by Jeff Carson
The wheels still rotated lazily.
Rachette jumped over the snow bank and waded past the plow to the cracked windshield. “Jeff, you all right?” he asked.
There was some movement inside and Patterson couldn’t make out what she was looking at for a second; then a scraggly looking man she didn’t recognize peered out of the glass. He was standing on the inside of the passenger door, with his head stooped against the driver’s side.
“You okay in there?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah,” Jeff’s voice was muffled. “No!” he yelled.
Rachette and Patterson exchanged looks.
“Roll down the window above your head and climb out,” Rachette said.
Jeff reached up and hand-cranked the window open.
“Just a second,” Rachette said, and then he high-stepped over to the roof and put both hands on it. “Patterson, get over here.”
Patterson took a step and plunged down, the snow reaching her hip, and not for the first time in her life she wished she was a taller human being. A few seconds later, she waded into position and placed her hands on the roof.
“If this starts tipping, move fast,” Rachette said.
Damn right, she thought, but just nodded.
Jeff was scrambling around inside the cab and Patterson could feel the truck moving,
“What are you doing in there?” Rachette asked. “Climb out the top!”
“I gotta get my …” said the voice, fainter this time.
“What?”
Patterson looked at Rachette. “I think he said, ‘I gotta get my smokes.’”
Rachette pounded on the roof. “Get out of there, now! This thing could catch fire, damn it!”
Jeff climbed up and out of the window with the help of weak-looking arms, judging by the shaking they were doing underneath his camouflage jacket. He wore a hunter-orange winter cap and his greasy long brown hair protruded over his ears. He grunted, hoisted his butt to the shelf provided by the driver’s door, and then kicked his legs over the roof toward them.
The truck wobbled a little, but held steady under Patterson’s gloved hands.
“Jump!” Rachette grunted.
Patterson flexed every muscle and pushed against the roof with all her might, wary that the beast could topple onto them—and then she would be shorter than ever.
Jeff jumped down between them and landed with his face buried in the snow, but neither Rachette nor Patterson made a move to help him up. After a few seconds, he pushed his way to his feet, his once brown wispy beard now caked white, and scrambled back up to the road.
Rachette and Patterson let go and followed him, reaching the road as fast as they could.
“What the hell happened?” Rachette demanded.
Jeff was turned away from them and walking up the road.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Rachette said, marching after him.
Jeff wasn’t having any of it. He was acting as if Rachette and Patterson weren’t even there.
Rachette began jogging, Patterson close on his heels. After a few steps, they caught up and got in front of him.
Jeff stopped and stared past them. His lips parted and his chest heaved.
They followed his gaze to a frozen corpse lying partially submerged in the snow bank with impossibly twisted legs. Her torso was striped with maroon, which further inspection revealed to be cracks in her skin showing dark-red flesh and guts below, like she’d been frozen and then ripped open … which was exactly what had happened, Patterson realized. If that wasn’t enough to take in, her neck had rotated independently of her body so that she faced them, tongue protruding and bugged-out white marbles for eyes.
And on her forehead was what looked to be a painted maroon X.
“Oh my God,” Patterson said.
Chapter 5
“Line one!” Tammy yelled just before the door clicked shut.
Wolf shook his head and walked through the squad room.
“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, looking up from his computer screen.
Wolf nodded. “Yeah, you?”
Wilson shrugged and looked back down at his computer.
Wolf shut the door of his office and sat at his desk, then took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Wolf,” he said.
“Wolf? That’s how you answer the phone now?”
Wolf smiled and swiveled the chair to look out the window. “How are you? How are things in Denver?”
“They’re going well. I can’t complain. A lot more action than Glenwood Springs field office, that’s for sure. I hear it’s been rough up there lately for you guys in Rocky Points.”
“Yeah,” Wolf said. There was a beat of silence, and Wolf realized she wasn’t talking about the weather.
