David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  To Patterson’s surprise, Lancaster put the SUV in gear, let off the gas, and drove without protest.

  Chapter 22

  Pope laid his cheek on the cold concrete and pushed his eye up to the small crack of light at the bottom of the door.

  The vehicle engine shut off outside and a car door squeaked open.

  A civilian car. A cop car would’ve been better oiled than that.

  “Pepper?”

  There was no answer.

  “Pepper?” he said again. He knocked on the inside of the door. The sound was like a kick to the head. Not nearly as painful as when he’d actually been kicked. Making that bitch pay was going to be one of the first orders of business.

  “Who’s that?” came a quiet voice from the other side of the door.

  “Who’s that?” he countered.

  A pause. He pictured an idiotic look in Pepper’s bloodshot eyes.

  “Pepper? Is that you? It’s Pope.” Doesn’t get clearer than that.

  “It’s Pepper. Who’s that?”

  Pope closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath. “It is Pope. I’m stuck in the storage unit. Help me out of here.”

  A shadow passed in front of the sliver of light and dreadlocks fell to the ground. Then one of Pepper’s eyeballs was inches from his.

  “You’re stuck?”

  “Yes. Do you have a crow bar in the vehicle? Any bolt cutters?”

  “I think so.”

  Pope suppressed his optimism. There was a good chance this moron had no clue what either of those objects were. “Check.”

  The shadow disappeared. A minute later it returned and he heard a metallic clank on the door.

  Pope stood up in the darkened storage unit. His balance was off, like he was on a ship at sea, so he leaned a hand on the door. Feeling the scrape of metal on metal on the door through his palm, he closed his eyes and hoped.

  There was a clank, and suddenly the door was rolling up and light was flooding in.

  When it rose all the way, Pope shielded his eyes against the hammering sun and saw the silhouette of Pepper and his Medusa head of dreadlocks.

  “Hey there, boss. You get yourself in a little trouble?” Pepper stepped inside. His thin, greasy facial hair framed a stupid smile.

  “You’re an hour late, Pepper.”

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he said. “Got a late start, and then there’s some serious stuff going on out there. Cops galore. Had to wait until the action died down a little before I drove in here.”

  Pope held out his hand.

  Pepper reached out to clasp it in a handshake and Pope pulled it away.

  “No, give me your phone.”

  Pepper patted his pockets and pulled out his cell. Handing it over, he smiled again. “Lucky I had this truck, ’cause the bolt cutter from the other day was still in it. What a coincidence, huh? What if I hadn’t driven this truck? We’d be screwed right now.”

  Pope nodded. “Or what if you had shown up on time?”

  Pepper squirmed under Pope’s glare.

  “Give me the bolt cutters.”

  The stoner looked down at the snipping tool in his hand and swallowed. “Yeah, sure.”

  Pope reached out and took one of the long red handles.

  Pepper held firm for an instant, and then let go.

  Pope took the other handle and jabbed upward into the smelly, dreadlocked moron’s neck while he clamped the jaws shut.

  A spurt of warm blood shot onto Pope’s arms and he jumped back.

  The hippy gurgled and clamped both hands on his neck, trying to staunch the life pouring from his body.

  Pope raised the cutters above his head and brought them down onto Pepper’s nest of hair, and then again, until he’d slumped all the way to the ground. One more blow for good measure, and the man who’d caused this whole storage-unit mess was motionless, certain never to move again. Not many people lived with brain showing through a hole in their skull.

  Looking down at his red streaked arms, panic surged through him. His palms were slick on the handles of the cutters, his left foot standing in the blood.

  He peeked outside and saw no one, then ducked back in. The corrugated steel walls were covered with oozing blood spatter. His shirt was like a Jackson Pollock painting. So were his jeans. His face must have been a mess.

  Quickly, he took off his shirt, turned it inside out, and began wiping his face and arms.

  He found a half-full bottle of water and dumped it on his T-shirt, and finished cleaning himself. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, his arms were coated with a permanent pink hue. He checked the side view mirror on Pepper’s truck and saw his face was the same color. Surprisingly, a light coat of blood spatter made him look more normal.

  His fingerprints would be on the plastic box and the bolt cutters, so he put them both in the truck cab, rolled the storage-unit door shut, and got in the truck.

  Shirtless, with bloody jeans, red arms, an angry red face, and one red shoe, he drove away.

  Outside the Trout Creek gate, he took a right and followed the hand signals of a pig waving traffic around a cluster of other pigs that were focused on a silver truck.

  With an affable grin, he nodded at the gutless clones and sped north out of town.

  After dialing a number from memory, he held the phone to his ear.

  It rang once and went to voicemail.

  He dialed again.

  Again his call was screened.

  “Come on.” He dialed again, and this time the deep voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Pope. Listen to me very carefully.”

  Chapter 23

  For a small town in the middle of the mountains, Rocky Points Middle and High School was quite a large building. Built of red bricks and brown-painted steel, it was a sprawling one-story, surrounded by flat fields and, beyond that, forest.

