by Jeff Carson
"Let's put that on the list for the interrogations," Wolf said.
Rachette scribbled again.
“And how about a phone number for Chris Oakley’s family?” Patterson asked. “I’d like to get that phone call out of the way as soon as possible.”
Daphne tapped and scrolled on the phone. “I’ve got a Pa. P-A. That’s it. Could be his dad.””
“Good enough for now,” Patterson said.
Daphne read it out and Rachette wrote it down.
"So what's next?" Wolf asked.
"Well," Lorber stretched his arms overhead, his hands touching the ceiling. "If you don't mind, I'd like my team to rest a bit. It’s been a long night for Daphne and the rest of the staff.”
"Of course," Wolf said. "That goes for you, too.”
Lorber gestured at Patterson’s leg. "You should get home and rest, too. What are you doing here?”
"I'll be okay.” She blushed at the unintentionally defiant snap in her voice.
Lorber nodded, smiling at her. “After a few hours rest we’ll get started on the GSR match test with these weapons, see if they match with the residue on Oakley’s chin.”
Wolf slapped the ME on the shoulder and walked out of the room. “Let us know if anything else comes up. Rachette, Patterson, my office, please."
Wolf walked quickly down the hall, Rachette on his heels. Patterson struggled to keep up, taking long strides with the crutches. At the end of the hall, they had pushed the button and were already climbing in the elevator when she was only halfway there.
Wolf held open the elevator door and waited. Her left crutch was less stable, as she had to grab it with her cast hand, and it flipped sideways out of her grip. Just barely, she caught herself from falling over when the crutch slipped out of her armpit and slammed to the ground with a loud smack.
She stopped and backed up, having to hop to get it, then slowly lost her balance and fell onto her backside, like she’d just tried a pistol-squat and failed.
"Damn it," she said under her breath.
Wolf was quick to her side, taking the crutch and hooking a hand under her armpit. “You need to go home and rest.”
She popped to her feet and snatched the crutch. “You need to worry about your own job and not me.”
Wolf stared at her. She stared back, punctuating the moment with a cock of her eyebrow.
Wolf walked away toward the elevator, where Rachette still held the door open. They all rode up to the third floor in silence, Rachette burying his nose in his phone and Wolf staring through the elevator door. When they reached the third floor, Rachette and Wolf walked on without her. She took her time, making sure all three points of contact hit the floor solidly as she followed.
Wolf stopped short, gesturing to her office door. "We'll go in here so you don't have to walk so far."
"Suit yourself," she said.
When she walked into the office Wolf and Rachette had already taken seats at her desk.
She hesitated, yearning for the soft cushions of the couch to elevate her foot.
Wolf must have read her. “Yeah, take a seat there.” He twisted the chair to face the couch and Rachette followed suit.
She decided not to argue and sat down, put up her foot, and sighed as the pain, first magnified, swelling, and then ebbed slowly away as the blood pressure eased.
"I'm taking over this investigation," Wolf said.
The words hit her like a slap to the face. "Why?"
"Because you're hurt, Patterson, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I'm hurt, but it's my job to run this investigation. I'm the chief detective."
"I know that, but right now you're injured and I'm taking over. I'm the sheriff, and it's my call."
She went silent.
"Rachette, why don’t you follow up on trying to get hold of Oakley’s parents, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Rachette left and shut the door.
Patterson's eyes locked on the window, staring outside in defiance. When she finally flicked her eyes to Wolf she saw a gentle gaze that doused some of the fire within her.
Averting his eyes again, she sighed and scratched her forehead. Who was she kidding? She was hurt. Standing in Lorber’s office for just a few minutes had almost done her in.
"Heather.”
“What?”
“I was hoping you might be able to do something else for me.”
She looked at him. “Okay?”
"Could you please create that spreadsheet and report for the council?"
She looked at the stack of papers she’d already taken off his desk, now conspicuously perched on her own, and the anger came back white-hot. "What am I, your secretary? What is it? The woman in the room can’t fight through the pain like a man? I can’t man up and get the job done, so you decide to take me off patrol and stick me behind a desk? You and Rachette have been hurt on the job before and you’ve continued to do your job. You didn’t tap out.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m not asking you to tap out.”
“Damn right you’re not. I’m your Chief Detective. I’m in charge of your detective squad and I’m running this investigation.”
Wolf flexed and squeezed both hands a few times. "I need you to do something much more important than run this investigation.”
“Ha! Your paperwork?”
“I need you to secure the future of this department.” Wolf’s voice rose above hers. He leaned forward and straightened to his feet. “The future of this department lies in that stupid spreadsheet and in that stupid report. And if it hasn’t already been made clear, I can’t do it!”
She recoiled at the volume of his voice.
“I can’t even put a title on a damned spreadsheet without messing the whole piece of shit thing up. And they need it by the end of today, or else, like you said, MacLean’s going to come back in here and unravel everything we’re aiming to do. Because of my incompetence.”
“You’re not incompetent, it’s just—”
“I’m not done!”
“Ooo-kay.”
“And you’re not my secretary, damn it. You’re the best person I’ve got!”
She blinked. “Okay.”
