David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  “Hey, buddy.” Nate wrapped his muscular arms around Rachette and then turned to Munford with an extended hand.

  Munford nodded. “Hello. Charlotte. You can call me Munford, I guess.”

  “Nate. Nice to meet you.”

  “And this is Jack.”

  They all turned to Wolf’s son.

  Jack stood taller than all of them except for Wilson, but his presence was almost unnoticeable. He stood with stooped shoulders, and his normally vibrant kelp eyes looked sunken, and were focused on the ground.

  Rachette had not spoken to Jack for months. Not since his mother’s death. There had been a single time when he’d seen Jack on the street and greeted him, and Jack had turned away without a response.

  “Hey, Jack.” Rachette held out his hand.

  Jack grabbed it with a limp wrist and gave it a single pump, never getting anywhere close to eye contact.

  Rachette turned away as if their awkward greeting was nothing out of the ordinary, reminding himself that this kid had lost his mother, and now these men were whisking him away and hiding him in the woods, while his father was being chased by the FBI and law enforcement. It was hard enough being fourteen without all that.

  “Take out your phones, please,” Burton said.

  Wilson and Munford looked at one another while Rachette dug his out of his pocket.

  “It’s not optional.” Burton held out his hand. One by one, he relayed the devices to Nate, who removed the batteries and SIM cards.

  Burton stepped in front of Munford and glared at her.

  Munford looked vaguely uncomfortable, but held his gaze.

  “So, what exactly is going on?” Rachette asked. “Have you told Patterson the truth about Jack not being missing yet?”

  Burton kept his eyes on Munford. “No. Like I said, we can’t trust anyone from Byron, and Patterson’s paired with that Lancaster guy. Along with MacLean, he’s Byron’s poster boy.”

  “Sir, I was on the phone and she overheard me. I had no choice.”

  Munford glared at Rachette with something resembling disappointment on her face.

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “I was in front of the station and overheard Deputy Rachette say that Jack Wolf was missing,” Munford said. “He was clearly distraught, and then he told you, or whoever he was talking to, that his car had broken down. I offered him a ride.”

  Burton looked at Rachette. The disappointment there was clear enough.

  “He had no choice,” Munford said. “I told him that I’d go to MacLean with the information I’d heard. I’m a cop. You don’t go hearing that a kid’s missing and then just shrug it off when someone says, Just kidding. I told him I would take him where he needed to go, or I would leave him and continue investigating myself.”

  Burton’s mustache curled and his eyes creased. A smile? Rachette couldn’t tell.

  “Well, you’re about to hear some things that you’ll just have to shrug off, as you put it. I know you’ve never met David Wolf. Never worked with him like these two have. Never had your life saved by him like Martin, Fabian and Phillip have. And never known him like Nate and I or Jack have, or the rest of Rocky Points knows him for that matter.

  “I know you’re more inclined to believe the bullshit that’s going on right now. You’re more inclined to believe that just because the evidence says so, that David Wolf has shot and killed all those people.” Burton walked up behind Jack, who was now seated in a camping chair next to the fire, and squeezed his shoulders. “One of whom was the love of his life and this boy’s mother. But he sure as hell didn’t kill anyone.”

  Munford looked down at Jack and then up at Burton. Her chin was still raised in defiance, her eyes staring hard.

  “Wolf’s been in touch,” Burton said.

  Rachette perked up. “Really? Where?”

  “He didn’t say, and it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to make sure Jack is safe, and we’re here to do that.”

  Rachette eyed Jack for a response, but he was still a zombie, eyes transfixed on the fire.

  Munford eyed the men in turn around her. Her breathing quickened and she stutter-stepped forward an inch.

  “Deputy Munford,” Burton said, “you want to talk about it?”

  “I just … didn’t know I was getting into this.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Deputy Rachette, did you bring your guns?”

  Rachette nodded. “In the car, sir.”

