David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  The flashing turret lights of countless police cars lit up the early-morning darkness, abusing her eyes. A group of officers stood with folded arms on the front lawn, watching her every move.

  She checked her watch and turned back to the doorway. It was 5:20 a.m. Too early to be seeing stuff like this.

  With a sigh, she followed Tedescu into the house.

  He was already all the way across the room and staring down at the carnage.

  She stepped next to him, giving a cursory glance at the executed family, leaning in macabre poses, their skin slathered in dried blood. It was sickening.

  “Why the hell are we here?”

  Tedescu was an amiable enough guy, and Luke had grown to like him in the short time they’d been working together since his partner’s death. Tedescu was quick witted, surly, a straight shooter, and not too bad on the eyes, either, not that she’d entertain the idea of dating a man from work ever again.

  A family man with two kids of his own, Tedescu had a soft spot for children, which made his standing there like a statue, staring at this, all the more vexing.

  “Hey, Tedescu, you gonna tell me what’s going on or what? Did you know this family?”

  Tedescu ignored her and homed in on a torn envelope on a triangular table. He stepped to it, tilting his head, and Luke noticed him take a sharp inhale; then, as if catching himself, he tried to pull off an air of indifference.

  But she’d seen it. Something on that table had him spooked, so she edged closer. The basic manila folder had no writing on it. The brass tines were pushed together and the flap was open, though ripped on one side as if wrenched open hastily.

  “You guys get any prints?” Luke asked a female CSU officer.

  She shrugged. “Plenty of them. All from the family, though.”

  Luke nodded and then did a double take at Tedescu.

  He was staring hard at her.

  “What? Jesus, Terry, you gonna speak or what?”

  The CSU officer eyed them and then snapped off a few more pictures.

  Tedescu finally blinked and shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  “Good idea.”

  Luke followed him out the door, never looking back. She had a strong stomach, but not when it came to stuff like that.

  When they got outside, it was sprinkling rain in the pre-dawn hours and she felt grateful for it, like it was washing her. Not fast enough, though. She needed a downpour.

  She was suddenly enraged at Tedescu for bringing her in there. She could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She agreed with the DPD that they had it all under control. There was no need for them to be there.

  She sucked in a breath and leaned her head back, feeling the drops hit her face.

  Tedescu stopped without warning on the front walkway and she ran into his back.

  “Damn it, Terry. You’d better start talking or I’m gonna start throwing punches.”

  A couple of male officers nearby looked at her and raised their eyebrows.

  She snarled and gave them a nod.

  “I’ve gotta give you something.”

  “Oh, he speaks.” Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text message from Special Agent Benjamin, one of the few men in the Bureau she considered a friend.

  You’d better get in here. Now.

  Not bothering to text back, she pressed his phone number and put it to her ear.

  “What’s going on?” Tedescu asked.

  “Better come in here,” Benjamin said by way of greeting. His voice was just above a whisper. “I have to go. We’re having a division meeting.”

  He hung up before she could respond.

  “What the hell? They’re having a division meeting without us. Benjamin said we’d better get in there.”

  Tedescu went wide eyed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and started walking to the car, the cell pressed to his ear.

  Luke followed close.

  “Hey,” Tedescu said with clear relief, “are you all right? Where are you? Listen, don’t get on the plane. Stay there. Don’t ask me why, but do not go to the airport this morning. I don’t care. Turn around and go back. I’m going to have an agent come pick you up from your sister’s. I love you. I love you so much. Tell the kids I love them … I have to go.”

  He tapped the screen and pocketed his phone.

  Luke opted to keep silent as they marched toward the car, but she was reeling at the phone call he’d just made.

  They reached the vehicle and Tedescu flung the keys at her without looking. She caught them and got in the driver’s side.

  Luke remained silent for the ride back to the Denver field-office building, letting her partner do some thinking as he stared out the window, while she did her own.

  Tedescu had been interested in a dead lawyer named Lethbridge and his family, been spooked by an empty envelope at the crime scene, and then called his wife and told her and the kids to stay in Missouri, where she knew they’d been on vacation, visiting relatives for the past few days. Not only that, he’d essentially told his wife goodbye, as if he was dying, with that final “I love you and the kids” bit. He’d also clearly been worried about their safety. Did he expect they were in the same mortal danger as this family?

  He would talk when he was ready.

  She looked over at the agent next to her. Tedescu was gnawing on a fingernail and staring out the window, clearly seeing none of the city flashing by.

  Or perhaps he wouldn’t talk.

  She reminded herself that she knew little about her new partner. And then she reminded herself that people were not to be trusted—men in particular. That was one of her deepest beliefs and it had served her well so far in life and career. This guy was caught up in something dangerous and she needed to keep a safe distance.

  Lifting her chin at the thought, she pulled into the parking lot, flashed her credentials at the guard, and parked the car.

  Two-by-two, agents were exiting the front entrance and climbing into their vehicles.

  She got out and waved to Agent Benjamin. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Benjamin hurried over. “You’d better go talk to Frye.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because we’re going up to Rocky Points.”

