolf produced his badge. “I’m the sheriff of Sluice County.”
Luke pulled out her ID badge. “And I’m Special Agent Luke of the FBI.”
The conversation lowered to a murmur in the span of a second, and every eye was on them.
“Who owns this bar?” Wolf asked again, keeping his eyes on the bartender.
The other employee behind the bar looked up from scrubbing a glass.
“Why?” the bartender asked with a squint.
“What’s going on, Luke?” a man in a white button-up shirt asked from a few feet away.
“We’re conducting an investigation,” Luke said with a raised voice, “and would like to know who owns this bar.”
“T-A-M, LLC owns this bar,” the bartender answered with a cool gaze.
Wolf noticed a closed wooden door beyond the bar, which would have been a perfect place for a managerial, or owner’s, office.
Wolf tapped the guy next to him on the shoulder. “Hey, who owns this place?” The guy turned away and sipped his drink. Wolf looked down the line to the next man. “What’s the other guy’s name behind the bar? The guy who was sick yesterday?”
The man lowered his eyes and took a sip of his beer.
Wolf shook his head and looked around. “No one knows the owner of this bar? We’re conducting an investigation here. A bunch of cops are just gonna keep tight-lipped?”
Wolf pushed himself away from the counter and threaded his way through the men. He heard Luke shuffle after him, pardoning herself with a hard voice as she did so.
One big guy in a GCSD uniform stepped in front of him. “Maybe we just don’t like you,” he said.
The man was a hand taller than Wolf, and probably a hundred pounds heavier. Wolf felt a pulse of impatience and briefly considered jabbing the man in the nose, then considered the ensuing brawl that would probably follow.
He nodded and turned away, and then walked back toward the hostess podium through curious glances all around. Luke stepped on light feet behind him.
“Wolf,” she whispered. “Wolf.”
Wolf ignored her, walked to the door, stepped outside, and then turned and walked along the exterior of the building.
“What’s going on?” Luke said.
Wolf continued to the back of the building, and Luke broke off and headed for the Tahoe. Wolf didn’t. He went to a flat red-painted door with no doorknob on it, and stopped.
Luke ran up next to him. “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.
Wolf pressed his face against the thick glass of a window next to the door, and ran his eyes along its perimeter, eying the interior.
“Okay, what are you doing?”
He pulled his pistol and ejected the clip, then racked the slide to remove the round from the chamber. With the butt of his gun he smacked the window. It clanked with a high-pitched ring, but didn’t budge.
“Jesus!” Luke whispered. “Wolf …”
Then she grabbed his arm. Wolf pulled himself away and smacked the window again with a loud clang but, again, it didn’t budge.
Luke pressed herself against the window and held up her hands. “Move. I’ll do it,” she said.
Wolf looked down at her and, with curiosity piqued, stepped aside.
She bent down and looked at the ground, searching for something. Then she found a small rock and picked it up, twisted it in the low light and then threw it on the ground. Then she picked up another one and took off her shoe. She flipped her shoe over and pressed the rock in between two square treads on her heel. Then she put her shoe on again, not bothering to tie it, and hopped on her left foot twice, positioning herself in front of the window.
“What are—”
She moved with lightning speed, twisting on her left leg until her back was to the window and thrusting a heel kick behind her, connecting in the center of the window.
The window thumped and spider webbed out from the impact point, shards dropping into the darkness of the room. The glass bounced off carpet inside and broke into smaller pieces.
Wolf put the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and smacked a few hanging sections, cracking them off and sending them inside.
He stuck his head in and froze. It was a dark office with a wooden desk in the middle of the space and a couch against the wall. The desk had a desktop computer on it and a laser printer set on the corner. There was a door with a sliver of light underneath it to the interior of the bar. Through it came loud, bellowing laughs, and what seemed to be more noise than ever. The men were probably hopped up and excited about the scene that’d just taken place.
Wolf kept still, waiting for an indication that they’d been heard.
“Any time, now,” Luke said, pushing him from behind. “Someone’s going to see us.”
Wolf stepped in through the window, careful to keep his crotch unscathed, and then watched Luke glide in quickly after him.
