by Jeff Carson
Agent Todd rolled his eyes and set down his cup.
Chapter 31
And so we’re back to square one?” Dr. Lorber asked.
Patterson had been thinking the same thing.
MacLean held up his hands, calming the growing murmur in the squad room. “They found Fred Wilcox’s body. That’s what I just told you.”
Most of the people in the room, if not all, had already known that for an hour before this emergency squad meeting. It had been slow coming, but the news had already filtered through the department of what Wolf did at Attakai’s place and that Attakai had confessed to killing Fred Wilcox two years ago, leading them to the dead body down in Durango.
Which meant they had been looking for a dead guy for days.
It had been Patterson herself that had pulled the info out of Luke via phone call, and Rachette who started the rumor wildfire.
She and Luke had always been close, ever since the gorgeous FBI agent had come out for drinks with Wolf that night years ago. It had only taken one beer to learn they had a lot in common. Both of them growing up with multiple brothers, they’d quickly become the sisters they’d both never had.
Luke had made Patterson promise to tell no one about the Fred Wilcox news. The problem was, Rachette had overheard the conversation.
MacLean paced at the front of the room, petting his silver mustache. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it, people. We’re more confused than when we started. We thought we were looking for Fred Wilcox and his partner, who we thought might be deputy Attakai. Now we know it wasn’t Attakai and Fred Wilcox was dead this whole time. Which means we’re looking for somebody else, and I can’t tell you who that somebody is.” MacLean turned his back to the room. “Damn it!”
His outburst echoed through the auditorium.
The murmuring began again, and then swelled into full-blown conversations. MacLean seemed resigned to let it play out.
“Square one?” Rachette said, leaning close to Patterson’s ear. “More like square zero. We know less than day one, when we rolled up with those fed dickheads sitting in their Escalades.”
“Tahoes,” Patterson said, raising her hand. “Sir?”
MacLean stewed in his thoughts.
“Sir!”
“What?”
“So what are we going to do?” she asked, trying to keep any judgment out of her voice.
The man was putting his head in the sand and she was yanking it out. She knew what the Sheriff was feeling. They all felt it. The news of Lindsay Ellington this morning had been a devastating blow. And now, knowing they had put all their efforts into looking for a dead man, it was like a bomb had gone off at the pity party.
MacLean stared at Patterson, and she watched the despair turn into embarrassment, then turn into determination.
“All right, everyone, pipe down!” MacLean raised his hands. “We might not have a clue who this killer is, but we’re going to have to do something about it. The only thing we can fight with at this point is presence. Which means I want everyone everywhere, at all times.”
Glances shot back and forth across the room like ricocheting bullets.
“I know, I know. We’ve been going hard for days now.”
“With the Adrenaline Games?” Rachette said under his breath. “More like weeks.”
“But …” MacLean’s eyes watered and his mustache quivered.
It was a sight that brought instant tears to Patterson’s eyes. She knew what he was going to say, and she was tired and already emotional about not being able to see Tommy enough the last month.
“What are we going to tell that next father?” MacLean’s voice wavered. “Huh? I for one … I sure don’t want to have to go through that again.”
The room went silent. The sidelong glances became shameful dropping of heads.
“Let’s get out there and protect our people.”
MacLean turned around and everyone stood up, funneling up the stairs.
Patterson stood, wiping her eyes while at the same time stifling a yawn. She waited for an ill-timed, inappropriate, quip from Rachette that never came, so she turned to her partner to see if he was okay.
The sight of him sent shivers down her spine.
Rachette’s eyes were wide, searching the room, his chest heaving, clearly apprehensive about something.
“What?” she asked.
“Where’s Charlotte?”
Chapter 32
The two older men inside the lobby of the funeral home backed away from the group of agents storming the place.
“Mr. Buntley,” Hannigan held up a warrant, “Sorry, gentlemen, this is probably not a good time to be … well, I know it’s not a good time for you … Luke? Will you please talk to these two gentlemen outside?”
Luke herded the two men outside, whispering apologies.
“What in the name of Moses is going on?” Buntley asked.
Hannigan stepped past him, handing over the warrant without looking at the funeral home owner. “We need to talk, Mr. Buntley. And we also need to search this place for a few knickknacks you might have on hand.”
Buntley looked from the piece of paper to Hannigan, and then back again. “What are you looking for exactly, Agent …”
“Hannigan. Sir, where you were when Fred Wilcox failed to show up for work that day three summers ago.”
Luke came back inside.
Wolf made his way to the edge of the lobby, getting a clear view inside the casket showroom.
“I told you I was fishing. I always fish in August.”
A slender woman with the same eyes as Terrence Buntley came walking through the casket room to the front. “Dad? What’s going on?”
“Oh, hi honey. This is my daughter, Esther. Esther, this is some FBI hooligan accusing me of … what exactly are you accusing me of, sir?”
“You fish in August?” Hannigan asked, ignoring the funeral director’s daughter altogether. “You simply leave work, go to wherever it is you go, and fish, and come back a month later?”
“That is exactly what I do.”
