David Wolf series Box Set

by Jeff Carson

  “We’d like to speak to you in private for a minute,” Wolf said.

  Prock stared at Wolf, as if considering the question, and then looked at Klammer. Neither of them moved a facial muscle but, still, it looked like a thought had passed between them.

  Klammer sniffed and then coughed. “Well, I have to finish getting ready, anyway. Nice to meet you two. I trust I’ll see you around town.” Klammer walked back toward the front door and disappeared up the carpeted stairway.

  Wolf pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Mr. Prock, do you know a woman named Stephanie Lang?”

  Prock stared at Wolf, and then he shook his head once, almost imperceptibly.

  Wolf nodded, glaring into those canary-yellow eyes. “How about Matt Cooper? Do you know that name?”

  Prock tilted his head, looked up at the ceiling, and then closed his eyes, as if starting to meditate. His lower lip stuck out and wrapped over the upper, then pulled down. He tilted his head side to side, as if flaunting his infinite patience.

  Somewhere, an electronic device beeped, probably plugged into a wall nearby. The man smelled peculiar, Wolf thought as he watched Prock play his game. It was cologne, but heavy on the musk, almost animal-like.

  Prock finally looked back at Wolf and shook his head again. Again, it was almost imperceptible.

  Wolf glanced at Baine.

  Baine stood stiffly, looking between the two men and then cleared his throat. “You were with Matt Cooper last night,” Baine said to Prock. “I pulled you two over on Main Street.”

  Prock looked over at the stairway, then back to Baine.

  “Yeah,” Baine said looking at Wolf now. “It was him. I’m sure of it.”

  Wolf looked back at Prock, and Prock glanced again at the stairwell. Wolf held up his phone and snapped a photo. “You don’t mind if I take a picture of you, do you?”

  Prock flinched at the flash, turning his head a fraction, and then exhaled and relaxed, fixing his yellows on Wolf with undisguised menace.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Prock,” Wolf said, returning the glare. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.” Wolf motioned for Baine to lead the way, and they let themselves out the front door. Before Wolf closed the door, he saw Klammer looking down on them from the top of the steps. Wolf stepped out and let the door click shut.

  The outside light flicked off, leaving them to navigate the steps in darkness.

  “You sure it was Prock with Cooper last night?” Wolf asked.

  “Yep. He was doing that same frickin’ thing—closing his eyes, head back, that whole lip thing. It hit me like a ton of bricks when he did that. I never did see his eyes last night, which I would have easily recognized, but when I saw that move he just did … hundred percent, Sheriff.”

  Wolf climbed in the SUV. The dash clock said 5:49.

  “Where to now, sir?” Baine asked. “Cooper’s finally?”

  Wolf shook his head. “We’ve proven that Cooper and Prock were together last night, and nothing else.”

  Baine scoffed and looked out the window. “So what now?”

  “So let’s get some rest, and get this picture in front of the lift op and snow-cat driver tomorrow, and see if Prock left with our vic last night. I’m beat.”

  Baine yawned. “You got that right. Could still use a beer, though. Drop me off at Beer Goggles?”

  “Sure.”

  “Headed home?” Baine asked.

  Wolf shrugged, noncommittally.

  Wolf drove back into town, dropped Baine off at the Beer Goggles Bar and Grill to meet up with Rachette and the rest of the off-duty crew that liked to drink, which was most of them, and then went back to the station.

  He walked through the squad room, down the hall, and into his office. His stomach growled, but his body was heavy and sluggish, and the need for rest was an overwhelming drive. He hadn’t slept a second the night before, thinking about Jen Wakefield’s hollowed-out, dripping head, and it had caught up to him.

  He took off all his winter gear and hung it on the coat rack, then pushed his boots up next to the radiator. Next he took off his belt, bent down and opened an oak cabinet on the wall. He pulled out his sleeping bag stuff-sack. With a flourish, he stretched out the nylon sack and got inside.

  Despite his bruised tailbone, the hard carpet felt like a memory-foam bed. In a matter of seconds he was asleep.

