by Jeff Carson
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off the darkened windows. Outside a half-moon hung over the silhouetted peaks.
“What can you tell us about the X on her forehead?” Wolf asked.
“Ah,” Lorber said. “It wasn’t made with the lipstick in her purse. So either it was another one she had in her purse and he took it when he got done, or”—he paused for effect—“he brought his own lipstick to the party.”
Wolf watched as Patterson wrote on the board. Then he looked at the deputies around the table and settled his eyes on Baine for the third time of the meeting.
Baine was Wolf’s age, but still squirmed like a little kid under his gaze. “What’s up?” Baine finally asked.
“Where did you pull over Matt Cooper last night?”
“At the four-way stop on Main. Why?”
“Was he on Main or Third?” Wolf asked.
“Main, going south. Rolled through the stop sign.”
“Time?”
“11:30-ish?”
“Gotta be more sure than that.”
Baine looked up at the ceiling and then nodded. “Yeah, it was like 11:40. I remember. I looked over at Beer Goggles when I was driving just before that and looked at the time. I remember wondering when they were going to close up with the weather.”
“And how about the guy with Cooper. Who was he?” Wolf asked.
“I...I don’t know. I know he had a winter hat on, and a thick coat. Black. I remember that.”
“A fur coat? Fur coming out of the collar?” Wolf asked.
Baine looked at Wolf, and then sagged his shoulders. “I don’t think so, but I was busy with Cooper, and he was givin’ me shit. I didn’t have time to shine my light in the car for too long. I...I remember the guy was clean-shaven, and dressed well? Definitely a black coat,” Baine looked up at Wolf and sucked in his breath. “And he sat back all cool-like. I remember that.”
Wolf nodded, “Okay.”
Patterson scrunched her face, “So where does that put us?”
“Nowhere,” Wolf said.
“It’s two men in the vicinity, driving away from the scene where we found a dead body,” Baine said pointedly. “One of em’ was Cooper. I say we bring in Cooper.”
None of the other deputies looked at him.
“What we have is a strangled girl,” Wolf said. “With an X written on her forehead for unknown reasons.”
“If the killer brought his own lipstick, sounds pretty pre-meditated,” Rachette said.
“Could have been a female killer,” Patterson said.
“Hand size and damage to the neck suggest a man,” Lorber’s voice chimed out of the speakers.
Wolf paced in front of the whiteboard. “Okay, a man with his own lipstick or…not. An X on the forehead. Strangled. And we have a text message from our vic that says she was catching a ride home with two men. We have a witness on the mountain that she was with one man when she left Antler Creek. We also have a stack of hundreds in her room. Crisp. Fresh. Successive serial numbers. Like the kind taken out of a bound stack gotten at a bank. Why? Drugs? Prostitution?
“Then we have two men you pulled over”—he looked at Baine—“we know the identity of one of them, our resident helicopter pilot, Mr. Matt Cooper – a person you’ve pulled over five times in the last two weeks and wrestled in the parking lot of a funeral ceremony an hour and a half ago. We don’t have any evidence Cooper left with Lang. These two tidbits make me a little wary of bringing him in for questioning, a move which just might send his boss over the edge, making him pull the helicopter off the mountain for good, and sending a shit-storm our way.”
Baine sat back and glanced around the room, and once again no one looked at him. Baine was poison.
Wolf looked at Rachette. “We need to talk to the gondola operator from last night. See what he says. Still no luck on him?”
“Still haven’t gotten hold of him,” Patterson said.
When Wolf stared at her, she pulled out her phone and stood up. She tapped the screen, and then she put it to her ear and walked to the windows. She stared outside and left a cordial voicemail asking for Victor Peterhaus, the gondola employee in question, to call her back at the “very earliest possible convenience”.
Wolf pulled back a chair and sat down, wincing and leaning on one butt cheek as the pain punched his tailbone.
“If I’m no longer needed, I’m going to go get drunk,” Lorber said.
The deputies chuckled, and Wolf smiled despite the pain and their abysmal progress so far.
