David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  “Right. It’s a few blocks over on the edge of town. I’d say we could ride together, but you’ve got Jet here. Plus, if we want to bring these students back for questioning, it might be best to have two cars.”

  It was sound logic to Wolf, and he was a little relieved he was off the hook from a morning of sitting in the car with a stranger, struggling with small-talk.

  They walked outside.

  “Whew. Hot.” Shumway climbed in one of the trucks and slammed the door. He fired up the engine and rolled the window down. “You can follow me.”

  Wolf and Jet climbed into his own SUV, fired it up, and followed Shumway out of the lot.

  Chapter 12

  “I just don’t see why he went by himself,” Rachette said.

  Patterson felt another lurch in her stomach and saliva gushed into her mouth again. “He’s with the dog.”

  Though she was used to starting work at 6 a.m. five days a week, she felt ridiculously tired today. How many drinks had she had at that stupid shower last night? Two? She leaned back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes.

  Rachette scoffed. “The dog with the lazy sphincter?”

  “It’s an ex-police dog.”

  “He’s going to find two killers, and he has a dog that releases toxins from his ass as its secret weapon for backup?”

  Patterson breathed deeply through her nose, willing her stomach to relax. “He’ll be—”

  “Yeah, yeah, working with the locals.” Rachette slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m just saying.”

  She cracked an eye and looked at him. “Bent out of shape about being left on duty with me?”

  Rachette said nothing as they continued through the back-and-forth turns of Cave Creek.

  Highway 734 followed the meandering path of the Chautauqua River, which had carved the caves that honeycombed the area’s hills over the millennia.

  “How much longer?” Patterson asked, feeling another wave of nausea wash over her as she lurched side to side in her seat.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothing.”

  She kept her eyes closed, but felt Rachette studying her.

  “We’re almost out of the canyon. I don’t know, another mile? What’s up? Not like you’ve never been up here.”

  “Not with my eyes closed.”

  “Then open them.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t feel well?” Rachette asked.

  “Nice observation.”

  “You have two drinks of white wine last night or something? You’ve always been such a lightweight.”

  She lifted her hand and raised her middle finger.

  They rode in silence for another few minutes. Patterson kept her eyes shut until she felt the car straighten out, reaching the flatland north of Cave Creek.

  Rachette whistled. “There’s that fire.”

  Patterson shielded her eyes with her hand against the blazing morning sun.

  They were passing by brittle grassland, where five antelopes stood with their backs to the wind. The animals looked as parched and unhealthy as the ground they scoured for food. Beyond them a column of smoke rose at an oblique angle from the sagebrush-filled high plateau.

  “That’s not that bad,” Rachette said. “They were making it out to be another land annihilator like the one down in Durango.”

  She looked at him. “Land annihilator?”

  “I just thought of that.”

  “Clearly.”

  Her phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out. “Hernandez,” she told Rachette. “Hello?”

  “Hey, sister,” Hernandez said.

  Normally the pet name would have irked her, but she liked Hernandez and in the short five months they’d been working together on the squad she kind of did feel he was like a brother. One that, unlike her three real-life brothers, she got along with all the time.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “We’ve got nothing from Ashland, and nothing from the Cold Lake Junction gas station. Barker’s going through the Mackery gas station recording now, and that’s the last of what we got … just a second …” Hernandez put his hand over the phone. “Yeah … Barker says that means the truck must have gone north … like I was just going to tell you … the reason I called you.”

  Patterson smiled. “All right. Wish us luck.”

  “Bueno suerte.”

  Patterson hung up. “They’ve got nothing on their footage. So it looks like it’s up to us.”

  They rode in silence a beat.

  “What do you think of Barker?”

  “Could not hate a person more,” Rachette said without a millisecond’s hesitation. “He’s like hotel soap: he does the job, but not well, and … always leaves a crappy film on your skin.”

  She looked at him. “You just thought of that?”

  “So, can I ask you a personal question?”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes again.

  “Are you going to go through with this thing?”

  “What thing?”

  “Your marriage to Scott?”

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. “What?”

  Rachette raised his eyebrows, keeping his gaze on the road.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “It just seems like you aren’t that excited about it.”

  Her face went red. What the hell did Rachette know? Is that the impression she was giving off? The thought made her swallow.

  “Sorry, I could be wrong. But I saw some serious hesitation in your eyes last night. You know, when you volunteered to go with me instead of to your bridal shower.”

  She felt too crappy to respond and closed her eyes again.

  “Oh. Wait, I see. Is that it?”

  Sometimes it was best to ignore Rachette, so she did.

  “You know, Charlotte and I are pretty solid right now. So if you’re thinking about me, harboring some sort of deep, secret feelings? Well—”

  “Pull over!” Patterson rolled down the window and stuck her face into the rush of chilled morning air. “Now!”

  Rachette slammed on the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder.

  She opened the door and leaned her head toward the ground. A car honked on the way by and the rush of air rocked the SUV. That was enough to send her over the edge. Heaving, she vomited on the side of the road.

  “Whoa, you okay? Make sure it goes outside.”

