Deadly Conditions (David Wolf Book 4)

by Jeff Carson

  “…Wolf? Sheriff Wolf?” The radio sat in a small impact crater a few feet away.

  “Wolf!” Rachette yelled into the radio, like he was calling a lost dog as he marched down the street.

  Wolf bent down and picked it up. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  He took a step and sank all the way up to his crotch in the snow, and then realized he still had a whole mess of a problem ahead of him.

  “Are you all right? We’ve been calling you for thirty minutes. Patterson is coming after you.”

  Wolf shook his head. “Patterson, do you copy?”

  There was no response.

  “Patterson!” Wolf said.

  “Down here,” she said. “I’m to your left, down near the road. I had to skirt the cliffs. I’m heading up your way.”

  Wolf waved. He looked around and saw a bright orange sliver in the snow. It was the base of one of Bob Duke’s skies poking out.

  “Just hang tight,” he said. “It’s too deep. I found a ski.”

  Wolf dug it out and put it on, then trundled down the remaining hillside to the road to meet Patterson.

  “I thought you were buried in an avalanche or something,” Patterson said rapidly. “I followed your tracks, and saw them end at a slide, and then that cliff.” She looked up. “Oh my God. Look how high that was.”

  Wolf didn’t bother looking as he slid down a steep bank and landed on the hard packed powder of the road.

  “How did you get skis?” Wolf asked.

  “Scott got a ski patrol to bring some up for me on a snowmobile,” she took a deep breath. “We were pretty worried.”

  “Well, thanks,” Wolf said. “Who’s waiting on the highway?”

  “Wilson is at the slide zone,” she said.

  “Wilson, do you have a copy?”

  “Yes sir, I’m on my way up now, let me know…” Wilson drove around the corner at that moment. “Aha, there you guys are.”

  “Sir,” Patterson said. “Your hand.”

  Wolf nodded. “I know. I need heat.”

  Patterson took off her glove and held it out, and then took it back and shook her head. “Sorry, probably wouldn’t fit you now, would it? Did you hear the radio chatter about the shooting at the top of the pass?”

  Wolf frowned. “What? When?”

  “Someone just called in about a shooting on top of the pass. Nobody’s hurt, but a man was shot at, and his snowmobile was taken.”

  By 11:15 am that morning, Wolf stood on the shoulder of highway 734 on the top of Williams Pass, and it was clear that the murderer of Matt Cooper had gotten away, using the mountains surrounding Rocky Points Resort, ingenuity, and a psychotic disposition to his advantage.

  Apparently Red-hat had hitched a ride up the pass, picked up by an unknown vehicle. It was customary practice for a driver of a truck with an open bed to stop if a skier came out of the woods and needed a lift back up to his or her car parked on the top of the pass.

  When he’d arrived on top, however, he didn’t have a car parked there. Instead, he’d flashed his pistol to a man who had just finished unloading a snowmobile off the back of his truck. A shot in the air was enough to coax the man to start the machine and give it to the gun-wielding lunatic, who then took off up the west side of the pass.

  When the man had gotten to a specific point, he had ditched the snowmobile, donned his skis and skied down a grooved trail that meandered through the trees (worn smooth by a group of ski resort poachers the day before) and ducked a rope back into the ski resort – a well known move by many that gets you into the back side of the resort where they didn’t scan tickets on the slower, two-seater lifts.

  A perfect getaway, Wolf mused as he looked up at the snowmobile track that ran straight up the slope.

  “What now?” Patterson asked. “We have to get up there and check out where he went with that snowmobile. Should I call Ritchie?” She meant Brad Ritchie, the man with search and rescue who could get snowmobiles up here.

  “Sure,” Wolf said, already knowing exactly how the man had escaped. “Have Yates and Wilson go up, they’re best on the sleds.”

  Wolf walked toward the nearest SUV, flexing his right hand underneath the glove. After ten minutes in front of the car heater, the numbness in his hand had subsided, and was now replaced with tingling and burning.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “We follow through with what we started today,” Wolf said, climbing into Wilson’s vehicle. “We talk to Jonas Prock.”

