Wolves

by Cary J. Griffith

  “Saturday and Sunday? That’s one hell of a long weekend.”

  “Just the half of it. What’s up?”

  “We went back to the farm last night. Diane and me.”

  There was a pause. “Thought you might. Wished you hadn’t.”

  “I had a hunch those wolves would return.”

  “I assume Angus was gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t break in, did you?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have broken into the house.” True enough. “I was pretty sure those wolves would return and I wanted to see them.”

  “Did they?”

  “Yup. Got hungry and came back to feed. I thought with all the trampling and Angus setting traps no wolf would come near the place.”

  “Any get trapped?”

  “Not in Angus’s footholds. We watched them go into the barn, avoiding those traps like they had a map of the place. Stepped around every one of them. Incredible.”

  “Smart animals.”

  “After they entered the barn we gave them a few minutes to settle in, then snuck over and shut and latched the barn door. They’re still there. Trapped.”

  “Did you call Svegman?”

  “I did. Early this morning we left him a message. But he hasn’t gotten back to me. Any idea where to find him?”

  “I’ll give him a call. Steve’s from Vermilion Falls, but he should be able to get out there by noon. I could go out with him.” Dean Goddard might like to have one more look at the house, though he didn’t think what he wanted was there.

  “That’d be great.”

  “And for the record,” the Sheriff added. “No more visits without the law. I called you for your wolf expertise. If Angus finds you out there again all hell’s likely to break loose.”

  “OK.”

  “I’ll talk to Steve. For the time being, just to keep things simple, I’ll make sure Svegman doesn’t say anything about your late night trip.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “What did you have in mind... about the wolves?”

  “Ideally I’d like them captured alive. I know they can’t stay in that barn, but I’d like to see them, watch them for a while.”

  “I’ll see if he can get some others to assist.”

  “That’d be good. Thanks.”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  They said goodbye and hung up.

  That went about as well as Sam figured it could. The Sheriff didn’t like their visit, but at least he was following up on the wolves.

  Diane Talbott’s bedroom door opened.

  “Morning,” she managed, on her way to the kitchen.

  “Morning.”

  She wore a threadbare pair of aqua sweatpants and a long sleeved blank sweatshirt and unless Sam was mistaken, nothing underneath. Her big hair still fell like a young woman’s. A pillow seam lined her left cheek. She was still waking up. “Sleep well?”

  “Well enough.”

  He decided to let her get some coffee, wake up, come to her own terms with the previous evening. “Can I borrow your computer?”

  He’d seen it last night in her bedroom, where it had served as a hanger for some of the clothes they’d flung across the room.

  “Have at it,” she said. “I need coffee.”

  He fetched the disk, went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  The bed looked warm and comfortable. Next to one side rested a nightstand and a reading lamp with six or seven books beneath it. Sam recognized a pocket dictionary, a crossword, and three or four novels, Storm Prey one of them. But he didn’t recognize the others. The other side of the narrow room had a small table with her computer.

  With the largest room in the house given over to her study, there wasn’t much space for anything else. You had to walk around the end of the bed to use it. And there was only enough room for one person to sit in front of the screen, but Sam wasn’t complaining.

  He turned on the PC and waited. It took a minute for the screen to come up, and the hard disk to phit-phit-phit through its machinations. After the icons appeared he inserted the disk into the CD drive and waited. It whirred, looking for an application. A small Windows Media Player video window opened on the screen. Sam moved the mouse and clicked play.

  Two bodies, and judging from their naked embrace and their horizontal position and rhythm, they were having a good time. Then Sam noticed the Sheriff’s clothes tossed over a nearby chair. The Sheriff’s gun hung in its holster over the back of a chair. The date appeared in the lower right corner of the video screen. January 5. Less than a month earlier. It sure as hell looked like the Sheriff. Sam had never met his wife, but he guessed the woman on the screen wasn’t Belinda Goddard. When he played it a second time and examined the room, he recognized a simple dresser, a counter with a TV, a chair with a table, and a door to a bathroom. A motel room. There was a smaller set of clothes laid over the chair next to the sheriff’s. One of the items appeared to be some kind of medical smock.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered.

  It was not what he had expected to find in the old man’s cache. And it could mean a whole lot more than he wanted to know. Where was Dean Goddard the night Williston Winthrop was killed? If the old man was trying to blackmail the Sheriff, the Sheriff had motive to get rid of him. But Sam had spent enough time tracking predators to get a feel for their personalities. The Sheriff didn’t measure up to murder. But you never knew. Ted Bundy was notorious for being thoughtful, articulate and charming. He demonstrated what psychologists describe as a mask of sanity. But if the Sheriff was a murderer, Sam Rivers was a rodeo clown. The man was grounded as dirt and balanced as the Gaia theory. On the other hand, there was no accounting for what some people were capable of, when pushed.