  She heaved again, then after one more time she was done. Wiping her mouth and nose, she leaned back and slammed the door. “There. Much better.”

  Rachette stared at her. “Christ, I was kidding.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Yeah.” Rachette pulled back onto the highway. “You all right?”

  “Must have been the food. They had some shrimp that tasted funny.”

  Rachette got up to speed and made a show of adjusting the rear-view mirror. “Or it could always be …”

  She looked at him.

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded to her, like she was supposed to understand what he was saying.

  “What?”

  “Come on. Sick? It’s the morning? Don’t tell me you and Scott aren’t having sex yet.”

  The thought slammed Patterson like they’d just hit the side of a mountain.

  For the remainder of the drive they rode in silence.

  “Here we are.” Rachette pulled into the gas station on the southern skirts of Brushing and parked under the awning next to a pump. “Check it.” He pointed up. “They have cameras.”

  They got out.

  Patterson stood and took a deep breath, sucking in gasoline fumes and the aroma of dry weeds. She shielded her eyes and faced the sun, and looked at the new wildfire that was still a way to the north and east.

  Upon closer inspection, she could see the glint of firefighters’ vehicles near the smoke. Beyond the conflagration, the land rose abruptly, carpeted with a rust-colored forest.

  “I hope it doesn’t
reach that,” she said.

  “No shit.”

  Pregnant? The thought was enough to make her hurl again. She took the lead and marched through the automatic doors of the convenience store.

  The air inside smelled like hotdogs and window cleaner. Speakers in the ceiling played a B-side classic-rock song she’d never heard.

  “Can I help you, Officers?” the clerk asked. He was a young man with a lot of hair on his head and face.

  “Deputies,” Rachette said, pointing at his Sheriff’s Department patch.

  The clerk looked more confused than educated.

  She slapped the warrant onto the counter. “We need to see your security footage.”

  The clerk stared at the warrant for a second, then back at Patterson. “Yeah, sure. Back here.”

  The clerk opened the bulletproof glass door and led them both into the cramped space behind the counter and to a tiny office that smelled like all the others—like overflowing toilet and stale cigarette smoke. Her mouth watered.

  “I’m going to hit the head.”

  Rachette eyed her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Get started without me.”

  Seven minutes later Patterson left the bathroom and returned to the office behind the counter. Rachette sat in front of the computer and the clerk hovered over his shoulder, helping him navigate the footage.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  Rachette shook his head as he stared at the black-and-white video screen. “Nothing.”

  “How much more do you have?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Rachette turned in the chair and looked at her. “You gonna live?”

  She nodded, ignoring the blushing look from the clerk. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “Remind me to never eat shrimp again.”

  Patterson tapped his shoulder. “I’ll take the rest.”

  “You got it.” Rachette stood up and the squeak of his shoes disappeared behind her.

  “You need help?” the clerk asked.

  “No thanks. I’m familiar with the system.”

  The guy looked relieved. “All right. I’m going out to have a smoke. Let me know if you need anything.”

  She sat down at the dial-and-knob system she’d gotten accustomed to over the course of her law enforcement career.

  For the next ten minutes, black-and-white images of cars, trucks, and motorcycles flitted in and out of view on the screen. The footage took in the aspect from underneath the one fisheye security camera outside. She was ignoring the interior video for now, just trying to catch a glimpse of the moving truck outside. They could scour the interior recordings more carefully later.

  The clock on the film said she was looking at the 3 a.m. hour of Monday morning now—almost seven hours after Frost’s neighbor had heard the three shots. She stared at nothing happening on the screen for minutes at a time. This was a twenty-four-hour operation, but she doubted they made any money at that time of night.

  “Anything?” Rachette returned with a tinge of whine in his voice.

  At that moment she was through to the present moment on the video. “Nope.”

  “Shit.”

  She grabbed the footage for the interior and left the office.

  The clerk twisted around. “You find what you’re looking for?”

  Patterson held up the USB stick. “We’re going to take this.”

  The clerk shrugged.

  “Hey.” Rachette was on the other side of the counter, knocking his knuckles on the glass of the slow-rotating cooker. “Are these from yesterday?”

  The clerk blundered through an inaudible response.

  Rachette leaned forward and stared into the clerk’s eyes. “The hot dogs. The taquitos. When did you make these? Tell me the truth now.”

  The clerk hung his head, looking ashamed. “Two days ago.”

  Rachette nodded, then reached in and grabbed two taquitos from the revolving rack. He bared his teeth and hot-potatoed them back and forth in his hands, then put them in a wad of napkins.

  “How much?” He pulled out his wallet.

  “Uh … don’t worry about it.”

  “Nonsense. Are you sure?” Rachette gave him a single second to answer. “Well thanks. You want one, Patterson?”

  “No,” she said.

  Rachette shoved half of one in his mouth. “Ah, hot. Thanks, man.” He left through the automatic doors.

  Patterson walked through the bulletproof door and around to the front of the counter.

