by Jeff Carson
They’d been executed at close range. The bullets had exited from the back of their skulls, leaving spatter on the velvet couch and wallpaper.
Wolf turned at a cracking noise behind him. A blackened log smoldered inside a fireplace.
“Fire’s not quite out,” Rachette said. “How long can a fire go like that?”
Wolf shrugged. “Long.”
“Look at that.” Rachette pointed at a shattered cell phone on the brick hearth.
A hammer sat conspicuously on the mantel at eye level.
“Looks like someone smashed it,” Rachette said.
Wolf nodded. “Michael Coulter’s phone.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it led us here. And they knew it would.”
“They?” Rachette asked.
Wolf made his way further into the house.
“Ah, they smell.” Rachette kept close to Wolf as they passed the two corpses.
The kitchen was the first room directly off the family room. It was small, the floors linoleum and the walls painted light blue. The pine cabinets were old and saggy but clean and neat. It looked relatively undisturbed, the countertops nice and neat save two water glasses next to the sink.
Rachette stood next to him, looking blanched and deciding whether or not to breathe into the sleeve of his jacket.
Making his way back out of the kitchen, Wolf walked down a darkened hallway and found a light switch. He flicked it on and opened the first door on the left, then flipped the switch there too.
An overhead light illuminated a tiny guest room with a twin bed on one wall and a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. A few feet away, a box television sat on a chair—a chair matching the ones around the kitchen table. A glass had toppled to the floor, an orange stain darkening the carpet.
A paper plate peeked out from under the bed.
Wolf bent down to get a better look. “Crackers and a square of American cheese. Looks like chocolate-cookie crumbs.”
“Looks like the little girl was in here, right?” Rachette asked. “They have snacks, TV, drinks.”
“Look at this,” Wolf said, pointing at another plate further under the bed.
There was white powder on it, remnants of lines. Next to the plate sat a credit card and a rolled-up one-dollar bill.
Wolf scraped the card closer with his flashlight. “Michael Coulter’s.”
Rachette frowned. “So … Michael Coulter was doing drugs with the little girl in here?”
Wolf shined his flashlight on the pillow. Reaching down, he pinched a long strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger. It was blonde, and straight.
“Looks like Ella Coulter’s hair. Definitely not Mrs. Mackenna’s.”
Wolf nodded.
“So, Ella Coulter was in here,” Rachette said. “And so was Michael Coulter. Sitting on the floor and watching television, snorting lines in front of your five-year-old niece? That’s a good uncle.”
Wolf set the hair back down on the pillow and moved out of the room.
The next room on the left was a small home office, strewn with overflowing boxes of paper and books.
“Looks like the Mackennas were hoarders.” Rachette shined his light inside.
Wolf pushed open the door across the hall and flicked on the light. A queen-sized bed filled most of the space. Framed photographs, looking to be the Mackennas’ grown children with their families, hung on the wall.
“More drugs.” Rachette walked to the bed and bent over a matching dinner plate on the bedspread. “So … Zeke Jacoway is in here doing his drugs, and Michael Coulter’s in there doing his drugs with the girl?”
Wolf stared at the plate.
“What are you thinking?” Rachette asked.
“I’m not sure.” He pulled out his cell phone. There was no service. “Except, it’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter 19
The radio scratched in Wolf’s hand.
“She didn’t answer again,” Tammy said.
“Keep trying.” Wolf turned up the heat a notch, wondering when the warm air coming out of the floor vents of his SUV was going to penetrate his boots.
“All right. I’ll try her office again.”
Tammy went silent. A line of flashing lights materialized down the road. Greg Nanteekut was back, this time leading a line of SBCSD vehicles that included MacLean, Lorber, and some more already cold and tired people whose night had just become a marathon. Hernandez and Barker were helping at the other crime scene and Patterson was still manning her post at the station. They were stretching thin, so Wolf was on the radio, trying to get hold of some help.
“There’s the cavalry,” Rachette said, putting on his gloves and hat again.
“I’ll wait for this call to go through. You go ahead and show them what we’ve got.”
Rachette took a shaky breath and nodded. “All right.” He opened the door and climbed out, letting in a small flurry that settled on the passenger seat.
“Wolf?” a familiar female voice came through the tiny radio speaker in his hand.
“Where the hell have you been?” Wolf asked.
“Well, hello to you too!” Special Agent Kristen Luke of the Denver FBI field office said, her voice dripping with malice. “Doing great, thank you.”
Wolf waited for her to finish a rant he knew was far from done.
“I was taking a shower. Just got home from a fifteen-hour day and I have twenty-two missed calls in the span of seven minutes. What the hell’s going on?”
“We have some missing persons up here and I need your help.” Wolf let off the thumb button and waited for a response that never came. “Hey, you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Sounds like you’re in an airplane hangar or something, but I hear you. I was really looking forward to some shuteye. Can it wait until tomorrow morning?”
