by Jeff Carson
She stared at her hands, picking her nails for a while, and then her lip started quivering. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Wolf narrowed his eyes.
“I-I’m really scared to tell you, David.”
This was new. “Scared? About what?” He rested his hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and pulled it away gently. He didn’t want to stop the first real attempt at communication he’d had with her in over ten years.
“I-a” Her voice cracked. “When you left, after your dad died.”
He nodded, encouraging her to go on. “When I went into the Army.”
She nodded looking up at nothing and a tear slipped off her chin, landing on her shirt.
“What about it?”
“I did something really bad.” She looked at him with glistening eyes.
“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows.
His phone erupted into a vibrating, conga drum ring.
With a silent scream, he dug in his pocket and hit the button to kill the call. “Sorry.” He blinked. “Okay, what were you going to say?”
She rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “David, we have to talk about this. But —“
His phone rang again. This time he pulled it out and looked at the screen. Rachette.
“What’s up?” His voice was a little hotter than he meant it to be.
“Hey. Sorry,” Rachette said, sensing Wolf’s tone, “There’s been a stabbing.”
Wolf stood up. “What?” He walked out the front door. “Where? Who? Details.”
“At Beer Goggles. Baine just called me. I’m heading out now to go down. He’s there with Connell and Vickers. It happened over an hour ago.”
And Connell had successfully kept them out of the loop for over an hour. “All right. So they have it covered. Why are you going over there? What happened?”
“I think the victim is a guy you know. The guy Sarah is seeing. Isn’t his name Mark? Mark Wilson?”
Wolf’s pulse jumped. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”
Chapter 14
Beer Goggles Pub squatted in the trees just above a sharp bend in the Chataqua River. It was a one-story log structure with an outdoor patio that overlooked the rippling water. The locally brewed beer, quality bar food, live music, and ambience of the back patio typically attracted consistent crowds of locals and tourists.
Wolf parked his SUV on the shoulder of the dirt road leading to the lot, behind Rachette’s silver Volkswagon. Apparently he’d lost his department vehicle privileges while gaining his PT duty.
Rachette stepped out in full uniform. When he shut the door, his rear window dropped down five inches. “Shit.” He grabbed the window and yanked up on it, slamming his fingers on the top. “Dammit!” He turned to Wolf. “Hey. How are you?”
“You’ve been waiting for me?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah.” Rachette shrugged. “I just got here.”
They crunched their way on the rough road, towards the beeping and scratching of police radios emanating from otherwise silent SCSD vehicles, which were packed into every nook and cranny of the lot. Wolf counted at least fifteen civilian vehicles that wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
Deputies milled about next to a few of them with billowing breath that glowed blue and red from the flashing turret lights.
Wolf scanned the men for Connell and found him on the left side, outside his open vehicle door, talking on his phone while a group of four deputies huddled near. There was a man with a large head of hair in the bright interior of his vehicle, slumped against the back window.
Wolf led Rachette to the right, towards the Pub front entrance.
Before Wolf could reach the door, Rachette walked fast ahead of him, brushing against Wolf with his chin up and chest out as he did so.
Wolf slowed a bit and watched as Rachette ripped open the door and stepped in. The door bounced off the exterior wall with a loud clang and ricocheted back closed in front of Wolf.
Wolf opened the door and walked into the stuffy barroom, thick with the smell of fried food and beer. Rachette shot him a glance that contained no apology, and then turned away to scan the crowd inside. The many patrons inside were huddled in bunches, subdued in their movements, but wide-eyed and whispering with one another in excited clips.
Wolf looked through the mass of people, catching the gaze of Deputy Baine, who had his notebook out, interviewing a girl with a serving bib on.
She turned her head at the sound of the door and her eyes widened. She swiveled her bar stool towards them, squinted her eyes, and broke into a small whimper.
Wolf furrowed his brow and looked to Rachette.
