by Jeff Carson
“Good. When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be back soon, honey.” She failed to keep the shake out of her voice.
“Good. Mommy, they have chocolate-filled Oreos here.” Ella sounded genuinely happy. That she was so oblivious to the danger ripped Lauren’s heart out of her chest.
“See?” The man said. “She’s doing great. Watching SpongeBob right now. I think … what’s that, honey? I’m talking to your mommy right now. Please be quiet.”
Lauren stared at nothing through pooled tears.
“So, midnight tonight.” He adopted his smooth tone again. “I guess that will have to do.” He used a fun, G-rated tone. “Better not keep us waiting longer than that, or else.”
The line clicked.
Lauren closed her eyes.
“Excuse me.”
A woman was trying to get by with a suitcase on wheels.
Lauren stepped to the side, feeling more in the way as she stopped a stream of people moving in the other direction. They stared at her with no sympathy, no understanding of the lake of fire she stood in right now.
She remembered the way her nanny had squealed outside, then the blood on the man’s hands and arms as he walked back to the house. The way he’d wiped it on the snow, painting it bright red. The way he’d walked straight up to her and punched her, like he was possessed by the most malevolent soul ever made by God.
Her daughter’s voice echoed in her head. When are you coming back?
She steeled herself and got her bearings. She was on 17th and Champa and needed to run five blocks west to catch the man she needed to talk to. She didn’t have his personal number because she didn’t have her own cell phone. She had this godforsaken burner phone that felt like a blood-soaked murder weapon in her hands. It was 5:55 p.m. on a Monday. Late stragglers would still be in the office, but probably not him. After a few seconds of staring at the display on the cell-phone screen, she remembered the company number, a pattern burned into her brain from years of calling her parents at work in an era when nobody had cell phones.
The phone rang for six, seven rings. No answer. Finally, there was a click and a voicemail greeting. “You’ve reached Luanne’s Sweets and Treats corporate office. Our normal office business hours are …”
She hung up and ran.
Chapter 11
Wolf tapped the mouse and the screen on Lauren’s home-office computer crackled to life, the image of a smiling girl with a chocolate-smeared face glowing bright. She had snow-white hair down to her shoulders with a ribbon on one side. Her eyes were the same greenish-blue and had the same squint as her mother’s.
“Money?” Rachette was pointing his flashlight into the open wall safe. “Looks like there was a stack of money or something in here. I can see the dust mark.”
“You seen this?” Hernandez was next to the wall, looking up at a hanging frame.
It was a weathered pencil sketch set in a wooden frame. Much like the drawing across the hall of Wolf, this was an exquisite representation of human form—a man and a little girl. The man was laughing, his arm around the girl. The girl leaned into the man with closed eyes. The two subjects were father and daughter—it was impossible to think otherwise. Whether it was Lauren or her daughter, Ella, in the picture was impossible to tell.
Unlike the drawing across the room, the piece of paper in this frame was weathered, stained with a brown geometric pattern, splotches of dried liquid that sat atop and surrounded it. There were creases in the paper, like it had been folded and opened a million times.
In his mind, Wolf folded the paper along the lines, spilled brown liquid on it, then opened it up and framed it— that’s what must’ve happened. The splotches matched up on all four corners.
“You think she drew this?” Hernandez asked.
Barker stood watch in the corner of the room, his eyes flicking between them.
Wolf eyed him. The man had turned into a mute these past few days and it was starting to get on his nerves.
“Looks like that one of Wolf across the hall,” Rachette said, now appraising the picture. “She’s like a savant with the pencil.”
Wolf’s phone rang. It was Patterson.
“Hey.”
“Sir,” Patterson said in his ear. “I called Ella Coulter’s school. She was never there today. She usually goes in the morning from 8:30 a.m. to noon.”
“Okay, what else?”
“The Mercedes SUV in Lauren’s garage is the nanny’s. I got her name and address and just forwarded it to your email. I saw Lorber’s photos, and I think it’s definitely her out there in the trees. Her name is Barbara Lingmerth. Has a green card, splits her time between here and Australia. While she’s here she lives in those apartments north of town next to the river.”
“Okay, and?” When Wolf had called up the cavalry after discovering the body, he’d told Patterson to stay put at the station, knowing her quick work on the computer would be just as valuable as anything they’d find on scene.
“I just got the first batch of phone records,” she said. “Lauren Coulter got one call this morning at 7:40 a.m., then another at 10:26 a.m. The first call was from a burner phone. The second call was from you.”
“First batch of phone records?” Wolf asked.
“I’m in the process of checking the records of the burner phone that called her. Those may take an hour or so. Freakin’ guys at Summit Mobile. But as for Lauren’s, she just received the two calls this morning, then her phone shuts off.”
“Where?”
“The map is showing she shut it off at her house.”
Wolf clicked the email icon on Lauren’s computer and the program opened, revealing a list of mostly unread emails. He scrolled to the first one that caught his eye. It was marked with today’s date and already read, received at 7:37 a.m.
