Signature: A David Wolf Mystery (David Wolf Mystery Thriller Series Book 9)

by Jeff Carson

  Lauren met his gaze with arched eyebrows, leaning into his arm once again. With a glance at her watch, she said, “I have to go. I’ll be back around, Ben. I have to go do my rounds.”

  Ben nodded. “Thank you, Lauren.”

  Wolf turned in the doorway and watched her leave.

  She walked down the hall and glanced back at him, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before disappearing through two push-doors.

  He watched the doors bounce back and forth, finally resting motionless, the image of her leaving replaying in his mind.

  When he swiveled back to the room Charlotte’s mother was staring at him.

  He straightened, feeling flush in the heat of her gaze.

  “Have you guys found him?”

  Ben turned and looked at him, too.

  Wolf shook his head.

  ***

  “Do you know where he is?” Patterson shook her head and pocketed her phone. “He won’t answer.”

  Patterson and Wolf stood outside the automatic doors of the hospital sipping coffee. It was brisk for late August, and the scent of autumn rode on the wind.

  Wolf shook his head, turning his face to the sun and closing his eyes.

  “Where is he?” Patterson asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  When he opened his eyes she was staring at him. “Your guess is better.”

  “He’s looking for the Jeep. When I talked to him two days ago he was up at the mines again. Looking for more clues we missed. I told him to come into the station, get a change of clothes. Get some food. Regroup with the rest of us … Rachette has his own investigation going on right now and I’m not going to stop it.”

  The coffee was burnt tasting. Grounds slipped through the lid onto Wolf’s tongue and he spit them out.

  Patterson shook her head. “I still can’t believe the way he got out. Like a freaking secret agent escape hatch or something.”

  After running forward to avoid the catastrophic collapse inside the mine, Wolf had made his way through the tunnels easy enough by following Rachette and Gene’s trail, and then heard Rachette and Luke struggling and had saved them by a hair from dropping into a hole that had opened up under Luke’s weight, who had taken the wrong tunnel to find him.

  During the rescue Wolf had lost his light, and so had Luke and Rachette, so their walk out had been slow going until Agent Todd and his agents came in to help them out.

  In the end they’d lost valuable time, and to compound their loss, Gene Fitzgerald had apparently been prepared for such a situation all along.

  Once they exited the mine, the helicopter pointed them all to another hole Gene had disappeared into. They went in with guns drawn but never found Gene. What they did find, however, was a plausible escape route that dropped their stomachs and had Wolf’s churning ever since—an underground ore car track tunnel that went down at a steep angle, coming out over a half mile away on the other side of the mountain, in a completely different valley.

  They followed the tunnel to the end, and when it finally came out in daylight, they had found tire marks. Tire marks that materialized in the mud from nowhere and went down the mountain back into the Chautauqua Valley, which meant the car had been parked there all along for a quick getaway.

  Since then they’d identified the tires as BF Goodrich LT 235/75R15, which had a distinctive off-road tread that was old and worn. Furthermore, the axle and tire spacing narrowed their vehicle in question to a Jeep, either CJ7 or Renegade. A solid lead they were following up on with every means possible at the FBI and department’s disposal.

  “Escape plans, working in the morgue for God’s sake. That freaking case he carried everywhere?”

  She nodded back toward the hospital entrance. “Lorber’s still a mess.”

  If Tom Rachette had taken the news of Charlotte Munford’s coma the worst, then Dr. Lorber was in a close second place. It had been Dr. Lorber who had hired Gene Fitzgerald from the Fort Lewis College School of Forensic Science two years ago. With every waking breath the ME was kicking himself for not seeing the signs earlier. For not putting it altogether.

  “And I gotta tell you,” Patterson turned to him, her eyes like blue shimmering diamonds. “I’m kind of a mess, too.”

  Wolf put his arm around her.

  “No,” she shrugged him away. “I’m trying to say something.”

  A gust of wind passed by.