  Rachette came back inside and Patterson pretended to be perusing the items for sale on the counter. She placed her hand on a disposable cigarette lighter, and then a box of mints.

  “I need another napkin,” Rachette said, walking behind her. “You coming or what?”

  She twisted and looked at the rear of the store toward the coolers. “I’ll be right there. Gonna get a drink.”

  “Get me a water?” He left.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  She walked to the cooler, grabbed two waters and went back to the counter. Slapping down a twenty-dollar bill, she pulled out the home-pregnancy-test box from her pocket and put it on the counter. “I need to pay for this.”

  The clerk picked up the box and studied the ripped open box.

  She’d peed on one of them and left it in the women’s bathroom trash can. Mercifully, it had been negative. Now she just needed to get back to the station, where she had some Pepto sitting in her desk drawer.

  “Come on.” She pushed the box forward and the guy swiped it with his scanner gun and pushed it back. “Actually, you keep it and throw it away for me, okay? And keep the change.”

  She nudged the twenty forward and walked out the door, the euphoria of utter relief making her steps light.

  “Don’t you want the other one, just in case?” the clerk called.

  For an instant she ignored the man, and then she stopped dead and came back inside, the tension already roiling her gut. “What? Why?”

  He shrugged. “That’s how my kid came. My girlfriend got a false-negative on one of these things. Talk about a psych-out.” He laughed. “I think that’s why they have two of ’em.”

  She stared at him.

  The clerk scratched his beard.

  “Damn it.” She grabbed the box, pocketed it, and left.

  Chapter 13

  The Windfield Moving Company was a dust-encrusted stand-alone two-car garage with a dirt lot surrounded by chain-link fence. A single moving truck was parked inside the grounds, and near the building a beat-up American sedan stood baking in the sun.

  Wolf parked behind Shumway in front of the building and they stepped out. Jet spilled out of the back door, trotted to the fence, and lifted a leg.

  Shumway eyed the dog taking care of his business and hooked a thumb toward the building. “This woman’s a little kooky if I remember correctly.”

  “Jet, stay here,” Wolf said.

  Jet ignored him and put his nose to the dirt.

  The door chimed as Wolf and Shumway entered, and a heavyset woman with greasy gray hair, a dirty blouse, and brown bug eyes looked up from a counter.

  “Hello, gentlemen. Can I help you?” She leaned back.

  Shumway hitched his belt and leaned on the counter. “This here is Detective Wolf from Rocky Points.”

  “Oh, yes. Hi, I’m Pamela. Pamela Trunzo. I’ve been talking to … is it Deputy Patterson?”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Nice woman, she is.”

  “She called about one of your trucks, rented by Jeffrey Green?”

  “Oh yes, I remember. My heck, I’ve only been thinking about it non-stop for every waking minute since. Have you found the truck yet?”

  “I’m sorry, no, we haven’t.”

  She shook her head. “Muh. Ain’t got no insurance on it.”

  Wolf was unsure how to respond to that, so he moved on. “Was Green with anyone when he rented the truck?”

  She squinted and looked to the ceiling
, putting a stubby finger on her chin. “I assume he was. He drove off in the truck. And he didn’t leave another vehicle here. I remember noticing that when I was helping him back out. Nobody was out there with him. Had no vehicle with him either.”

  “So someone dropped him off?” Shumway asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “Don’t you folks have GPS devices on all these trucks to track them?” Shumway asked.

  “Not ours. My stupid husband didn’t comply with that. That’s why they pulled our insurance. Good for nothin’ cheap skate, that man. You know what I really hope?”

  She waited for an answer.

  Wolf and Shumway raised their eyebrows.

  “I hope the truck never gets found. Or if it is, it was dumped off a cliff and it’s destroyed to kingdom come. I hope we have to shut this place down so I can move out of this heck-hole. That’s what I hope.” She slapped the counter.

  Shumway gave Wolf a told-you-so look.

  “You said you watched him drive away,” Wolf said. “Which way did he go?”

  She waddled around the counter past them, then pushed open the glass door.

  Shumway watched with an amused smile.

  She poked her arm out the door. “Went that way.”

  Shumway frowned and walked to the door. “Which way?”

  “That way.” She pointed to the rising sun.

  Shumway pushed past her. “Come out here, would ya?”

  She followed, and the door hissed shut.

  Wolf grabbed the paperwork off the counter and followed them outside.

  “You mean that way, right?” Shumway pointed to the north, toward the plateaus and the dinosaur quarry contained within.

  “No. I watched him roll down 11 to the east. Right there. I told you, I helped him back out of the spot here, and he drove away. I remember plain as day. Heck, I’ve had one customer all month, and it was him. And that’s why I’ve gotta get the heck out of here.” She turned to Wolf. “I’m bored. Oh yeah. And broke.”

  Wolf raised the paperwork. “Is this the time Green rented the truck? Right here?”

  The woman walked over, wheezing heavily. She mashed her breasts into his forearm and looked at the forms. “Yeah. 12:42 p.m. Customers get twenty-four hours with the truck. Anything over that, and I gotta charge ’em another day, so gotta be precise with the time.”