“Sir? You there?”
“Yes. Just a second.”
The subject of the email read: Hi Lulu.
The sender was a bunch of random-looking numbers and letters.
He clicked.
Hi Lulu. I hope you and Ella are doing great. I think I might come see you, whether you want me to or not. Whether you think it’s even possible or not. I need what’s rightfully mine.
“Lauren received an email this morning at 7:37 a.m.,” Wolf said. “It looks threatening.”
Rachette, Hernandez, and Barker stopped what they were doing and crowded next to Wolf.
“Interesting,” Patterson said. “That’s three minutes before she got her call. What does it say?”
Wolf read it aloud.
“Let me know Lauren’s address and the address it’s from,” Patterson said, keyboard keys clacking in the background.
Wolf gave her the two email addresses.
“I may need the computer, too.”
“Okay.”
Wolf pointed at the computer and walked away. “Let’s bring this in. What about Lauren’s credit cards?”
“She bought gas at 11:13 a.m. this morning at the Mackery,” Patterson said. “Grocery shopping yesterday afternoon. Other than that, not much out of the ordinary.”
Wolf remembered the tread marks coming out of her garage and the footprints coming out the front door. “What kind of car does she drive?”
“Audi Q7 SUV. This year’s model.”
Wolf said nothing.
“The more I dig into Lauren Coulter,” Patterson said, “the more interesting it gets. She has a rather tumultuous past, to say the least.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Well, I don’t have all the details yet, other than a few archived news articles. I’m waiting for the official police report from Denver now, which—”
“What did you find out?”
“Six years ago her husband murdered her father. Her ex-husband now.”
Wolf paused in front of the sketch hanging on the wall. The drawing was so old it had to be a picture of Lauren and her father. He leaned close, studying the brown spots. There
was definitely a hint of red in the faded stains.
“How was he murdered?”
“Beaten to death with a baseball bat.”
“Ella Coulter is five years old. Is she the ex-husband’s kid?”
“Lauren was pregnant when she was attacked. So, in theory, it would make sense that Ella is the ex-husband’s kid.
“I’m also finding scores of articles about Lauren Coulter taking over the family business afterwards. Apparently, there was something of a media scandal after her father’s murder because the ex-husband was raving that she, Lauren, was behind the whole thing and got off scot-free while he was put in jail. It’s not quite clear yet, but it looks like there was speculation that she might’ve been behind the murder herself, in order to take control of the company or something.”
Wolf walked to the window, where snow danced against the glass. It was almost 5 p.m., just about sunset, but due to the storm the darkness had long set in. Everything outside flashed blue and red from the turrets crowding the circle drive.
“The ex-husband’s in jail, I take it?” Wolf asked.
Rachette, Hernandez, and Barker were staring now.
“Yep. Out east in Sterling.”
“And you’ve checked on him?” Wolf asked.
“Checked on him?”
“I need you to make sure he’s still in jail.”
“Versus … he broke out?” she asked.
“You heard what the email said.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“Rachette and I will stop by the nanny’s apartment, then the Mackery to check surveillance footage. After that we’ll meet up back at the station. When did you say Lauren’s last credit-card purchase was?”
“11:13 a.m. The charged amount tells me she filled up a full tank of gas.”
They ended the call and Wolf pocketed his phone.
“What’s going on?” Rachette asked.
“We’re going to check on the nanny and the gas station where she made her last credit-card purchase.” He nodded to Barker. “You two get this computer to Patterson as soon as possible.”
Barker put his hands on his hips. “Hernandez and I will go to the gas station while you and Rachette go to the nanny’s place.”
Barker’s despondence was replaced with anger for being left out. At least that was something. But the last fiber of trust Wolf had ever had in the man had been severed Friday morning.
“No,” Wolf said. “Head to the station.”
Barker narrowed his eyes.
Hernandez pulled the power cord to the computer monitor and the image of the little girl vanished.
I need what’s rightfully mine.
Wolf looked at the safe on the wall.
I need what’s rightfully mine.
“Let’s go.” He limped as fast as he could out of the room, ignoring Barker’s icy stare on the way by.
Chapter 12
“Damn, it is dumping.” Rachette leaned toward the windshield.
“You already said that,” Wolf said.
“Yeah, right. Well, it is. They’re saying a couple of feet on top of the mountain.”
Wolf concentrated on the swirling white in front of him. Another reflective post slid by on the right, telling him he was still on the road. He rubbed his hand on the inside of the windshield, then cranked the defrost dial to high.
“I think the entrance is coming soon.” Rachette leaned back and consulted the GPS on the laptop. “Says a few hundred yards. But it gets screwy in weather like this, though.”
“All right.”
“So, what’s the problem with Barker?” Rachette asked. “I mean, besides the fact that he’s an asshole meathead with no penis.”
Wolf offered an eyebrow raise in response.
