by Jeff Carson
He raised his gun and limped silently through the living room to a darkened hallway and pushed open the first door on the right, revealing a plain bedroom with a made bed and drawn shades.
Moving further down the hall, he pushed open the next door. Inside it looked like a retail art store had exploded. Easels, paints, markers, pens, pencils, chalk, paper, and other art supplies littered every inch of space.
The easel near the window drew his eye and held it, because on it perched a pencil sketch of him.
Even from a distance he could see the uncanny resemblance. Flipping on the light switch, he could see it was more than that—it was like he was looking in the mirror. The shape of his face was spot on, and she’d included all the details, from the mole on his upper right lip to the scar above his eye from the cliff incident a couple of years ago. She’d added his five o’clock shadow, including the silver streak that was becoming more prominent on his right cheek.
He remembered the way she’d studied his face on their date. The way she’d run her finger along his jawline.
Guilt welled up inside him. He felt like he was looking at something deeply personal, like he was rifling through her diary. What if they drove up and found him inside? What would he say?
A crow flew past the window outside.
He moved to the room across the hall—a home office with windows that looked out the front of the house. Outside, his SUV had acquired a full coat of snow in the past few minutes.
One wall of the home office consisted entirely of bookshelves, and in the center a safe door hung open. Inside sat a thin folder and nothing else.
Behind him stood a heavy wood desk with a computer.
He exited the room and took a left toward the two rooms at the end of the hallway. To the left was Lauren’s daughter’s room, with the name ELLA painted on the wall in a style and with a talent that only her mother could have pulled off. To the right was Lauren’s room, which was just a bit bigger than modest, decorated with paintings he now recognized as Lauren’s, each just as impressive as the next.
The sheets on her king-sized bed were flung to the side and a pair of jeans had been laid out over the sheets. The room swung left to a passageway to the master bathroom. Inside, a wall of frosted-glass cubes doused the room in subdued light.
The shower was all glass with a bench inside it, and he had a brief vision of Lauren standing naked inside.
There were two sinks below a wall-to-wall mirror. One was cluttered with hygiene debris. He noted just the one electric toothbrush still in its charger. The one tube of toothpaste. The one bath towel. The feminine shampoo, the feminine body wash, the feminine face lotions, deodorants, perfumes. If a man had ever set foot in this bathroom he’d left no trace behind.
With a deep breath, he made his way back down the hall and through the front rooms of the house—the sparsely decorated room with the electric piano on one wall and then through to the dining room, where the only thing amiss was a single dining-room chair pulled out from the table.
Entering the kitchen through a doorway, he hung a right down another hallway, which led to a door.
He opened the door and light spilled into a darkened three-car garage. He flicked the switch and bright floodlights blazed from the tall ceiling. The furthest parking spot from the door was dedicated to Ella Coulter’s wheeled toys. Next to those sat a black Mercedes SUV, a newer model covered in winter road grime. The spot next to that stood empty, the concrete wet from recent use.
He shut off the lights and went back into the house and to the kitchen. With more than a little reluctance, he gazed through the flying snow outside to the tree line.
Chapter 9
The snow pelted the side of Wolf’s face as he trudged toward the trees. It was slow-going because he’d decided to break fresh ground and not destroy the tracks, although the rapidly falling snow was doing a good job of that anyway.
Reaching the tree line, he turned and looked back at the house from the rear, half expecting to see the lights switched on and Lauren walking around inside. But the house was still lifeless, the windows dark.
As he passed into the trees, the snow thinned and walking became easier, though the dense foliage needled his face. He moved on, the pine branches sparser now, and then there was a cacophony of flapping black wings as he broke into a clearing.
And there was a smell.
And the dead body of a woman.
He froze in mid-stride, letting the initial shock dissipate as he stared at the mangled corpse. It was clearly a woman because her button-up shirt was open, revealing large breasts that fell to either side as she lay flat on her back.
The crows had done a number on her exposed flesh, pecking it into a bloody pulp, but he could tell she was heavyset, and therefore not Lauren Coulter.
She wore jeans and socks, no shoes, and her legs were spread apart, as if she’d been making a snow angel as she’d died.
He walked nearer, keeping a close eye on the surrounding woods, which was teaming with cawing crows perched in the trees.
The snow around the woman was trampled red, impressions painted by birds’ feet soaked in blood.
Since it was not Lauren, and it was clearly not her daughter, it left one likely candidate: the nanny.
Visual identification was going to be tough, though. The eyes were eaten out. The upper lip was gone, twisting her mouth into a grotesque smile. Her neck had been sliced from ear to ear, the wound widened then some by the crows. And then there was the rest of her face, which had been pecked, leaving little of the ghostly-white skin untouched.
The snow fell harder than ever now, covering the body with a lace veil.
Something glinted near his foot, drawing his eye. A knife.
He backed up, then walked to the woods and snapped two branches off a tree.
“Get out of there!”
Three crows hopped off the dead body and up into the trees as he returned. He crossed the branches over the knife, sheltering the evidence from the relentless snow.
With new urgency, the crows cawed, this time all at once like they were readying their attack.