Wolf saw the conviction in Mr. Buntley’s eyes and the straightened posture of his daughter and knew this was not going to follow Hannigan’s plan. To avoid watching the ensuing train wreck, Wolf turned to the rack of brochures and flicked through them.
“And on that particular day, Agent Hannigan, I was probably standing in the Kenai River, reeling in myself a ten pound Coho salmon. And in case you don’t know, the Kenai River is in central Alaska.”
The building went silent.
“And I’m sure you can verify that for us?”
“You can ask my daughter here.”
Esther nodded.
“But in case you want to check further, I’d suggest calling the Kenai River Red Forest Lodge. Ask for Sam Gables. He knows me, he knows that I always go fishing at that time, because I’m always fishing with him, at his lodge in Alaska.”
“Yeah, I get the point,” Hannigan said.
Wolf picked up the brochure from the day before.
“We’ll do that,” Hannigan continued, his voice sounding now more dying animal than intimidating FBI agent. “Right. Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you some questions about—”
“I do mind. And you’ll have to talk to my lawyer, whom I’m calling right now.”
“How does this work exactly?” Wolf raised the brochure and turned around.
Mr. Buntley was picking up his desk phone. “What? Oh … we talked about that yesterday, didn’t we? I’m sorry, I need to make a phone call.”
“If someone decides they’ll donate their bodies to science and they are transported up to the university, then who takes the bodies?”
Mr. Buntley was asking for his lawyer in the phone.
Esther cleared her throat.
“Don’t answer him, my dear,” Buntley said.
“Sir, we’re barking up the wrong tree here,” Wolf said. “We’ve made a mistake and we’re willing to admit it
now. But if you’d please just answer a few questions about your procedure here, I think it will shed light on the situation.”
Buntley lowered the phone. “I don’t even know what that situation is, Mr. …”
“Wolf.”
“Mr. Wolf,” the funeral director lowered the phone and looked at the suited agents, “this is highly disruptive to my business. I am holding those two men’s mother in the back of my building, and you stormed in and—”
Wolf held up his hands. “I know, and we’ll leave.”
“The hell we will,” Hannigan said.
Luke put a hand on her partner’s tree-trunk arm.
“One question. Did Fred Wilcox take the bodies from here up to the university?”
Buntley blinked. “Yes. He did.”
“And who would he deal with up there?”
“The professor of forensic science. They have a small morgue room at the university where they do the classes.”
Luke shot a glance at Wolf.
“Thank you.”
Chapter 33
I don’t know.” At first reaction, Patterson chuckled at the absurdity of Rachette’s question. And then she was breathing fast and searching the room.
“She was at the crime scene. Wasn’t she?” Rachette asked. “Wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Yeah.” Patterson searched her memory. “I saw her by the road. She was pushing back civilians with you guys and Yates, and—”
“Yates!”
Rachette’s scream turned every head that was moving up the aisle, including Deputy Yates’s.
“Get down here!”
Yates frowned, then made his way against the flow of traffic to the front of the room.
“You seen Munford?”
“Uh, yeah. I saw earlier.” He made a show of looking around the room. “I guess I haven’t seen her in a while. Why?”
The concern on Rachette’s face was contagious. Dr. Lorber and Gene came over.
“What’s happening?” Lorber asked.
“We’re looking for Munford.”
Gene’s face dropped. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s not here. Have you seen her?” The question seemed to pain Rachette. Like he wanted to ask, "Were you two out screwing somewhere?" but didn’t have the guts.
“No. I mean … not since the crime scene. We were working … and then …” Gene looked to Lorber. “Have you seen her?”
Lorber’s face turned white.
“Have you called her?” Gene asked.
Rachette already had his phone out and pressed to his ear. They stood in silence and watched.
“Shit. Twice no answer. Goes straight to voicemail like her phone is off.”
“What’s going on?” MacLean broke into their circle. “Get your butts up and out of here.”
“Sir, we’re looking for Deputy Munford,” Lorber said.
“Then let’s stand around and talk about it some more, why don’t you? Come on, let’s move.”
“No.” Lorber raised his eyebrows. “We’re looking for Charlotte Munford. She wasn’t in the meeting. And Rachette just called her. Her phone is off.”
MacLean looked at them in turn and closed his eyes. “Oh, hell.”
Rachette was staring at Patterson. It was more than just staring; he was trying to say something with his eyes.
“What?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Patterson blinked. “Okay.”
“Up at my desk. Now.” Rachette bounded the stairs three at a time, crashing through two deputies at the door to the squad room.
She jogged after him.
Rachette was bent over his desk, fiddling with his computer mouse.
“What?” she asked.
“I need your help,” he looked over his shoulder and stood up. “Wait …”
“What’s going on?” Lorber asked, coming up fast behind Patterson.
Gene and Yates were right behind him.
MacLean came up last in line and completely out of breath. “What’s going on?”
Rachette stood up and faced them, clearly preoccupied with the uninvited audience.
“What’s going on?” Lorber asked.