  “Am I coming with you?” Patterson asked, watching with interest as Wolf commandeered Wilson’s SUV.

  “No,” he said.

  “So, what am I doing?”

  “You’re going with Baine to pick up Prock,” he said, pointing over at Wilson and Baine who stood off alongside the road.

  “Okay, and—“

  “I’m going to go lay down,” Wolf shut the door and started the car, exhaling as the heat blasted his cold, wet socked feet.

  Chapter 21

  Wolf got up from the floor in his office and looked at the ticking clock – 3:05. The cold shadow of the mountains had already passed over the station outside, and he didn’t even remember lying down for a nap.

  His boots, the ones he’d taken off and given to Bob Duke at the top of the mountain, stood inside his closed door. He sat down on a chair and pulled them on and winced at a sharp pain that traveled up his back. After a few seconds of bending forward the pain ebbed away, but it left him wide-eyed and wondering what the hell it was. A pinched nerve?

  He tied his boots and walked into the squad room. Rachette got up from the edge of Wilson’s desk and walked over.

  “Interrogation room one,” Rachette said.

  Wolf looked at him. “What?”

  “Prock. We picked him up and he’s in interrogation room one.”

  Wolf frowned. “And you just let me sleep?”

  “I was just about to wake you up. I figured you needed it,” Rachette pointed down the hall. “Besides, he’s only been in there a few minutes. We couldn’t find him for hours. Apparently was skiing.” Rachette arched his eyebrows, as if the piece of information told them something.

  Wolf smoothed his hair. “Where’s Patterson?”

  “She’s in the lab, checking out a USB drive that we found on Cooper.”

  Wolf squinted and shook his head. “He had a USB drive on him?”

  Rachette nodded. “And when I say on him, I mean on him. It was just balanced on his shoulder. We didn’t notice it until later, when you’d already skied down the mountain.”

  Wolf shook his head. “Seems hard to miss.”

  “It was hard to see because he was sitting up in the cockpit, higher than us on the ground. But when we climbed inside and looked at him, it was right there. Balanced on his arm, like the killer put it there and we were meant to find it.”

  Wolf nodded, and then stood thinking, trying to get his bearings on the present moment. “And what else?”

  “Lorber came and took Cooper off the mountain. We found shitloads of prints on the helicopter. Gonna take a miracle to get anything from that.”

  “And the X written on the window of the cockpit?” Wolf asked.

  “Looks like it was lipstick, matching what we found on Stephanie Lang’s forehead.”

  The door to Tammy’s reception office clicked and swung open.

  “Sheriff,” Tammy said.

  Wolf looked at her. “Yeah?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “We’ve got someone up here who insists on seeing you. A Mister Klammer?”

  Wolf sighed and nodded, and then walked to the reception room and opened it. A wave of heat billowed out the door.

  “Ah, Sheriff Wolf,” Klammer said, standing in front of the windows. “I wanted to know if I could come in and be a part of this…inquiry.”

  Wolf shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Klammer, we need to speak to Mr. Prock alone.”

  “Shall I call our lawyers?” Klammer asked with slow deliberate pronunc
iation.

  Wolf considered the plural use of the word lawyer, and turned to Rachette who was behind him. “Please have someone get Mr. Klammer a drink. We’ll talk soon Mr. Klammer.”

  Rachette nodded.

  Wolf turned around. “And then get back here,” he said as he walked away.

  Wolf continued through the squad room, into the hallway, past his office, and then entered a closed door.

  Observation room one was a small box of a room with a one-way mirror window into the interrogation room beyond. Wolf stopped and took a moment to study Jonas Prock.

  Prock sat under a pool of yellow light with his legs crossed and his coat across his lap. Looking around with a steady gaze, he was cocked sideways, leaning one arm on the wooden table, tapping out a rhythm with his finger.