  Earlier he’d examined the folder’s contents, finding corporate charters, stock certificates, assumed name filings, and a few bank statements documenting a lot of money. But it wasn’t until he noticed Miriam Samuelson’s signature on a corporate charter for Iron County Care that he began to take note. His mom had been a generous woman, but on more than one occasion she’d shaken her head and grumbled about her husband’s legal work. And when he was a kid he remembered rumors and comments from the other Club members, about how Williston was capable of turning the law whatever way he wanted.

  Sam was no lawyer, but it was easy enough to guess the old man’s folder business was outside the law, and appeared to be profitable and larcenous. He suspected Jeff Dunlap would be interested in its contents.

  But what about the CD? And what about the Sheriff? And who was the woman?

  Sam Rivers set the folder on the bed and closed it. He stood up, wondered about it, and then backed around the bed to the bedroom door and opened it. He could hear Diane in the kitchen.

  He came around the corner. She was cleaning some dishes, her hands hovering over the sink.

  When she noticed him she said, “How about some coffee?”

  He came up beside her and placed a hand on the middle of her back, rubbing a little. She relaxed, a good response.

  “That’d be good.”

  An empty cup sat by the pot. She started to fill it. “So what did you find out?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “I think I need another opinion, but I’m not sure about that, either.”

  She handed him the cup. “It’s hard to string together an intelligent sentence before my first cup, let alone have a conversation.”

  Sam took it. “Thanks. The same.” But it wasn’t too early to notice the plump contour of her lips.

  “Black?”

  Sam nodded. The coffee was the color of tar. Perfect.

  “So what was it?”

  “First I need to know if you can keep a secret?”

  “Oh?”

  “I want you to identify
someone in a video. But I’m not sure it should go beyond this room. And you may never be able to tell anyone, or write about it, at least not until we’re sure what it’s about. But maybe never.”

  “Never is a long time. What if it’s a murder?”

  “It’s not murder, but it is important. I need to know what I’m seeing, who it is. I suspect you may know... her. But if you don’t think you can stay quiet about it, so be it. I won’t bring you into it.”

  Diane appeared serious, wondering if she could agree.

  And that was a good thing, Sam knew.

  “Now that’s the most interesting offer I’ve had since...” she said, taking another sip of coffee. “Last night.” She grinned and walked into the living room, sat on the couch. Sam followed her. The woman had a backside.

  “If I see anyone breaking the law or being violent, I can’t make any promises.”

  Sam thought about it. “Isn’t Minnesota a no-fault divorce state?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I believe it is, so technically the person isn’t breaking the law. Unless you considered it from a biblical perspective.”

  “Oh,” she said. Then, “I’d better have a look.”

  Sam led her to the bedroom. Her PC showed the usual assortment of icons with the small black video player overlaying the square center of the screen.

  “Have a seat,” Sam said.

  Diane sat down, staring at the computer, still sipping coffee.

  “Click the play button.”

  She did and the scratchy video played.

  Through the entire 49 seconds Diane Talbott just stared. Sam could tell she was absorbing the video’s impact. When it was over she said, “I’ll be damned.” She didn’t need to see it again. She stood up from the chair and without looking at Sam walked out of the room.

  He followed.

  Diane was shaking her head. “I don’t believe it.” She went into the kitchen and refilled her cup.

  “Who’s the woman?” Sam asked.

  Once they were in the living room Diane sat on the couch. She wasn’t shaken. She was chagrined, perplexed. “I just wouldn’t have... guessed it,” she muttered.

  “So who’s the woman?”

  “That’s the local doctor. She’s also our new Coroner, at least since last year, when old Doc Chauncey retired. Her name’s Susan Wallace.”

  “Married?”

  “Nope. Works all the time. I thought she didn’t have time to think about a relationship. Looks like they’ve been working pretty close,” Diane said, looking up at Sam to consider it. “I just,” she added, surprised, “I guess I’m surprised, but not surprised.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Belinda, Dean’s wife.”

  “What about her?”

  “She turned fundamental. Couple years back, from what I’ve heard. You pick things up at the paper. Couldn’t have children, turned to the bottle, then got Christ and got sober.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. And sure no reason for her husband to step out,” Sam observed, for the moment disappointed with the Sheriff, though he knew first-hand that love could be an intoxicating cocktail.

  “Gossip has it, part of Belinda’s vows involve no sex.”

  “What kind of Christian heritage is that?”

  “The Iron Orthodox Gospel Church,” Diane said. “Their perspective. Or at least the perspective of Bishop Rose, I guess.”

  “Who the hell is Bishop Rose?”

  “The self-appointed Bishop of the Iron Orthodox Gospel Church. There’s only one. He’s minister, priest, bishop and pope.”

  “Absolute power.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So what in the hell was the old man doing with the video?”

  “No idea,” Diane said. “And how in the hell did he get it?”

  “You think he was using it? Blackmailing the Sheriff about something?”

  Diane looked up. “I can’t imagine Williston Winthrop having this and not using it. Though it was recent enough, maybe he hadn’t had a chance. Before you go accusing Dean Goddard of anything,” she paused, “too god-awful, you might reconsider. I’ve known the guy a long time. I suspect his,” she paused again, “lapse in judgment, however understandable, is tearing the guy up.” And now she was staring at Sam Rivers. “But Dean Goddard isn’t capable of murder.”