  Her heart hammered. “What? Why?”

  Benjamin shrugged with an apologetic twist of the mouth.

  “Thanks.”

  “Luke.” Tedescu grabbed her arm.

  She tried to wrench it free but his grip was powerful. She turned to him, and was unnerved by the wild fear in his eyes. “What? Let go of me.”

  He blinked and let go. “Take this. Go to Trout Creek Moving and Storage in Gunnison Colorado and go to this number.” He held out a key with a plastic tag that said #62 on it. “It explains everything. Your friend in Rocky Points is innocent. It’s the ghosts. Smith and I were right, and the proof is in that storage unit.”

  “Innocent of what?”

  He thrust the key against her chest and she took it.

  “They’re executing some sort of plan.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t explain everything now. I have to go get my son.”

  “Your son? I thought they were in Missouri?”

  “Not my oldest.” He gripped Luke by the shoulders and stared with psychotic eyes. “You have to go to that storage unit soon. It proves everything. You have to …” The sentence died in his throat, and he twisted to look over his shoulder.

  Luke followed his searching gaze. “What? Who are you looking for?”

  “I have to go.” Tedescu ran away, calling out as he went, “Go to Gunnison!”

  Tedescu fled across the parking lot. He stopped and got into his SUV and fired it up, backing out in front of Benjamin and his partner, who had to jam the brakes to avoid a collision.

  She stared in confusion for a few more seconds and then darted into the building, veered right, and took the stairs three at a time. Dodging another pair of agents as she re
ached the fourth floor, she went straight for the ASAC’s office.

  “Agent Luke,” Agent Frye greeted her as she poked her head in.

  “What’s going on?”

  Frye loaded some papers into his briefcase. “We’re moving on Wolf, and you and Tedescu are staying here.”

  “What? Why now? What have you got?” Luke asked between breaths.

  “A tip.” He avoided eye contact.

  “A tip? What kind of a tip?”

  “On a weapon.”

  “A tip from whom?”

  “Anonymous.”

  “Sir, this is—”

  “Not. Your. Concern!” Agent Frye’s gray eyes bore into hers. “Now report to Agent Samson—we’ve got another matter you’ll have to cover while we’re gone.”

  Luke’s mouth hung open. Her eyes darted around the room as she thought about what to do. She needed more information, and she needed to speak to Wolf.

  A weapon? A murder weapon? There was no way Wolf had killed Sarah. She knew that without Tedescu telling her.

  What exactly had he said? It was the ghosts. Tedescu was either the crackpot agent everyone feared he might be, or he was telling the truth. She opted for the latter, because there was no way Wolf was a cold-blooded killer.

  “Sir, it’s the Ghost Cartel. Tedescu just told me that it’s they who are framing Wolf, and he’s the expert.”

  He looked at her like she’d just passed gas. “Jesus, Wolf is the cartel. Don’t you get it?” He opened another drawer.

  Her phone chimed and vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out. She absently hit the silence button and looked at it.

  Every nerve in her body fired as she stared at the name on the screen.

  She pressed the green answer button and held the phone to her side.

  “Sir,” she said, “I can’t see how an anonymous tip on a weapon is enough to move on Wolf.” She raised her voice. “David Wolf is not a killer.”

  Agent Frye looked up and exhaled, his face softening. “Look, I know your history with this guy isn’t without a little heartache, so I’ll cut you some slack with your tone, and I’ll explain this once. The first part of the tip was that Gail Olson’s body would be found south of Rocky Points. The sheriff’s office checked on it last night and they found her, exactly where they were told.

  “The second half of the tip told us the location of the murder weapon in Wolf’s shed.” He held up his hands. “It’s enough for me. It’s enough for all of us who’ve been looking for answers for three and a half months. We’re moving.”

  “Sounds fishy. An anonymous tip?”

  Frye ignored her.

  “Sir, there’s no way Wolf did this. This isn’t him. He doesn’t kill people.”

  “So you think, because you used to screw him, and that’s exactly why you’re not going to be involved.” Frye closed and latched his briefcase, grabbed it, and ushered her toward the door. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

  Luke turned. “Sir, they’re going to eat him alive. And if … if you’re wrong about the cartel—”

  Frye’s briefcase knocked against her back and pushed her closer to the doorway.

  “This is Frye. Keep your post.”

  Luke held the phone with the microphone pointed to her rear.

  “Nobody, and I mean nobody but us, goes in or out of that road … wait until I get there … as fast as we can.”

  She went out into the main room and stood still while Frye pocketed his phone and locked his door.

  “Report to Samson. There was a quadruple murder in Park Hill last night and it involved a lawyer who does a lot of business with many of us.” Frye shook his head. “Damn nightmare. The whole family was executed. I want you two there.”

  Before Luke could tell her boss that she and Tedescu had already seen the carnage first hand, that her partner had inexplicably brought her to the murders that morning, thrust a key into her hand and then run like the world was about to end, Frye disappeared around the corner.

  She considered chasing after him, but her phone seemed to keep her from moving. Like it was planted in space and had some sort of localized gravitational field she could not escape.