Rachette’s eyes were narrowed, as if the bar was filled with smoke. He strode over and paused at Baine. “I got this. Thanks Deputy Baine,” he said as he placed his muscular arm around the waitress’s shoulders and pulled her into a deep embrace.
Her head dove into Rachette’s chest as he ducked his mouth close to her ear, whispering something that triggered her to shake and grip his uniform in a death clutch.
Baine stood back with arms raised up and looked to Wolf, who was himself staring at the unfolding moment.
“Sir.” Baine approached Wolf with a small cough.
Wolf kept his eyes on Rachette. “Baine. What’s going on? Who’s that guy out in Connell’s car?”
Baine stepped close and looked at his notebook. “At 8:53 pm we got a distress call from”—he turned to look at the young woman, who was smiling wide through pouring tears at Rachette—“this young lady. She was taking out the trash and found a man lying on the ground out back. She noticed blood, and another man lying a few feet away. The second man was her boss, and looked to be unconscious. He was unconscious, and had a knife in his hand. A knife covered with blood.” Baine raised his eyebrows and waved Wolf to a door behind the bar. “Want to see the scene?”
Wolf nodded and followed Baine to the rear door, but not before glancing back to Rachette, who was now brushing the girl’s long hair behind her ear.
Out the back door of the kitchen was a dirt clearing that stretched behind the building to the left. Straight ahead the clearing dropped off into the river, and to the right was the windowless exterior wall of the kitchen; the edge of the outdoor patio beyond it a good thirty feet down the length of the building.
Crime tape was tied around a large area of the clearing – from the backside of the building, to the trees, to the edge of the drop off.
A darkened spot sat conspicuous in the center of the taped zone, along with three bags of trash. Two of the plastic sacks were on the ground near the waste bins along the wall, and one was nearer the door.
Wolf nodded his head at the two deputies who stood just outside. “Mackey, Tyler.”
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
Footprints smattered the dirt everywhere, inside the tape and out.
Wolf pulled the flashlight from his duty belt and walked the perimeter looking at the ground. “All right. Give me what you’ve got.”
Baine cleared his throat. “The victim, one Mark Wilson, stabbed once in the stomach. Apparently a very bad wound. More of a slice than a stab. He showed vitals when the paramedics took him, but it didn’t look good. He bled out a lot here.”
Wolf shined his light on the dark circle in the dirt. “How’s he doing now?”
Baine shook his head. “I don’t know sir. I haven’t heard anything further.”
Wolf swept his flashlight beam across the footprints, identifying where the girl had stopped, dropped the trash bag, and scurried back inside. Boot prints of the EMT’s and cops were everywhere. Wolf could see scrapes and impressions from the EMT’s picking up Mark, and another flurry of prints where they probably picked up the guy that sat in Connell’s vehicle. Then there were dozens of other unreadable signs. A mess.
Rachette came flying out of the back door. “Hey, what’s happening?”
Wolf stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“What?” Rac
hette looked to Wolf, then at the ground inside the tape.
“Nothing.” Wolf walked around the perimeter to the rear of the building, all the while studying the puzzle in the dirt. There was a set of deep tread tires that backed all the way to the tape and into the darkness out of sight.
Wolf pointed down. “What are these tracks? Whose are these?”
Baine came over and shrugged. “EMS?”
Wolf shook his head. “No, tires aren’t wide enough apart. And the EMT footprints go right over them. It’s an SUV or truck, pulled up before the EMTs showed up.”
The truck looked to have backed in to the spot and then pulled out forward. Wolf could see the front wheel marks twisting and changing direction as it left.
He pointed the beam of light to the left tire marks, illuminating a deep boot print where a person, clearly a large man, had gotten out of the driver’s seat. The prints were deep in the pale dirt, and the stride was long. The footprints led to where the back of the vehicle would have been, and then towards the pool of blood, where they disappeared in the cloud of more recent activity.