  “But the old man must have been thinking about using it. If you don’t know about their relationship,” he said, thinking out loud, “probably no one does.”

  “If I know Dean Goddard, he’d do plenty to keep this quiet. Not because he’s a bad man. But he definitely likes his job. But he wouldn’t kill over it. He’d face the rain. If he was being blackmailed he’d out it and then arrest Will Winthrop for extortion. Whatever this is, it has nothing to do with murder.” Then she grew thoughtful. “And he has the perfect alibi,” she added.

  “What?”

  “The night Will Winthrop died the Sheriff and just about all other town and county notables were in Vermilion Falls, at the VFW for their annual volunteer firefighters fund drive.”

  “You saw him?”

  “I danced with him.”

  “How long was he there?”

  “From before dinner to around 10. He was one of the hosts. He set it up.”

  “So he has an alibi. And I haven’t seen anything to suggest Dean is anything but a reasonable guy,” Sam agreed. “I just wonder how far he would go to keep this quiet, to avoid a little bad press?”

  “A little bad press? You’ve been away too long. Press like this in a place like Vermilion County would bury the Sheriff. Could cost him his job.”

  Sam shook his head. “I appreciate that, but would the Sheriff step over the line to save his job?”

  “I think just about anyone is capable of anything, given the right time and place. But I’m not saying Dean Goddard did anything.”

  “Did you recognize the room?” Sam asked, coming back to the video.

  “Pretty sure it’s the Vermilion Falls Motel.”

  “What are those files?” she asked, remembering the folder.

  “Looks like some kind of scam Williston was into.”

  “You think the scam is related to the video? You think the Sheriff knew about it but was keeping his mouth shut, because of that movie?”

  “No idea,” Sam said. “Could be. Maybe we should ask him.”

  Sam wondered about a next step. He owed the Sheriff a favor. But he had to know what the Sheriff did, if anything, to keep his relationship quiet.

  “That’d be direct.”

  “I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt.” He thought for a minute. “And there’s the problem of these files,” he added.

  “What problem?”

  “They should be shared with someone in a position to do something about them, if I’m reading them right.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I’d bet Jeff Dunlap would give his left nut to get his hands on these files.”

  “So give them to him?”

  “Can’t. Technically, they’re evidence. They should come from the investigating officer. Otherwise they might be inadmissible, given how we acquired them.”

  “So what if the Sheriff gave them to him?”

  “That’s what I had in mind, providing the Sheriff would play along,” Sam said.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  February 1st, mid-morning—the Vermilion County Sheriff’s Office

  The Deputy staffing the front office turned around and yelled back to the Sheriff through his opened door. “Lady from Canada on line 1. Something about a missing brother.”

  Dean had been working on some paper. He picked up his phone and pushed 1. “This is Sheriff God
dard,” he started.

  “Sheriff, Clement Beauregard.”

  An older woman, judging from the gravelly tone. She didn’t sound Canadian. Was that what his Deputy said? Canadian?

  “From Manitoba,” she added.

  “Ma’am?” Dean asked.

  “Ah’ve got a brotha‘ down there. At least wuz. Outside Defiance, Minnesota?” She had a thick southern drawl.

  He didn’t know if it was a question. “Yes?”

  “His name’s James T. Beauregard,” she said, hesitating. “People call him Jimbo.” She waited. “Or Jim.”

  “Yeah?” Dean said.

  “He was stayin‘ on some farm outside a town. Said he’d be here by Wensday, but din’t show.”

  “He’s missing, ma’am?”

  “Ah guess. Yeah. You know Defiance?”

  “Small town west of us,” Dean explained. “Not that far. When was he in Defiance?”

  “Not in town, Sheriff,” she drawled. “Said he wuz on some farm outside a’ town.”

  “There are a lot of farms all over the area, Ma’am. Did he give you a name? Address?”

  “No sah,” she said, cordial.

  “And you’re looking for him?”

  “Uh-huh,” she answered. “He was s’posed to be in Manitoba las‘ Wensday.”

  “Driving?” Dean asked.

  “Catchin‘ the Greyhound outta Bemijji. Said it wuz all lined up.”

  “What was his business,” the Sheriff caught himself, “outside Defiance?”

  “Jimbo didn’t have no biz’ness. Jimbo was comin‘ here to lend a hand. My cousin Emil opened the Cajun Café. We needed help with the place and I knew Jimbo could’a used the work.”

  “Was he visiting someone?”

  “Said he got a job on some farm.”

  “How did he get to Defiance?” Dean asked. He didn’t think Defiance had any bus service.

  “Thumb, mos‘ likely,” she said. “Or the rails.”

  Goddard’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. A vagrant. Chances are he could be anywhere. Maybe he didn’t really like working, but didn’t want to tell his sister, Dean thought. “I can ask the cop in Defiance,” he said.