by Jeff Carson
“Wait. You were talking about all this with Minnie in the car?”
Silence.
She gripped the phone harder. “Listen, first opportunity today, we’re telling him about this whole thing. He has to hear it from us. And he has to hear it now.”
“You’re right. Actually, you know what? I’ve been calling him and he’s not answering. You think he already knows and is avoiding my calls?”
She pictured Minnie Yorberg sitting the back seat of Rachette’s vehicle, her ears wide open.
“I’ll see you when you get back.” She hung up and dropped the phone.
As she stared at her computer screen, Hanson’s voice echoed in her mind. I hear he’s on the chopping block. She picked up her cell again and scrolled for Wolf’s number.
“Hey, what’s going on?” MacLean’s voice was right behind her.
“Hi.” She swiveled in her chair and saw the sheriff sipping his coffee as if he had been there for a while.
“Was that Wolf?” MacLean walked to the side of her desk and took a coffee-commercial stance, cupping his mug with two hands, gazing into the mountains outside the window.
“No, sir. Rachette.”
“How’re things with Carl and Minnie Yorberg?”
“They’re all coming in. Anyway, I was just going to call Wolf to see what happened at Burton’s.”
“His nephew wasn’t there. Talked to him a few minutes ago.”
“Oh.” She set down her phone wondering now if Rachette was right, and Wolf had been ignoring his calls.
She felt for Wolf. The man had always been a rock in the department, but he’d shown his first cracks last year. The volatile situation with Lauren and Ella leaving, along with the stress of a murder investigation stringing him out, was all too much to take. And then there were the drawn-out court appearances that brought his condition into the spotlight and stripped it naked for all to see.
And now these interviews behind his back. She had a bad feeling. Not only because she could not fathom working in the department without the man, but also because she wondered if Wolf could take any more.
At least the birth this winter of Wolf’s first grandchild, Ryan, provided some joy. And he seemed to be taking the public scrutiny in stride. But he was always calm on the outside, wasn’t he? He wasn’t one to talk about things.
“You know,” MacLean turned toward her and set down his coffee cup, “You do a great job.”
“Thanks.”
He started to say something, but then stopped himself and sipped his coffee.
“I think that Wolf does a great job, too,” she said.
MacLean shot her a hard look. “I know you do, though you’d probably do better at his job than he does. He’s attentive to details, but you’re anal-retentive. And I mean that in a good way. Organized. People look up to you. You start things, and you finish them.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His nonchalance startled her. Her fears about the interviews solidified into a fist that punched her in the gut.
Before she could pull herself together and speak, he gave her a warm smile. It was such a strange, out of place gesture from the man, she was rendered mute.
“You don’t need to fight for Wolf. It’s not your job.” He slapped her on the shoulder and walked away.
She stared as he receded into his glass-enclosed office at the head of the squad room and shut the door.
Turning back to her computer, she picked up her phone and dialed her aunt’s number.
It went to voicemail after two rings, like she’d been screened. “You’ve reached Margaret Hitchens. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Mayoral office hours vary by day and week. If you’d like to make an appointment with me, please call—”
She hung up and dropped her phone on the table.
She had other ways of getting hold of her aunt, like showing up at her door and banging it down. And as for talking with Wolf, the second he set foot in the building, she was going to tell him everything.
Chapter 4
The route to the southwestern part of the state led them straight south on 734 over Williams Pass, through Ashland, then west on 50 through Gunnison to Montrose, where they hooked up with 550.
Ironically the route took them through Ridgway, and twice Wolf had seen Ouray County Sheriff’s Department cruisers, giving him a twist in his gut knowing they were passing through to go pick up their person of interest.
But they’d be back in Ridgway soon enough, Wolf would make sure of that, and he hoped the loyalty he was showing the old drunk sleeping next to him outweighed any blowback coming his way for their procedural detour.
As he passed yet another sheriff’s department vehicle, Wolf thought back to the multiple times he’d met Sheriff Roll over the years. The man had been amiable enough, he remembered. Word was he was something of a ladies’ man, too. He couldn’t quite remember the details, but he did recall MacLean telling him that once.
Wolf looked over at Burton’s sleeping form. He wondered if the man would even remember what was going on when they reached their destination.
For now, Wolf had a waypoint of Dolores, Colorado to go on. Once they got there, Burton was going to have to tell him the rest of the route into Canyon of the Ancients. By Wolf’s calculations they were looking at a four-hour drive, minimum, plus the time it would take to find Jesse, which was going to push them into around sunset.
Then, of course, they’d have to drive back up here to Ridgway and deliver their quarry. They had a long haul ahead of them and Wolf had already been up since before sunrise.
Mouth agape, head lolled against the window, Burton looked thinner than the last time Wolf had seen him. And not in a good way. Not by way of diet and exercise, but more like he was wasting away.
The last time they’d been together had been at Wolf’s own surprise birthday party last summer. My God, had it been that long? Eleven months?
At that point Wolf had been several months into his attempt at living sober and recalled Burton had tipped back quite a few that night. He couldn’t remember if Cheryl been there. Burton had gotten a ride home with Margaret.