  Chapter 15

  Wolf opened his eyes with the vision of an eight-year-old Sri Lankan boy in his crosshairs branded in his mind. Wolf had come to suspect that what was once a recurring nightmare now only showed up when danger was close. It was Wolf’s subconscious telling him to be careful. Or at least, that’s what he liked to think. Otherwise, it was just an uncontrollable memory that tormented him whenever it felt like it, and Wolf didn’t do well with giving up control like that.

  Slashes of light streamed through the blinds of his office, painting the wall pale yellow in the otherwise pitch-dark room. The clock ticked but he couldn’t see it, so he checked the glowing dials of his watch—10:05 p.m. He’d been asleep for about three and a half hours, he calculated.

  He rolled to his back and once again felt the bruise on his tailbone.

  “Shit,” he whispered, and stood up.

  His stomach churned air, but he was screwed on food. Nothing would be open this late on a Sunday night, not even the chain fast food joints.

  Flipping on the light, he stretched his arms over his head and padded out into the hall in his socks.

  There was tapping of a keyboard coming from the now dimly lit squad room.

  Wolf poked his head around the corner and squinted.

  Deputy Sergeant Canton looked up and smiled. “Howdy, sir.”

  “Hi, how are you Stew?” Wolf asked.

  “Can’t complain.”

  Wolf opened the small refrigerator and saw three packs of string cheese. Vaguely remembering that they had been put in before Christmas, he skipped over them and pulled out the vegetable drawer, which to Wolf’s knowledge had never once held a vegetable. Two Newcastle beers sloshed in their bottles, leftover from another night he’d stayed in the office the week before. Wolf looked up at Canton, who was back to typing on the keys. He pulled out one of the beers, walked back to his office, and shut the door.

  He shut off the light switch and pulled up the blinds all the way, letting in the soft glow from outside. The moon hung above the resort, illuminating the slopes to the pallid color of dead skin. A row of brightly lit snow cats crawled down the middle of the mountain and, even though miles away, their roar was audible through the window.

  Wolf pulled a bottle opener from his drawer and popped the beer. He took a long pull and put his feet up on the windowsill. The cold glass sucked out heat through his socks.

  Across the street, a pair of headlights illuminated the Hitching Post Realty building, and then a car bobbed into the parking lot and pulled next to a parked car. It was Sarah’s 4Runner parking next to Margaret’s car.

  Wolf watched with interest as the interior cab light popped on and Margaret stepped out into the lot. She closed the door with a thump, waved to Sarah and then walked past her own car and all the way to the office door, weaving a little as she looked down and fumbled with her keys. She turned and yelled something back to Sarah, which was a murmur to Wolf, and then Sarah pulled out and left.

  The big window of the storefront office lit up, and Margaret walked around inside, marching here and there; then she stooped to dig through a desk drawer.

  Wolf took another swig and put the beer down. After another second of hesitation, he got up, grabbed his jacket and hat, slipped on his boots, and was out the door.

  Canton looked startled to see Wolf stepping fast through the squad room, pulling on his gear.

  “I’ll be right back,” Wolf said with a dismissive wave.

  Outside was biting cold, and his face seemed to solidify after five steps into the parking lot. The laces of his boots sla
pped around as he walked faster, seeing that Margaret had shut off the interior light and was coming out of the building.

  “Margaret!” Wolf called.

  Margaret peered into the night and saw Wolf jogging across the street.

  “David!” she called back, mimicking Wolf’s tone.

  She finished twisting the key and walked to her car, concentrating on the ground as she stepped off the curb.

  “Hey, whatcha doing?” Wolf asked.

  “Just headed home.”

  “You been drinking?” Wolf asked.

  She rolled her eyes then opened the rear door and dropped a folder in the back seat. “I’ve had one.”

  Wolf smiled and slowed to a stop.

  “Okay, two,” she said. “What? Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be careful. It’s freezing ass out here.”

  Wolf looked at her for another few seconds, and she sagged in defeat. She pulled open the back door of her car and took out the folder, shut the door, and then walked toward Wolf.

