by Jeff Carson
McCall nodded. “That’s what I hear. We have a sketch artist we use in town.”
“Good. Because we don’t.”
McCall nodded. “I’ll get you a number.” He fished for his phone in his pocket.
“What’s that?” Sheriff Greene had returned.
“I was just telling Sheriff Wolf that we had a good sketch artist we commission. Glenn Meyer? I was getting the number.” McCall held up his phone.
Greene eyed Wolf as he sipped from his cup. “You don’t have a sketch artist in your employ?”
“Afraid not,” Wolf said.
“So, we’ll just send ours over.”
Wolf nodded. “Thanks.”
“Add that to the two other officers we’re sending over to help you guys out this week. For that music festival.”
Wolf blinked. “Thanks.”
“And should we donate Mr. Meyer’s services as well? Or can I tell him he can bill you?”
“The RPPD will pay his going rate.”
“Plus travel?”
“The RPPD will pay his going rate, plus travel, to sketch the man my son saw trying to shoot both of us dead last night.” Wolf felt his face getting hot.
“Your son was shooting a Glock 22 at the man when he saw him?”
Wolf nodded.
“In the dark.”
“I had my reverse lights on. He says he got a good look at him, right before he shot him in the arm.”
Greene nodded with a skeptical smirk.
“We, uh,” McCall cleared his throat, “also have the description you gave last night of the man you saw on the trail. I’ll notify the Glenwood Springs FBI field office. With an EOD neck tattoo like that? We’re checking the NCIC database, but it would be good to get FBI eyes on it too. They can also check with the Department of Defense for any hits.”
Wolf nodded. “Good call.”
“I’ll be heading up to the trail myself, as soon as we’re done here.”
“And I’ll be going with you,” Wolf said.
McCall nodded. “Where do you want your pickup? Your facilities or ours?”
Greene grunted. “That’ll be going to us as well. They don’t have the forensics department to handle that. They outsource it.”
“He’s right,” Wolf said. “So, I’ll probably need a ride back to Rocky Points when all is said and done as well.”
McCall didn’t skip a beat. “No problem. I’ll give you a lift.”
They all turned at the sound of more footfalls coming down the hallway. It was Rachette marching fast with Patterson jogging to keep up in the rear.
Rachette held up his hands. “Sorry, we got here as fast as we could. Stupid mix up, I didn’t know about this until just an hour ago. You all right?”
Wolf raised his arm in the sling. The movement felt like he’d been kicked by a horse in the bicep, and had been bruised to the bone, but at least it was mobile.
“Fine,” He said.
Patterson stood dutifully behind Rachette. She wore an RPPD uniform that looked two sizes too big, with sleeves and pant legs rolled up.
Wolf nodded to her. “How you holding up? Is he showing you the ropes?”
She flicked a glance at Rachette, and then nodded her head. “Yeah. He’s showing me the ropes all right.”
Rachette turned his head a fraction, and Wolf thought he saw a hint of red in his cheeks. Rachette turned to Sheriff Greene and held out a hand.
“Sir, I’m Officer Tom Rachette. This is Officer Patterson.”
Introductions went all around.
“How’s Jack?” Rachette asked.
“He’s fine. Tired. Sleeping now.”
Rachette nodded. “So, when are we going up?”
Wolf excused himself from Greene and McCall and motioned for Patterson and Rachette to follow him down the hall.
“I need you two to take Jack to Rocky Points.”
Rachette stopped. “What? Patterson can take him back. I’m going up to the trail with you. We’ve gotta chase those bastards. They could still be up there.”
“Listen to me,” Wolf said. “It’s more important that you stay with Jack. He could be in danger. When we escaped, he got a look at one of the two guys shooting at us. He says he shot one of them in the arm.”
Rachette frowned. “You think they know who you guys are?”