“No, it can’t.”
Luke sighed. “What’s going on?”
“We have two missing persons, a nurse and her five-year-old daughter, three dead bodies, and a murder weapon that points to two men from Denver. Normally I’d just drive down there, but it’s an Armageddon snow storm up here and they’ve just closed Vail Pass.”
“So … these two men from Denver have these two missing persons in custody? Or they’ve killed them?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
She sighed again. “Okay, what do you need?”
“The missing nurse and little girl are Lauren and Ella Coulter. You writing this down?”
“No. Just a second … Okay go.”
“We have reason to believe that Lauren might be driving her brother’s vehicle, a BMW SUV.” Wolf gave her the details and license plate. “It’s a new model and satellite navigation comes as standard with it.”
“Okay …”
“So can’t you find it using the satnav in the car?”
Luke gave a lengthy pause. “Yeah. I’d have to call a guy, and then we’d have to go back into work.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Luke snorted. “Damn it. Okay, what else?”
“I want you to go to Lauren Coulter’s brother’s place and check it out.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Says 9:03 here on my dashboard.”
“Thanks, smartass. Address?”
He gave it to her.
“You know you’re going to owe me big time after this, right? You know you already owe me big time.”
Wolf pushed the button again. “Please track the BMW first. I need to know where it went. And I wouldn’t be asking any of this if I didn’t think it was important. Something tells me lives depend on us moving fast.
“All right.”
“How fast can you get back to the office?”
“Give me a half-hour. Assuming the other agent can get there at the same time, I’ll have the location of the BMW shortly thereafter.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you in forty
-five minutes.”
“I can’t wait.” She hung up.
Chapter 20
Lauren’s stomach dropped to the floor when she read the flashing sign that hung above the highway as she entered Eisenhower Tunnel.
I-70 closed at Vail Pass until tomorrow morning.
“Shit.”
She slapped the wheel and screamed at the top of her lungs as she entered the brightly lit tube. She felt like the granite mountain above her was crushing down, squeezing the air from her lungs.
What was she going to do? This guy would understand, wouldn’t he? She had no control over this situation.
Things had already gone to hell by not getting the ten thousand dollars. Now the chances that she and Ella would survive this whole ordeal were slim to none.
She had gotten the pendant, though. Surely the guy would overlook the measly amount of cash in comparison. What was ten thousand dollars when he had a 1.8 million dollar pendant? Was the money for some sort of broker fee that he needed or something? It made no sense. It was like a street robbery where the thug demanded the money in your wallet and a stick of gum, or else.
Whatever the reason, she had to play it off like she had it. Especially now that she was missing the deadline.
As the darkened hole marking the end of the tunnel came closer, the signs hanging from the rounded ceiling told the story clearly enough—it was going to be bad on the other side. It was a phenomenon that happened often—on the east side of the Continental Divide it was clear and relatively smooth sailing, and then, after passing through Eisenhower Tunnel underneath Loveland Ski Resort, there was a blizzard and a five-mile steep grade that stopped traffic dead in its tracks.
Slow, icy road and heavy snow conditions ahead. I-70 closed at Vail Pass.
As she exited the tunnel the snow hit the windshield like she’d just driven into a carwash.
It was blowing straight into the lights, swirling on a wind that buffeted the car side to side.
She crawled ahead, past a line of flares behind a truck that had careened into a steep slope off to the right, no more than a hundred yards from the mouth of the tunnel.
The lines marking the three lanes were invisible. It looked like a plow had been down the right lane, but that was clogged with eighteen-wheelers moving less than walking speed.
She would’ve bet that Michael didn’t have snow tires, and the slipping and sliding she was doing now told her it would’ve been a safe bet.
And why the hell had that guy called him? Why was her brother being held hostage too? It was something she hadn’t had much time to think about between the bouts of tears, thinking about her daughter. And then there was what Keith Lourde had said in passing about her brother being out of money. Was he out of money? How could that possibly happen, earning thirty thousand bucks a month?
Then there was the email that clearly pointed to Ryan. He was the only person in the world who’d ever called her Lulu. She’d always hated the nickname, but dealt with it while she’d loved him; then, when the marriage had gone sour, he’d used it to antagonize her. And now he was taunting her.
Even though her despicable ex-husband had been rotting in that Sterling jail cell for the past six years, she’d never gotten over the fear of seeing him again. Now she knew it had been her instincts telling her: Beware. The man’s not done with you yet.
He must have met these two guys in prison or something. They must’ve come up with a plan in jail, and now the two guys had been released and were carrying it out.
And now she was stuck, hours away, with no way of meeting the deadline looming in under three hours. What were these guys going to do to her baby?
The thought made her burst into tears again. The road became a blur outside and she felt the sensation of sliding sideways. With a sniff, she jerked the wheel back straight, and sure enough she was sliding back the other way.
