David Wolf series Box Set

by Jeff Carson

  The questions banged around in Wolf’s head, giving him a headache.

  Charlie Ash. Wolf’s jaw clenched again as he thought about the man. He knew Charlie Ash was involved, but instinct was telling him to steer clear until he had his ducks in a row. But what ducks would those be? The phantom burnt note from Charlie Ash? There were no prints on the USB drive. Cooper was dead, and along with him the true reason why he’d set up the video camera to capture the mayor and Stephanie having sex.

  And Wolf could have just been played by Wakefield, he couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t forget that Wakefield was a politician, and a damn good one at that. And many politicians got where they were by knowing how to lie through their teeth.

  And the corruption. How should Wolf deal with it? Was there any real evidence, any wrongdoing that had occurred between the two construction firms and members of the county council? Any evidence of illegal payments to Charlie Ash, or any contracts breached by Prock as he acted as a double agent working for both firms?

  Who gives a shit? Wolf wasn’t a forensic accountant, and he wasn’t a white-collar crime prosecutor. He was a detective, a small-town cop, and there were murders happening in his small town. He was going to find the killer. The strangler with a pistol. The psychotic skier with a tube of lipstick that had almost gotten Wolf killed. The rest could be sorted out later.

  Chapter 23

  On a Monday night in the heart of winter, Rocky Points was dead. From Mayor Wakefield’s house to Main Street, Wolf passed only one other vehicle. On the south side of town, there would be more action, as the younger crowd working at the mountain gathered for happy hour either at Beer Goggles or in the base village. That was a six-days-a-week inevitability for most ski bums. But on the northern edge of town, the roads were dark, most people snug at home, tending their wood stoves in front of the TV.

  Wolf stopped at the grocery store and picked up a bag of fried chicken, some soda, chips, eggs, bacon, and bread, and then stopped at the liquor store for a six-pack of Newcastle, and decided he had enough supplies to head home.

  As he drove down Main, he passed dark shops and a quietly sleeping Sunnyside Café. The station was lit up as usual, but he wasn’t in the mood to go in. Just as he hadn’t cared to return home the night before, he didn’t care to return to work tonight.

  Aside from the station and the Hitching Post Realty office, one other building was conspicuously bright—the old bank. Six vehicles crammed the lot in front, including Sarah’s 4Runner and Chris Wakefield’s black Ford truck.

  Wolf looked at his dash clock—6:17. Sarah’s Monday-night meeting, he realized. He slowed and turned the wheel, bouncing off Main into the lot. There were no available plowed spots so he rammed the Explorer up the side of a snow bank next to an old truck he didn’t recognize, yanked the parking brake, and climbed out.

  A beat-up Chevy Blazer hummed a few cars over, spewing a thick cloud of exhaust. A light clicked on and the door opened.

  “Nice park job, Sheriff.” It was a female’s voice.

  Wolf walked over and peered inside, then smiled. “Oh, hi Jan. How are you?”

  Jan Olson had been in Wolf’s class in grade school, which meant he’d seen her just about every day of his life growing up. Back then she was skinny with long blonde hair and brown eyes. Now, after a baker’s dozen years of heavy smoking and hard mountain living, Jan looked sickly thin and leathery, much older than a woman in her late thirties.

  “Not bad. Not bad at all.” She looked at him and winked. “What? You here for Sarah?”

  “No, just a little business.”

  She nodded at the news and winked again.

  Wolf sniffed in response. In eighth grade, he’d attended a party and twisted a glass bottle that had spun and landed on her. The rules of the game stated that they enter a closet for two minutes, and, just like Vegas, what happened in the closet, stayed in the closet. And what happened in the closet that night had traumatized him for at least a year.

  Since that eighth-grade party, he’d been cornered by Jan Olson numerous times, and every social interaction with her usually ended with Wolf feeling violated.

  “You waiting for Walter?” Wolf asked, talking about her teenaged son from an unknown father.

  Jan pulled out a smoke and nodded.

  “Well, see ya,” Wolf said and walked away, pushing memories of sharp fingernails groping the bare skin of his crotch out of his mind.

  He walked inside. The lights overhead seemed to hum louder tonight, as if working overtime at the end of the day. He pulled off his hat and unzipped his jacket, letting the dry warmth burrow into his underclothing.

  The air smelled like pizza, and Wolf’s mouth watered.

  Just like the day before, no one sat at the desk in the narrow anteroom, but he heard the murmur of voices, and then laughter coming from around the corner and down the hall.

  He stepped toward the hallway, stopping when the floorboards creaked, and then he shook his head and walked. He’d launched himself off a cliff today, there was a murderer on the loose, and most importantly he had a bag of fried chicken in the car and he was hungry as hell. He was going to crash this meeting—in and out—even if it meant upsetting Sarah.

  Thinking this as he walked under the flickering tubes of light down the hall, he was surprised when he reached the doorway of the interior room and the people inside seemed to chat freely, as if his approach had been unnoticed. He stopped, his curiosity winning out over his hunger.

  “… down the slope on his face,” someone said.

  The group laughed. They were loud and unreserved with one another, and Wolf suddenly felt like he was an intruder.

