The Wolf

by Alex Grecian

  “One-Eleven Norton. I’m off duty and headed south on 183,” she said. “Possible ten-eighty-five in progress.”

  The dispatcher’s voice came back at her a moment later. A man she didn’t recognize. Somebody new had taken over Sarah’s desk for the day. “Ten-four. Officer is on the scene. Are you nearby?”

  “I think so. I’m just north of Stockton. Looks like a pretty big fire, but it’s hard to say how far off the road it is.”

  “You’re right on top of it, One-Eleven.”

  “Who’s on the scene?”

  “Thirty-Two.”

  That would be Ryan Kufahl. Skottie knew him well. He had shown her around when she’d first transferred back to Kansas. He was alert and reliable with a quick smile and a laid-back manner that had helped to make her feel at ease. “Does he need backup?”

  “One-Eleven?” Ryan Kufahl’s voice crackled over the radio. “Hey, I’m on the access road and I’m looking at a tractor on fire.”

  “Fire truck on the way?”

  “Yeah, but … Skottie, there’s a body inside this thing. I wouldn’t mind another pair of eyes on this.”

  “Give me two minutes.” She hung up the handset and pulled her Subaru onto the side of the highway. She threw the vehicle in reverse and sped backward along the shoulder, then maneuvered onto a dirt access road for utility vehicles. It paralleled the highway, rising up until it dead-ended at a rusty metal gate near the overpass. Shrubs and weeds grew wild along the trail and obscured her view, but before she reached the gate Skottie saw the bonfire. At its center was the hazy bulk of a tractor, its tires deflated and melting. The flames swirled around it and rose to a spiraling point a dozen feet high, and a cold breeze from the north was blowing the smoke away from her. Officer Ryan Kufahl stood next to his cruiser ten yards from the fire. He waved at her as she pulled up next to him, then walked over to her car.

  “You said there’s a body?” Skottie stuck her phone in her hip pocket and opened her car door.

  “You can see it better over the other side there.” Ryan had to shout to be heard over the billowing flames.

  Skottie opened the car’s back door and Bear jumped out. Kufahl held his ground, but Skottie could see him tense.

  “That’s one hell of a big dog,” he said.

  “He won’t bite.” Skottie hoped she was right about that.

  “You got a leash?”

  “I’ll get some rope from my car,” she said. “In a minute. What’ve you got here?”

  Kufahl pointed and led Skottie around the tractor, close to the edge of the drop-off and the highway below. Bear padded along at Skottie’s side.

  “See it?”

  “Yeah,” Skottie said. A dark shape was propped up in the driver’s seat of the tractor. The moving flames made it look as if the body were twitching and dancing in place. “A man.”

  “I agree,” Ryan said. “Too big to be a woman.”

  “Any idea who it is?”

  “Ambulance is on its way. Once the county coroner gets hold of the body, we might be able to ID him.”

  “I doubt it,” Skottie said.

  “Well, there’s not gonna be much left of him. But somebody’s gonna come forward in the next day or two. How it always goes. Somebody’s missing this guy and they’re gonna come looking for him. We’ll get it figured out.”

  “Why would a farmer bring his tractor up this road? It doesn’t lead anywhere.” Skottie skirted the blaze and walked up the trail to the gate with Bear at her heels. The metal was badly rusted but solid, and a new steel padlock dangled from a chain wrapped around the posts. She grabbed a crossbar and shook the gate. It moved a little, but she could see that it was solidly moored in a concrete slab at the base. She knelt and Bear pushed his head against her, nearly knocking her over. She scratched him behind the ear while she examined the padlock. “This looks brand-new.”

  Ryan crunched up the trail to her. He bent and peered at the lock, then over at her. “Not a scratch on it.”

  “How often do these get replaced?”

  “No idea,” Ryan said. “I’ve never seen it done. Unless somebody stole one, I don’t know why you would. Half the time they don’t even get these locked back up after the trucks leave.”