He walked to the door and took a look. There were two twist locks, one on the knob and one above it—both locked, as evidenced by the light passing through the crack in the door. He flipped the light switch and the office lit up.
Luke looked over at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Keep an eye on these locks.” Wolf walked around the desk and sat down.
“And if they start twisting?”
“Twist ‘em back.”
Wolf flipped on the computer and looked on the desk as he waited for it to power up. He leaned forward and picked through the contents strewn about.
“Plastic sheets of paper. Scissors. Wood glue.”
He bent over and picked out a piece of the plastic from the trash bin on the floor. There was a circle cut out of it about the size of a fist. He held it up for Luke to see, and she gave him a puzzled look.
He stood and looked at the laser printer, and then pushed the power button. It came to life, beeping and sucking paper into its bowels with a loud whirring.
Luke looked down at the lock and shook her head as the electronic racket ensued for another few seconds, until the printer spat out a blank sheet of paper onto the floor.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
Wolf shook the mouse, selected the printer icon, clicked through some options, and looked up at Luke.
“Are you good with computers?”
Luke shrugged. “Yeah, I’m decent, but who isn’t?”
“Me. Come here.”
Luke stepped over and looked at the screen. Wolf kept his eyes on the door locks and stood up. “Print the last document that was printed. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” she said, sitting down.
For thirty seconds, Wolf stood by the door, watching the locks, the punched-out window, the dark parking lot beyond it, and Luke clicking the mouse with growing frustration. Finally, she clicked a button and looked at the printer.
It came to life again, sucking a piece of paper. A few seconds later it was done, and spat out another sheet of paper. This time there was something on it.
Wolf bent down and picked it up. It was completely white except for a shiny black smudge on the bottom.
“A fingerprint,” Luke said.
It looked different from a normal print. It was reversed—the spaces in between the ridges in black, the ridges in white. What resulted was a thick shiny blotch of ink.
Wolf set it down and looked at the wood glue and the scissors. “Shit,” he breathed.
Then he looked at the computer screen. “Click on his email.”
Luke looked at the screen and clicked on an icon on the bottom.
An email client opened up and loaded.
“There,” Wolf said.
“I know, I know,” Luke said, clicking on one of the emails. “Tyler McCall.”
She looked up at Wolf and frowned.
Wolf’s gut dropped a foot as he realized what that meant. Tyler McCall. Sergeant McCall of the Garfiel
d County Sheriff’s Department. They were brothers. And then he thought about Deputy Dan Richter coming back to check on his sister in the hospital, and he knew exactly where Sergeant McCall would be.
“Shit,” he said again. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
Luke looked at him with wide eyes. She stood and paced.
“Fuck,” she whispered, biting her nails. Then she pulled out her own phone, pushed a number and put the cell to her ear.
Wolf stood still, listening to the ringing on the phone. The blood drained from his face and his skin itched. With every ring that went unanswered, his chest constricted more, and each breath accelerated faster than the last.
“Hi, you’ve reached Tom Rachette of—”
Wolf hung up and looked at Luke.
“Hey,” she said into the phone, “who went to Rocky Points to cover for you?” She listened for a second, and then nodded at Wolf. “I have to go,” she said, and hung up.
Wolf’s phone vibrated in his hand and he pushed the button.
“Hey, sorry, I couldn’t hear—”
“It’s McCall, Sergeant McCall and his brother were the ones shooting at Jack and me that night!”
Rachette didn’t speak. Wolf listened to a cacophony of music through the earpiece.
“Did you hear me?” Wolf screamed into the phone.
Chapter 48
I’m in place, on the left side.
McCall read the glowing screen and shoved the phone in his pocket.
His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the boy shuffle through the crowd in the merchandise tent, and out the other side toward the two lines of portable toilets.
People lined up everywhere, climbing in and out of the blue disease-boxes, letting the spring-loaded doors thwack shut behind them.
The boy looked over his shoulder and nodded at McCall, then beelined it to the right side.
“Hey!” McCall yelled.
The boy stopped and turned around.
McCall pointed to the far end on the left. “Over here.”
The boy looked confused and furrowed his brow. Like, why the hell do you care where I’m taking a leak?