  “Okay. What?”

  “When we find this bastard, I’m … done.”

  Wolf’s nerves tingled in his entire body.

  “Shit. You’re pissed.”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No. But … you’re quitting?” He started to wonder if he’d heard her right.

  “Yes, I’m quitting. I have to. My son doesn’t even care when he sees me anymore. He just stares at me, like, with this cold expression. I mean, he’s only thirteen months old, but I swear he either hates me, or just doesn’t even know who I am. I am going to beat my mother in law with my own two fists if she reminds me of it again.”

  Both of her eyes were streaming now.

  “And Charlotte. All I can think of is she was right underneath me when we were stuffed in that trunk. It was my weight that put her in that coma. What if it was my bodyweight that ends up—”

  Wolf pulled her into his arms. She sobbed hard now, letting it all come out.

  When she was done they broke from one another.

  “You know none of this is your fault, right?”

  She sniffed and nodded. “I still have to quit.”

  “I understand, Heather. Believe me. I understand.”

  She lifted her chin and nodded. “Thank you. I just have to.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I think I’m going to get my PI’s license. My father and aunt have a ton of connections with every law firm in the state, and they need investigatory services all the time. I know, it’s like calling in a favor from daddy … but if it means I can see Tommy every day then I’d move back in with my parents if I had to.”

  He was glad she already had a plan in place that kept her in the investigation arena. She was good. One of the best, and to let that talent go to waste would have been painful to watch.

  “Check that,” Patterson said. “I wouldn’t move in with my parents. They’re annoying as crap.” She cracked a smile and Wolf broke into a smile too.

  Patterson shivered and craned her head. She searched the landscape, scanning the sage fields and the edge of the trees.

  He knew what she was doing. She was looking for him. Wondering if he was watching them right now.

  The sight of her concern sickened him and stirred the rage within.

  “I just keep thinking about that case,” she said.

  The silver case.

  Upon clearing out Gene Fitzgerald’s car, they had found his silver ME’s assistant case. The ever-present fixture to his hand. The case that he’d been carrying at Sally Claypool’s body. At her situation room meeting. At Attakai’s house. The case he’d carried around with him like it contained his daily necessities, but he’d never actually opened.

  The feds were still trying to account for the three other ears found inside.

  Patterson looked at her cell phone. “What time’s the meeting today? One o’clock?”

  “One o’clock.”

  Regroup and recommit to the task of finding the man—that’s all they had been doing for each of the last five days, and today would be no different.

  Wolf pulled out his cell phone and gave it a cursory check as well.

  He paused and raised it, getting a better look.

  “What?” Patterson read his face.

  Wolf dropped the phone back in his pocket. For a long moment he stared into the distance.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing.” He blinked and shook his head. “I’m glad about your decision, Heather. Really.”

  She looked confused for a second then nodde
d. “Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  “Listen,” he said, “I’m going to head back inside. I need to talk to Lorber about a few things. I’ll see you back at the station. One o’clock.”

  “Wait, what was that?” She pointed at his pocket. “You just got a text message about something, didn’t you?”

  “We’ll talk about it later at the meeting. You head back to the station.”

  Walking inside the automatic doors, he was unsurprised to hear Patterson’s shoes squeaking behind him the whole way.

  Without talking, they walked down the hallway at full speed, through the doors to the formalin smell of the morgue wing, and burst into Dr. Lorber’s lab.

  Lorber was bent over a deceased old man, cutting a Y-incision into his chest. He stopped and looked at them over his glasses. “What’s up?”

  Wolf hesitated.

  “Yeah,” Patterson said. “What’s up? You’re here to show Lorber your phone but not me?”

  Wolf pulled out his phone and held it up for them to see.

  Chapter 42

  The scent of gunpowder still hung in the air, along with a gutted animal stench.

  “Rachette!” The sound of Wolf’s voice echoed through the trees and came back to him unanswered.