  Skottie stood and wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. They walked back to their cars and stood watching as the flames began to die down. From far away, Skottie heard a faint siren. The ambulance making its way up the highway toward them. She shook her head and sighed. It was far too late to do anything for the charred man in the tractor. The paramedics might as well take their time.

  Ryan looked away from the fire and scuffed a toe in the dirt. “You think this guy came out here to kill himself?”

  “And replaced the lock on the gate?”

  “Maybe he didn’t wanna be followed. Didn’t want anybody stopping him before he got his fire lit,” Ryan said.

  “It’s possible,” Skottie said. But it looked like murder to her. And she wondered if it had anything to do with the dead woman at the lake or the Nazi hunter being held in Paradise Flats. She pulled out her phone and checked her texts, but there was nothing new since the one she had received from Travis that morning.

  NEED ASSISTANCE. HOW SOON

  CAN YOU GET UP HERE?

  She assumed he would text again or call when Goodman released him. It was beginning to look like Bear would have to spend the night with her. She stuck the phone back in her pocket and listened as the ambulance grew closer. She estimated it was still five minutes out. Another siren joined the chorus, this one only a stone’s throw away, and a moment later Skottie saw the flashing lights of a Burden County squad car coming up the dirt road. It pulled up behind her vehicle, and Deputy Christian Puckett jumped out.

  Bear’s mane bristled and his ears went flat against his massive skull.

  “Bear, no,” Skottie said. She started to reach for the dog, to restrain him, but then pulled her hand back. She had no idea how Bear would react when he was on guard, whether he was as likely to attack her as anybody else. In the absence of any sound but the roaring fire behind them, the dog was somehow more terrifying than if he were barking or growling.

  “Whoa!” Christian scrambled around his car and peeked out at them, his gun raised high in the air. “Wondered where that dog went. Trooper, you step away from that animal.”

  “Bear, no,” Skottie said again. “Sit.” She wasn’t sure Bear would respond to a command given in English and she couldn’t remember what language Travis had used with him. She wasn’t about to forget amiko, but she wasn’t sure friend was the right word to describe Goodman’s deputy. If Travis and his dog stuck around much longer, she decided she would need to learn more commands.

  To Skottie’s great relief Bear sat, but he didn’t take his eyes off Christian.

  “Deputy, put your gun away,” Kufahl said. “This animal’s not threatening anyone.”

  “I beg to differ, Trooper,” Christian said. Skottie could barely see the top of his head through the car’s windows. “Earlier today, that thing attacked me and my sheriff. Almost killed me.”

  “It bit you?”

  “Well, no.” Christian poked his head back up. “It kinda … It knocked me down.”

  “And then what did it do?” Skottie was glad for Kufahl’s presence. His objective questions were efficiently defusing the situation.

  “It ran off,” Christian said. “Hid itself in the woods out by the lake. We been looking for it all day. And now I found it. And now I’m gonna shoot it.”

  “A dog knocked you over and ran away. That right?” Kufahl sniffed and turned to Skottie. “Trooper, is this dog dangerous to either myself or the deputy?”

  “I’ll vouch for him,” Skottie said. “The dog, not the deputy.”

  “Had his shots?”

  Skottie hesitated for a second, unsure about her answer, but the silent dog next to her had earned the benefit of the doubt. “Absolutely.”

  “Put the gun awa
y, Deputy,” Kufahl said again.

  After a moment Christian stood up and came around the back of his car, holstering his weapon as he walked. He ambled over to them, without ever taking his eyes off the dog, and stood beside Kufahl.

  “If it bites me, you’re gonna answer for that, Trooper.”

  “Got it.”

  Christian pointed at the fire. “Don’t that beat all?” The two men clearly knew each other, and it was just as obvious that Kufahl didn’t much like Christian.

  “There’s an unidentified man in there,” Skottie said. “You people are gonna have your hands full this afternoon.”

