by Jeff Carson
As Wolf passed by the tractor, he waved at Greg Nanteekut who sat in the cab. Greg pointed at Wolf and nodded, not moving his mouth that bulged with tobacco. Wolf watched in his rear view mirror as the bucket of the loader swung past the rear of his SUV with barely a few feet to spare and dumped another load onto the center mound of snow.
Wolf pulled off Main into the station lot and parked next to the only other SUV in the fleet still there. Despite the conditions, they still needed at least one deputy at the station, and Wilson had been the lucky one to get it, because he had drawn duty at the gate earlier. After sucking exhaust, fielding hundreds of questions from the line of drivers trying to get out of town to the south over Williams Pass, and then dealing with the complaints following the news of the indefinite closure, Wolf felt Wilson deserved a little coffee and warmth time.
There was another vehicle parked in the lot, a black Range Rover with tinted windows, billowing exhaust into the arctic air.
Wolf turned off his vehicle, donned his winter cap and gloves and stepped out into the biting cold. His boots squeaked on five inches of powder in the parking lot. Greg Nanteekut had cleared out the lot at some time in the dark hours of the morning, before the snow had stopped completely. Good enough.
Wolf walked straight past the purring Range Rover without slowing. The tint of the windows afforded Wolf no view inside of it, and he wasn’t one to approach tinted windows and knock, just like he wasn’t into speaking to people who wore sunglasses indoors.
Wolf entered the station and stomped his feet inside the door, sloughing off geometric chunks of snow onto the mat. Inside was quiet, save the humming of the fluorescent bulbs overhead, and warm. Way too warm, Wolf thought. But this was Tammy’s territory, and if she wanted to man the reception area with a short-sleeved shirt on when it was zero degrees outside, then that was her business, and anyone in the department knew second-guessing anything Tammy knowingly did was a bad idea.
The man Wolf remembered from the night before as Ted Irwin sat at the far end of the window-enclosed anteroom of the station. Last night his bone-gray hair had been shinier and neatly plastered to his head, but now it stuck up in the back, as hair tended to do after taking off a winter hat, which sat on top of a wadded winter jacket on the chair next to him.
He looked at Wolf with bark-colored eyes and smiled, creasing his wrinkled, yet taut, skin. He stood up and held a hand out to Wolf, and Wolf shook it firmly.
Irwin’s small, soft hands were adorned with silver-colored jewelry that was almost certainly made of a more expensive and exotic metal than silver. He was thin and just under Wolf’s six foot three height, in his early sixties, and had a complexion and physique that suggested he ate a lot of plants and exercised regularly.
He seemed to mirror Wolf’s sentiments about the room’s temperature, as he was stripped down to a long-sleeved polo shirt—rolled to his elbows—and his face was so red that it looked like he wanted to press it against the glass.
“Mr. Irwin,” Wolf said.
“Sheriff Wolf,” Irwin said with a smile. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Wolf turned to the door to the squad room and the locking mechanism clacked just before he reached for the handle and twisted it open.
“Thank you,” Wolf said to Tammy, acknowledging her unerring ability to push the access button mounted on the edge of the counter in front of her with perfect timing. Every time.
“Mmmm,” she said, keeping her eyes on her Guns and Ammo magazine.
A cool whoosh of air flowed out of the squad room into the reception area as Wolf held the door open for Irwin to enter.
Irwin’s eyes lit up for an instant. “Oh, it’s…”
Wolf walked behind him and let the door shut. “Cooler in here?”
Irwin smiled wide, revealing big, solid, white teeth. Veneers, Wolf guessed. No one’s natural teeth were that perfect.
“Yes. Much cooler in here.”
The relief in Irwin’s voice made him smile. “Well, you might have to put that jacket back on when we get to my office.”
“Gladly,” Irwin said.
Wilson was standing in the middle of the desks of the squad room with a steaming cup of coffee. “Sir,” he said with a nod.
“Wilson, how’s it going in here?” Wolf asked.
Wilson gave a smile and looked around. “Quiet, sir.”
“That’s good. Follow me, Mr. Irwin.” Wolf padded across the low pile carpet through the line of desks, and then took a left down the hall at the back of the room.