“He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since the rescue on Friday.” Rachette faced him. “All weekend he hasn’t said anything to me or Patterson.”
“Isn’t that normal?”
Rachette shrugged. “Actually, we almost got in a fight because he was typing up the incident report about the river rescue, and I went up to him and started reading over his shoulder and he shut off the monitor and got in my face.”
Wolf said nothing, concentrating on the road through the blizzard. He saw that Rachette was still staring at him in his peripheral vision.
“What happened up there?” Rachette finally asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I just get the sense that something happened between you two.” A floodlit sign came up on the left and Rachette pointed. “Here, here.”
“I see it.” Wolf slowed and pulled into the Chautauqua Pines Condominiums complex.
“So?” Rachette asked.
There were three directions Wolf could have gone so he came to a stop. “So, which way?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry … Patterson said number 314, building W. So … that sign says take a right.”
Wolf cranked the wheel and they followed the signs to building W. There was a single parking spot available so he took it.
“Probably her parking spot,” Rachette said.
They stepped outside into the whitewash. The wind battered Wolf straight in the face and he tucked his chin against the biting cold and pulled his cap down on his forehead.
“Damn!” Rachette’s voice was barely audible.
Wolf pointed up the steps and Rachette took them three at a time.
Wolf followed much slower, limping his way up. By the time he’d reached the top, Rachette already looked ready to leave.
“Nobody’s home!” Rachette raised his hands.
Wolf believed him. There was a single window next to the front door and it was completely dark inside.
Ten yards down the wooden walkway a porch light shone next to a lit window, revealing three young men inside playing darts and drinking beer.
Wolf nodded. “After you.”
Rachette marched to the door and knocked.
Wolf watched inside as the men stopped and turned to the window, their faces dropping at the sight of Wolf and Rachette with their SBCSD jackets and winter caps.
Two of the guys retreated into the kitchen and folded their arms while the third came to the door.
“Hello?” the man said. A cloud of marijuana smoke billowed out while a cloud of snow billowed in. “Wow, really coming down out there.”
“Hey, you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?” Rachette pushed a hand on the door and took a step inside. “Nothing bad about you guys. We just have a few questions about your next-door neighbor.”
The man held his ground, blocking the entryway, and then eyed Wolf. “Okay. Come in. Can you keep on the rug, though, please?”
Rachette stepped into the warm condo next to a kitchen table and Wolf piled in after him.
The man closed the door and put down three darts next to a bong on the coffee table. A television was turned way up, golf commentary competing with music blaring from a stereo in the corner of the room.
“What can I help you guys with?”
“You know your next-door neighbor, Barbara Lingmerth?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Kind of a crazy old Australian lady.”
“What do you mean, crazy?” Rachette asked.
The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Just … with the accent. The intensity, I guess.”
Rachette nodded. “Okay.”
“Does she live alone?” Wolf asked.
“Yes.”
“Ever have any visitors?”
“No, not that I’ve ever seen. I guess she has a son and three grandchildren in Perth, I think it is. They don’t come here. She goes there every few months.”
Wolf nodded. “Have you seen her today?”
He shook his head. “What happened to her?”
“We’re not able to comment on that right now, sir,” Rachette said.
Wolf eyed the two men in the kitchen.
One of them shook his head
and said something to the other.
“What’s that?” Rachette asked, nodding to the two men.
The man raised his eyebrows and looked back at Rachette. “Nothing.” He mumbled something to the man next to him and shook his head.
“You got a problem over there?” Rachette asked.
The man looked at him. “You mean, do I have a problem with county employees who steal the hard-earned money I gotta pay in taxes and use it for their personal use?” He shrugged. “I guess I got a problem with that.”
Rachette’s face went sour, and Wolf barely managed to keep his face expressionless. It was the last thing either of them expected to hear.
“Yeah, better lay off the doobie, man.” Rachette put his thumb and finger next to his lips. “Got yourself a nice case of paranoia going there.”
“Oh, really? So you’re saying that news story isn’t true? I don’t think it’s paranoid to agree that it’s corruption when law enforcement siphons off public resources from elsewhere, like public schools, to pay your overstaffed department with over-the-top wages.”
Rachette looked stumped. “What news story?”
Wolf steered Rachette toward the door. “Thank you, gentlemen. You can get back to your game now.”
They walked out the door and into the raging blizzard again.
Chapter 13
“What news story?” Rachette blew on his hands and shook the snow off his hat, sending a flurry of ice chunks skating across the dashboard.
Wolf brushed the ice back at Rachette. “I have no idea.”
“What time is it? It must have been on tonight, on the local channel. What was that guy talking about?” Rachette wiped some fog off his window. “Freakin’ hippies.”
Wolf pulled out of the condo complex and back onto 734 southbound toward town.
“What news story is this guy talking about?” Rachette asked.
Wolf was ready to tell Rachette to shut up but realized his sergeant detective was talking into the phone.
“Yeah?” Rachette nodded and looked at Wolf. “What? Are you serious?”