  Wolf craned his neck a few inches to look in and saw the back half of Sarah.

  “So,” Sarah said, “you aren’t going to go back to telemarking anytime soon, I take it?”

  “No, screw that,” the same young man said. Wolf recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a face or name to it.

  There was a short silence.

  “Okay,” Sarah said, “let’s talk about what’s going on at home. Like always, you don’t have to share, but I encourage you to. We’ve taken the pledge, and nothing leaves this room. Nothing leaves this group.”

  Wolf swallowed, feeling like a guy with his pants down looking in a window now.

  “So let’s start with—”

  “Ahem,” Wolf cleared his throat and knocked on the doorjamb. “Uh, sorry.”

  Sarah gave Wolf a facetious smile. Her eyes sparkled, and everyone else in the room seemed to have the same happy look.

  Tonight she was dressed in a tight white shirt and shabby jeans. A simpler outfit she couldn’t have worn; better looking she couldn’t have been.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Wolf twisted his hat in his hands and stepped inside. “Hey Chris, Todd, Lisa, Walter.” Wolf made a pained face at a pimply girl in her late teens. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”

  “I’m Bridget.”

  “Hi, I’m David Wolf. Sorry to break in here. I was just on my way by …”

  Sarah pushed her chair back and stood up.

  “… and I need to talk to Chris.”

  Sarah looked over at Chris in surprise, and Chris looked up at Wolf.

  “It’ll be quick,” Wolf said.

  Chris stood up quietly.

  Wolf ignored Sarah’s suspicious frown and walked out of the room. Chris followed him down the hall and around the corner to the front room.

  “Hi Chris. I just needed to ask you a few questions, and it couldn’t wait.”

  “Okay,” he said. “What’s going on? Is this about my dad?”

  Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Why would you ask that?”

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Wolf stared at him for a beat, trying to read him with no luck. “What were you doing Saturday night?”

  Chris popped his eyebrows. “I … was over at Walter’s most of the night”—he pointed a thumb o
ver his shoulder—“and then I just went home.”

  Wolf nodded. “What time? From when to when?”

  “I don’t know, like five to midnight?” Chris looked Wolf in the eye. “Why?”

  “I just need to know.” Wolf pointed out the window at Jan Olson’s Chevy. “So if I were to ask Mrs. Olson right now, she’ll say that you were there on Saturday night? All the way until midnight?”

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. Yeah. I don’t know if she was asleep or not when I left.”

  Wolf stretched his neck and took a deep breath. “What about this morning? What were you doing?”

  “I don’t know, nothing?” He shrugged. “Just slept in and then came into town and had some food.”

  “Food where?”

  “At Sunnyside.”

  Wolf straightened and glanced out the window. “Thanks. That’s all.”

  “That’s it?” Chris asked.

  Wolf nodded and gave him a soft look. “Hey. I was … if you ever need anything, you let me know, okay?”

  Chris looked at his feet and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

  Wolf watched him leave around the corner, and then he put on his hat and went back out into the parking lot.

  Jan’s Chevy was now puffing smoke from the cracked window as well as the exhaust pipe.

  As Wolf neared, the door clicked open again.

  “Change your mind?” she asked.

  Wolf smiled and slowed to a stop. “I just needed to ask you a question.”

  “Shoot.” She sucked a drag and propped her foot up on the inside of her door.

  “Was Chris Wakefield at your house on Saturday night?”

  She blew smoke out of her nose. “Yeah, why?”

  “What time did he leave to go home?” Wolf asked.

  “I don’t know.” She threw the cigarette on the ground toward Wolf.

  Wolf stepped forward and squashed it with his boot.

  “I think he left after midnight.” She looked at the smoldering butt and smiled, as if satisfied that she’d made Wolf do something for her. “I remember hearing him leave. Remember him pulling out of the driveway, the lights blazin’ in the window, waking me up.”

  “And it was after midnight? How do you know?”

  “Because the man next to me said, ‘What the hell is that kid doing with his goddamn lights on? It’s after midnight.’” She curled her lip, stroked the inside of her knee, and stared at him with as much suggestiveness as she could muster.

  Wolf nodded and looked back to the window of the building, for no other reason than to look away from Jan Olson.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  Chapter 24

  Wolf sat on his BarcaLounger, leaned all the way back, socks off, and chewed the last bite of his fried chicken. The old speakers of his analog stereo played soft country music—some song about being laid back, blue jeans, an old truck, a back road, a cold beer, and skinny dipping. He sipped his second Newcastle, feeling the warm buzz soothe his body, and longed for an old beat-up truck and a warm summer night on a backcountry road. With a woman.

  He wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans, picked up his phone, and decided that since crawling inside the stereo was out of the question he’d do the next best thing. Besides, he needed to talk to someone. His mind was churning with ideas and dead-end thoughts.

  Staring at the phone screen, he marveled at the twists of fate that had alphabetically placed the name Kristen Luke directly above Sarah Muller in his phone contacts.

  He pushed the name and put the phone up to his ear.

  “Hey, handsome,” Luke said in a mock-throaty voice.