Irwin walked silently behind him and then cleared his throat as they passed the coffee machine that sat on the oak-television-stand-turned-coffee-station against the wall.
“Would you like a cup?” Wolf asked.
“Uh, if you don’t mind. I would love one.”
Wolf shook a Styrofoam cup off the stack and held it out to Irwin, then took one of his own.
Irwin grabbed the cup and pulled the coffee beaker from the machine, then held it up to Wolf’s cup and poured Wolf’s before pouring his own.
“Thanks,” Wolf said. “Sugar there, cream’s in this little fridge here.” Wolf took a sip and watched Irwin expectantly, but Irwin just raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own.
“Ah”—Irwin smacked his lips—“I like it black, too.”
Wolf stepped through the open door of his office and flicked the light on, unnecessarily, as it was bathed in bright sunlight slicing through the blinds. The fluorescent lights overhead stuttered on and buzzed. A green and gold plastic CSU Rams clock ticked on the wall.
“Please, take a seat.” Wolf unzipped his jacket and threw his hat and gloves on one of the empty built-in shelves, and then he hung up his jacket and sat in his chair facing Irwin.
Irwin sat down and placed his hat and jacket on the chair next to him.
Wolf realized that another sort of man would have offered to take Irwin’s coat and hang it for him. Wolf sipped his coffee and leaned back.
“Did you have fun at the gala last night?” Wolf asked.
“Yes”—Irwin smiled and gazed into nothing—“it was a lot of fun. Great food.”
Wolf narrowed his eyes and took another sip, remembering how Irwin had been sitting next to Sarah the night before, over at one of the many real-estate-tables. Wolf had been sitting a few tables over with Hal Burton, the ex-sheriff of Sluice County who liked to think of himself as Wolf’s mentor, the Sluice County Commissioner, the County Attorney General, and a few other political higher ups from neighboring Byron County.
He and Irwin had sat far from each other, and had met only briefly. It was probably a flicker of memory for Irwin, but he had kept a close eye on Irwin all night. Irwin’s infatuation with Sarah was clear, and had unnerved Wolf early on.
“What can I do for you?” Wolf asked.
Irwin hovered the cup over the edge of Wolf’s desk and glanced up for approval. Wolf nodded, and Irwin set it down.
“Well, I have a little bit of a problem, and I was hoping you could help me out.”
Wolf took another sip.
“As you may know, I have a helicopter at the resort.”
Wolf did know. The service of cat skiing off the backside of Rocky Points Resort had grown in popularity over the past two decades, and last year, the corporate bigwigs in Denver decided to exploit even more of the terrain. They took a page out of Silverton Mountain’s book—a tiny resort in the San Juan mountains in southwest Colorado—and began offering heli-runs for a reasonable hundred bucks and change. That is, a reasonable price when compared to a normal day of heli-skiing, which could run over a thousand dollars per person.
The helicopter and pilot that ferried skiers from mountaintop to mountaintop were leased from a company in Aspen, called Irwin Corporation, which was owned by the man who now sat across from Wolf.
“Yes,” Wolf nodded. “I haven’t been up in it, yet, but I’ve seen it flying all winter.”
“Well, I came into town two days ago for la
st night’s gala, and a few other engagements, and to entertain some clients,” he waved his hand, “etcetera, etcetera.” Irwin took another slurp of coffee and set it down. “Last night, my helicopter pilot picked up a client of mine from the gondola, to take him back to where he was staying.”
Wolf remembered Deputy Baine’s side remark on the pass and began to suspect he knew where this was going.
“When he got into town,” Irwin continued, “a Deputy Baine pulled him over and all but yanked him out of the car, and then proceeded to give my pilot a roadside test for drunkenness.”
Wolf looked into his coffee cup and tilted it, letting the grounds settle to the corner, and then he sucked down the last drops and set it down. “What can I do for you Mr. Irwin?”
Irwin sat up straight and raised his eyebrows, then he looked down and smoothed his shirt. “My pilot wasn’t found drunk by your deputy last night, but he was given a ticket for rolling through a stop sign, something my pilot says he certainly did not do. He slid to a stop. May have been a foot over the line, but the line was also buried under a foot of snow, so I’m not sure how your deputy even gave the ticket.”