  Boys and girls kicked soccer balls in the field to the south, and they looked to be about Jack’s age, but Patterson failed to see his tall, lanky form amid the other kids.

  A trip to the administrative offices would tell Patterson quickly enough where Jack was.

  She and Lancaster walked up the long sidewalk toward the school.

  She took the lead, once again not caring whether Lancaster decided to join her. This was her gig.

  Lancaster’s phone rang again, and again he screened it.

  When it rang a third time she stopped and turned. “For Chrissakes, are you going to get that?”

  He pushed the button. “Hello?”

  True to form, he turned away from her and walked in the opposite direction.

  Her curiosity piqued, she listened closely.

  He slowed and looked at her, listening intently to his phone call. “Yes, sir … We’re actually in the process of doing that right now,” he said.

  A few seconds later he pocketed the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  “MacLean. Apparently he’s on the same page as you. He wants us to find Jack Wolf and for you to inform him of everything that’s going on.”

  She tilted her head. “And you didn’t know MacLean’s phone number when he called the first two times?”

  “He was calling from a number at the new building. I didn’t recognize it.”

  Nodding, she turned around and walked into the school.

  Inside was an entryway with a trophy case housing brass statues, pictures, and ribbons.

  Perusing the plaques and pictures on the way by, she stopped at the sight of a familiar face beaming a smile in a line of fully uniformed football players.

  It was a much younger Wolf with wavy black hair. Handsome as ever. Downright hot, really. He stood in shoulder pads with his helmet under his arm. The plaque said State Champions, Division 4A, 1993.

  She continued down the hall to the administrative offices and entered.

  “Hello, Officers,” the woman nearest them said from behind a wooden desk.

  “Deputies, ma�
��am. With the Sluice–Byron Sheriff’s Department. We are here to locate and speak with a student named Jack Wolf.”

  “Okay.” She punched her keyboard and then did some navigating with her mouse.

  Patterson turned to Lancaster. “So MacLean had the same idea as I did? To locate Jack and tell him about his father?”

  Lancaster shrugged. “That’s what he said. He thought you were the best for the job. You know Jack well, right?”

  Perhaps MacLean had a brain after all. It was tough getting a read on the man. He’d been treating any and all Sluice County deputies like spoiled fruit so far, never including them in anything. And now he was saying she was best for the job?

  “Miss … uh … Deputy, I found him. He’s in room 183. Earth Science class. We can call him over the speaker and have him come down, or you can go to him. Which one would you like?”

  Patterson always liked moving better than waiting. “We’ll go to him. Thank you.”

  The woman exhaled. “Excuse me, but what’s this about? Do we need to contact family?”

  Patterson shook her head. “No. His father is with the department, too. Sheriff Wolf?”

  “Oh, really? I thought he wasn’t sheriff anymore.”

  “He’s not. My point is, we’re just relaying some important news from his father.”

  “Ah.” She nodded and winked. “All righty. Have a good day. I can get someone to show you the way. Maybe pull him out of class for you, so it’s not a couple of cops doing it?”

  “No, thanks,” she said with no more patience. “If you could just point us in the right direction.”

  “To the left. Straight down. It’s on the right a ways up. Can’t miss it.”

  Patterson led at a brisk pace and a minute later they were at the classroom.

  Patterson knocked and stuck her face against the rectangular window.

  A man with a beard and wire-rimmed glasses stopped in mid-lecture and walked to the door. He hesitated at seeing the uniforms and stepped outside.

  “Hello, Officers. May I help you?”

  Patterson noted the way the man started sweating. “We’re here to see Jack Wolf. Could you please send him out?”

  The man leaned and looked over Patterson’s shoulder, and then at his watch. “He went to the bathroom a few minutes ago. I’m usually not one to let students get out of class to go mess around in the bathroom when they could have relieved themselves between classes. But it seemed like an emergency.” He whispered the final word.

  Patterson pointed down the hall. “Here?”

  “Yeah, just down the hall. On the left side.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked to the men’s bathroom and stopped.

  Patterson held out her hand and Lancaster pushed his way in. The door swung shut and she was left standing alone in front of a line of lockers. With an exhale, she leaned against one of them and a memory of being pinned against her locker and kissing Brad Quinley flashed in her mind. Before Scott, there had only been Brad.

  She wondered what Scott was doing today. Probably wondering why she was avoiding his calls. Probably wondering why she had yet to give him an answer to his proposal. And probably wondering why she’d paused after the question as he’d popped it—sprung it, thrown it in her face—when they’d been out to dinner a week ago.

  Why had she frozen up and told him she’d think about it? Her hesitation had clearly devastated him.

  The memory of Scott’s jaw falling to the floor made her push from the locker and pace the hallway.

  She certainly loved the man. Their physical chemistry was great. They made each other laugh. They made each other think. So what the hell was her problem?

  And what the hell was taking so long with Lancaster?

  She barged across the hall and pushed on the bathroom door, which swung open a few feet and stopped with a bang.

  “Ah!”

  Backing up, she let the door swing shut.

  A second later, Lancaster came out, holding the side of his face.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just …” She paused at the sight of Lancaster’s eyes.