  “Hi. How’s it going?”

  Luke fumbled the phone for a few seconds, and then came back on. “Oh, okay. Can’t complain here.”

  “Am I catching you at a bad time?” he asked.

  “No. I pushed pause on the remote.”

  Wolf chuckled. “Ah, an adventurous Monday night?”

  “How do you know I’m not sitting here cuddling with a man?”

  “Are you?” Wolf asked.

  “No.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a beat.

  “You just calling to hear me breathe?” she asked.

  “No, actually I need to run over a case with you.”

  “Okay,” she said, clearly interested. “Have at it.”

  Wolf told her about the strangling of Stephanie Lang, the shooting of Matt Cooper, the red Xs found at both scenes made with the same lipstick, the chase that led to Wolf plummeting off a cliff, the sex tape, and Charlie Ash allegedly blackmailing the mayor in order to secure votes for a construction firm.

  “Holy crap,” she said. “I recommend bringing in the FBI on this. I can leave first thing in the morning and be there by breakfast.”

  “No, sit tight. Besides, I’ve already brought in the FBI. I’m talking to her now.”

  Luke huffed into the phone, clearly nonplussed.

  Wolf took a long pull of his beer and set it down. “Well?”

  “I’m thinking,” she said.

  Wolf waited.

  “The X thing,” she said.

  “Yeah, the X thing. Does that ring any bells with you? You ever encountered another killer who left that mark?”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t say I have.”

  Wolf finished his beer and walked to the kitchen.

  “No doubt it’s a message of some sort, but to whom?” she said. “Law enforcement? A particular person?”

  Wolf flipped his beer bottle into a recycle box, dug into his brand-new refrigerator, and pulled out another.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Wolf popped off the cap with the opener and walked back to the chair.

  “If it’s not clear now why that X is showing up, then it’s because you don’t know the reason the killer is putting it there.”

  Wolf took a sip and smacked his lips. “That’s a brilliant assessment. I’m glad I’ve brought the FBI in on this. Thanks, I’m—”

  “Shut up, I’m serious. I mean … you have to start digging into the past of the killer, which means you have to dig into the past of everyone involved.”

  Wolf set down his beer and sat back with closed eyes. “Yeah.”

  They sat in silence.

  “Sorry. I know I’m not much help. I’d be better if I came up there.”

  Wolf took another sip.

  “How’s Jack?” she asked.

  “Good,” Wolf said, still thinking about where to start the following morning. What was the next move? Maybe Lorber would wake up and find a crucial piece of forensic evidence that cracked the case. In the meantime, just like Luke had said, he had to start digging into the pasts of anyone and everyone he could think of involved—Stephanie Lang, Matt Cooper, Wakefield and his son, Charlie Ash and …

  “—David? You there still?”

  “What?” Wolf asked.

  “I said, is Jack the wettest skier on the mountain up there, or what?” She chuckled, clearly proud of herself for using Jack’s slang term in a sentence.

  Wolf sat up. “That’s it.”

  Luke went quiet. “What is? What did I say?”

  Wolf leaned forward. “Look, I gotta call Jack. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I expect a briefing tomorrow,” Luke said. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight thinking about this. I’m serious, I’ll come up and help. I’ll bring a couple of good agents. You just say the word.”

  Wolf nodded. “All right. Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Wolf hung up and called Jack.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, I have a quick question for you.”

  Jack ignored him. “Where are you? At your house?”

  “Yes, I am,” Wolf said. “Uh … what are you doing? You at your mom’s?” Which, ever since Sarah had broken up with Mark Wilson meant, You at your grandparents’ house?

  “Yeah,” Jack said, and th
en he sounded like he was eating something.

  “Listen, did you go skiing today?”

  “Of course.” He had quite a mouthful. “Went after school. It’s sick up there right now.”

  Wolf knew he was talking to the right person. “Who are the best skiers in town?”

  …

  Wolf stared at the glowing computer screen perched on a fold-out plastic table. He twisted lazily in the pleather chair he’d picked up from the consignment store in town, which rounded out the furnishings of his home office.

  It took him a second to find the webpage for the Lake Tahoe Police Department, and then another to scroll down and find the number.

  Wolf twisted open the blinds and stared out the brand-new windows, thinking that they held the heat inside much better than the old ones. Outside, the pines were bathed in moonlight, their undersides pitch-black pools of shadow.

  “Lake Tahoe Police Department,” a bored-sounding man’s voice said into the phone.

  “Hi, this is Sheriff David Wolf of the Sluice County Sheriff’s Department, in Colorado. I’d like to speak to Chief Gunnison.”

  “Sorry, he’s gone home,” the man said. “Is there a message?”

  Wolf exhaled. “How about a cell number? I need to speak with him today. It’s very important.”

  The man chuckled. “Sorry, Sheriff. I’m sure you understand that I’m not at liberty to—”

  “Chief Gunnison has critical evidence that will help to expose a killer who’s filling up our morgue with dead bodies. I need to talk to him now, not tomorrow.”

  “I wish I could help you, Sheriff.”

  Wolf took a deep breath. “What’s your name?”