“Did you go to the call?” she asked quietly.
Wolf took a deep breath, remembering the sight of the mayor’s wife sitting in an office chair, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It was something that had robbed him of sleep the past two nights, and something he would vividly remember for years to come.
“Yeah, I was the first responder.”
“Jesus,” she breathed into the phone.
“Yeah, we’ve got the funeral this afternoon, and a huge storm hit last night, so not the easiest of days ahead.”
“I saw that about the storm. And, hey, listen, on that note, I’m horny now, and it’s all your fault.”
Wolf raised his eyebrows. He could always count on FBI Special Agent Kristen Luke to say the unexpected.
“I … don’t know what to say to that. Thank you?”
She laughed. “I just saw your interview on television. Nice work. If you’re ever out of a job, you know what field to enter next.”
“Really? Thanks. Television, though? I couldn’t wear all that makeup.”
“I was thinking cameraman,” she said.
Wolf smiled and sensed Luke smiling at the other end, probably drawing longing eyes in a room full of male FBI agents. “How are you?”
“You already asked that.” Her voice dropped in volume and her tone went soft.
“Give me the real answer,” Wolf said.
“Well, I do miss you, if that’s what you’re fishing for. But, really, it’s good. I like the people I’m working with. There are a lot of women in the Denver FO, which is nice for my sanity, and a lot more opportunities for advancement than in Glenwood Springs, that’s for sure.”
“And how about living down in the big city?”
She blew into the phone. “Chicago was a big city. Denver’s manageable. I like it, lots to do. I’ve gone out a few times for drinks with a few agents. Otherwise, I eat, sleep, and then get up and do it all over again. I’ve also had to go up a couple of times to see my mom.”
Wolf nodded and let the silence settle for a second. He could have said something like You drove all the way up to Glenwood Springs and didn’t drop me a line? I could have met you for dinner. But Kristen Luke and David Wolf had had a good few months, and the call of duty, and their commitment to their respective jobs, was stronger than their ability to hold a relationship together, and they both knew that trying to force anything was pointless.
As a couple they hadn’t exactly been doomed from the get-go; instead their relationship had been destined to become something else besides what other people considered normal. Even when they had been going steady (as steady as it could get), being separated by fifty miles of mountainous terrain had meant they never slept in each other’s beds more than a few times a month, and neither of them was going to push for more from the other. Each already had enough pushing from their jobs, and then from what waited for them off the job.
They had enjoyed each other’s company for six months, and when federal budget cuts shut down the Glenwood Springs FBI field office, Luke was given a choice between Salt Lake City and Denver. In the end, proximity to Wolf, or any consideration for Wolf and his feelings, was never a part of her decision to transfer to Denver. She was there to
be closer to her ailing mother, just a two-and-a-half-hour drive away on I-70; and just as importantly, the Denver assignment gave her the best opportunity for advancement in the Bureau.
“So, you seeing anyone?” she asked.
“Nah, you?”
“Mmm,” she said. “Nobody yet. I think you raised my standards to unattainable heights.”
“Yeah, well, television star, sheriff, incredible buttocks … good luck topping that.”
She laughed. “What about Sarah?”
Wolf paused. “What about her?”
He gazed across the street at Margaret Hitchens’s real-estate office, where Sarah Muller had hung her newly acquired real-estate license and was already proving to be a huge asset to the company.
“I heard she broke up with her boyfriend,” Luke said in a nonchalant tone, “and he skipped town to Vail.”
Wolf shook his head. “How are you getting this information?”
She kept silent.
“Are you talking to my mom down there?” He was dead serious for a second, and then puzzled out the truth. “Oh, yeah. Your new buddy. Patterson.”
One night, when Luke had come into town to visit him, they’d gone down to Beer Goggles to join some deputies in the department for a beer. That night, Luke and Patterson had formed a close bond at what he considered unnatural speed. It was like Luke suddenly had the little sister she’d always wanted, and Patterson the big one. Apparently, they still kept in touch and Wolf’s love prospects were a topic of discussion.
