Drifted

by Jeff Carson

  Inside, Wolf had his face pressed into his sleeve.

  Patterson swallowed and steeled herself for a face-full of nauseating air. When Wolf slid open the door, the stench billowed outside as expected.

  He stuck his head out, took a greedy breath of fresh air, and turned back around.

  They piled into the house behind him and found themselves standing next to a kitchen table, their choked breathing filling the silence of the room.

  “Awe, man. That is terrible,” Rachette said, putting his sleeve over his mouth.

  On the table stood a half-eaten bowl of cereal—Froot Loops judging by the circular blobs of color surrounding the spoon. The chair was pushed out.

  Wolf eyed the hallway that led down to the front door. He walked and they followed, the baseboards beneath the linoleum creaking under their footfalls.

  The smell grew unbearable as they came up to the front door. To the right, the darkened room that had been invisible from outside beckoned. There was a single chair in the center of the room, and a dead body lying next to it.

  Yates made a heaving noise and rushed back down the hallway, almost ramming Patterson into the wall. He went out into the back yard and vomited. That sight, coupled with the immediate smell, made her own mouth start to water.

  Wolf flicked on the light switch alongside the wall, setting the room ablaze.

  Chris Alamy was sprawled on the ground. Congealed blood and matter from a hole in his skull had pooled near his head.

  Patterson stepped forward and pointed at a pistol still clutched in his hand. “Look at that.”

  “He knew the jig was up,” Rachette said.

  More lightning flashed outside, and raindrops started popping the roof.

  Without warning, Wolf ran past them, out the back door, hooked left, and disappeared out of sight.

  “The hell’s he doing?” Rachette jogged down the hall.

  Patterson and Wilson looked at each other and followed.

  Ice-cold rain slapped their heads as they went into the back yard and blasted them all over as they rounded the house. Lightning hit close.

  “Holy crap,” Patterson said, just as thunder crashed.

  “What are you doing?” Rachette stopped at the front of the house, yelling at Wolf.

  But Wolf was inside his SUV, cranking the wheel and revving the engine. The vehicle jerked backward, then scraped to a halt and lurched toward them.

  She put up her hands. “Stop!”

  He honked his horn.

  She held her ground.

  He’s gone mad, she thought. Completely, utterly mad.

  Wolf honked again.

  Wolf was leaning toward the windshield, peering out at her. He waved a hand for her to move to the side.

  My God, what was he going to do? Ram the place? She held her ground.

  Wolf opened his door. “Move!”

  “No! What are you doing?”

  “Covering those vehicle tracks!”

  She looked down. She was standing on one of the two tracks Wolf had pointed out earlier. What she hadn’t ruined with her feet was being obliterated by the huge drops of rain.

  Shit.

  She moved aside, and Wolf’s vehicle slid in.

  Chapter 18

  Patterson walked into the room with Chris Alamy’s corpse and stood at the entryway.

  Wolf and Lorber were conversing near the body and stopped with her arrival.

  “There she is,” Lorber said. The ME lowered Alamy’s dead hand to the floor and looked up over his glasses.

  She noted the continued lack of eye contact from Wolf.

  “What do you have?” she asked.

  “Maybe some interesting stuff. Maybe not.”

  She eyed Wolf, who stepped back to let them talk. The sight made her bristle. She’d been dancing around the crime scene now for hours, watching Wolf dodge her wherever she went. Growing up with three older brothers, she knew what it was like to be shunned. She also knew how to deal with it.

  “Interesting how?” she asked, stepping toward Wolf.

  Lorber stood up and stretched his back. “Well, let’s test Ms. Patterson, shall we?”

  “Technically Mrs. Reed-Patterson, but whatever.”

  Wolf looked at her, a glint of amusement in his eye.

  She smiled at him, feeling a small spike of optimism. Maybe he wasn’t shunning her after all. Maybe she’d been hallucinating at the side of the house when he’d flashed that angry glare. And maybe Wolf hadn’t read that she’d basically openly accused him of being a psycho by putting her arms up and standing in front of his SUV.