“All right,” Wolf said. “Talk to you later.”
A sploosh sound came from the computer.
“Patterson,” Wolf said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on this computer and find a picture of a man named Jonas Prock.”
Patterson got up and pulled the computer in front of her and sat back down. She typed a few words. “Ummm,” she said, staring at the screen.
“What’s the company name these Austrians are a part of?” Wolf asked the room.
“Klammer Corp,” Yates said, and everyone looked at him. Yates shrugged and looked at everyone like they were idiots for not knowing.
Wolf leaned forward and pain shot through his butt again, so he stood back up. “Klammer. That was his boss’s name,” Wolf remembered out loud.
“Okay, I’m not getting anything,” Patterson said, tapping the keys.
Wolf bent down and looked, and everyone else positioned themselves to see.
“I’ve got plenty of pictures of Klammer, but none of Jonas Prock.”
They watched as Patterson tapped the keys and shook her head.
“Are you googling his name?” Rachette asked.
“What am I, an idiot?”
Wilson, Yates, and Baine smirked.
“What about a car rental company?” Rachette asked. “Did they rent a car?”
Wolf nodded. “I saw it was a rental. A Toyota Land Cruiser, didn’t see which company, though.”
“Can’t be many companies who rent those out,” Yates said.
“Why are we talking about this Prock guy, anyway?” Rachette asked.
“Sarah mentioned him today,” Wolf said. “Prock was sitting at her table at the gala, and she remembers Stephanie came over to the table, and he whispered something in her ear, brought her down real close. And Stephanie was blushing when she stood back up, and then she left.”
“Sarah knew Stephanie?” Wilson asked.
Wolf nodded. “She was in Sarah’s counseling group on Mondays and Thursdays.”
The room went quiet.
“This Prock guy”—Rachette squinted one eye—“you think he was the one who left with Stephanie?”
Wolf shrugged. “He whispered in Stephanie’s ear at the gala. It’s thin, but it’s something.”
Patterson looked up from the computer. “So you’re saying Prock left with Lang, and then they hooked up with Cooper?”
Wolf shrugged again. “Cooper had a passenger when Baine pulled him over.”
“But Cooper is the helicopter pilot for Irwin,” Wilson said. “It’s Irwin’s helicopter.”
They all sat silent.
“And Prock works for Klammer. So,” Patterson said slowly, “why would Irwin’s employee be hanging out with Klammer’s employee? Aren’t these two firms archrivals at the moment? Competing for that huge condo contract?”
More silence. Patterson pecked the keyboard a few more times, and clicked her tongue. “There’s nothing online. No pictures of Prock. How are we going to ID him as the guy who left with Lang with no picture? Can you call Kristen Luke? See if she has it in a database?”
Wolf looked at Patterson, thinking it was an idea.
“We’ve gotta bring in Cooper, I’m tellin’ ya,” Baine said. “You put me in interrogation one with him, I’ll find out who was with him last night.”
Wolf looked at the clock on the wall – 4:55 pm. He looked out the windows at the darkening sky, now twinkli
ng with stars, and then the tired faces in the room. They had had a long, action-packed day, and it was gearing up to be another big one tomorrow.
“All right, Baine, you’re coming with me. Otherwise, let’s pick up on this tomorrow. I want everyone to get some good rest.” Wolf looked at the three deputies that were fresh in the station for the night shift. “Be diligent out there tonight. See you all at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow.”
Wolf watched everyone stand up and leave the room, all except for Baine, who looked at Wolf and scratched his head.
On the way out, someone said something about getting a beer, and someone else talked about food.
Wolf licked his lips.
“What’s going on?” Rachette asked, staying behind. “You guys going to talk to Cooper now? Do you need help?”
Wolf shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t drink too much tonight and see you tomorrow.”
“Me? Drink?” Rachette turned and left.
After a quick phone call to Sarah, and another promise he wouldn’t mention her name, Wolf learned the location where Prock and Klammer were staying in town. Ten minutes later, Wolf and Baine were driving there in his SUV.