  Munford glared at him, realizing the significance of why Rachette had insisted on stopping at his house for a long black duffel bag, and that it had not only been camping gear he needed for tonight. “Okay, now you guys are scaring me.”

  Burton nodded. “Good. This is definitely a situation where it’s appropriate to be nervous.”

  Then she made a mistake. Her hand lifted and rested on her holstered Glock, and in an instant five pistols were pointed at her head.

  “You don’t want to do that,” Burton said as he cocked back the hammer of his revolver.

  Wilson and Rachette stared at one another.

  Munford slowly lifted her hand from her pistol and then held out the other.

  Jack shifted in his seat. His teeth were bared and his eyes reflected the flames. “What are you guys doing? You guys gonna start killing people for my dad? It’s not enough that he killed my mom? You’re gonna start killing cops for him?”

  Rachette walked over and smacked Jack across the face before he’d even known what he was doing.

  Jack cried out and looked up with shimmering eyes.

  “You don’t really think your dad did this, do you?” Rachette’s chest heaved. He felt like someone was holding his heart in a fist. “Do you?”

  Jack swallowed and looked back down at the fire.

  “No! Look at me!”

  Jack did.

  “Shit. I can’t believe …” Burton put a hand on Rachette’s shoulder but Rachette swiped it away. “Listen, Jack. We got a garbled phone call from someone the other day. It was an untraceable call with a voice-changing device.” He looked at Burton. “Didn’t you guys tell him any of this?”

  Burton shook his head.

  Of course they hadn’t. They were coddling the kid, or probably hadn’t heard all the up-to-date information. These men were acting on an unshakeable faith in David Wolf. What they’d forgotten was that Jack’s faith in his father had been shaken to the core.

  “Jack. They’re going after your dad for three murders: your mother, the guy in the car with her that night, and a girl they found a few days ago. All three people were killed with one gun. The anonymous phone call said that the gun in question would be found in your father’s shed, and they found it there.

  “There’s a problem with this theory that your dad did it, though. First of all, the girl’s body was twenty-five miles south of Rocky Points. You know there’s only one way in and out of your dad’s ranch. That means your dad would’ve had to drive past two FBI agents who were parked on that road to get there. Twice. But they didn’t see him drive by, because he never did.

  “Everyone in town knows he didn’t do this, and even the FBI knows. You know Kristen Luke, right? She’s the one who helped your dad escape. She’s thrown away her entire career because she knows he’s innocent.”

  “And the girl’s mother’s missing,” Munford said.

  Rachette looked at her. “What?”

  “Gail Olson’s mother went missing in Las Vegas,” Munford said, “and they think that Gail Olson was killed then moved, not killed where they found her. They’re saying now that she was killed up to twenty-four hours before they found her, and the post-mortem hypostasis and the position of the body didn’t match up. She was bruised all down her side but was found on her back. I heard this a couple of hours ago.”

  Munford kept her hands out, staring down the barrel of Martin’s Smith & Wesson. “I haven’t even told Deputy Wilson about it yet. I heard it from a friend, a deputy who used to work in Byron County
with me … anyway, I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about it. I really hadn’t even gotten time to think about it until now, because I ran into you, Rachette, and then this whole thing happened. But,” she looked at Jack, “if you think about it, Gail Olson was missing for months. Maybe whoever was looking for her got to her through her mother in Vegas, and that’s where they were both killed, and then Gail Olson was moved here to Colorado. Or something like that. But we know for a fact that your father has not traveled for months. The FBI can swear to that. He’s been too laid up with his healing wounds to leave.”

  Jack stared at Munford with streaming eyes.

  “Your dad didn’t do any of this,” Rachette said. “You know that, right?”

  Jack’s mouth spread wide and his eyes clenched shut, sending a fresh deluge of tears down his cheeks. He nodded and then his head dropped and his shoulders bounced as he sobbed.

  Rachette knelt down and hugged him. “I’m so sorry I hit you, man. Shit, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

  A few minutes later, they all stood in the fading light, elated and energized by the tears that had flowed out of each of their eyes.