  She felt another spike of guilt stab her in the gut. She needed a moment alone with him, but this wasn’t the time or place.

  “Come with me.” Lorber walked out of the room and down the hallway to the kitchen table. Patterson followed, Wolf behind.

  “Tell me, Detective, what’s strange about this picture?”

  She gestured to the bowl of cereal. “Maybe that he was sitting here, eating his bowl of Froot Loops, then decided to get up, walk to the other room, sit down, and off himself?”

  Lorber smiled back at Wolf and pointed a long finger at her. “Correct.”

  “Rachette and I were already discussing that,” she said.

  Rachette was standing out in the drizzle. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Lorber said.

  “Seems to me he was interrupted,” she said. “If this was a last meal, you’d finish your Froot Loops before you did the deed.”

  “So, someone came over.” Rachette poked his head inside the door. “That’s what I was saying.”

  “Or he was eating,” Wolf said, “and in a flash of inspiration got the idea. Went into the front room, and … did the deed.”

  Patterson had to admit that could have been the case, but her gut was telling her otherwise.

  “When will you have the gunshot-residue tests done?” Wolf asked.

  “As soon as I get back. The GSR will take a couple of hours.”

  “Good.” Wolf went outside and strode along the rear of the house.

  Her spirits had lifted hearing Wolf speak in front of her, almost as if everything were back to normal, but they dropped a few notches as she watched his hasty exit.

  “He’s still not looking good,” Lorber said.

  “What the hell happened to him, anyway?” Rachette asked.

  Patterson and Lorber eyed each other.

  “What? Why’s everyone being hush-hush about his heart attack? I mean, obviously it wasn’t too big a deal if he’s on his feet. My uncle had a heart attack and he had to hug a pillow to cough for a month because they sawed open his chest.”

  “I’m going to go check on him.” Patterson ducked outside. She didn’t want to continue down that path, and she knew that any conversation between Lorber and Rachette would fizzle out naturally before it had begun.

  Sun poked through the clouds, lighting the drizzle floating out of the rear of the storm like diamond dust.

  Her stomach growled, and for once it was the good kind, indicating she was hungry and not about to hurl. She was proud of herself for keeping it together while Yates had lost his lunch.

  She rounded the side yard and saw the line of flashing vehicles parked along the county road at the bottom of the driveway. Uniforms swarmed the front of the house and hiked up and down the drive.

  She spotted Wolf off to the left. He was walking away quickly, through the vehicles and up into the trees, as if he were headed on a nature hike. But there was urgency to his steps. Why was he running into the woods?

  “What the hell?” she mumbled, because there it was again—he’d looked at his phone.

  “Hey, how’s Scott doing?”

  She turned and saw Deputy Nelson standing next to her.

  “Oh. Hey, Nelson. He’s good.” She pasted on a smile. “How about Elena?”

  Nelson’s face dropped.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. You guys broke up. Listen, I have to go talk to W
olf. Sorry.”

  She marched away, threading through the vehicles and following Wolf’s trail.

  Dang, he was fast. Over the past few months the man had gotten in remarkable shape.

  Talking to Scott a few weeks ago, she’d mentioned Wolf’s new health-kick.

  “Maybe he’s trying to cleanse something from his system,” Scott had said.

  That had shut her up, because it was spot on. That something was months of alcohol. And something else. Something mental. And she was sure of it after seeing him on the ground yesterday, writhing in that snow bank … and now today with that gun in his hand. She hadn’t hallucinated.

  For the first time in the five years she’d known Wolf, she sensed he wasn’t in control. The thought scared her. A world where David Wolf was not in control was a world she feared.

  She climbed up the slope into the trees. Her lungs winded quickly, and she felt the baby’s tiny body inside her as she stepped faster. She’d gotten lazy this pregnancy. Last time she’d worked out until the doctor had made her stop. This time, she’d ramped down her exercise routines to brisk walks and mild hikes.