Wolf walked toward the window, his hands rubbing the back of his neck.
“We’ve got twenty-eight deputies,” he continued in a low voice, “some younger than my own son, out there carrying guns, tasked with a next to impossible job, and we’ve figured out that they can’t trust each other. So what are we going to do about it?” He turned to Patterson. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m the sheriff, at least for now, and I’m putting my best woman on the job. I’m not screwing this up as my final act in office. Okay?”
The sound was sucked out of the room as Wolf stared at her.
“Okay,” she said.
"Good." He quickly straightened the chairs. "And I want you to work from home," he said. "Seriously, think about how comfortable you would be in bed right now with your foot propped on a nice soft pillow, a laptop on your lap."
She dared visualize that for only a second. Maybe a hot tea sitting next to her on the nightstand, Scott bringing her lunch in bed. "No, it's okay," she said. “Really. I’m fine here.”
She silently screamed at herself, willing Wolf to make it an order for her to leave.
It almost looked like he was going to do it. He looked at her foot, her eyes again. “Okay, fine.” He walked to the door and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
She stared after him, letting her mind slip back to a year ago, back to a conversation she’d had with Wolf on his front lawn. It had been during the barbecue for MacLean’s going away and it looked like Wolf was about to be in office for a long time. He’d made it clear that day he didn’t want the job. That he was on the lookout for somebody to train to take his place.
And then he’d looked at her strangely. Like, as in, he’d meant her.
Of course, she’d been mightily drunk that night. The drunkest in a nu
mber of years, if that next day hangover was any indication.
But she’d heard what she’d heard.
She straightened upright as a thought hit her. Was MacLean really coming back? What if he wasn’t? Then what?
And how about Wilson? Was he really taking the job down in Denver? MacLean retiring and Wilson leaving would explain Wolf’s current state of mind. Did he know he was going to be sheriff for the long haul and it was stressing him out? It would be just like him to keep that piece of information to himself, letting it eat away at him.
She tilted her head, the new thought physically knocking her skull sideways.
Then who was going to be Undersheriff?
Undersheriff Patterson. Now there was a training ground for sheriff if there ever was one.
She shook her head, flinging the thoughts out of her brain. None of that made any real sense. MacLean was coming back as sheriff. Wilson was coming back as undersheriff. She was moving back to detective and Wolf was moving back into his position as Chief.
The truth was Wolf was just a basket case when it came to paperwork—office work in general, if she was being honest—and it was stressing him out. And that was that.
She looked back at the mounds of paper on her desk. Dang it. She should have told Wolf to hand those over on his way out.
Chapter 6
Wolf walked into the interrogation room at 9:08 a.m., a few minutes late by design, where Eagle McBeth sat alone.
“Mr. McBeth. I’m Sheriff David Wolf, I’ll be joining this interview today.”
McBeth stood and shook Wolf’s hand, and it was like shaking a lumpy sandpaper glove.
Rachette opened the door and came inside, sliding a cup of coffee in front of McBeth. "Here you go, sir.”
"Thank you."
Rachette sat down, putting his notebook on the table in front of him.
McBeth sat comfortably, sipping his coffee. He had a chest-length beard and wore a trucker hat. His outfit said he hadn’t gotten to the laundromat in the last few weeks. Mud caked one arm of his flannel, grease streaked his jeans, and his Pabst Blue Ribbon hat was thoroughly sweated through.
McBeth seemed to read Wolf’s eyes and became a bit self-conscious. His hand went to his muddied sleeve, sending a few flakes onto the floor.
“Sorry,” McBeth said. “Shoot. Getting dirt all over the place. This is pretty much as clean as it gets in my wardrobe these days.”
“It’s okay,” Wolf said with a smile.
“Got a nice shower last night, though,” McBeth said.
“That’s good.”
As McBeth busied himself with one shirt sleeve, the other slid up his forearm, revealing an angry, circular scar climbing up his wrist and out of sight beneath the fabric. He quickly covered the exposed skin and dropped his arm to his side.
"Thanks for coming," Wolf said. “So the place was okay last night, was it?”
"Yeah. Wasn’t bad.”
"Good. And we appreciate you coming in today.” Wolf tapped the digital recorder in the center of the table. “We’ll be recording this conversation to aid our investigation.”
McBeth looked between them. "I thought about bringing a lawyer.”
Wolf said nothing.
“But I have nothing to hide."
Wolf nodded. “Good. Then you’re doing everyone a service. Most of all, Chris.”
"So what happened to him?” McBeth asked.
Wolf let the question hang for a second, trying to read the man’s tone. He looked genuinely curious. “You don’t know?”
"Well, no. I saw blood on the top of his head when Casey dropped him on the hopper grate. There was some on his neck, too. What was it? An accident?”
“That was from a gunshot,” Wolf said. “The bullet entered just under his chin, and exited out the top of his head.”
McBeth looked at Wolf. “What are you saying? Suicide?”
“There was no gunshot residue on his hands,” Rachette said. “So we know he didn’t shoot himself.”
McBeth stared a thousand miles beyond the wall.
Rachette waved a hand in front of him. “You there?”
McBeth blinked, shaking his head. "He was murdered?"