Wolf lifted his hands. “I don’t know—“
“And two nights before that, he was found to be driving sober after a roadside test. By the same deputy. And four days before that, he was given a ticket for rolling through a stop sign by, you guessed it, Deputy Baine. A couple days before that he was given a speeding ticket by Deputy Baine.”
Wolf leaned back in his chair and looked at the stripes of sunlight gleaming off the oak shelving.
“Your man has a personal vendetta against my pilot,” Irwin said. “Deputy Baine’s actions, and last night’s episode in particular, are regrettable.”
The truth was, Wolf didn’t put it past Baine to do such a thing. Six or seven years ago, Wolf had witnessed Baine rough up a customer coming out of Beer Goggles Bar, and it had forever shaped how Wolf viewed Baine professionally.
Wolf and Baine had been on their way in for a bite to eat, and a young man, a college kid, had come barreling out of the bar straight into Baine’s chest. The kid had looked up, held up his hands, and apologized profusely, slurring the whole way through. In the process, a fleck of spittle had come out of the kid’s mouth—a fleck of spittle Wolf never saw. Before Wolf knew it, Baine had thrown the kid on the ground, his knee pressing on one side of his face, attempting to bury his head into rocks and dirt. Baine had gone nuts, and Wolf had had to pull him off.
It turned out Baine had messed with the wrong kid that day. The kid’s father was ex-DA and ran a prestigious law firm in Denver. In the end, Baine had to endure a month’s suspension without pay, apologize, and complete a one-year probation . That was all fine and good, but never once had Wolf seen an ounce of regret in Baine about the matter – not then, and not any time since.
“Sheriff Wolf?” Irwin said.
Wolf took a big breath and swiveled back to face Irwin. “I’ll look into this,” Wolf said, and stood up.
“What assurance do I have that—“
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you any assurances,” Wolf said. “But you have my word that I’ll look into this.”
Irwin frowned for a second and stared at the carpet, then stood up and nodded in resignation. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate it. Of course you’ll have to check the facts yourself before you go making me any promises.”
Wolf nodded and stepped around the desk.
Irwin gripped his hat with two hands and looked down. “I was sorry to hear about the mayor’s wife. I take it you’ll be at the service today?”
“Yes. I will.”
“Then I’ll see you there,” Irwin said, turning around and letting himself out of the office door.
Wolf followed Irwin through the squad room, taking in a whiff of his strong cologne as they walked. Wolf twisted the knob to the reception area and let him go first.
“Sluice County Sheriff’s Department,” Tammy was saying into the phone as they entered the blasting furnace of a room. “Just a minute, honey,” Tammy said, and Wolf looked over. She pointed the phone receiver at Wolf, pushed a button, set it down, and flipped a page in her magazine.
Irwin finished putting his coat on and nodded to Wolf. “Thank you for your time.” He turned and ran straight into the glass door, backed up and stared it down, then gave a final wave and left.
He couldn’t keep himself from smiling at Irwin’s exit. Irwin seemed to be a good man, and he could see why Margaret Hitchens spoke so highly of the well-to-do bachelor, even if Irwin did ogle his ex-wife.
Irwin jogged across the parking lot and got into the passenger seat. The Range Rover backed up and drove away, leaving behind a cloud of exhaust.
“Who’s that on the phone?” Wolf asked, walking back to the door.
“Your girlfriend,” Tammy said. “How are you two doing by the way? She come up here lately?”
Wolf ignored her and gripped the handle. When nothing happened, he looked up and gave her a warning glare.
The door clicked and Tammy turned the page on her magazine.
Chapter 4
For a number of reasons Deputy Heather Patterson loved days like these – blue sky with heaps of snow on the ground and sagging off the trees. First, they reminded her of her youth and fun on the slopes of Aspen Mountain, Buttermilk, and Snowmass. And that reminded her of skiing with her brothers and parents…and her Aunt Margaret, because her family used to visit her in Rocky Points, too.
In short, sunny winter days reminded her of her family, and she was feeling a little homesick thinking about it. It always happened that way on sunny winter days. It was just a little mental trigger that had always been there, like how the smell of a man’s cologne could remind her of romances past.