  She stopped for a second and listened, then spotted Wolf up near the edge of the trees at the top of the decline leading to the road.

  He was staring at his phone.

  She stepped lightly between the trees and stopped a stone’s throw away. His lips were moving. She stared for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was on speaker phone, reading aloud, or talking to himself. Then she pried her eyes away, feeling guilty. She needed to make her presence known now or leave.

  “What?” he asked.

  She hesitated, and then he turned her way. The look in his eyes startled her—like a raccoon who’d just been caught rifling a kitchen trash can. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

  “I … saw you come up here.”

  He pocketed his phone and looked away down the hill.

  She walked toward him. “I saw you looking at your phone again.”

  He said nothing.

  “Sir, listen. I—”

  “See that construction site?” He pointed into the distance.

  She stepped next to him and looked down at the wet valley. “Yeah. We saw one of those guys on the roof before the storm.” She pointed at a group of three men firing nail guns. “The guy in the blue.”

  “We need to talk to them. See if they saw or heard anything.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Of course. We’ll do that.”

  Patches of sunlight grew and slid along the valley below, illuminating wisps of fog clinging to the trees. The snow-covered peaks above treeline shone bright.

  “Pretty beautiful,” she said. She sucked in a breath to apologize for her actions earlier. Or maybe she needed to stay quiet. The silence was too much.

  “I have to head home.” He flashed his phone and pocketed it. “Jack came up from Boulder.”

  “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

  He turned and slipped back into the trees, leaving her on the hillside.

  “Bye,” she said, not expecting a response. And none came.

  Chapter 19

  “Wolf!”

  He stopped short of climbing in behind the wheel and turned to MacLean. “Yeah.”

  “So? How did it go?” MacLean marched up close.

  “It looks a little suspicious with those tire tracks over there. And he left a meal uneaten, which suggests he was interrupted. Lorber has the gunshot-residue tests in progress.”

  MacLean made a show of flicking his eyes back and forth. “The therapy.”

  “Oh. Yeah. It went well.” Wolf climbed into the seat and put in his keys.

  MacLean wedged himself into the door. His gray eyes narrowed as he studied Wolf. Then he nodded and looked into the distance. “That’s what the doctor said. I talked to him after your session. He said it was a good start.”

  Wolf searched for sarcasm in MacLean’s voice, but found none.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Jack’s in town. I have to head home and talk to him.”

  MacLean looked at his watch. “Shit. It’s almost four. You get some rest.” He slapped Wolf’s shoulder. “Okay, go visit your son. And we’ll see you tomorrow morning. We have this.” MacLean stepped back and shut the door.

  Wolf fired up the engine and rolled down the window. “Thanks.”

  It took a minute to back out of the steep driveway while avoiding the tent erected around the tire-tread evidence, but soon he was down the hill and back onto the county road. He turned right and headed west toward town, into the blazing late-day sun. He switched on the windshield wipers, swiping away blinding droplets of water, and pressed the gas.

  He drove a short distance, over a rise and around a bend, then pulled over onto a muddy shoulder turnoff.

  He rolled down both windows, letting in the cool, damp air. With slow deliberate inhales, he sucked in the rain and pine scent.

  The phone felt like a hot coal in his pocket. A time-bomb. A vial full of deadly virus.

  He pulled it out and unlocked it. The first text message held his gaze until he realized the sun had gone behind a cloud and the air streaming in had turned cold.

  He hovered a shaking finger over the screen, then tapped the second message and typed out a response to Jack.

  Hey. I’ll be home in a few minutes.

  A few seconds later a response came.

  Cool. See you in a bit.

  Thirty minutes later, Wolf pulled through the ranch headgate and saw Jack’s Tacoma sitting in the circle drive.

  Wolf felt shame warm his body as he pulled the vague memory of slapping his son from the depths of his mind. A week after the incident, Wolf had called Jack for two days, leaving a single voicemail saying he was sorry. He’d followed it up with a text message, which was promptly answered.