For agonizing seconds, she wrestled the wheel, waiting to careen into the concrete next to her, and then finally she pumped the brakes enough to slow down and swerve back straight.
A pickup truck passed by her on the left and she caught a glimpse of a middle finger in the window.
Lauren had seen them.
The idea hit her like a ton of bricks. She could recreate these two kidnappers’ faces on paper as if she’d taken a cell-phone photo of them. Did this guy she’d been talking to know that? He’d seen her artwork all over the walls of her house. He’d seen her studio, her works in progress.
So far, this guy was proving that he liked to cover his bases. He’d been cautious with the phones, shutting hers off and giving her a burner with tracking software installed. After spending time in her house, he would certainly know her ability to identify him was far beyond the abilities of a scatterbrained person talking to a police sketch artist.
She needed to come up with a way to turn the tides on the man, and she could use her artistic gift.
David Wolf.
The handsome detective popped into her brain yet again. She’d known by looking into the man’s eyes that he was better than average. Stronger than average. Smarter than average. He could help her.
She had to get ahold of him. And the closer she got to Rocky Points, the more she thought about it, and the more she was sure that he was her ticket out of this.
Of course, she’d only been on one date with the man. What if getting Wolf involved meant getting the entire Sheriff’s Department involved? What if calling him meant calling the news teams that were apparently tailing his every move?
If the story leaked onto the news that he was helping a damsel in distress with a kidnapped daughter, it would seal Ella’s fate.
“Shit.”
Finally reaching the bottom of the steep hill, Lauren looked at the burner phone and saw there was strong reception as she approached the exit for Silverthorne and Dillon.
She dialed the number and put it to her ear.
“Hello.”
“I’m not going to make it. They closed Vail Pass.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Lauren’s eyes filled with tears again. The guy needed Lauren. He needed his pendant. He wouldn’t do anything to Ella.
“That’s disappointing.”
“You need me. You need this pendant,” she said, her voice a whimper. “I’m a gifted artist. You know that, don’t you? You saw those paintings and drawings all over my house. Those were mine.”
Silence.
“You touch a hair on my daughter’s head and I go straight to the police and draw you three different ways, one with a smile, one with a frown, and one with handcuffs on as you’re getting ass-raped in jail.”
The man chuckled softly, then laughed. “You’re starting to turn me on, you know that?”
“Put my daughter on.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Wake her up. If you hurt her …” she stopped talking.
“If I hurt her, what?”
Lauren’s tough act cracked. “Just put her on.”
There was a pause, then some rustling. Then the guy said in a soft, creepy voice that made Lauren cringe, “Honey, get up sleepyhead. It’s your mommy.”
“Mommy?”
“Hi baby,” Lauren said through new tears. “How are you doing?”
“Mommy.” She started crying. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m coming back soon, baby, I swear. I’m on my way right now. You stay close to Uncle Mike, okay? Ella?”
“Mommy …” Her cries grew fainter and then there was the sound of a door closing.
“There you have it. She’s fine.”
A truck flew by on the left, laying on the horn all the way past her. She wrenched the wheel to the right.
“I have to stay in Frisco.” She wiped her eyes. “I’ll get back on the road as soon as the pass opens tomorrow morning. I can’t tell you a time I’ll be there because I don’t know.”
The man breathed into the phone.
“You’re
going to kill us, aren’t you?” she asked.
“You have no choice but to bring me the pendant and the money and find out. You might be surprised at how kind-hearted I can be. But if you try and contact anyone tonight, if you do anything rash, then I’ll know. The software I put on that phone monitors the text messages and phone calls too.”
Any hope she had for some sort of retaliation or rescue drained out of her.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. You can track my phone calls. My text messages.”
“That’s right. And if you go exercising that artistic gift of yours, well … I’m a desperate man, Lauren. I have nothing left to lose. I’m perfectly fine saying goodbye to this world and bringing a little girl into the afterlife with me. I could use a companion on the other side. Nobody else will be waiting for me over there.”
Lauren held her breath.
“So quit threatening me.” The man spoke slowly. “Quit gambling with your daughter’s life as if you’re holding any cards. Because I’m the one holding the cards. I have the whole fucking deck!”
The speaker crackled in her ear.
“Okay. Okay, yes.” She spoke in what she hoped was a calming tone to the man’s psychotic brain. “Please, I’m sorry.”
She slowed and exited at the first Frisco exit. Her eyes were too filled with tears so she slowed and stopped at the side of the road.
“You understand me?” the man asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was a weak breath.
“If you try and do anything stupid, then I’ll give up on you. You’re our last hope, mine and Ella’s.”
“Yes. Okay. I know. I won’t let you down.”
“If you try and contact your detective friend, I’ll know.”
She said nothing.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, though she could think of nothing else but contacting David Wolf. She needed somebody to take this burden. Her heart was crushing under the weight.
“Don’t use your credit cards for the room or for gas from now on.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Just don’t. You can use some of the cash for that if you don’t have any.”