Wolf looked toward the rotating glass doors of the front entrance. “I think it wouldn’t take much to figure it out. Jack spouted off that I was a sheriff to the guy I killed at the campsite. That man relayed it on the radio to the other men that were there. They could be close now, checking us out here, for all we know. Jack is the only one who would recognize the man.” He looked at Rachette, then at Patterson. “I need you two to stay with Jack.”
They nodded.
“And Sarah?” Rachette asked.
Wolf stretched his neck and exhaled. “She’s on her way now, probably not far behind you.”
…
Not more than ten minutes later Sarah burst through the doors of the hospital, spotted Wolf, and ran toward him.
Her sky blue eyes were wide and her eyebrows were pulled together in concern. She padded across the floor on slippered feet, and wore a maroon sweat suit.
“What’s going on? Is Jack all right?” She asked with shaking lips.
“He’s fine, Sarah. He’s just down the hall, sleeping in a room.”
She looked past him and started walking. “Where?”
Wolf put a hand on her shoulder. “Sarah, wait, I’ll take you. Down here.” Wolf walked to the door and cracked it open.
Sarah blew past him inside. Jack twisted in the bed and looked up at her with half-closed eyes. “Mom?”
Wolf looked down the hall at Rachette, who was sipping his coffee quietly with Patterson. Both were watching the whole scene with interest. Wolf held up a finger and slipped inside after her. He waited patiently as Sarah hugged her son and kissed him on his head, and went through a long list of questions that all had the same meaning—Are you all right?
She stood up and turned to Wolf. “What the hell happened?” There was an accusatory note in the way she asked it, but then her face softened. “I’m sorry, I…what happened?”
“Some men were shooting at us on the mountain. We don’t know why.”
“Dad killed one of them, and I shot one in the arm,” Jack looked up with wide eyes.
Sarah’s face turned white, and she looked down at Jack, and then she sat down on the bed. She gripped her face for a second, and then looked up at Wolf.
“Did you…so what—“
“Sarah, I want Jack to stay with Tom and Officer Patterson, until I can figure out what the hell happened up there, okay?”
Sarah looked at Jack, and then rubbed him on the face with both her hands again, as if feeling him for cracks. Then she looked back up at Wolf.
“Do you think they are coming after Jack? What are you saying? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t want to take any chances.”
“So where are you going? What are you doing?” She asked, her voice rising ever higher in pitch.
“I have to go find them. Investigate.” Wolf sat down next to her and reached across his injured shoulder to rub her shoulder. “Sarah, please. You can be with Jack as much as you want, but I want cops, with guns, with Jack, all right?”
Sarah nodded and wiped her eyes. “What happened to you?” She looked down at Wolf’s shoulder.
“I was shot by one of them.”
She held a hand over her mouth, and then shook her head. After a few seconds she glared at Wolf and bared her teeth. “You’ve gotta get these guys.”
Wolf nodded and looked her in the eye. “That’s the idea.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and then it cracked open. A tall man poked his head in. “Sarah?”
“Come in, Mark. Come in.”
Wolf stood up and offered his hand to Mark Wilson, the man who’d cl
aimed Sarah’s love since her last stint in rehab. Her stay had been “successful,” according to anyone who’d spent any amount of time with her since, but Wolf wondered what qualified as success. And no one knew what might set Sarah’s demons loose again; she would always be “recovering.” Every time Wolf thought about Sarah, he realized this was something they shared — where Sarah was concerned, a part of Wolf would always be recovering.
Mark gripped Wolf’s hand and looked down at his shoulder with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” Wolf said, stepping aside.
“You doing all right, Jack?” Mark asked.
Jack nodded.
Mark looked at Wolf again, “Okay, sorry. I just wanted to check in. I’ll be out in the hallway, getting some coffee.” He disappeared before anyone could protest.
Wolf watched the knob click shut, and put his hand on the door. Every interaction Wolf’d had with Mark Wilson had left him wanting to like, and simultaneously hate, the man. But Wolf couldn’t find himself to do either. Here the guy was concerned for his well-being, acting like he was ready to do anything for Wolf to make it right, and then getting the hell out of their hair before things got even remotely awkward. But then he was undoubtedly screwing the only love of Wolf’s life a matter of hours ago. A day ago, at the latest.