“Where are we?” Burton croaked without opening his eyes.
“Just passed through Ridgway.”
“See Roll?”
“Saw some vehicles.”
Burton sucked in a huge breath that sounded like metal on metal, then coughed, which sounded like rocks dropping on said metal. He straightened and blinked, rubbing his eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Just past three. You slept a couple of hours.”
Burton checked his watch and Wolf saw the man’s eyes glaze over.
“You sure you know exactly where he’s going to be?”
Burton’s gaze snapped back from somewhere else. “Yeah. There’s a specific set of ruins he’s talking about. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Just, I haven’t been there since the last time I was there with him. Which was over ten years ago. I’m sure we’ll find it, though. We weren’t very far off the path, I remember that.”
A stiff crosswind buffeted the car back and forth. Wolf had been flexing both forearms for the last thirty minutes, fighting to keep the tires between the lanes. Every few minutes a tumbleweed launched out of the sage and juniper and rolled across the asphalt.
Burton ironed his face with his hands. His beard was gone, quickly shaved with an electric trimmer before they’d left, leaving the old walrus mustache to dominate the area between his now sunken red cheeks.
“When’s the last time you saw Jesse?” Wolf asked.
Burton eyed him. “I told you. It’s been years.”
“I’m just trying to get a sense of what this kid’s like. How old is he?”
“Shit. I don’t know. Twenty? Twenty-one? Somewhere around there.”
“And is he dangerous?” Wolf asked.
Burton said nothing.
“Because they’re saying to consider him armed and dangerous.”
Burton shook his head, keeping his eyes out the window.
“Come on. I need something. Because right now we’re just going out there blind.”
“I don’t know, all right?” Burton’s face turned red. “I don’t know. I used to spend time with him growing up. He was…troubled back then.”
“Troubled?”
“He was a good kid. He was understandably troubled. His mother died giving birth to him, and after that his father wasn’t in the picture.”
Wolf waited for him to continue, but Burton settled into gazing out on the passing landscape again.
“Where did he grow up then? Foster system?”
“No. Family friend took care of him down in Ridgway. Look, he’s a good kid. He wasn’t my kid. I don’t know…” Burton stopped talking.
“You don’t know.”
Burton’s jaw clenched.
“I would expect never having a mother and his father not being in the picture would trouble the kid,” Wolf said.
Burton said nothing.
“Who was this family friend?”
“Woman named Bertha. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Wolf nodded. “Okay. Just know that I’ll have my gun out when we are looking for your nephew.”
Burton raised a thumb.
They were swerving and climbing up 145, just past the turnoff that led to Telluride. Wolf hadn’t driven up that box canyon for years. He took his mind off Jesse Burton and let his thoughts drift back to when he’d skied with Sarah and her friends for three days at the resort that was now home to some of the richest people on the planet. They’d slept on the floor that trip almost three decades ago—my word, had it been that long?—their warm skin coiled together inside nylon sleeping bags.
His stomach grumbled. After waking up before sunrise, he’d spent the morning at the gym, and he’d been counting on inhaling a large lunch to compensate for the calories burned before he’d been routed to Burton’s.
“I’m gonna need some food,” Wolf said.
“Mm,” Burton said, looking like he wanted to say I don’t give a shit and it hurts to talk.
“How long has Cheryl been gone?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t you drive any faster?”
He’d been revving the engine to well over the speed limit between jamming the brakes at sharp turns already. “Sure.”
Wolf sat back and dreamed about a drive-through, where he would order two of everything on the menu.
Two hours of silence passed as they followed highway 143 southwest, up and down passes, through dense forest and high mountain meadows. A few slivers of snow clung to the shade of the highest peaks, but otherwise the scree-covered slopes above the trees were free of snow, showing streaks of brown, red, yellow, and black.
As they made their way further southwest, the evergreen-choked landscape gave way to sage and low junipers. Their fragrance blew through the vents, while the wind outside continued to buffet the car.
They dropped down into a low canyon that had been dug out by the Dolores River. Darkness grew on the western horizon as clouds gathered, and the wind seemed to double in strength as the incoming weather mass drew nearer until drops began to spit onto the windshield.
They were pelted with rain for half an hour while lightning snapped all around, and then they were through the storm. Wolf thought of Jesse Burton, outside in the elements. Huddling among thousand-year ruins.
Wolf’s phone lit up with MacLean’s number. He ignored the call and dropped his phone back in the center console.
Burton saw but said nothing. Instead he pointed his dead gaze out the window and folded his arms.
They stopped to gas the car and relieve themselves in Dolores, then traveled another half-hour south before Wolf found a drive-through. Burton seemed irritated at the prospect of stopping for food, but ended up eating a burger and fries, which perked him up. It was just another few minutes’ drive to reach the Canyon of the Ancients National Monument.
The ground was drenched. Puddles gleamed in the lowering sunlight, pooling on the rough, pink-hewn asphalt two-lane highway.
“This is it!” Burton said as they passed a sign that read Sand Canyon Trailhead.