Eyes dropping to the floor, Rachette’s face went red as he turned back to his computer screen.
“Come on, why’d you call me up here? We don’t have time for charades.”
“Yeah, Lassie. Speak,” Yates said. “What do you have, girl?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Rachette aimlessly toggled his mouse.
She looked at the screen and saw nothing out of the ordinary, that is, if one considered a picture of Tom Cruise hanging from a helicopter skid as a desktop background image nothing out of the ordinary.
“Whatever’s going on, I want to know.” MacLean backed away. “I’ll be in my office. Find her.”
They stared at Rachette’s unmoving back for another beat and huddled into a circle.
Lorber slapped Patterson’s shoulder. “Why don’t you check the women’s bathrooms. I’ll go down and get Tammy to page her over the speakers. Gene, head down to the parking lot and check for her car.”
“I’ll check the street out front for her car,” Yates said. “She’s got that Volkswagen, right?”
“Golf.”
They turned to Rachette.
“What?”
“She drives a Volkswagen Golf. Twenty-eleven. Glacier blue metallic.” Rachette leaned over and touched his computer mouse again.
“Right.” Lorber looked at Rachette. “We’ll convene back here ASAP.”
Lorber, Gene, and Yates took off running out of the room.
“What the hell is your problem?” Patterson asked.
Rachette watched them leave. His brain was working overtime, Patterson could see that much, but what he was thinking was anyone’s guess.
“Nothing,” he said, this time with more conviction. “Let’s see where her car is.”
She frowned and turned to check the bathrooms. “Okay, have it your way. I’ll be right back.”
Patterson checked the two women’s bathrooms on the third floor and found them both empty.
While she was checking the second floor Tammy’s voice came over the loud speakers mounted in the ceiling tiles of the entire building. “Deputy Munford, please report to the squad room immediately. Deputy Charlotte Munford, please report to the squad room now.”
Ten minutes later she was done searching every women’s bathroom in the building and completely out of breath when she reached the squad room again.
Lorber, Gene, Yates, and Rachette looked like they were banking on her news.
“Nothing.”
“Shit,” Rachette said. “Her car’s in the lot outside. Which means she’s near. She’s probably just down the street getting coffee or something. Hell, my phone is almost dead. I bet her phone just ran out of juice. We’ve been working days straight. She forgot to charge her phone.”
Lorber swallowed, nodded. He wanted to believe the innocuous explanation.
Rachette stared at Patterson. “What?”
“I just …” she walked to Munford’s desk and opened the top drawer, then lifted a white wire that was threaded through a hole in the back of the drawer. “She charges her phone every chance she can get.”
“That’s on a normal day. The last few days have been anything but normal.” Rachette’s chin lifted, daring her to speak.
She nodded. Said nothing.
“If she’s not out there,” Lorber said, “we’ll make a plan from there.”
“Let’s go.” Rachette turned and ran.
Chapter 34
Fort Lewis College sat atop a mesa overlooking the Animas River Valley and Durango. Tan rectangular sandstone slabs of varying sizes adorned the buildings resembling the ancestral Puebloan architecture of the Four Corners area.
It was the same architect who created this college that created CU’s campus in Boulder, he knew, because he’d been on a tour on this very camp
us last fall with Jack.
In the end Jack had chosen Boulder’s geology program, along with a much heftier student loan to live with after graduation. But that was his choice.
Wolf had been more impressed with the area down here. The college may have been considered second rate compared to CU Boulder, but the view from this campus, with the snow-veined La Plata mountains back-dropping the buildings, the gentle hum of Durango in the valley below—he could have enjoyed college life in this part of Colorado.
“Which way?” Luke stretched her arms overhead and shut the Tahoe door.
“Left.” It was Hannigan’s first word since they’d left the funeral home.
She looked left, then right. “You sure?”
He held up his phone in his beefy hand. “Biology building. Left, then it’s the fourth building on the right. Looks like that huge one sticking up.”
“After you.”
Hannigan walked. Wolf and Luke followed.
Dark clouds obscured the sun and a mild breeze blew through the sandstone buildings, carrying the scent of industrial chemicals of some sort. Grinding and buzzing came from an open door of a building that said Economics on a tan sign. Campus was empty except a smattering of construction projects.
They reached the biology building and encountered a locked door.
“Damn it.” Luke fished out her phone and dialed a number. “Hi, Professor Jones? … yes … we’re outside now … I’m not sure which side. Which side are we on?”
Wolf got his bearings. “The west.”
“Okay … meet you there.” She hung up. “Of course he’s on the east side.”
They walked around the building and met a man standing in a doorway. He wore thick, petri-dish glasses, a button up checked shirt tucked into green cargo shorts and Birkenstocks over wool socks. His hair was silver and all curls, like the sky in a Van Gogh painting.
“I’m professor Jones.”
They did a round of handshakes and followed him into the cool building.
Fort Lewis had been founded in 1911 according to the sign upon entering campus, and just like any other university Wolf had ever been in, it looked over a hundred years old inside—with lots of stone and dense wood, worn out but still standing strong.