  That’s okay, Dad.

  But it had not been okay.

  The doctors were saying anxiety had overcome him the past few days, bringing him to the ground on that snowbank up on the pass, but all he felt now was warm calm as he faced seeing his son for the first time since he’d struck him.

  The front door opened, and a German shepherd puppy lunged out, escaping from Jack’s clutches, and ran down the steps to the front of Wolf’s car.

  He jammed the brakes and watched the dog zoom past, circle around, and start barking at Wolf through the glass.

  Jack came out and yelled something as he ran across Wolf’s bumper.

  The dog sat just as Jack gripped his collar. His tail thumped, and his mouth hung open with a lolling tongue.

  Wolf smiled and pulled forward to the carport.

  He stepped out and walked to Jack, who was pulling back on the German shepherd’s collar.

  “Drifter! Heel! Sit!”

  The dog was still a puppy but compared to the last time Wolf had seen him, he was huge. His ears flopped on top of his head, one of them stuck folded inside-out.

  “Let him go!” Wolf said.

  Jack hesitated. “What? No, I’ll put him back inside.”

  “Let him go.”

  “You were just in the hospital.”

  “I’m fine. It was a false alarm.”

  Jack looked at him skeptically.

  “Come on.” Wolf clapped.

  Jack let go of the collar.

  The dog charged him, reaching full speed, and jumped from a distance.

  Wolf sidestepped like a matador and watched Drifter land in a tumble.

  “Whoa!” Wolf bent down and gave him a hard scratch before he could get up. Needle-like teeth clamped onto his hands.

  “Drifter! No biting!”

  Jack jogged up. “Shit, sorry. He’s kind of out of control.”

  Wolf let go and allowed his son to take over.

  Jack yelled commands, and for a few seconds seemed to hypnotize the dog into obeying.

  Then one look to Wolf, and he began barking.

  “Damn it! Shut up!” Jack looked more than frustrated.

&nbs
p; Wolf stepped in and grabbed the collar. “Why don’t you head inside?”

  “Dad, let go. You had a heart attack, for Chrissakes. You go inside.”

  “I’m fine. It wasn’t a heart attack. Like I said, it was a false alarm.”

  Jack gave him another doubtful look and stood back.

  “Sit,” Wolf said.

  Drifter sat.

  Wolf looked around. “You gonna be a good boy if we leave you out here?”

  “He’ll just run away.”

  Wolf brought Drifter to the barn, opened the workshop door, and fetched a long rope attached with a clip. He tethered the dog to the steel rod next to the building.

  “Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “I forgot you had that for Jet. I should have done that an hour ago.”

  Wolf found an old bone on the floor of the workshop, swept it free of cobwebs, and tossed it to Drifter. “There’re a lot of canine treasures in here.”

  Jack appeared next to Wolf and wrapped him in a hug.

  Wolf was surprised but returned the embrace without hesitation. “I’m so sorry.” The words came out of Wolf’s mouth like a false-starting sprinter.

  “I know.”

  Wolf clamped his eyes shut and continued squeezing.

  “Easy,” Jack said.

  Wolf let go and backed away.

  “Geez,” Jack said. “You’re huge. You’ve been working out.”

  Wolf nodded. “And I see you’ve been keeping up with your regimen.”

  Some kids gained weight when they went to college, but for the past two years, Jack had taken an interest in fitness that was beyond a passing New Year’s resolution. The kid was two-hundred pounds of pure muscle. His face was chiseled, speckled with short stubble that shaded his tanned face. His brown hair was thick, a few inches long, and disheveled, which had been his going style for years. He wore a hoodie and jeans. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he looked at the ground—two signs that something was bothering him.

  Wolf patted his shoulder and Jack raised his gaze.

  Pain lurked behind his son’s green eyes, making him look younger than his twenty years.

  “Where’s Cassidy?” he asked.

  “She’s down in Gunnison with her brother for a few days. Her mom’s down there, too.”