  Nate handed Rachette, Munford, and Wilson their phones back, now with the SIM cards and batteries separate and loose.

  Burton held out his hand to Munford. “Sorry. I’d still like to keep that. Just in case.”

  She looked at him. “Why do you think the Byron Department had something to do with this?”

  “Just a precaution. Now hand it over, please.”

  She held the phone away from him. “I want to know. You said earlier that you haven’t told Patterson about all this because of Lancaster. Why? You think our deputies are involved?”

  “That’s our initial suspicion. Wolf’s initial suspicion. And Wolf is usually pretty tuned into things.”

  “I think it’s smart not to tell Lancaster,” she said. “I’ve always had a bad feeling about that guy. But I think Sheriff MacLean’s a good man.”

  Burton stared at her, his hand extended.

  She dropped her phone, her SIM, and the battery in the fire and swiped her hands together. “There. Now you know what side I’m on.”

  Burton dropped his arm.

  They all gathered close to watch the electronic device sizzle and warp in the flames.

  “That was completely unnecessary,” Nate said.

  “I disagree,” Martin Running Warrior said. “Completely necessary. You all should follow her lead and toss your electronic collars into the fire.”

  After a moment of sober reflection, Burton roared with laughter. “Okay, you’ve won me over.”

  “That’s not everyone she’s won over,” Wilson said.

  “What?” Rachette’s face fell. “Shut up.”

  “Move over, Patterson,” Wilson continued. “Jack has a new crush.”

  Rachette broke into strained laughter and looked at Jack.

  Jack shook his head and picked at a smudge on his jeans. His face bloomed crimson, almost as red as Rachette’s felt.

  “Let’s get your hardware out of the car, Rachette. And now we have a lot more to talk about.”

  Nate led the way and Rachette followed.

  On the way by, he snuck a glance at Munford and saw the tiny smile.

  Chapter 29

  Patterson pressed the call-end button on her phone and shrugged.

  Lancaster kept his eyes locked on the road. “Still no answer?”

  “Still no answer,” she said. “They must be together.”

  The radio squawked to life. “Delta 329, please respond. Delta 329, please respond.”

  Tammy was calling for Deputy Wilson, who’d gone unaccounted for an hour ago, reported in by Deputy Yates, who had been trying to call Wilson earlier with no luck. Further investigation by Yates and his Byron County partner had shown that Wilson’s squad SUV was parked at his house, and his family vehicle was missing.

  This was the fourth try via dispatch that had gone unanswered, and Patterson was having no luck getting Wilson via phone.

  She needed to look like Wilson’s disappearance had totally bamboozled her.

  Then there was Rachette. Clearly he had missed what she’d said about Lancaster, and her suspicions of him “being bad,” as she’d put it. She’d barely gotten the sentence out of her mouth in time, but she was certain it had been undetected by Lancaster. And now every time she called Rachette, his phone went straight to voicemail.

  Of course, she acted confused about that, too.

  Nate Watson’s absence at home tonight after work? That was odd.

  She was out here on dark forest roads, pretending it was a mystery that Rachette, Wilson, Nate, and Jack Wolf were missing. She failed to mention that it would be a good idea to call Burton. Because it was too good an idea, and she already knew they were all together.

  And she was here with this freaky-ass mute who reminded her of Lurch from The Addams Family. She could feel his beady eyes on her skin as he glanced between her and the road.

  Then he pulled over without warning.

  As the vehicle shuddered to a stop, she rehearsed counter-attacks in her mind: eye gouges, throat punches, pressure-point applications.

  “What’s up?” Her voice was tense, just like her muscles.

  Lancaster lifted his phone and pecked the screen, ignoring her question.

  Outside, the northern slopes of the ski resort were a silhouette dotted with lights in the post-sunset hour. The headlights illuminated a deer trotting out of the woods. It paused on the dirt road, showed its shining eyes, and then darted away.