  “Jesus,” Rachette said as he came inside. “This guy’s kind of creepy. Didn’t say a single word at all when we arrested him, and hasn’t said a single word since. Here.” Rachette held out a cup of coffee and a manila folder.

  Wolf took the folder, peeked inside, and then took the coffee. “Thanks.”

  Wolf went inside with Rachette in tow. He sat down and set the folder on the table, and Rachette stood against the wall behind Prock.

  Prock raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder, and then his lip curled and he shook his head.

  Wolf leaned forward and opened the folder. Inside was a glossy photo of Stephanie Lang, an employee headshot photo taken at Antler Creek Lodge. She was smiling wide, a happy grin, as if she was friends with whoever was behind the camera.

  Prock flicked a glance at it and kept his face expressionless.

  “What can you tell me about this woman?” Wolf asked.

  Prock didn’t move.

  Wolf looked at him for a few seconds. “We have two witnesses that say you were with this woman on Saturday night after the gala.”

  “I was?”

  “According to two people on different parts of the mountain, yes. You were.”

  Prock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was going to start meditating right there. When he finally opened them back up, he stared at the wall beyond Wolf.

  Wolf tapped on the table.

  Prock did a double take at the new picture Wolf had substituted with the last. He widened his eyes and sat straight, then narrowed his eyes and parted his lips.

  The photo was a close up of Lang’s frozen corpse. Wolf watched as Prock took the whole picture in – the iced-over eyes, the frozen tongue sticking out, the torn open flesh, the frozen meat underneath – and to Wolf’s surprise, Prock’s expression softened, as if he had cared for Stephanie Lang.

  “I’ll repeat,” Wolf said, sensing the weakness in Prock’s façade. “We have two witnesses that say you were with this woman after the gala on Saturday night. This picture” – Wolf tapped it – “was taken Sunday morning.”

  Prock stared at the photo, then looked away and closed his eyes. He scratched his neck with shaky fingers, an unconscious gesture of vulnerability, of helplessness. An unconscious gesture to his neck.

  “Did you strangle Stephanie?” Wolf asked quietly.

  Prock looked up. “What? No.” He mumbled something in German.

  Wolf took a sip of his coffee and set it down. “We know you and Matt Cooper were with Stephanie last night. So why don’t you tell me what happened? Was it Cooper? Did he do it? Did he hold her down while you did it?”

  Prock gripped his head with both hands and rubbed. “Ahhh…No. We did not do this.”

  “Then tell me what happened,” Wolf said in an even tone.

  Prock pulled his hands away from his head and looked up at Wolf with wet eyes. “I didn’t kill that girl.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  There was a firm knock in the door and then it opened.

  Patterson stuck her head inside. “Sir, sorry. I need to speak to you.”

  Wolf turned and raised his eyebrows in response.

  “It can’t wait, sir,” she said.

  Wolf shut the folder slowly, then scraped his chair back. Without a word, he and Rachette left the room.

  “What’s up?” Wolf asked when the door clicked shut.

  “There’s a movie on the USB we found, and you have to see it.” She left the room and waved for them to follow.

  They went into the squad room to Wilson’s desk. He was bent close to the computer screen, and then he looked up and scooted back.

  Patterson sat down in a chair and wheeled it close to the desk, then gripped the mouse. She clicked on a media player and then tracked the movie playing on it to a position she wanted.

  Wolf knitted his brow when he saw two people crawling all over each other on the screen, moving at light speed as Patterson found her desired mark.

  “Whoa,” Rachette said.

  Finally she clicked and sat back, letting the movie play.

  Wolf leaned forward.

  “Mayor Wakefield,” Rachette said.

  The image on the computer screen was of the interior of a vehicle. The picture was bent a little, like the movie was recorded with a fish-eye lens and at an above angle suggesting it was mounted on the rearview mirror. It was a sharp picture, tinged green with a night vision setting and both passenger and driver’s seat were in the frame.

  Mayor Wakefield was driving the car, dressed in a thick dress coat with a suit and tie beneath. He drove without giving much attention to the road. Instead he was swiveling left and right, looking in the side view mirrors, and shifting to press his face on the glass, as if seeking something in the blackness of the night surrounding him.