  Rachette’s SBCSD SUV was parked at the curve, along with an old Jeep CJ7 with a faded, dented, warped exterior. It was parked with its nose downward, and its door was hinged all the way open, the wind bumping it back and forth against the hood.

  Patterson’s SUV came crackling around the corner and squeaked to a stop. She and Lorber got out and joined him at the edge of the road.

  Patterson drew her gun, then looked to think better of it and put it back in her holster.

  Lorber made a show of sniffing the air.

  “Where is he?” Patterson asked. “Rachette!”

  The curve on County Road 17 was dirt, ruts, and dense forest with a background burbling river tucked somewhere in the trees.

  Rachette’s first text message had been a statement: I’m on County 17. West of the highway 8 miles. Parked on a curve.

  The second text message had been a picture.

  The third had been another statement: I have one bullet left.

  It was cool, the breeze picking up and bringing in some unthreatening clouds, and again the scent of blood and viscera.

  “Jesus,” Patterson stepped off the edge of the road and into the trees, clearly smelling the same thing. “Rachette!”

  “Careful,” Lorber said. “At your feet.”

  Patterson kicked a brass shell casing out of her path. “Whatever. Rachette!”

  They fanned out and walked through the trees.

  “Rachette!”

  “Rachette!”

  A short distance later they came into a clearing and saw the scene that had been digitally delivered to Wolf’s phone.

  Gene Fitzgerald was lying on his back in some grass and wildflowers. The flies had set in anywhere there was blood, which was to say the flies had set in everywhere on his body.

  The ground sparkled with spent brass at Gene’s feet. There was also an empty magazine.

  “Rachette!” Patterson put her whole lungs into it.

  “Here.”

  The close proximity of Rachette’s voice startled them all. He was only ten yards away, leaning against a rock with crossed legs. He had a bloody hand pressed to the side of his abdomen. In his other hand, resting on his lap, was his Glock. His finger was threaded through the trigger guard.

  I have one bullet left.

  “I found him.” Rachette smiled and started laughing, then clenched his eyes shut and raised his face to the sky. He was in agony as he convulsed in a hybrid of laughing and crying.

  Lorber stepped up to Gene’s corpse and stared down. “Damn. You sure did.” Lorber kicked the foot. “Good riddance you sick fuck!”

  A flock of birds took flight from the meadow.

  Rachette relaxed and gazed at Gene. “I was on my way down into town and I saw a Jeep. He was driving the opposite way. Could have sworn I saw Gene in the windshield with those glasses of his. So I turned around.

  “He must have seen me flip a U. Parked here and tried to ambush me. But I was ready. Had my gun out the window and pushed him into the trees with a few shots. Then we had it out. Apparently he wasn’t trained in the art of shooting like a Sluice-Byron County deputy is.” He bared his teeth and closed his eyes.

  “You’re hurt,” Patterson said. “We have to get you to the hospital.”

  Rachette lifted his gun, aiming at himself. He stopped short of putting the barrel to his head and then dropped the gun back to his lap.

  “No . . .” Patterson froze. “You’re not gonna do that.”

  “I’m not?” Tears slid down his cheeks. “I should. I deserve it. I killed the only girl that ever loved me.”

  “You didn’t kill her, Tom. She’s in a coma. She’ll pull through. Come on, give me the gun.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” he asked. “I put her in that coma. What if she’s a vegetable all her life because of me?”

  She went down on one knee. “Gene Fitzgerald put her in a coma. If she doesn’t wake up, then Gene Fitzgerald did that to her. Not you.”

  Rachette stared through his partner. “I went and visited her at the hospital. You should have seen the way her mom looked at me. She told me it was all my fault. Yelled it in my face. Spit on the ground at my feet. And she’s right. I left her at the altar. She would have never been with this monster in the first place if I hadn’t done that.”

  “Rachette ...”

  Rachette lifted the gun again, this time gritting his teeth.