He puffed his chest and outstretched his arms. “Ahhh!” He charged at the most populous tree and smacked the branches with his arms. As his shout rolled through the forest, the crows reluctantly took to the sky.
He took out his cell phone and dialed the station.
Chapter 10
Lauren Coulter fumbled and dropped the tiny lockbox key onto the ground of the bank vault.
“Dammit,” she whispered, plucking it from the carpet.
When she stood, she was overtaken by a wave of dizziness. She put a hand on the wall of lockboxes, waiting for the sparkles at the edge of her vision to disappear.
It was always difficult for her to sleep during the night shifts, so she’d only racked up fifteen minutes or so last night, and now this. How long could one person go before they just collapsed?
She twisted the lock and the top of the box popped open. The small door swung up, revealing a black velvet bag with gold string.
Lauren had been a teenager the first time she’d touched the piece of jewelry. She remembered the way her mother had placed it on her palm, the cold weight of it pulling down as she recounted the history of the piece. Something to do with her grandfather from Minnesota, who’d made a fortune selling bricks? Lauren had never been a good listener growing up.
The only other time she’d seen it was six years ago. Then it had been smothered in her father’s blood. Now she loathed the thing and genuinely wondered if it held a curse.
With a quick movement, she loosened the bag and poured the pendant onto her palm. It was shiny and clean, the blood gone, professionally buffed away by her lawyer’s jeweler.
The pendant cage was a hexagon within a hexagon, within it mounted a blue diamond of exquisite quality and cut. The gold was so smooth it looked liquid, and the diamond sparkled like a wet eye in the overhead light.
Right after her
father’s death, the jeweler had appraised it at $1.8 million, but Lauren had never had any intention of ever seeing or touching the thing again. Unless she had to.
Quickly she dropped it back into the bag and shoved it into her inside jacket pocket. Then she reconsidered and put the bag down the front of her jeans, just inside the top elastic band of her underwear.
Closing the lockbox, she pushed it back into its slot, shut the small door, and locked it. With a deep breath, she straightened her jacket and walked out through the thick steel vault door.
The bank manager made a show of gazing out the window up at the looming buildings of downtown Denver. “Oh, finished already?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The bank manager pursed his lips and nodded. “Very well. Follow me and I can take care of your withdrawal personally.”
Ken Brewer, the bank manager, eyed her warily, and then plastered a desperate-looking smile on his face. “I hear it’s snowing pretty good up in the mountains. You’re living in Rocky Points now, correct?”
She nodded. “Hmm.”
“They’re saying feet of snow for the mountains. Have you been skiing yet this year?”
When Lauren had first taken over the company six years ago, Mr. Brewer had treated her like a fourteen-year-old child that had just picked the car keys out of her father’s pocket. Lauren was her father’s daughter, however, and was never one to take shit from men who puffed their chests, so without batting an eye she’d told him to close the accounts and Luanne’s Holdings would do their banking elsewhere. His condescending tone had instantly shifted to sniveling wimp and had been unwavering ever since. In truth, the guy aggravated her even more now. Dealing with chameleon yes-men was of the many reasons she’d gotten out of the family business in the first place.
She followed Brewer out into the bank lobby, past a line of patrons staring at their cell phones.
“We’ll go into my office where it’s quieter.”
Lauren nodded.
Bubbles of glass hung from the ceiling, the cameras behind them catching her every move. She wondered whether David had gone to her house even though she hadn’t answered his call. If he had, what were the odds he would search the woods in back?
“Could I get a bottle of water, please?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Linda!” Brewer snapped at a woman walking past and whispered the order to her in a threatening tone, all but slapping her to get her moving as fast as she could.
Brewer smiled and walked to his corner glass office, stopping just inside the propped door. “Please. Take a seat.”
She walked in and sat on a cloth chair, and the office went silent as he pulled the door shut.
The manager walked to his chair with swishing pants and sat. Then he folded his hands on his desk and stretched his mouth in a fake smile. He wore frameless glasses that magnified already bugged eyes, and now she wondered whether he was focusing on the makeup she’d caked underneath her eye to conceal the fresh bruise.
“Please, tell me about your withdrawal,” Brewer said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Ah, your water.”
The woman came in and gave Lauren a bottle.
“Thank you,” Lauren said.
“You’re welcome.”
“That’s all, Debbie.”
The woman rolled her eyes on the way out.
Brewer fished in his drawer and pulled out a pad of withdrawal slips. “I thought about your father the other day. You know what he used to say to me?”
Lauren cracked open the bottle. “I need to withdraw ten thousand dollars.” She gulped down half the bottle.
The manager blinked and took off his glasses. “Of course. Of course.”
She offered a toothless smile. “And I need it now.”
“I … we certainly will, Ms. Coulter.” His eyes shifted like he was tracking an invisible mosquito. With a lightning move he picked up the phone and lifted a finger in her direction. “One moment please.”
She stood and walked to the ground-floor window. A stream of people walked past along 17th Street. The Denverites wore ski hats, their faces buried in the necks of their puffy coats.