Wolf slowed the SUV and pulled into a gravel lot.
“That’s his vehicle,” Wolf said, parking next to a silver Jeep Rubicon and shutting off the engine.
Burton looked at it. “You sure?”
“That’s what the BOLO said.”
“Pretty nice ride.” Burton got out.
Wolf opened his door and they stepped into surprisingly still air. He zipped his Carhartt jacket to his chin, then eased it back down.
The air was cool, heavy with plant oils and moisture rising from the ground. The soil was stained blood red by the rain. Sun sliced through sporadic clouds, lighting the black veil that passed to the north and east.
Thunder rumbled in the west, suggesting the sunshine might be short lived.
Burton pressed his face to the glass of Jessie’s vehicle.
Wolf joined him and saw nothing special. He pulled on the handle and the door squeaked open. The air inside was cool, smelling of stale cigarette smoke and old fast food. “No keys.”
“Weather’s not done. We’d better get going,” Burton said.
Wolf sat down in the driver’s seat, turned around, and checked the back. At least a dozen wadded plastic grocery bags littered the floorboards, and just as many greasy paper sacks smelling of French fries.
He climbed back out, shut the door and stood, surveying the area. A brown sign with white lettering announced the Sand Canyon Trailhead. Rain clinging to the junipers sparkled in the low-angle sun. The trail cut through pastel-colored cactus, grasses, and bushes and disappeared in a canyon doused in long shadow.
Wolf eyed his cell phone and saw it was just before five pm. There were perhaps three hours of daylight left. He popped the rear hatch of his SUV and took out his Maglite.
“You got another one of those?” Burton asked.
“Nope.”
Burton walked. “I guess we’d better hurry.”
Wolf stopped at the rear door and grabbed a bottle of water he’d purchased at the Dolores gas station. He eyed the paper sack of groceries Burton had bought but decided to leave it. They’d be back soon.
As he shut the door there was another clap of thunder, again from the west, and he wondered how bad he’d screwed them by thinking that last thought.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’d better hurry.”
Chapter 5
The wind freshened, carrying the scents of the desert released by the earlier deluge. Mirror ponds shimmered on the trail, reflecting the darkened skies to the north.
The sun still shone through a crack in the clouds, and long shadows cut across blazing red and white stripes of sedimentary rocks on either side of a low canyon. Like Mesa Verde to the south, the sandstone on either side of them had eroded pockets at ground level that burrowed into the cliff walls, leaving natural overhangs where ancient native people built their shelters.
In the first mile of the hike they’d already seen a few orange-red adobe walls built inside these pockets. But Burton seemed unimpressed by the spectacle and kept moving at a decent clip, that athletic bounce to his step revealing itself again.
But a few minutes later, Burton had slowed considerably.
“You doing all right?” Wolf asked, after a particularly long stretch of silence.
Burton stopped and wiped sweat off his brow. The low angle of the sun tinted his face red. He pointed to a bluff. “There’s a kiva on top of that ridge. Anasazi.”
“Is that where Jesse is?”
“No. Just saying. It’s coming back to me.” Burton marched ahead of him, slapping his right shoe straight in the middle of a puddle on the second step. “Shit!”
Wolf hurdled the water, noting the
unsteadiness of Burton’s steps as the man shook his now-drenched leg. Every few hundred feet, a palsy-like quiver took further hold of Burton’s body.
Wolf could only guess how long Burton’s bender had lasted. Days? Months? The man’s body was leaking sweat, yearning for water, preferably in ice cube form and submerged in whiskey. Wolf knew the drill: Pins and needles in the extremities from all the exertion, possibly bowels demanding a toilet seat.
“You look like shit,” Wolf said.
Burton grumbled something under his breath.
“Didn’t catch that.”
“Jesse!” Again, the shakes as Burton raised his hands and cupped around his mouth. “Jess-” A coughing fit cut off his words.
Wolf stepped close and hooked both his hands under his armpits.
“Get off me.”
“Sit down. Here. On this rock.”
“Screw you.” Burton sat. The red had fallen out of his face now, replaced by a white that rivaled the stripes threading through the rock cliffs.
“Here.” Wolf unscrewed the bottled water and thrust it in Burton’s face.
Burton guzzled it, letting a stream run down his chin and into his still-zipped Carhartt.
“Unzip this.” Wolf helped him, revealing a tee shirt darkened with sweat and sticking to his chest.
It could have been his imagination, but Wolf thought he saw competing cycles of heaving breath and heart jackhammers shaking the man’s fleshy breasts. Sweat glistened everywhere, drenching his body.
“That’s it,” Wolf said. “We’re headed back. Can you walk?”
“Shit.”
“Can you stand?”
Burton was somewhere else.
Wolf stood and surveyed his surroundings. They’d gone a little over a mile so far. He stretched his back straight, rolled his shoulders. A twinge of pain bloomed, a remnant from the morning workout.
He’d been pushing himself hard in the gym lately and felt strong. Or, at least he did while lifting barbells. Carrying an overgrown man was another matter.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, saw there was no reception.
“All right, old man. We’re going back to the car.”