  “No, Tom!”

  He pressed the gun against his temple. Clenched his eyes.

  “You were scared,” she said quickly. “That’s okay. Please, Tom. Put the gun down. Lower it.”

  “I was a pussy.”

  “Please.” She held out her hand. “Please.”

  He opened his eyes and lowered his arm. “I’m a pussy now. I should do it, but I can’t. I should—”

  “You were scared of becoming just like your father.”

  The forest was dead silent.

  Wolf dared a long breath, but didn’t dare blink. Every muscle in his body was clenched.

  “I get it,” she said, her voice soothing. “We all get it, Tom. We all understood the minute you didn’t show up for that thing. Okay? Charlotte understood. So stop beating yourself up for that. And this guy? This guy had us all duped. This guy was a sicko who had us all duped.”

  She stretched her arm even more. “So why don’t you give me the gun, okay?”

  Rachette clenched his eyes and bared his teeth, and then he sobbed with bouncing shoulders.

  Patterson edged forward, and Rachette left the Glock on his leg and put his hand over his eyes.

  She pounced and plucked the gun from his lap, ejecting the single bullet still in the chamber, and then racked the slide a few times for good measure. Dropping the magazine, with a grunt she reeled back and threw it into the trees. It clattered off a log and skittered off a boulder.

  Rachette’s eyes were open now, watching his partner. “That’s my piece.”

  Wolf pushed past Patterson and bent over Rachette. “Are you shot?”

  Rachette said nothing.

  He pulled Rachette’s hand away and looked.

  “What’s it look like?” Lorber came up behind him and bent down. After a few seconds of ripping fabric and close study, the ME looked up. “It’s through and through. Doesn’t look too bad. Considering how he looks.” Lorber thumbed back toward Gene.

  “Got him good, huh?” Rachette asked.

  Patterson was over near Gene’s body. Wolf and Lorber joined her and Wolf got a good look for the first time. The wounds were in all the right places.

  “This isn’t going to be good.” Lorber was looking at the ground. “He shot him God knows how many times, then reloaded and sh
ot him sixteen times more.” He looked back at Rachette, not bothering to lower his voice. “I’d say an IA investigation’s going to call this a bad shoot.”

  “You think?” Patterson shook her head.

  “If DA White has anything to say about it?” Lorber looked at Wolf. “Yeah.”

  “He shot Rachette. It’s self-defense.” Patterson shook her head. “Whatever. Let’s not worry about that. Let’s get him to the hospital.”

  “The first four or five shots, sure, self-defense. Then …” Lorber upturned his hands.

  “Give me a gun,” Rachette said.

  “Shut up,” Patterson said.

  “You know … it would be a piece of cake,” Lorber said. “We pick up the brass, then use hydrofluoric acid on him … or just dump him in one of those mine shafts. Hydrofluoric acid would be better. It’ll dissolve everything else and we can remove the bullets. Then we take a few gallons of gas and douse this area, light it on fire to remove any forensic residue?” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Of course after two rain storms it would all be gone anyway. Not that anyone would be looking up here for—”

  “No.” Patterson’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not what we’re going to do.”

  Rachette stared at them with dead eyes.

  Wolf said nothing.

  “I don’t know.” Lorber held his hand out to Gene’s corpse. “Your partner might go to jail for this. I mean, he cleared his gun on him. Then reloaded and cleared it again. Hey, I’m just saying. I’m all for it if you guys decide to get rid of the body.”

  Patterson looked pale, and not because of the smell coming off of Gene.

  “What do you think?” Lorber turned to Wolf.

  He studied Lorber’s face and found no trace of irony in his voice. The man was dead serious.

  “Deputy Attakai’s sitting in jail because of this same thing,” Patterson said. “Don’t you see the irony in that?”

  “Attakai’s sitting in jail because there was another killer out there he didn’t know about.” Lorber studied the body, put a hand on his chin like a sculptor studying a lump of clay.