Divided Sky

by Jeff Carson

  “Shut up!”

  Jesse did.

  “Sir,” Wolf said. “I have a son of my own. I have a son of my own. Twenty-two years old.”

  Jed walked in front of Wolf, his eyes locked on the hillside, as if he’d seen movement.

  Wolf continued talking, trying to keep his attention. “I’m not sure what I would do if what happened to your son happened to mine.”

  Jed raised his rifle and aimed it at the hillside.

  The wind whipped up, and the aspen trees hissed and swayed behind them.

  Wolf continued. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if someone did something to my son. I supposed I’d want to shoot them right in the head. Get it over with.”

  Jed lowered his gun. “That’s the idea. That’s the idea, right on the nose.”

  “The problem is,” Wolf said, “we’re not sure who killed your son yet. So, this isn’t doing anyone any good here.”

  “But you just said you have new evidence. Tell me about this, or you’re dead.” Jed raised the gun on him again. “Whose house were you at? What did you find?”

  Everyone watched Wolf.

  “I found the pair of boots that left the tracks in your son’s blood up there on the porch. And I found the shovel that buried your son.” Wolf nodded toward the hole in the ground.

  “Who was it!” The end of Jed’s barrel slammed into Wolf’s temple. “Where were you? Whose house?”

  “Let the girl go. Let her get up and walk, and I’ll tell you. You don’t need her now. You have me.”

  “You’re not giving me orders, you piece of shit.” Jed knocked him on the head. A warm river of blood ran off his scalp and down his back. “Tell me!”

  “If you shoot me, you’ll never know,” Wolf said. “And it’s not who you think it is.”

  Jed’s nostrils huffed. The barrel rested on Wolf’s temple.

  “Please,” Wolf said. “I have a son I want to see again, too. I know you want to see justice for your boy. And I don’t blame you one bit. But you have to let it happen the right way. And we’re almost there.”

  “I’m through with pig-justice,” Jed said. “You know where this man just was, sheriff?”

  Roll said nothing.

  “I think the sheriff does. I think I don’t need you anymore, Mr. Wolf. Goodbye.”

  “They’re looking into me.” Sobeck’s voice was low, but he might as well have shouted it through a bull horn.

  Jed whipped his gun and aimed at Sobeck. “What was that?”

  “I said, they’re looking into me. That’s where you were just now, right?” Sobeck looked at Wolf. “My house?”

  “Why don’t you lower the weapon, Mr. Farmer,” Roll said. “And we’ll talk it out.”

  “Why don’t you answer the question, Mr. Wolf.” Jed’s gaze was now locked on Sobeck.

  Wolf saw the look in Sobeck’s eyes that Milo must have been talking about. But instead of a deer in headlights, he saw a cat on the hunt. His pupils were pinpoints, his eyelids wide open. His expression blank.

  “I just got a text from my wife when we pulled up,” Sobeck said. “She sent me some pictures from my garage. Somebody came over and used my shovel out of my garage to bury your son, then returned it. Somebody used my boots, stomped around in your son’s blood, and returned them to my garage. Somebody took my headlamp and left it down here, next to your son’s grave. Those were my tarps wrapped around your son when we dug him up.” Sobeck’s voice was calm and ice cold. “Somebody’s making me look like I did this. But I didn’t do it. And that’s the truth.”

  “Is that true?” Jed’s eyes whipped to Wolf, then back on Sobeck. “Did you find those things at his house?”

  When Wolf didn’t answer, Jed backtracked and stepped behind Wolf.

  “I said, is that true?”

  “We found those things at Deputy Sobeck’s house. Yes. And it appears like someone might have put them there.”

  “Might have? Who might have put them there?”

  “We don’t know that,” Wolf said.

  For a long, drawn out moment, Jed went silent. Then he kicked Wolf in the back, sending him stumbling forward. “Get over there with your friends.”

  Wolf walked the gap between them. Time seemed to slow to a halt, and a flash of his grandson’s smile filled his vision. He stopped next to Milo and turned around to face Jed’s gun which was now pointed at Sobeck.