Wolf nodded. "That's what we think.”
"Who did it?”
Wolf smiled. "Good question. That’s what we're trying to figure out.”
McBeth took a quivering breath. "Shit. I guess I probably should have gotten a lawyer. Do I need a lawyer?"
Wolf shrugged. "That depends. Did you kill him?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then...” Wolf shrugged, as if that gesture told the man everything he needed to know. “Of course, you have the right to have an attorney present. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the courts. And we are recording this conversation right now, as we mentioned before."
Wolf held his breath, his eyes on McBeth. He seemed to really consider it now.
"I don't have anything to hide. I didn't kill him. You can ask me any question you want." He sat back with arms folded over his barrel chest. One hand stroked his beard, the non-scarred one, Wolf noted. That scar was tucked away safely in his armpit.
“You, Mr. Sexton, Mr. Koling, and Chris are from Jackson Hole, Wyoming," Wolf said. “Correct?”
"Yeah.”
“And Casey Lizotte is from Dredge.”
“That’s right.”
"Excluding Lizotte for the moment, how long have you original four been mining in Colorado?”
"This is our third season," McBeth said.
"And why down here?" Rachette said. "Why not up in Wyoming? There no gold up there?"
McBeth inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh, as if he'd answered the question a thousand times before. "We looked for a good claim in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho first. We couldn’t find anything promising. I had an in with a family friend down here who knew of a claim. So..." He shrugged. "Just came down here. We found a little bit of gold right at the beginning. Seemed like some promising ground. We've been here ever since."
"And how is the ground treating you now?" Wolf asked.
"Not bad. I mean, not good, not at the moment. But that's just how gold mining goes. The next motherlode is under the next scoop of dirt, and then you're making good money. It just takes getting it out of the ground. We know it's there from the first season. I have faith we’ll get on it again."
"Is it stressful?” Wolf asked.
McBeth scraped at a nail. "I've got a lot of bills. I’m paying for fuel and rental of all the equipment. I lease that wash plant for a ton of money. I’ve incurred a lot of debt over the last two years.”
“Costs are high,” Rachette said.
“Yeah.”
“And so is the pressure to find a lot of gold, I bet.”
McBeth nodded.
"Was Chris Oakley upset about the current state of the mine, and how it was being run right now, and how you guys were not finding gold?" Wolf asked.
McBeth snorted a laugh. “How did you guys know that?”
“We found some text messages on his phone between him and a friend.”
“What friend?”
Wolf said nothing.
McBeth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, he was pretty pissed off. They all are. I know it. Nobody likes working for free for weeks on end, but that's how it is. I got to pay the bills. And if we want to keep running the machines, I got to pay those bills first and then pay the men next. Without machines, there is no gold."
"I understand," Wolf said. "Why don't you tell me about last Friday night. What happened with that argument you spoke of?”
McBeth looked up at the ceiling. "We were up drinking. We usually do that every Friday night. Chris was pretty upset. He’d gotten a text message from a friend down in town.”
“Is this the message from Spritz we found on his phone?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah. That’s it. Spritz had seen Oakley’s girl, Mary Ellen Dimitri, making out with another guy in
town.”
“The message refers to somebody named Hammy,” Rachette said. “Who’s that?”
“Rick Hammes,” McBeth said.
Rachette scribbled the name down. “You know him?”
“Yeah. Big dude, like big as Oakley, but scarier. Has a bunch of satanic tats all over his body. Crazy as shit. He shot at a truck full of teenagers who were making too much noise a couple years ago and served time. He just got out on parole over the winter and he’s back in town…shit, you guys probably know his story.”
Wolf did not know, and judging by Rachette’s furious notetaking, neither did he. It was the first Wolf had ever heard the name.
“Let’s go back to Chris Friday night. What happened next?” Wolf asked. “After he got the message from Spritz telling him about Rick Hammes and his girlfriend making out?”
“He was pissed. Got all worked up about it. Talking about how he was going to kick his ass. This and that.”
“Hammy’s ass,” Rachette said.
“Right.”
“When did Oakley get this text?” Wolf asked, already knowing the answer was sometime between three and four p.m.
“I don’t know. After we finished for the day. Like, 3:30 or something?”
“And did Oakley ever leave the premises after getting that text?”
“No. He was just…you know, commiserating with us. Tilting back a few. He sent off a text for Mary Ellen to come visit him. And he was talking about how he was going to…confront her… about it.”
“Confront her?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah.”
“Meaning?”
“I really don’t know. But, yeah, I was a little concerned, if that’s what you’re wondering. Oakley’s a hothead as it is.”
“So what happened?” Wolf asked, keeping him on track.
“She agreed to come up after her shift at the casino. And she showed up at like nine? Right after it turned dark. Anyway, she got there, and Oakley took her into his trailer. Me, Sexton, and Koling were like, we’d better stick close. We didn’t know what Oakley was going to do. So we kind of milled around outside.
“They immediately started yelling at each other. She’s feisty though, I’ll tell you that. She was screaming harder than he was. Didn’t take any of his shit. And then she came storming out. Got in her truck and drove out of there.”