  “I’m not sure what to think about all this.” Patterson swallowed.

  Lancaster was a dark statue.

  “You know, it’s a little freaky when you just sit there all silent. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Lancaster looked up from his phone at her.

  “Yeah. That’s the freaky-ass look.”

  “Available units, we have a report of a stolen car and a vandalized truck at the Tackle Box Bar and Grill at Cold Lake Marina. Available units, please check in.”

  Patterson snatched the radio and pressed the button. “Bravo 39 responding.”

  Lancaster let off the brake and accelerated.

  She half expected a showdown then and there with the big man, but apparently Lurch wanted to see what the commotion was.

  “Copy. Bravo 39 responding to stolen car and vandalized truck at the Tackle Box Bar and Grill at Cold Lake Marina.”

  Cold Lake. Patterson thought about the bullet that had whizzed past her head that rainy day three and a half months ago, and then the sight of Wolf jumping headfirst off that cliff.

  Her heart skipped a beat. That day was over. But something told her the danger wasn’t.

  Patterson and Lancaster pulled into the Cold Lake Marina parking lot in between two Sheriff’s Department vehicles.

  Outside, the humid, fishy air next to the lake carried a mix of music from the Tackle Box and the static voices of police radios. Turret lights flickered off the other parked cars, and as they ducked underneath the police tape they were hit with three flashlight beams.

  Lancaster walked up to Deputy Baine. “What do you have?”

  Baine started at the sudden presence of Lancaster next to him. “Oh, hey. Hey, Patterson.” He composed himself and waved them to the other side of the pickup truck, which was the focus of all the activity. “You can see here on this side—shot to hell with a bunch of 5.56 calibers.”

  “Any blood inside?” Patterson asked.

  “None that looks like it’s from gunshot wounds.”

  “What does that mean?” Patterson asked.

  “There’s a pair of leather gloves in the back of the cab with a couple of drops of blood on them, and a fast-food bag with some blood, too. Doesn’t look fresh or like it’s from the shots, though.”

  A light behind Baine drew Patterson’s eye. It was a deputy with an LCD-screen device that lit up his face as he stared down
at it. Their new portable fingerprint identifiers were a luxury that came with the new combined budgets of Sluice and Byron Counties.

  “What do you have there, Deputy?”

  Deputy Yates pulled his mask down, revealing his signature blond mustache, worn in a style that had been all the rage two hundred years ago.

  “Oh, Yates,” Patterson said. “What d’ya got?”

  Yates beckoned them with a finger. “You guys should see this.”

  Lancaster led the way.

  The cell-phone-sized digital screen showed a headshot picture of Special Agent Kristen Luke in a dark-blue suit. Yates pressed a button and it changed to a headshot of Wolf dressed in a brown sheriff’s uniform.

  “I found a lot of their prints,” Yates said, “but most are from this guy.”

  He held up the device again and it showed a man with snow-white skin, almost albino. His eyes were baby blue rimmed red, unsmiling, just like the rest of his face. He was dressed in desert BDUs.

  “Ex-military. A guy named Clayton Pope.”

  Two unmarked Ford sedans came squealing into the lot.

  Agents Frye and Cumberland jumped out of one of the vehicles, and two other agents took up the rear.

  “I want every law-enforcement officer over here now!” Agent Frye said as he ducked under the tape.

  Yates, Baine, and Lancaster stood still as Frye came to them. The other three deputies on scene materialized from the other side of the lot and joined them.

  “This is officially a federal crime scene from now on, and the deputies of Sluice–Byron County Sheriff’s Department will proceed under my command.” Frye held out his hand to Yates. “What did you find?”

  Yates handed over the electronic device.

  Frye handled the buttons like he’d invented the machine and then handed it to Cumberland. Frye mumbled something unintelligible to his fellow agent and Cumberland walked away.

  Patterson watched Frye’s mind work. First the agent checked the bullet holes.