  Two lone agents sat at desks, pecking away on their keyboards. The rest of the vast room seemed left in disarray.

  She twirled full circle to make sure she was alone, then pressed the phone to her ear. “Wolf?”

  Chapter 7

  Wolf woke to his alarm at sunrise and muscled down breakfast even though he felt no hunger.

  An hour later he’d completed his daily stretches—spending an extra few minutes on his leg—and was dressed to leave.

  He checked his old department Glock and shoved it into his paddle holster. After tucking it on his hip, he put on his fleece jacket, pulled open the drawstring on the waist to let it fall over the gun, took one last look in the mirror, and left out the front door.

  A warm wind buffeted him from the south. By the looks of the crystal-clear sky, a high-pressure front was pushing up from Arizona. The snow that had dusted the peaks yesterday was a distant memory.

  Stopping on the grass, he stretched his back and checked the side of the mountain ahead. To his surprise, the pinpoint reflection was missing.

  Perhaps his spies were looking elsewhere, or had finally lost interest in him.

  Wolf pulled out his phone, keeping his eyes on the spot.

  This was go time. If it took fifty phone calls, he was going to get some answers from the Denver FO. He scrolled through his contacts and pressed the number for Special Agent Kristen Luke.

  The phone trilled and then clicked.

  “Luke.”

  He was stunned that after so many months of screening his calls, she was picking up after one ring.

  There was no response.

  “It’s Wolf. Hello?”

  Then Luke spoke, but her voice was far from the receiver. She had clearly hit the wrong button.

  “Luke?” Wolf paced with the phone against his ear, and then froze at the sound of his name.

  His pulse climbed with each word.

  “The second half of the tip told us the location of the murder weapon in Wolf’s shed.”

  He twisted and stared at the workshop door on his barn. Listening to the continuing conversation playing out in his ear, he walked silently toward it.

  The padlock was missing. There were no scratches on the latch to indicate it had been pried at, but there was a tiny sliver of metal partially buried in the dirt at his feet. He picked it up and rolled it in his fingers. It was jagged and silvery, a piece of debris left after cutting the lock with bolt cutters.

  He listened to the remainder of the faint conversation and then there was a loud scratching sound in his ear.

  “Wolf?” Luke asked.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Standing up, he felt a jolt of pain in his spine that had vanished by the time he straightened.

  “Did you hear what my boss said?”

  “If I heard that the FBI is moving on me for suspicion of murdering Sarah, then yeah, I heard.”

  He flipped the latch on the shed door and pushed it open.

  “Shit.” She breathed into the phone.

  “An anonymous tip says I killed Carter Willis and Sarah? And what did you say? They found Gail Olson?”

  “The tip was called into Sluice–Byron Sheriff’s Department last night. Said you killed Gail Olson. The person gave the location of the body, and the location of the weapon, which I’m assuming is at your house. Apparently, SBCSD just found her, and now we’re coming up to bring you in.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense. I can see right here that my workshop’s been broken into. You guys should have seen everything. This place was crawling with your surveillance yesterday, and now it’s gone. And now I’m being framed?”

  Studying the wood-plank floor, he regretted cleaning the place a week ago, because now there were no signs of footprints. He stepped in and gazed down a
t the dirt outside the door and saw it looked freshly smoothed over.

  He stood motionless, scanning every inch of his workbench and the surrounding shop area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  “… men.”

  “What?”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.”

  “I said Vincent and Buntham? That’s hardly a surveillance operation. They were just keeping tabs on you while you left your house.”

  Wolf narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about? You had at least eight men on me yesterday.”

  “That wasn’t us.”

  He held his breath.

  “Wolf, are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “What men are you talking about?” Luke asked, her voice just above a whisper.

  Wolf ignored her and stepped to the first drawer of his workbench. He pulled it open, then moved to the next one, and the next.

  He knew exactly what he was looking for: a 9 mm pistol.

  “Wolf, talk to me.”

  “Just a second.” He grabbed his hunting binoculars off the workbench and walked outside. He pressed the cold rubber eyepieces against his cheeks and studied the mountainside to the west.

  The dark SUV that usually sat parked behind a copse of trees in the saddle was no longer there. There were no more men milling about, with their plumes of cigarette smoke drifting on the breeze.

  “Does the Bureau use black SUVs, dark SUVs, for surveillance stake-outs?”

  “What?”

  “Answer.”

  “No. They’re in a fleet of Crown Vics coming up right now. I’m sure we have some SUVs in the motor pool, but I’ve never used one down here in Denver.” She paused. “Wolf?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have to tell you something else.”

  “What?”

  “Carter Willis was ours.”

  The ground seemed to tilt.

  “He was FBI,” she said. “Undercover.”

  Wolf switched phone hands. “You’ve been screening my calls for months. Ignoring that one question I asked over and over—Who’s Carter Willis? I asked you dozens of times if your databases turned up anything, if your contacts had any info. Patterson’s been asking you.”

  “I was under orders to not speak to you about it.”