  What he was searching for became clear a few seconds later. The camera jerked as he stopped the car, and then he smiled looking out the passenger window into the night. He bent over and pulled on the handle. The cab flashed green for a second as the picture became overexposed by the interior light. When it adjusted back to normal, a woman was sitting in the passenger seat. She leaned over and kissed him, and he kissed her back with passion, twisting in his seat and groping at her breast. After a few more seconds they parted and looked around out the windows as if making sure they weren’t being watched.

  “Stephanie Lang,” Rachette said.

  It was her. She had a mischievous look, groping at Wakefield’s crotch with her left hand as she looked out the passenger window.

  Lights streamed past the rear of the car, and as they dimmed and receded into the distance, she leaned into his lap and stayed there for good.

  “Okay,” Wolf said. “So this is a sex tape of Mayor Wakefield and Stephanie Lang. It’s definitely a development, but why are you pulling us out of the interrogation?”

  Patterson held up a finger and then grabbed the mouse. She clicked on the bar below and pulled the marker to later in the movie. In that split second she took to scroll through the whole movie, the screen showed snippets of the frames that were being scrolled through. Though hard to register exactly what was being seen, it was clear enough that they were naked, having intercourse, and in multiple positions for the next several minutes.

  “Wow,” Rachette said. “Got busy.”

  Wolf kept his eyes on the screen and waited while Patterson slowed just before the end of the movie.

  “See here?” It was the same shot, but now the vehicle cab was empty.

  “Okay,” Wolf said.

  “Wait for it,” Patterson said. “Five more seconds.”

  At five seconds later the picture flashed green again. After another few seconds, it darkened and then bounced and jiggled. For a while a palm was all they could see, then an arm, and then after a few seconds of swirling images a face with glowing eyes took up the whole picture.

  Patterson clicked the mouse, freezing the movie.

  Wolf leaned forward. “Matt Cooper.”

  “The movie stops a second after this picture,” she said. “You can’t tell who starts the recording at the beginning, but it’s unmistakable at the end. Matt Cooper.”

  “Wh
at about prints on the USB?” Wolf asked. “Did you find any?”

  “I’ve done some tests on the original. I haven’t found any prints on it, but there is definitely blood. I’ve sent what I have to Lorber’s office, and when he gets back there I’ll talk to him about it.”

  Wolf nodded. “Let me know.”

  Wilson exhaled. “There’s no way to know when the recording was made. There’s no time and date stamp on it.”

  “It was made Thursday night after Charlie Ash’s party,” Wolf said. “You can see Cooper’s valet uniform. That’s how he got in his car and planted the camera at the beginning. Must have gone into town and made a copy of the key during the party.”

  “Rascal’s Hardware,” Wilson said, referring to the only place in town that did that type of thing. “I’m pretty sure they’re open until nine pm on weeknights.”

  Wolf nodded.

  “And the mayor went somewhere and picked up Stephanie after the party?” Rachette asked.

  “Antler Creek catered it. She was at the party. They must have planned a rendezvous that night.”

  Patterson looked up with a skeptical look. “And Cooper knew all this was going to happen?”

  “Yep,” Wolf said walking back to interrogation one.

  Wolf sat back down in front of Prock and Rachette took his position against the wall. Prock’s demeanor was night and day from earlier. What was once a cool gaze was now the look of a cornered animal, with quick, urgent movements of his eyes.

  “I didn’t kill Stephanie,” he said.

  Wolf kept silent.

  “I swear.” Prock put his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together. “We were just taking her home, and we dropped her off.”

  Wolf held up a hand. “Let’s start with how you know Cooper. You’re from Austria, he’s from Aspen. More importantly, he works for Irwin, you for Klammer. How is it that you end up hanging out with an employee of the firm you are competing against for a multi-million dollar contract? Does Klammer know?”

  Prock sat back and exhaled. “No. I was…it’s complicated.”