A returning set of prints led straight to the door, where the man had climbed in and left.
Wolf looked at the print next to his own sized-thirteen work boots. The one in the dirt was larger. Much larger.
Chapter 15
“Nice of you two to show up.” Connell said, leaning against the passenger door of his SUV in the parking lot. A group of deputies were huddled around him, and they all turned to look at Wolf and Rachette as they approached.
Wolf nodded past Connell to the truck’s interior. “What’s happening here? Who’ve you got?”
Connell gazed with half closed eyelids and waved his hand behind him.
Upon closer inspection, Wolf saw that inside was Jerry Blackman, the owner of the Beer Goggles Pub. He was slumped unconscious with his shaggy long brown hair pressed flat against the window.
Wolf shook his head. “Okay, what exactly happened?”
Connell sneered. “Looks like Blackman here did you a favor. Took the competition for your ex-wife’s affection out of the picture for you.” He looked to the man, who was stirring against the window. “You’re going to need to thank him when he wakes up.”
The surrounding deputies dropped their gazes, no one acknowledging Connell’s attempt at a joke.
Wolf kept his gaze neutral. “Why is he unconscious?”
Connell shrugged. “He was like that when we found him. Holding this knife, covered in blood.” Connell reached in the Explorer and pulled out an evidence bag with a six-inch, wood-handled, thin-bladed fillet knife covered in blood.
Wolf did a double take at the evidence bag. The fish knife was the same make and model as his own. Then again, he thought, it was a cheap model sold at most sporting goods stores in the western US. Half the fishermen in town probably had one.
Blackman pulled his head away from the window and looked around the inside of the vehicle. He was smacking his lips and squinting against the light.
Wolf stepped to the rear door. “May I?”
Connell shook his head and folded his arms. A few seconds later he stepped aside. “Have at it.”
Wolf opened the door, and Blackman jerked his head up and fell back across the seat.
“Whoa!” Connell laughed and walked a few steps away slapping his leg.
“Hey, Jerry.” Wolf pulled him gently upright by his jean jacket. “It’s Dave Wolf. Can you hear me?”
“Dave?” He squinted hard and shook his head, sending his thick sand-colored hair across his bearded face.
Wolf pulled the hair out of Blackman’s eyes and hooked it behind his ear. Then did the same to the other side.
“Can I get some water?” Blackman smacked his lips again.
“Someone get a bottle of water here,” Wolf said.
“No! Do not get a bottle of water here.” Connell stepped in, pointing at the cluster of men.
Wolf ducked back into the vehicle. “What happened, Jerry?”
Blackman looked around. His eyes widened. “What the hell? Where am I?” He struggled against the handcuffs behind his back.
“Jerry,” Wolf said, “Listen to me. You’re in the back of one of our vehicles. We found you behind the pub. Do you remember what you were doing behind the pub? What happened?”
“What the fuck are you doing, Wolf?” Connell bent down looking through the open door window. “You know damn well what he was doing.”
“What happened, Jerry?”
Blackman furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. I was just taking out the trash from the kitchen and…” He shook his head. “I don’t remember a single thing.”
“Get out of there, Wolf,” Connell said. “He’s waking up, we’ll read him his rights and take him into custody, and then we’ll question him.”
Wolf ignored the order. “Nothing at all? Do you remember—“
“Sergeant Wolf!” A hand slapped on Wolf’s back, grabbing a fist full of shirt.
Wolf sensed an attack, and turned around and shoved as hard as he could, sending Sergeant Vickers into a sideways stumble so he collided with Deputy Baine, who caught him and propped him back up.
Vickers stood up and looked defiantly at Wolf’s chest for a second, then glared at Wolf’s eyes like a scared animal.
“Don’t touch me again, Sergeant Vickers.” Wolf already felt bad for the guy as he watched Vickers adjust his belt, his face flushing red.
“You’re skating on real thin ice, Wolf.” Connell’s voice was menacing as he stepped forward.