  Wolf let her pass and then caught up.

  She looked down at his flipping shoelaces. “What the hell? You sleeping in your office again?”

  Wolf looked down and didn’t answer.

  “Oh, honey, you have got to get back with Sarah.”

  They walked in silence for a beat, and Wolf saw her glance at him a few times.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been drinking.”

  Wolf shook his head. He pushed the button on his keys and the lights flashed on his SUV. “Hop in.”

  A few minutes later they were cruising up Fourth Street headed east.

  “So, out with her tonight?” Wolf asked, keeping his eyes on the road. The buildings thinned and the pines thickened as they climbed in altitude.

  “Yeah, we were out with Ted and his assistant,” she said.

  “Ted Irwin?” Wolf asked.

  “Yep.”

  Wolf flipped on the brights, and the passing forest lit up.

  “So, you’re out to dinner with Irwin, and Ash is out to lunch with this Klammer guy.”

  Margaret stared at Wolf for a second. “So what?”

  Wolf shrugged, and they drove in silence for a while.

  “I’ll tell you what I told Klammer”—she turned in her chair—“and what I told Irwin. Whoever is awarded the contract for those condos, their next move had better be to hire my firm to sell them. And if they don’t believe me, take a look at what happened to Beaver Run before we came in, and then how quickly they sold when we took over the listings. Then take a look at the Fish Creek Complex. Then take a look at our sales over the last two years compared to any other firm. We wipe the floor with them!”

  Wolf held up a hand. “Okay, okay.”

  “Well …” she shook her head and stared out the window. “You’re saying these guys are trying to sell me, like I’m buyin’ or something. I’m selling these guys. You better believe that, Jack.” She pointed out toward the trees. “Besides, Ted and I are old friends. We grew up two years apart in high school in Aspen. I was just keeping the schmooze up, introducing him to my new top agent.” She glanced at Wolf.

  Wolf smiled. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were doing shady business with Ted Irwin. Ash, however? Wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Margaret looked at Wolf and then out the window. “Ah, I don’t know. I don’t think it would make a difference even if he was.”

  “What do you mean? Irwin’s already a lock on winning the contract?”

  She shrugged. “Probably. At least, I think I’ll vote for him. And I think Wakefield’s going to. Ash seems keen on Klammer’s proposal, but it’s too … Tyrolean for my taste. It’s all mountain-flower wood carvings, and makes you wanna have a Weiner Schnitzel and yodel while wearing lederhosen. Nyeh.”

  Wolf smiled. “And the rest of the council?”

  “I think they’re the same way. In the end, they usually go with what the mayor thinks, and like I said, he likes Irwin’s proposal. Another thing, Irwin’s company is from Colorado. Not some multinational conglomerate from Europe. How would it help the local economy if we brought in a bunch of engineers and big wigs from Austria?”

  A pool of light ahead marked the first property on this stretch of road where houses were large and spaced well apart. Margaret’s was still a mile or so up. As they passed the first house, another light came into view ahead, and they both knew it was Mayor Wakefield’s house they were approaching.

  “Jesus, he was bent up today,” she said.

  “Yeah. Not an easy thing, I’m sure. Burying your wife.”

  They both kept silent and looked down the driveway as they passed. Almost every light was blazing inside, but Wolf saw no movement in the windows.

  Margaret cleared her throat and looked Wolf up and down. “Seriously, though, what are you doing sleeping in the office? I’ve seen your light on late a lot. What’s the matter? Don’t like the rebuild?”

  Margaret was alluding to the explosion at his house a couple of summers ago, when a man had filled his kitchen to the brim with propane, and then ignited it, nearly killing Wolf’s son in the process. A trillion splinters of wood, tile, and appliances was all that was left of the kitchen, and the rest of the house had been a charred mess after the fire department had finally stopped the blaze.