  For a split second, she saw hatred within his glare, and for an instant he leaned toward her, like he was about to do something about it. And then, just as quickly, the look was gone.

  “It’s all right,” he said with a forced calm.

  She turned away and let him get out of the doorway. Like she’d just stared at the sun and the after-image was floating in her vision, she still saw the hatred burning in Lancaster’s eyes. Christ, she’d had no idea the guy was so disgusted by her presence.

  Jack. She remembered why they were there.

  “Where is he?”

  Lancaster shrugged. “Not in there. Checked every stall.”

  She pushed her way into the bathroom. “Jack?”

  No answer.

  She bent down and saw that the stalls were all empty, then walked back outside.

  Lancaster stood with his arms to his sides, his cheek bright red.

  “There’s gotta be another bathroom he went to.” She marched back toward the classroom and then past it, then around a corner, and finally to a set of double doors that led outside.

  Pulse now racing, she jogged past Lancaster and back down the hall, past the classroom, all the way to the administration office.

  “I need you to page Jack Wolf on the intercom and tell him to come here.”

  The woman read her expression and tone and jumped into action. “Jack Wolf, please come to the principal’s office. Jack Wolf.”

  A door opened and a tall woman in a pantsuit stepped out. “Everything all right, Claire?” She looked expectantly at Patterson.

  “I’m looking for Jack Wolf, ma’am.”

  She stepped forward with her hand extended. “I’m Principal Ulfers. What’s going on?”

  “Jack Wolf is missing from his class. I’m looking for him.”

  The principal smiled. “Well, that’s not exactly out of the ordinary for Jack Wolf as of late.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes. I’m … sure you heard about his mother. He’s been absent quite a lot lately.”

  Patterson frowned. “He just leaves class? He says he’s going to go to the bathroom and leaves? Doesn’t come back?”

  Principal Ulfers shrugged her bony shoulders. “Well … no … but I wouldn’t put that past him.”

  Patterson shook her head and left out of the admin area, back into the hallway.

  Lancaster was leaning against the wall, watching her as she flew by.

  Reaching the classroom again, she opened the door.

  Everyone’s heads turned her way, teacher and student alike. “I need to know where Jack Wolf sits.”

  A girl pointed at a vacant desk in front of her.

  She walked over and plucked the backpack out from underneath the plastic chair. “Is this his?”

  The girl nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did he tell any of you where he was going?” She turned full circle, imploring the young faces in the classroom.

  “He was on his phone for a little bit,” said a boy sitting next to where Jack would’ve been. “I saw him, like, texting, and then he left.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Officer,” Principal Ulfers was breathless in the doorway, “can I please speak to you a second?”

  Clutching the backpack, Patterson walked to the doorway and pushed past the principal into the hallway. She stopped and turned, feeling a familiar heat in her cheeks like that of when she’d been caught skipping class in tenth grade. “Yeah?”

  Principal Ulfers closed the classroom door and turned to Patterson and Lancaster. “What is going on?”

  “Jack Wolf is not in his class. We’re looking for him. If he shows up, please give us a call.” Patterson pulled out a contact card and handed it over.

  Ulfers blinked her long eyelashes and took the card reluctantly. “Like I said, he skip
s a lot of class.”

  Patterson turned her back, walked down the hall, and back outside.

  Halfway down the pathway to the parking lot, she looked over her shoulder just as a bell rang on the side of the building. Lancaster was leaving the doors with a crowd of students. Eyeing her, he had his phone pressed to his ear again.

  She put her hands on her hips and waited, ignoring the flow of kids as they scattered to cars to have off-campus lunch.

  Lancaster slowed to a stop and spoke into his phone.

  “Screw this.” Patterson took out her own phone and dialed.

  “Sluice–Byron Sheriff’s Department. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, Tammy. It’s Patterson. Can you please connect me to MacLean’s office?”

  Patterson waited patiently as the phone trilled.

  “MacLean.”

  “Sir. This is Deputy Patterson. I have news.”

  “What news?”

  “We, Lancaster and I, just learned that Jack Wolf is missing from school.”

  “Okay. How do you know that?”

  “We just stopped by his school and found that he’s missing.”

  “You stopped by his school? The high school?”

  She paused. “Yes. To find him. To tell him about his father, you know, let him know everything that’s been going on. Didn’t you talk to Lancaster about this earlier?”

  “And so what? He’s gone?”

  “Yes, sir. His backpack was still here. In class. But he disappeared.”

  “Are you sure he isn’t just, I don’t know, taking a leak?”

  “That’s what the teacher thought he was doing. We checked the bathrooms. He doesn’t appear to be on campus.”

  “Doesn’t appear to be? Appear to be?”

  Patterson’s face went hot. “Yes, sir.”

  MacLean chuckled into her ear. “Did you learn who his girlfriend is? See if she’s missing too? Check out the make-out spots up in the trees? How about where the kids sneak away to have a smoke? Hell, was he given a wedgie and shoved in a locker? Maybe he likes a particular shitter on the other side of the school and is having a rough go of it.”