“So?” Luke asked.
“So, what?” Wolf answered. “Look, I gotta get going. We’ve got a lot of snow on the ground, and—”
“All right, all right. Relax, I’m just looking out for you. I think you two still have a future together.”
Wolf sighed. “Okay, thanks for calling, Mom.”
Luke chuckled into his ear, and then a man called her name in the background. “I’ve gotta go. Later.”
“Later.”
Wolf set down the phone and stood up. He’d dicked around enough for the type of morning it was outside. There were probably people out there in need of help, and he was playing footsie on the phone with girls. He slipped on his jacket, grabbed his hat and gloves, and walked out into the squad room.
“I’m heading out,” Wolf said to Wilson.
Wilson looked up from his computer screen with watery eyes and a clenched jaw that was hiding a yawn. “Okay, boss. I’ll be here.”
The door flew open and a puff of heat hit Wolf. Tammy’s imposing figure stood in the doorway to her reception office. “Rachette and Patterson just called in a 10-79 on County 15.”
“Get your stuff on,” Wolf said to Wilson. “You’re coming with me.”
Chapter 6
Wolf stood in the cold air on County Road 15, watching the ambulance crawl up the road past the line of department SUVs.
He cursed as he dug his fingers into his five-day beard. Again. Every winter he grew it, despite remembering the hell his face had to endure the year before. But it was something men in the mountains did in the winter; men everywhere did. As he pulled off his glove for a better tool to dig into his fur-covered jawbone, he wondered whether the insulation from the bitter temperatures was worth it, and decided no.
Wolf put his glove back on and looked at Rachette. “You ever talk to her?”
Wolf stood with Deputies Rachette, Yates, Patterson, and Wilson near the fluttering crime tape sectioning off a large area around Stephanie Lang’s body.
“No, not really. I’ve just seen her around. She’s out at the bars most weekends.”
“Yeah, same here,” Yates said.
Rachette and Yates were two of the more social deputies in the department, and that meant spending time off like many young men did—in bars, drinking and chasing women. When they’d produced the driver’s license from her wallet and ID’d her as Stephanie Lang, Rachette and Yates had come forward as knowing her. Wolf, on the other hand, had thought she looked familiar but couldn’t place her.
“Who’d she hang out with?” Wolf asked.
Yates smirked and nodded. “Guys.”
Wolf looked at him. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “She’s always with a different guy, like every night I’ve seen her. I’ve heard she gets around. Sorry, got around.”
“Yeah, that she did,” Rachette said.
Wolf closed his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses and willed his skin to pull as much warmth from the blaring sun as possible. It was mid-morning, and the temperature was as high as it was going to get. And according to his dashboard computer when he’d driven up here, that was negative one degree. Somehow talking to Rachette and Yates about this dead woman wasn’t helping any.
“And I take it you guys had personal experience with her?” Patterson asked in a serious tone.
Rachette sniffed. “I might have cuddled with her—”
“Let’s just remember that this is someone’s daughter lying dead in the snow and shut the hell up about it for a few minutes, okay?”
Rachette looked at Wolf and swallowed. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, Sheriff.”
The sound of crunching tires coming to a halt and the diesel engine going quiet signaled the official arrival of the medical examiner.
Wolf walked away from the others and down the road.
The passenger door of the ambulance squeaked open. Dr. Lorber, the Sluice County Deputy Medical Examiner, stepped out and stretched his lanky arms overhead.
He left the door open and leaned back inside, and then pulled a Russian-style fur hat with earflaps over his lengthy pony-tailed hair and straightened his glasses. “Oh, man, it’s freezing!” he said, zipping up his jacket and slamming the door.
Wolf stalked closer, watching Lorber go to the back hatch doors of the vehicle cleverly called The Meatwagon. An assistant Wolf recognized as Dr. Joe Blank stood behind Lorber holding a black canvas bag.