  “Us people?” Christian looked at her, then looked away at Kufahl. His upper lip quivered. “Hell, we already got our hands full. This one can wait. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Skottie narrowed her eyes. “You got here pretty fast,” she said.

  Christian looked at her, then looked away at Kufahl. “So I’m fast.”

  “You couldn’t have got the call and made it out here by now. I’ve been driving twenty minutes already since I left Paradise Flats.”

  “You mean since you left Kirwin, right? Yeah, I been following you. Sheriff told me to make sure you got over the county line.”

  “So you were right behind me?”

  “Yup.”

  Skottie wasn’t so sure. If Christian had talked to Quincy, he would know that she had been out at the lake. She couldn’t think of a single reason Sheriff Goodman would have her followed when he had a murder investigation to deal with and only two deputies on duty. Unless he was completely paranoid, he didn’t need to make sure she had left Burden County.

  But there was no point in arguing. “Come on, Bear,” she said. She walked back to her vehicle, conscious of the giant animal shadowing her. She decided to let him ride in the front seat this time. He intimidated Christian, and that was worth something to her. Besides, the blanket she had laid over the back seat was already rumpled and covered in fur.

  When she glanced back, Christian was watching her. He stuck out his index finger, cocked his thumb like a gun, and mimed shooting at her. He winked and nodded, then turned his back to her.

  She pulled around his squad car, its lights still flashing. The ambulance passed her on its way up the road and she had to pull over into the grass, then she gunned it and sped out to the highway. There was nothing she could do for Officer Kufahl or his burn victim. And she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Travis Roan had asked her how quickly she could get to him that morning, but she had been unable to help him. She had also failed to talk to Rachel Bloom. And Lieutenant Johnson didn’t seem entirely pleased with her. She was batting a thousand for the day.

  She wondered again if the tractor fire had been started as a distraction or if it was connected in some way to the murdered woman at the wildlife refuge. Someone was playing a very dangerous game. But the playing field was shrouded in smoke and fog, and Skottie couldn’t see the ground well enough to know whether she was making the right moves.

  3

  The door opened again and Sheriff Goodman entered the makeshift cell. He had a paper plate, which he set down on the end of the cot farthest away from Travis. Goodman closed the door and leaned against it, stood for a moment regarding Travis through half-closed eyes. When he finally spoke, he seemed tired, his voice low and flat.

  “Brought you a biscuit. I ended up with a little more than I could eat.”

  “Thank you,” Travis said.

  “Put some butter on there and heated it up in the microwave a few seconds. Should be ’bout as good as new, I’d guess.”

  “Kind of you. Is there any chance you have a cigarette?”

  “Got some chew if you want.”

  “No.”

  “Listen, I been thinking on you.”

  “And?”

  “Why’d you stick around? I gave you plenty of chances to go.”

  “I have a job to do.”

  “Right. Catching Nazis. I looked up that company you’re with.” Goodman made a dismissive gesture. “It don’t look so important to me. Nazis was a long time ago. You’re on a wild-goose chase here.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  “Yeah.” Goodman moved the plate with the cooling biscuit closer to Travis and took a seat. He shook his head at the wall and puffed out his cheeks, let his breath out in a long sigh, then busied himself fixing the sharp crease in his uniform trousers. Travis could smell whiskey in the air. “There’s things I don’t like here,” Goodman said. “And it’s my job to get to the bottom of things I don’t like.”

  Travis waited while Goodman gathered his thoughts. The sheriff’s eye was turning a darker shade of purple, and Travis felt a momentary pang of regret.

  “Since you got here,” Goodman said, “a lot of weird stuff’s been happening. All at once. Like you brought it with you. While you been right here in this room, another body got found. All burned up. We don’t get a whole lot of dead people in Burden County. We don’t even have our own coroner. I keep the peace pretty good, believe it or not. But now, it’s just …” He snapped his fingers twice. “People disappear. One after another. I wanna think it’s a coincidence, you being here and bad things happening. But I don’t like coincidences. Don’t really believe them. There’s a reason for things.”