  It was only this fall that the renovations had been finished. Up to that point, Wolf had been camping out in a corner of the remaining structure for months on end. Truthfully, now that it was done, Wolf felt like the memories had been gutted out of the place and he was living in a generic shell of a home.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like the rebuild. He would be an idiot if he didn’t like the brand-new kitchen, appliances, carpet, windows that sealed out the icy wind, and all the perks that came with a big insurance check and great friends in the construction industry. But it was … lonely, he guessed. Even with Jack staying there a few nights a week, he found that they often piled in the car and drove away from the quiet house to have their fun, either going to eat in town or out into the woods to shoot or fish.

  Margaret was staring at Wolf. “You do need to talk to Sarah.”

  “We’ve done that, many times.”

  Margaret looked back out the window. “Come on. She broke up with Mark because Mark was sick of her talking about you all the time. Sick of Jack and Sarah talking about you, and what you were doing that day, and when you were going to come over, and when you were going to pull your head out of your ass and throw Mark out and ask your ex-wife to marry you again and then live happily ever after in your brand-new house on your family’s ranch house.”

  Wolf kept his eyes on the road.

  “Okay, maybe I made that last part up,” she said. “But it sure makes sense to me.”

  “She’s hiding something,” Wolf said.

  Margaret turned to him. “What?”

  “To answer your question, I’m staying in the office because we’ve got a case going on, and I’m gonna have to be back in the morning, so it doesn’t make sense to … whatever. Listen, do you know a girl named Stephanie Lang?”

  She frowned, thinking. “No. Why? Who’s that?”

  “A waitress at the Antler Creek Lodge. She was killed last night.”

  “Jesus, is that what Sarah was talking about?”

  Wolf shrugged.

  “She told me something had happened, and she didn’t want to talk about it. What did happen?”

  Wolf exhaled. “We found her strangled on the side of the road this morning. A truck plowed her up.”

  “Oh my God,” Margaret said. “Oh my ...”

  After another half-mile, Wolf slowed down and pulled into Margaret’s driveway, which was lit up by a halogen lamp mounted on a pine tree. Her wood-paneled house was large, brightly lit, and looking behind the house Wolf could see a sliver of lights from the town far below.

  Her husband Harry came to the window and looked out. His eyes opened wide, and he disappeared. Then the front door open
ed and he stepped out onto the porch in his socks. He squinted, peering into the windshield of Wolf’s SUV and held up his hands.

  Margaret leaned forward and gave him the OK sign, then waved him back inside.

  Harry flipped his hand, went back in and shut the door.

  “Strangled?” Margaret asked. “Do you know who did it?”

  Wolf shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m starting to wonder if you guys and your land grab have anything to do with it.”

  “Why’s that? And it’s not a land grab. The town owns the land. We’re just trying to figure out the best use for it.”

  Wolf nodded. “You were at Charlie Ash’s party the other night, right?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Antler Creek catered that party, too?”

  Margaret sucked in her breath. “Yes, they did. And she was there?”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Oh geez. Who do you think did it?”

  “That’s the big question. I might come talk to you tomorrow, show you a couple of photos.” Wolf turned to her. “You remember what happened to Chet Rentworth five years ago?”

  Margaret looked down and nodded.

  “What happened to him?” Wolf persisted.

  “He ran his car into a tree and died because he was drunk driving.”

  “Just because I love you doesn’t mean I won’t lock you up next time. So quit it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “See you later,” said Wolf.

  Margaret got out of the car and walked to her front door.

  Chapter 16

  Wolf woke early the next morning on the floor of his office. After a shower in the locker room, a half pot of coffee, and donning a fresh set of clothing he kept in his locker as standard procedure, he headed up to the ski resort with Rachette and Patterson, but not before stopping at the Sunnyside for three breakfast burritos to go—Patterson and Rachette didn’t eat.

  Ski lifts at Rocky Points Ski Resort officially opened at 8:30 a.m. and it was a Monday morning, so when Wolf and his two deputies parked at 7:45, they did so in the front row. And when they walked to the gondola, only a few skiers waddled about near the lift ticket windows. Otherwise, it was going to be what locals would call an epic powder day—free from the weekend crowd, and with so much snow having dropped over the weekend that there would still be plenty of untouched powder stashes if one knew where to look.