Romances. Past. Those two words went hand in hand, she thought.
Her heart thumped in her ears and her breath came fast as she slogged through the thick snow. They were almost all the way down the pine tree-lined driveway, and just a small ways now, a stone’s throw, from Edna Yerton’s porch.
Edna Yerton’s home was a no-frills A-frame brown box with two drape-covered windows on either side of a brown front door. A covered porch ran the full length of the house in front, and in the yard was a mound of snow the general shape and size of a Lincoln, or older model Cadillac. Regardless of the make, the car was worthless for navigating these dirt roads most of the year.
Patterson stopped and turned around to check on Rachette’s progress. Correction: She was just a stone’s throw away. Rachette was still closer to the SUV parked up on the county road than to her.
“Are you okay?” she called.
Rachette had his gloved hands wrapped around the top of his right thigh. To an untrained eye, it would have looked like he was trying to pull his leg out of the snow. But in Patterson’s recent experience, she knew he was massaging his gunshot wound from seven months ago.
It was one of three shots he had taken in order to save Patterson’s life, and by God, it wasn’t something she was ever going to forget. But for a while now, she’d been wondering if Rachette wasn’t playing the whole injured card a little too much. Every time the thought came up she felt like she was betraying her partner, but she swore she’d been catching him in an act recently.
For instance, when they went skiing the other day. Rachette had done the same thing he was doing now. What’s more, it had been when she was talking to the lift operator – that cute Australian kid that’s way too young, but with an interesting cocky charm nonetheless. That day, she had skied up to the front of the line and stopped, waiting for Rachette. While waiting, she had struck up a conversation about how cold it was for an Aussie in the mountains of Colorado, or something stupid like that. When Rachette hadn’t shown up, she turned around, and he had been in this same pose, massaging his leg and looking at her.
“Do you want to go back to the truck and rest, and let me do this?” She called up to Rachette.
&n
bsp; Rachette looked up at her and mumbled something. Then his snowshoe lifted, as if finally breaking free from sucking quicksand, and he marched toward her with high steps, kicking up powder that glittered in the sun.
Patterson turned and continued to walk, a smile creasing her lips. She’d used a similar variation the other day. Do you want to sit this run out? I can meet you in the lodge.
“Hello there!”
Patterson turned and saw an old woman in the doorway.
“Mrs. Yerton?” Patterson called.
“Yes?”
“I’m Deputy Patterson, from the Sheriff’s Department.” She turned around and pointed at Rachette, who was now getting close. “This is Deputy Rachette. We were…can we come talk to you?”
Edna Yerton nodded. “Sure, yes. Come in. Come in from the cold!” She laughed gaily, reminding Patterson of her grandmother. “So much snow out there. It’s so deep.”
When Patterson’s snowshoe scraped against a wooden step hidden beneath the snow she knew she’d reached the edge of the porch. She stepped up, digging the teeth on the soles into the old pine. She bent down, unbuckled the straps, and then stepped out of them and stomped the snow off.
Edna watched quietly, and Patterson turned to help Rachette up the steps. She held out a hand and Rachette ignored it, and tripped on the submerged step.
“Shhh…“ he hissed, thankfully cutting his expletive short.
Patterson turned to Edna. “Do you have a wood pile?”
Edna raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, her face contorted with confusion.
“A wood pile?” Patterson repeated. “For a fire?”
“Ohohoho,” she laughed. “I thought you said worthwhile.”
Patterson swallowed. “Oh, no. I—”
“It’s around the side of the house,” she said, and a hand materialized out of the heap of layered clothing and pointed to their right.
Patterson looked at Edna Yerton, and, finally, seemed to notice her. Edna’s gaze was distant and her lips were curled in a small smile, as if she were thinking of a favorite movie she’d seen forty years ago. Her hair was matted to her head in back and on the side and she was bundled in thick layers of clothing underneath a wrapped blanket. A lot of clothing. Patterson could see a plaid bathrobe, a green knit sweater, two flannel shirts, a hooded something, a turtleneck, plaid pants, candy-striped wool socks and fuzzy slippers.