“David?”
Wolf snapped out of his thoughts and turned back to Sarah. “What?”
“I asked if you’re coming back to town tonight? Where’s Jack going to sleep?”
“Yes, I’ll come back. If I’m not coming, I’ll call you.”
Sarah nodded and stood up. “Okay, Mark and I will follow you guys to Rocky Points,” she said to Jack.
She walked to Wolf and gave him a gentle hug. Wolf wrapped his arm around Sarah and looked at Jack, and then pushed her away when he saw Jack was staring at them with something that looked like hope in his eyes.
“I’ll see you guys tonight.” Wolf walked out of the room.
Chapter 17
McCall drove with expert off-road driving skills up the road to Grimm Lake trail, swerving left and right, keeping a steady speed that was five miles an hour faster than Wolf had taken it the day before.
Wolf gripped the ceiling bar as hard as he could the whole way up, trying to keep the movement of his upper body to a minimum. Each bump and sway of the SUV sent a throb of pain into his arm, but he insisted that McCall keep it up, that they were making impressive time.
Two Glenwood Springs Police Department Ford Explorer SUV’s waited in the lot at the top, and there was an officer milling around, focusing on the ground near the trailhead.
Wolf and McCall got out into the lot. The air was brisk, and felt thin of oxygen in the lungs. There was a flicker of a breeze that was cool on the skin, which felt good, counteracting the mid-day sun blazing in a cloudless sky.
They approached the officer, and after introductions, McCall asked, “What do you have?”
Officer Allison was a strong looking man with a strong looking cop mustache. “I saw some shell casings in the parking lot,” he gestured to Wolf, “I’m assuming they were discharged from your weapon. Four casings, issue caliber nine-millimeters.”
Wolf nodded. “And here?”
They were standing in the spot that could have been where the man had been shot by Jack.
“Our dog detected blood scent here,” he pointed at the rocky ground. “Just taking final samples. We’ve got a bunch of samples from the trail, too. Probably drops from your arm, from what I heard about your wound. But we’ll see after testing.”
McCall nodded. “Okay, I’ll sign off on those samples when we’re done.” He pointed up the trail. “Who’s up there?”
“Greibel and Bishop.”
McCall looked to Wolf, and Wolf led the way up the trail.
An hour later they reached the high meadow where Wolf and Jack had seen the tattooed man on the trail.
Wolf stopped and turned to McCall. “You ever been up here?”
“Nope. Pretty beautiful, though.”
Wolf nodded. “We saw the guy with the overloaded backpack and the tattoo right here. I asked him why we didn’t see his car. He said he took a different route to get here, but I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never seen another trail merging with this trail.”
McCall looked around, breathing through bared teeth. He took off his backpack and took a long swig from his canteen.
McCall looked exhausted, almost as exhausted as Wolf felt. He stood with his hands on his hips, closing his eyes toward the warm sun, and Wolf noted the fresh wound on his elbow.
“You mountain bike?” McCall asked, raising his elbow to look at the fresh scab.
Wolf shook his head. “Nah, not really.”
“Fell hard yesterday.”
Wolf nodded. “Anyway, like I said, I’ve never seen anything,” Wolf said, “but keep an eye out for any trails, even game trails that merge.”
“You got it.” McCall said, shoving the canteen back in his bag. “Ready?”
They trudged ahead for another hour, and all the way up to Grimm Lake. There they found two officers wearing rubber gloves kneeling on the ground, putting dirt in plastic containers, taking pictures, and rummaging in bags.
A bear-sized German Shepherd sat with stoic stillness, eyeing them as they approached.
“Bishop, Greibel, this is Sheriff Wolf,” McCall announced.
The two officers greeted Wolf and gave empathetic nods toward his injured arm.