  “There are always coincidences,” Travis said.

  “You better eat that biscuit before it goes cold.”

  Travis reached for the sheriff’s peace offering and broke it in half, letting the crumbs fall to the floor. He took a small bite.

  “Cards on the table, I don’t like you, Dr. Roan.”

  “That is hardly a revelation,” Travis said. He took another small bite of the biscuit.

  “I don’t expect you like me much, either. But I keep thinking you’re not going away.” He threw his hands up. “So just explain to me how all these things come together. How you and two dead bodies happened in my county.”

  Travis swallowed the last bite of biscuit and rubbed his hands together. “These people I hunt have been hiding for more than seventy years, here and there, all over the world. They have different names, they work now as bakers and plumbers and all manner of things, blending in with the people around them. They rarely make mistakes. But always there is someone who sees them, someone who recognizes them. And every time I go to verify these sightings, there is someone who asks me about the coincidence.”

  “Still,” Goodman said, “it’s one thing when people are living in the same place. They’re bound to bump into each other. You can’t live in a town like Paradise Flats or Phillipsburg or even Hays without knowing just about everybody around you. Like if your Nazis all stayed in Germany, I guess they’d get seen a lot. Hard to hide there. But we’re talking about people who ran thousands of miles away from each other. And it’s been decades. It’s too much to think they’d spot each other now. It don’t wash.”

  “The world is getting smaller, as they say. People travel more. And if you pass someone in a mall that you once saw at another mall, that is a much different thing than if you pass someone in a mall who tortured you or starved you or raped you.” Travis frowned. “Please excuse me. I become angry sometimes. I understand your disbelief, Sheriff, but these are not people you would forget if you had spent years of your life being hurt by them.”

  Goodman squinted at him and picked up the empty paper plate from the cot. He folded it in half and began to twist it in his hands.

  “An example,” Travis said. “Many years ago, when I was starting out in this job, and this was before Bear and I crossed paths, I was sent to London to find a man who had been seen there. Not a Nazi, but a man who had helped hide many Nazis, who had helped them travel. They had escape routes they called ‘ratlines’ to move Nazis out of Germany to places like South America and Africa, you understand?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was staying in a hotel in Greenwich and I went out into the city every day looking for him.
Every night, I would return to the hotel, a very good place, but old. Every night, I would order a hamburger and a baked potato from room service. I would sign the bill without paying attention, and then eat and fall asleep. I would wake up the next morning and start again. One night, the man brought me my hamburger on the big tray with the tiny bottles of ketchup and mustard and the tiny shakers of salt and pepper, but this time I decided to pay with cash. I was worried that I had put too much on my room charge and my father would scold me.”

  “Your father?”

  “He is in charge of the Foundation. Since my grandfather died. So I asked the man who had brought my hamburger to wait a moment. This was the same man who had brought my dinner for, what? Five nights in a row? He had been my room service waiter the entire time I was there. You see this coming?”

  Goodman’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “He was the guy you were looking for.”

  “I went to find my wallet, and there on my desk was the file with his photo clipped to it. He was older, you know, and had shaved his mustache, changed the color of his hair, even tattooed his neck and hands with bright distracting patterns. But I made the connection at last. He saw the photograph at the same time I did.” Travis sat back and rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger.

  “And you caught him?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You caught him, right?”

  “Oh, yes. He never even tried to run. When he realized I was there to find him, he surrendered. I think he was relieved. Happy to stop hiding.” Travis sighed. “But it was a big coincidence. It was a coincidence that someone saw him there and called the Foundation. And it was a coincidence that he brought me a hamburger every night for almost a week without someone else working that shift. If he had only taken that night off, maybe he would be a free man even now.”

  “So,” Goodman said. “Coincidences.”

  “Maybe they are not what we think they are. Maybe we pull at one another’s threads all the time. Spiders and flies crawling across webs we cannot see.”