  “We’re still early in this investigation, Jed,” Roll said. “You have to let us do our job. We’re doing our job. We’re making progress.”

  “No. We’re not early in this. We’re late. I can’t take another damned second that my son’s death goes unsolved by you good-for-nothing pigs. Pig-justice isn’t gonna do us any good. We’re gonna squeeze the truth out of this group, right here, right now.”

  Jed leaned into his aim at Sobeck. “Did you kill my son?”

  With steady deliberation, Triplett raised his gun and aimed at Jed.

  “Guys,” Wolf said under his breath.

  Seymour Farmer aimed his gun at Triplett.

  “No,” Sobeck said. “I didn’t kill your son. And I didn’t kill Alexander Guild. Now that guy? I wish I would have. But your son? No, Jed. I didn’t do it.”

  “Stand up here, Jesse,” Jed said.

  Jesse held frozen behind the line of men.

  “Stand up here next to the sheriff or I shoot my way to you.”

  Jesse squeezed between Roll and Sobeck.

  Jed swiveled the barrel to Jesse. “Did you kill my son?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jed aimed at Triplett.

  “Come on, man,” Triplett said. “Just lower your gun.”

  “Did you kill my son?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t?” Sobeck asked, looking up at his partner.

  Jed paused.

  Triplett looked down at Sobeck. “What?”

  Jed stepped forward, barrel locked on Triplett. “What was that, deputy?”

  “Are you serious right now?” Triplett asked. “Me? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, what are you talking about, Jimmy?” Jed asked. “Did you just figure something out about your partner here?”

  “Jed,” Wolf said. “We have new evidence being analyzed. Evidence that will prove beyond a doubt who killed your son. But we need a little more time.”

  “Shut. Up.” Jed’s eyes bounced back and forth between Sobeck and Triplett.

  “You’ve been after my wife for years,” Sobeck said. “You knew I was gone every night down at the motel. You know I leave my garage unlocked. You could have come in and taken my stuff. Made it look like I did it.”

  “Yeah, and you know someone else here who would have known that stuff? This orange-haired asshole right here! I wouldn’t do that to you. What are you talking about?”

  “You do love my wife, though. Don’t you?” Sobeck asked.

  “I love your wife? I don’t love your wife.”

  “You love my wife.”

  “Of course I love your wife. I’d do anything for your wife. Just like I’d do anything for you!”

  “You’ve always loved Jill. You go talk to her at the house sometimes, don’t you? You go inside my house, and you eat my food, and drink my beer, and sit there with my son, and you talk with my wife, and her mother. Don’t you, Rod?”

  “You two need to stop talking,” Roll said.

  “No, no, no.” Jed’s rifle lurched in his grip. “Keep going, Deputy Sobeck. I want to hear more of this. I want to watch the guilty look on this guy’s face some more.”

  “Guilty look? No.” Triplett shook his head. “Listen. Why the hell would I kill Kyle? And Guild? Why would I do that? That’s crazy!”

  “And make me look like I did it?” Sobeck bared his teeth. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “Shit, Sobeck. You’re not making sense. Jed, Jimmy’s not doing well after the war. He’s—”

  “You shut up,” Jed said. “I wa
nt to hear what Jimmy has to say. Go ahead, Jimmy.”

  “You go to my wife’s place of work and talk to her in your car out back in the alley, don’t you?” Sobeck asked. “Just like you did this morning?”

  Triplett swallowed, looking like a caught man.

  “You watch her ass as she walks back inside, and you wish you were the one married to her, don’t you? You wish I was out of the picture.”

  Triplett looked at Wolf. “You told him?”

  Wolf’s eyes were on Jed’s trigger finger, which was flicking back and forth like a spider’s leg.

  “Told me what?” Sobeck asked.

  “That…that I was talking to her. I was just talking to her. And we were talking about you!”

  “No. He didn’t tell me anything. I know because I was there this morning. I’ve seen you talking to her three times now. It’s a thing for you two now, right?”

  “Nothing’s going on. We’re just talking. She asked me to pick her up this morning from home. She needed a ride to work. She said she wanted to talk. She was upset.”