Wolf frowned and looked around the campsite. His orange Kelty pack and Jack’s black North Face pack were still leaning against the large rock where they’d left them. Wolf’s camping stove sat knocked over, and Wolf could see the uncharred portion of Jack’s hot dog roasting stick laying at the edge of the fire pit.
He walked to his tent and put his hand on the synthetic material. It was warm to the touch. He squinted at the mountaintop above.
“No body?” He asked.
“Nope,” Officer Bishop said. “Nothin. But Sheila went crazy right here. Blood scent everywhere, right here,” he pointed at the ground, “and you can see the dirt has been pretty well disturbed. It looks like someone came and moved the body, and then tried to hide the blood evidence.”
Officer Greibel held up a plastic container. “We’ll get a hit on this soil, though. It’s virtually impossible to get rid of everything. We’ll get something.” He knelt down and put the container back in his bag.
Wolf turned away and looked up the mountain at the western ridge-line.
He lifted his arm an inch to relieve the stress from the sling, and since it already throbbed with each beat of his heart, the movement sent a cascade of pain from his bicep to fingertips and back again.
McCall walked up next to him and looked up. “That where they shot from?”
Wolf nodded.
McCall looked up at Wolf with raised eyebrows.
Wolf sighed and started walking toward the slope. McCall followed close behind.
Chapter 18
Forty-five minutes later they stood atop the mountain, nearest as Wolf could estimate to the spot where he’d seen the red beam of the Infrared Illuminator the night before.
This time they both huffed through clenched teeth and breathed in steady sighs. They both sat down on the loose rock, and Wolf’s arm pulsed with more pain than ever. At least it took his mind off his aching calf muscles, hamstrings, and lungs.
After five minutes of catching their breath in the rarified air, they ate a snack bar and chugged water, and only then stood up.
A frigid wind blew steady from the west at the top of the mountain, and it made conversation difficult.
They decided to split up, and Wolf went north along the ridge-line, and McCall went south.
Wolf tucked his chin under the neck of his jacket and walked carefully over the rocky terrain near the edge that overlooked below. He studied the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
&nb
sp; He reached a point where he knew he was too far, and turned around. The wind now pressed the right half of his clothing against his body with a steady push.
In the distance he saw McCall bending down in the rocks, fishing for something underneath some rocks.
Wolf stopped and stood straight. “You got something?” Wolf yelled.
McCall didn’t turn his head. It was too windy for him to hear, and he was too far.
Wolf walked toward him over the teetering and scraping rocks.
McCall turned, and then raised something in his hand.
Wolf stopped and lifted his arm. You have something?
McCall nodded. He displayed something in between his thumb and forefinger. It was a spent rifle shell glinting gold in the sun.
Wolf walked over.
“Got a case,” said McCall. “.308 Winchester.” He dropped it in a zip-lock bag and handed it to Wolf.
Wolf looked at the brass casing in the fluttering bag. The .308 was the most popular hunting cartridge in the world and was also used by snipers, police and military. In other words, it told him nothing. “Any others?”
McCall shook his head. “No. I can’t see any. Looks like they cleaned up, but must have forgot one. We’ll check it for prints.”
Wolf nodded and gave it back to McCall.
He looked down at his watch. It was 2:38 pm, and he was feeling the effects of the chase last night, getting a few hours sleep, and two long hikes in the span of twenty-four hours. He looked down at the cirque valley below.
A single figure was walking in from the open end of the valley, toward the two men at the campsite.
“Head down?” McCall yelled over the wind.
Wolf nodded gratefully.
As they stepped over the edge, the air went still and quiet. Warmth from the overhead sun radiated from the loose scree under their boots—a welcome contrast from the elements on the ridge.
As they descended, Wolf only took risks with his footing on his right side, putting his right arm down to keep balance when needed. When he didn’t need to concentrate on his footing, he stole glances at the approaching person below.
It was a woman with a shiny head of brown hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore dark pants, and a black jacket with FBI in yellow on the back, both fitting snug against her athletic-looking figure. She walked briskly with sure feet and jumped over obstacles without breaking stride.