Wolf turned onto Main and started heading south toward the resort, and then when they were a block out of town turned up Edelweiss Road heading west.
Baine turned to him. “Sir, I’m sorry about today. I really am.”
“So tell me what’s going on with this guy, Baine. Why the vendetta?” Wolf asked, already suspecting he knew the answer.
“I don’t know,” Baine said. “Cooper’s just one of those guys, you know? I can tell he’s up to no good, all the time.”
Wolf flipped on his brights for a better view of the dark stretch of forested road. “Laura?” he asked.
Baine looked over at him, and then looked back out the passenger window with a sigh. “Yeah, something like that. He’s always in the Sunnyside hittin’ on her, and I heard he was slappin’ her ass the other day. I just…”
Wolf looked over at Baine. He was swallowing and shaking his head, staring out into the dark. He was heartsick, Wolf could tell. He knew the symptoms.
“Well, here’s what you’re going to do,” Wolf said. “You’re going to talk to Laura about the whole thing, and stop with this Cooper crap. That’s the only thing that’s going to resolve your problems, and it stops making us look like a squad of thugs.”
Baine held up a hand and nodded. “What are we doing up here, anyways?”
Wolf pulled up to an address and slowed, then turned into the driveway. “We’ll see soon enough.”
Chapter 14
Wolf stepped up to the door and pushed the doorbell. The frosted glass on the front door of Klammer’s rental property glowed red and yellow from the lights inside. It looked like someone was inside, but whether or not they were going to answer the door was always a toss-up. In Wolf’s experience, many people could sit ten feet from a door and stonewall someone knocking for hours.
Thankfully, Wolf saw movement inside.
“Man, it’s freezing again tonight,” Baine tucked his chin inside his coat.
Wolf watched the bobbing shadow behind the glass get closer, and then the porch light flipped on.
The door opened a slice, then wider, and a squinting face emerged. “May I help you?” It was Klammer, the man Wolf had yet to meet but had seen around for weeks now. His accent reminded Wolf of Arnold Schwarzenegger but with a higher pitch.
“Mr. Klammer?” Wolf asked.
“Yes?”
“My name is Sheriff Wolf, and this is Deputy Baine. We’re with the Sluice County Sheriff’s Department. May we have a word with you?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Come inside why don’t you. It’s freezing outside.”
Wolf nodded gratefully and stepped in, Baine on his heels.
“Nice to meet you Sheriff Wolf, I have heard a lot about you,” he said shaking Wolf’s hand with a smile.
Klammer was dressed in a white dress shirt and tie, slacks and black shoes glossed to a mirror. He smelled like a fresh spritz of cologne, and his short gray hair had perfect comb marks in it like rake marks in white sand.
“Please, come inside,” Klammer walked through an expensively furnished living room and into a modern kitchen. “It’s not the same cold as Austria out there. Austria is much more humid, and much more brutal, I can assure you. Can I make you two some coffee? Or something more interesting? A scotch perhaps?”
Wolf smiled, “No, thanks. On duty. We’re fine.”
Klammer’s smile was disarming, like he and Wolf were long lost friends. “Please, what can I do for you?”
“Is your assistant staying in this house as well?” Wolf asked.
Klammer nodded. “Yes, why?”
“May I speak with him for a moment?”
“What about?” Klammer asked.
Wolf smiled shyly. “It’s about something we talked about last night at the gala. I saw him—”
“Yes?”
Wolf turned at the deep voice. Jonas Prock stood just outside the kitchen. He was dressed similarly to Klammer, though he filled out his clothing with more muscles. He buttoned a cuff and looked up at Wolf. “What was that we were talking about last night, Mr…”
“Wolf. Sheriff Wolf.”
Prock walked in, and the bright kitchen lit up his eyes.
Wolf watched Prock’s pupils narrow to pin points, making his entire eyeball look off white, with just a speck of black. It reminded him of looking into Stephanie Lang’s dead eyes, a memory that reminded Wolf exactly why he was there.