Wolf stared, flicking a glance down to Connell’s hand, which was white-knuckled on the handle of his Glock.
Connell let go of the grip and dropped his arm, a move that was clearly observed by many of the deputies.
“Let’s relax, guys.” Rachette stepped forward and put his hand on Wolf’s shoulder.
Wolf shook his head and walked away with Rachette close on his heels.
Rachette caught up next to him. “What did Blackman say?”
Wolf stopped at his SUV and opened the door. “Not much. But I know he didn’t do it.”
“How?”
“Blackman was drugged, and then the knife was placed in his hand to make it look like he did it.”
“What? How do you know?”
Wolf looked at his watch. “Look, I’ve gotta go. There’s some strange stuff going down, and I need to keep watch at Sarah’s parents’.” He climbed in and fired up the engine. “Remember, watch your ass. And meet me in the lot at eight a.m.. Stay out of Connell’s sights. You and I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Wolf slammed the door, jammed it into drive, and mashed the gas all the way down.
Chapter 16
Young peered toward the quiet house from his perfect vantage point at the edge of the meadow. The moon was behind the thick pines, engulfing him in shadow, and for good measure he wore jet black, head to toe.
His body was exhausted after a long day of hormones saturating his body. The earlier action behind the bar had been satisfying, even though he hadn’t gotten a chance to kill the man completely, and the sight of Wolf and his family leaving the house in a panic was downright exhilarating.
And the bitch. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to not run and tackle her right then and there in front of Wolf and the whole family. He vowed to himself that he would have her.
His face twisted into a snarl as he thought about the explosion. It had failed, and now things were complicated. He had to admit, though, a large part of him was glad it failed. That meant a lot more action for him.
Careful action.
Tomorrow.
And the bitch would have to wait. The anticipation was killing him, and all he could do was wait along with her.
He chuckled a little and felt another stirring in his crotch as he fondled the panties in his pocket — a souvenir he’d retrieved from inside the house that would have to tide him over for now.
He turned to
wards the moon and flared his nostrils, then bared his teeth and stuck out his tongue with eyes wide. Just like the Maori warrior. He disappeared into the dark forest at a medium-paced jog.
Chapter 17
Wolf drove with Rachette north along highway 83 with the rising sun blazing into the cab of the SUV.
Wolf wadded up his egg sandwich wrapper and threw it on the floor at Rachette’s feet.
Rachette yanked down the visor and turned it against the sun with a squint. “So, how was last night when you got home?”
“I didn’t see anything. But I told Dennis and Angela I wanted them and Jack out of town today.”
“And?”
Wolf sipped his coffee and turned down the radio. “They’re packing now, leaving this morning. Going to Nate’s place in Durango until we figure this out.”
“Good idea.” Rachette took a pinch of snuff and gave Wolf a sideways glance. “And Sarah?”
Wolf exhaled loud and held out his hand for the can of snuff. “She’s been sitting at the hospital all night, and she’s still there. Mark’s in critical condition. Apparently it’s not looking too good.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes.
Wolf thought about the night before, and what Sarah was about to tell him before he got the call from Rachette. Had she cheated on him all those years ago? Last night she had started talking about something that happened when he went into the Army, which was strange. As far as he knew, she hadn’t started using drugs until years later, when Jack was born. Or a few years later than that, when he’d gotten out of the Army and come home.
He’d always assumed it was his life in the military, leaving her home alone with their only son for six years, with only a few weeks here and there for visit time, that drove her to take painkillers and alcohol.
Or he assumed it was when he’d come back. He’d been so ashamed of the way he’d acted when he got home, he scarcely allowed himself to think about those few months. The bad dreams, the way he’d woken up screaming, scaring his family witless for months. That would be enough to drive any wife to popping pills. But she was talking about something that happened before that part of life. She was talking about when he went into the Army? Before any of the soul-altering stuff had happened to him?