  “Is that what you two do now?” Sobeck asked. “You guys talk?”

  Triplett shook his head. “This is crazy. This is crazy.”

  “She doesn’t love you.” Sobeck bared his teeth. “She’s my wife. My wife!”

  The air hummed, like the moment before a lightning strike.

  And then there was a flash, and a blast of thunder coming out of Jed Farmer’s rifle. And then Triplett fell backwards.

  “No!” somebody yelled.

  Sobeck dropped to a knee, aimed, and shot Jed. A fountain of blood spewed from the man’s throat. He dropped his rifle and clutched at it while falling backwards.

  At that moment, Wolf saw Rachette come out at a full sprint from the grove of aspen trees behind the Farmers, gun raised.

  Wolf knelt and lifted his other pant leg, groping for Rachette’s backup piece. His hands felt like blocks of ice from the surging adrenaline.

  Seymour Farmer shot next, hitting Sobeck. Sobeck bent over and clutched his stomach, but before he hit the ground he aimed and fired.

  Hettie made a noise and went limp in Gabriel Farmer’s grip. Blood blossomed on her chest.

  Gabriel stood up from behind his fallen human shield and raised his weapon. More fire—a staccato burst of three that came from three different directions almost simultaneously—and Gabriel convulsed wildly, blood spurting out of him as he fell to the ground.

  “Cease fire!” somebody yelled.

  But Seymour shot, and more shots rang out, stinging discharge particles hitting Wolf in the face. He raised Rachette’s backup piece from the ankle holster and aimed it at the spot where Seymour disappeared into the grass. But even from such a short distance, the gun had no reliable accuracy and Hettie lay slumped beyond. As Wolf realized he had no shot, Seymour rose, locked eyes on him and fired.

  Wolf dove onto his back, and the sky split above him as the bullet passed over his face.

  And then there two more quick shots, and all that remained was a high-pitched whine in Wolf’s ears.

  “Clear! All clear!” Rachette’s voice echoed through the valley.

  He stood up, taking in the scene.

  Seymour Farmer was slumped on the ground. Behind him, Rachette was lowering his Glock.

  Next to Wolf, Sobeck and Triplett lay motionless, Sobeck’s eyes closed and his partner’s staring into nothing. Jed gargled, laying still in the grass, eyes open and staring up. Gabriel was next to him, looking dead from multiple gunshots. Roll stood over them both, keeping his rifle trained on them as he kicked their guns away.

  Jesse crawled through the grass and reached Hettie. “Hettie! Hettie!” He rolled her onto her back, revealing a lot of blood.

  Wolf moved to her quickly and put his fingers on her neck, finding a weak pulse. “We need a helicopter!”

  Milo was over Sobeck. “Yeah we do. I’ve got a pulse.” He dug into Sobeck’s pocket and pulled out Sobeck’s cell phone. “I’ll call.”

  “Hettie!” Jesse’s face was twisted. “Hold on! You’re gonna be okay!”

  But she was unconscious, barely alive.

  Wolf took off his shirt, wadded it up, and put it on the hole spitting blood on her left breast.

  “Helicopter’s on its way!” Milo said.

  Roll put his jacket over Triplett’s body.

  Wolf stared at the carnage, smelling the blood and gunpowder as it swirled on the wind.

  Jesse bent close to Hettie, whispering in her ear.

  “You all right?” Rachette appeared over him.

  “Yeah.”

  “You son of a bitch. You never called me on the radio. You were lying to me. There was no plan.”

  He looked up and saw Rachette was waiting for a response. “Thanks for shooting him before he shot me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” Rachette walked away.

  Wolf adjusted the shirt over Hettie’s wound. The blood flowing out had not slowed down. The fabric was soaked all the way through.

  “I told you,” Jesse said.

  Wolf met Jesse’s wild-eyed stare. “You told me what?”

  “That I didn’t do it. I told you.”

  “I know you did, Jesse.” Wolf nodded. “You told everyone that. I just wish I could believe you.”

  Jesse flinched like he’d been slapped in the face. But he said nothing. He just put his head on the ground, put his mouth next to Hettie’s ear, and whispered.