“We would like to speak to you in private for a minute,” Wolf said.
Prock stared at Wolf for a second, as if considering the question, and then looked at Klammer. Neither of them moved a facial muscle, but still, it looked like a thought passed between them.
Klammer sniffed, and then coughed, “Well, I have to finish getting ready anyway. Nice to meet you two. I trust I’ll see you around town.” Klammer walked back toward the front door and disappeared up the carpeted stairway.
Wolf pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Mr. Prock, do you know a woman named Stephanie Lang?”
Prock stared at Wolf for a few moments, and then shook his head once, almost imperceptibly.
Wolf nodded, glaring into those canary yellow eyes. “How about Matt Cooper? Do you know that name?”
Prock tilted his head, looked up at the ceiling, and then closed his eyes, as if starting to meditate. His lower lip stuck out and wrapped over his upper lip, then pulled down. He tilted his head side to side, as if flaunting his infinite patience.
An electronic device somewhere beeped, probably plugged into a wall nearby. The man smelled peculiar, Wolf thought as he watched Prock play his game. It was cologne, but heavy on the musk, almost animal-like.
Prock finally looked back at Wolf and shook his head again. Again, almost imperceptible.
Wolf looked over at Baine.
Baine stood stiffly, looking between the two men and then cleared his throat. “You were with Matt Cooper last night,” Baine said to Prock. “I pulled you two over on Main Street.”
Prock looked over at the stairway, then back to Baine.
“Yeah,” Baine said looking at Wolf now. “It was him. I’m sure of it.”
Wolf looked back at Prock, and Prock glanced again at the stairwell. Wolf held up his phone and snapped a photo. “You don’t mind if I take a picture of you real quick, do you?”
Prock flinched at the flash, turning his head a fraction, and then exhaled and relaxed, fixing his yellows on Wolf with undisguised menace.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Prock,” Wolf said, returning the glare. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.” Wolf motioned for Baine to lead the way, and they let themselves out the front door. Before Wolf closed the door, he saw Klammer looking down on them from the top of the steps. Wolf stepped out and let the door click shut.
The
outside light flicked off, leaving them to navigate the steps in darkness.
“You sure it was Prock with Cooper last night?” Wolf asked.
“Yep. He was doing that same frickin’ thing—closing his eyes, head back, that whole lip thing. It hit me like a ton of bricks when he did that. I never did see his eyes last night, which I would have easily recognized, but when I saw that move he just did. Hundred percent, Sheriff.”
Wolf climbed in the SUV. The dash clock said 5:49.
“Where to now, sir?” Baine asked. “Cooper’s finally?”
Wolf shook his head. “We’ve proven that Cooper and Prock were together last night, and nothing else.”
Baine scoffed and looked out the window. “So what now?”
“So let’s get some rest, and get this picture in front of the lift op and snow cat driver tomorrow, and see if Prock left with our vic last night. I’m beat.”
Baine yawned. “You got that right. Could still use a beer, though. Drop me off at Beer Goggles?”
“Sure.”
“Headed home?” Baine asked.
Wolf shrugged, noncommittally.
Wolf drove back into town, dropped Baine off at Beer Goggles Bar and Grill to meet up with Rachette and the rest of the off-duty crew that liked to drink, which was most of them, and then went back to the station.
He walked through the squad room, down the hall, and into his office. His stomach growled, but his body was heavy and sluggish and the need for rest was an overwhelming drive. He hadn’t slept a second the night before, thinking about Jen Wakefield’s hollowed out, dripping head, and it had caught up to him.
He took off all his winter gear and hung it on the coat rack, then pushed his boots up next to the radiator. Next he took off his belt, bent down and opened an oak cabinet on the wall, and pulled out his sleeping bag stuff sack. With a flourish, he stretched out the nylon sack and got inside.
Despite his bruised tailbone, the hard carpet felt like a memory foam bed, enveloping him in warmth, and in a matter of seconds he was asleep.