“Dr. Lorber,” Wolf said. “Dr. Blank.”
Lorber twisted and looked at Wolf. Wolf knew there were gray, intelligent eyes hidden underneath the painful squint. Lorber’s eyesight wasn’t the best and for some reason he’d decided against prescription sunglasses, something Wolf didn’t envy of Lorber at this altitude, especially on a bright day like today.
Lorber ripped off his glove and stepped toward Wolf with a wide brown-toothed smile, the product of too many cigarettes washed down with coffee.
“Fancy seeing you again,” he said, tucking a strand of long hair back into his fur hat. “Good God, man, Rocky Points is producing some dead bodies lately.”
Wolf took off his glove and shook Lorber’s long, thin hand. Lorber was one of the tallest men Wolf had ever met; had Lorber stood straight, he would have been around six-foot-seven. However, because of his posture, Wolf didn’t have to look up to meet his eyes. Wolf didn’t know whether this was caused by a spinal defect or self-consciousness, or something else, but the effect was that of greeting a large stoop-necked bird, like a condor or a vulture.
Lorber pulled his glove back on and nodded. “Right, show me what you’ve got.”
Wolf turned and walked, and Lorber loped next to him.
“Lucky we got here at all. That slide on the pass looks like it was something else. The CDOT guys had a little canyon dug through, and we barely fit. Were you there to see it?”
“I was,” Wolf said.
Lorber looked over at the upturned pickup truck with the plow and gave a soft whistle. “The driver okay?”
“Yeah, just shaken up.”
The driver of the plow truck was already gone, having already been interviewed in a warm vehicle, and then driven to town.
“Deputy Patterson!” Lorber shouted, like he always did when he saw her.
Patterson looked down with a blushing smile and kicked her feet.
Lorber had been at the department a few months previously to improve the forensics lab, and in doing so had worked closely with Patterson. From their first
hour together, Lorber had loved her, and now couldn’t shut up about her or stop himself from embarrassing her with praise whenever they saw one another in public.
“Hope you’re keeping these bastard men in line,” Lorber added.
Patterson chuckled without smiling and turned to lift the crime-scene tape.
Lorber looked around at the somber-faced deputies and then gave Wolf a sideways glance.
Wolf was keenly aware that he’d just vanquished any morale that may have built up among everyone with his tongue-lashing. But, then again, he wasn’t sure that this was a situation for chipper morale, anyway.
Wolf followed Lorber under the tape.
“Ah, there she is,” Lorber said as the body came into view.
It had taken almost two hours for Lorber to get here from County Hospital on bad roads. During that time, Wolf had studied the girl’s body several times, but frequency wasn’t making it any easier for Wolf to see.
Wolf had never gotten too disturbed or squeamish by corpses, but this one was particularly gruesome. The woman’s face was pale gray, almost white, and her eyes were open and frozen solid, obscuring the true eye color, though there seemed to be a hint of blue faintly visible through the iced-over corneas. Only a few streaks of black were visible under the otherwise white-encrusted head of hair. Her lips were glacier blue and her mouth was open, tongue frozen solid.
Then there was the red X marked on her forehead, giving Wolf the feeling her death had been part of a satanic ritual or something. Shivers ran through Wolf every time he looked at the body, and not because of the arctic temperatures.
Tracking his eyes down only led to more disturbing sights. She wore torn-up black slacks revealing frozen and shredded meat underneath the fabric. One of her feet was next to her head, which said less about the woman’s flexibility and more about how much of a number the plow had done on her. Her white blouse was also torn to frayed strips, revealing a snow-white belly, twisted at the waist, and striped with red openings in her flesh. Her head had been wrenched around one hundred eighty degrees, like an owl’s. The final thing that kept attracting Wolf’s attention was a green tattoo of a bird and a one-word caption on her exposed lower back. Happy.