  Chapter 38

  As Wolf traveled north over Williams Pass, struggling to keep the vehicle between the lines in the wind, he fought to keep his thoughts in the present moment. He knew firsthand how worrying too much about a nonexistent future could bring a man to his knees. Especially when that future involved letting somebody else down.

  “What is the worst that could happen?” Dr. Hawkwood would have asked him, had the psychiatrist answered Wolf’s call earlier that morning.

  I could lose my job. I could no longer have an income. I could let them all down.

  But he wasn’t letting anyone down, was he? They would have their jobs. They’d have their futures. They weren’t the ones on the chopping block. And him? He could sell his ranch, probably for millions, if Margaret’s real estate rants over the last couple years held any truth.

  Everyone was safe, if he really thought about it.

  Or were they? What happened when MacLean was done with his current term? There would be a new election. And Margaret had mentioned she knew of two outsiders who were showing interest in running. Was there any truth there? Would either of the outsiders be able to take down Undersheriff Wilson in an election? And if they did, would they fire everyone in their wake and bring in their own crew? That kind of thing happened more often than not.

  No. He would be just fine. It was the rest of them that would be left swinging in the wind without him there.

  Summiting Williams Pass and coasting down into the mouth of the Chautauqua Valley, the uncertainty flooded back in on him.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Twenty minutes later he rolled into downtown Rocky Points. A line of cars choked Main Street, moving slowly along the rows of shops. He turned into a side road and took the back way to the county building.

  Once parked, he got out into the warm late-morning air and stretched his arms overhead. His muscles were knotted from sleeping in his SUV in the Montrose Hospital parking lot the night before. After the Armageddon shootout at Kyle’s house, Wolf and Rachette had accompanied Roll and Milo to the Montrose hospital, where Sobeck and Hettie went straight into emergency surgeries.

  Deputy Triplett had needed no medical attention, as he was dead, along with the Farmers, though Jed had somehow survived his neck wound for another half an hour before dying on the medevac helicopter ride.

  Hours later, and after receiving the promising news that Sobeck and Hettie had made it through their surgeries, Rachette headed home. Wolf had planned on following, but the secon
d he’d sat in his car he had hit the proverbial wall. He could have checked into a motel, but he had been too tired even for that, and instead he fell asleep in his seat, not moving a muscle until morning.

  Now, as he stifled a yawn, he stared at the mountains reflected in the windows of the Sluice-Byron County Building. A breeze tickled past his face, smelling of pine trees and food cooking on Main. And in that moment a wave of calm washed over him. He pictured Sarah’s smiling face. She always showed up right when he needed her.

  “I know,” he said to no one.

  He jogged through the rear entrance and up the stairs to the third floor. Out in the terrazzo hallway, he passed his own office, his eyes focused on MacLean’s aquarium. The blinds were wide open, revealing no one inside, which was surprising, since they were set to meet three minutes ago.

  “Wolf!”

  He followed MacLean’s voice back to his own office. He ducked in and saw Rachette, Patterson, and Yates, along with MacLean and Wilson.

  Rachette and Patterson sat on the synthetic leather couch, Yates and Wilson in the chairs in front of his desk. MacLean sat in Wolf’s chair and made no move to get up. Instead he motioned to a single chair against the wall. “Sit.”

  Patterson and Yates looked at him with unreadable expressions. Rachette nodded, looking like a kid in the principal’s office.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sit.” MacLean said again.

  Wolf sat, and Wilson and Yates turned in their chairs to face him.

  “We heard all about what happened down there from Rachette,” MacLean said.

  Wolf nodded.

  “We’re glad you’re okay.”

  Wolf held out his hands. “A little bruised, but alive, thanks to Rachette.”

  “How’s the girl doing? And that deputy?”

  “They’re both stable after surgery last night,” Wolf said. “But one deputy is dead, along with all three of the Farmers.”

  “How about Burton?” MacLean asked. “How’s he doing?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet. I’m planning on heading down to the hospital after we’re done here. But according to Cheryl, he’s doing fine.”