She failed to hear the details of what Brewer was saying behind her, but the man was hissing and squirming more than usual, which escalated her pulse.
She turned at the sound of the phone dropping in its cradle.
Brewer wrung his hands.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Coulter. We … don’t have the funds to honor your withdrawal.”
“What?” Her forehead broke into a sweat. “I need it,” her voice cracked.
“I’m terribly, terribly sorry. Usually we would. On any given day, the bank has ample cash circulating between the reserve vault and the tellers. But we had another client come in this morning and clean out the reserves with his own withdrawal. When we have a large withdrawal like that, we have for branch headquarters to replenish it.” He looked at his watch. “Which is in Kansas City, Kansas. And it’s almost the end of the business day, which means we won’t be taking on those reserves until tomorrow morning.”
Her breathing went into hyperdrive. “So I could go to another branch.” Her voice sounded muffled behind the blood rushing in her ears.
Brewer swallowed. “Yes. But it’s 5:45 … the nearest branch is in Englewood. Driving in rush-hour traffic, it’s going to take you more than fifteen minutes to get there.”
“You can call them. Keep it open for me.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m sorry, we can’t. It’s not that simple. The computer systems wouldn’t allow it.” He held up his hands, as if she were holding a pistol on him. “First thing in the morning, we can have it.”
A tear fell from her eye, and she caught it before it ran the length of her cheek. Pulling her hand away, she noticed the skin-colored makeup on her palm.
Brewer’s bug eyes narrowed and widened, then he straightened, his face a mask of concern.
Shit.
“Ms. Coulter, I’m going to be blunt. I can’t help but notice the bruise you have concealed with makeup under your eye.”
Lauren grabbed her purse off the chair. “Never mind. Just forget it.”
“Ms. Coulter,” he stood. “The trip to the vault, the withdrawal. Are you doing these things under duress?”
“What? No.” Her voice sounded unconvincing.
Brewer’s eye twitched. “We’re trained under circumstances like these to call the police. Do you want me to call the police Ms. Coulter?”
Lauren’s thoughts traveled to Rocky Points and back, and her blood cooled. “Do you remember when my father died? What I told you?”
Brewer’s eyes narrowed.
“If you call the police then my earlier threat stands—you’ll no longer be doing business with Luanne’s Holdings, and I’ll close my personal accounts and go elsewhere. It’s enough that you can’t do the basic service of giving me my money when I want it. It’s a whole other thing that you’re threatening to call the police on me now.”
“Call the police on you?” Brewer stammered. “I was just asking if you wanted me to call the police. I’m asking if you’re in trouble.”
She waved a hand and turned to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow at 10 a.m. to make my withdrawal. Either have my money, or have the paperwork drawn up to transfer a hell of a lot of money to another bank.”
“Will Mr. Lourde be coming with you to execute that paperwork?” Brewer lifted his chin and put his hands to his side.
She blinked first. Keith Lourde was Lauren’s successor and current CEO and CFO of Luanne’s Holdings, and they both knew that a decision like moving all the assets from this bank would have to be signed off by the man.
Brewer’s eyes never wavered. “I’ll see you at 10 a.m. tomorrow, Ms. Coulter. I hope we have your money by then. If not, I’ll have Debbie draw up the necessary paperwork.”
On legs that felt disconnected from her body, she walked out the door, through the lobby, an
d back into the frigid, smog-laden air. She stopped amid the throngs of people rushing past. The tall buildings seemed to be falling in on her, her entire world crushing under the impossible weight of the circumstances.
She drew the smart phone from her pocket. With fumbling fingers, she scrolled to the number and then hesitated. This was not going to go well.
No, she thought, gritting her teeth. She had to fight. She had to turn this around in her mind. She took a steely breath and pushed the call button.
Her confidence ebbed with the first piercing trill in her ear.
“Yes?”
She closed her eyes. The man’s cult-leader-like tone made her squirm.
“I can’t make the withdrawal. They don’t have the funds on hand, and they can’t bring in the money until tomorrow.” Her heart stopped as she listened to a long drawn-out breath in her earpiece.
“That’s disappointing,” he said.
A man bumped her. “S’cuse you.”
She bared her teeth and gripped the phone so hard it hurt. “Listen, you ever made a large cash withdrawal from a bank? If they don’t have the cash on hand they don’t have the cash on hand. And second of all, your piece-of-shit sidekick up there screwed everything up by punching me in the eye. Now I have a bruise and bank managers are looking to call the cops. They’re asking if I’m okay, if I’m under duress.”
The silence that followed was scarier than anything the man could have said.
“But I have another place I can get the ten thousand,” she said. “I’ll have it in a couple of hours. Then I’ll be on my way back up.”
“You have until midnight.” The man’s voice had an edge.
“Is she there?” Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she made no effort to wipe them this time. “Is she okay?”
No answer.
“Is she there?” Drool dripped from her chin. She had just about screamed the words, but had restrained herself at the last second.
“Relax, Lauren.”
“You have to put her on.”
“Mommy?”
“Hey, baby.” Lauren smiled desperately. People were slowing, watching her momentarily as they passed by. “How are you doing?”
