by Jeff Carson
Was that very happy mood of Jerry Wheatman’s an indication of his blossoming love with Julie Mulroy? Maybe Wolf was wrong. Perhaps Wheatman’s reported good mood was a state of giddy anticipation, knowing he and his young love were about to run away together. Or maybe the happy situation Jerry’s parents had described at home was all a lie.
“What do you think?” Rachette asked, breaking Wolf from his thoughts. “Do we go talk to Bill Mulroy? See what he has to say?”
Wolf looked at his watch. 9:34 a.m. Bill Mulroy would be manning the cash register at the Mackery gas station. “I think he might know something. Maybe Julie confides in her dad more than her mom. Let’s go.”
Wolf fired up the Explorer and headed down the forested road toward town.
Chapter 2
Wolf and Rachette rode without talking. They were just as comfortable in silence as in idle conversation, and it was one of the many reasons why Wolf liked having the young second-year deputy in the car with him.
The warm sun streamed in through the windshield, and the windows were cracked open to let the chilled late-summer breeze in the cab, carrying the citrus-sweet scent of pinesap.
Wolf eyed the clouds swelling behind the southwest peaks. They would billow high and mash into large thunderstorms within a few hours. Late summer was the time of year when the monsoonal flow brought moisture from Mexico, up through Arizona and New Mexico, and finally into the Colorado Rocky Mountains, unleashing huge torrents of rain all along the way.
After the dry and smoky fire season, Rocky Points, and the rugged land surrounding it, was turning verdant once again. They had dodged a bullet this year, getting through the dry months without seeing any major fires nearby, and Wolf now welcomed the danger of the town going down with floods versus up in flames. Wolf knew that the day the gray and brittle beetle-kill pines that blanketed the valley caught fire, it would be hell unleashed.
They passed aspens with pockets of gold among the green leaves, a sign that autumn was near at 8,500 feet, despite the steamy weather they were having.
The radio crackled. “Calling all available deputies.” It was the voice of Tammy Granger, receptionist, dispatcher, and wearer of a thousand other hats at the sheriff’s office building in downtown Rocky Points. “We just got a call from a hiker. She’s seen a body on the lower Pine Cliffs Trail at the base of one of the cliffs. She says the victim wasn’t moving. The hiker will stay in the trailhead parking lot until we get there.”
Wolf and Rachette eyed each other. Wolf flipped the lights, gunned the engine, and picked up the radio. “Wolf here. We’re on our way. We’re in town now—we’ll be there in a few minutes.” Wolf hung the radio back on the dash, knowing the other deputies would be lining up to chime in their positions and ETAs.
Wolf also knew Tammy would be alerting the fire department, and Summit County Search and Rescue, telling them to stand by in case they needed the helicopter. Those actions were standard procedure, the responsibility for which fell on her, and Wolf had learned over the years that Tammy neither needed nor welcomed being reminded of her duties.
“All right, everyone.” The radio almost vibrated off its clip. “I need all on-duty deputies on their way to the Pine Cliffs trailhead, right now,” Sergeant Derek Connell said.
Rachette shook his head and pleaded silently to the ceiling of the cab.
“Tammy,” Connell continued, sounding like he now had half the radio in his mouth, “you need to contact RPFD—that’s your job. Also, call Summit and get them pre-flighting the chopper. We may need an air extraction.”
The radio fell silent. There was no response from Tammy. Rachette smiled wide, and Wolf couldn’t help curling his lips. He pictured saliva dotting Tammy’s desk as she hurled expletives at the radio.
“Tammy. Do you copy?” Connell asked.
“Sure thing,” she said.
After a few seconds of desolate radio silence, it crackled back to life as four more deputies gave their positions and ETAs.
Deputy Wilson, one of two rookies in the department, clicked on. “Deputy Wilson here. On my way. I’m near the trail now.”
“Don’t let that woman leave, and wait for me to ask the questions,” Connell said.
“… Sir,” Wilson said, apparently pushing the radio button with poor timing or in a bad reception area.
The radio went silent for a few seconds, and Wolf let out his breath, hoping Connell’s on-air tyranny was over. It wasn’t.
“Do you copy, Officer Wilson?” Connell asked in a drill-sergeant tone.
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
And with that, the radio fell silent.
“Jesus Christ,” Rachette said looking out the window. Although Deputy Rachette often uttered that particular expletive in the course of a normal workday, he rarely did so with such gusto.
Wolf knew what Rachette was thinking. He knew what every single person on the radio was thinking. In one week’s time, a council of Rocky Points and Sluice County political officials was going to convene to carry out the task of selecting a new sheriff of the tiny sliver-like county located in the central Rocky Mountains of Colorado. While other counties chose their sheriffs through a vote of the citizenry, Sluice County was different. Sheriffs were appointed into office, not voted in, and since that was the way it had always been and the way it currently was, everyone listening to Sergeant Derek Connell’s radio rage knew there was a very good chance they were listening to the next sheriff of Sluice County. A tyrant with a badge who would be a nightmare in the highest office.
Luckily for the rest of the department, another qualified candidate stood in Connell’s way: Deputy Sergeant David Wolf. Wolf, who was considered by all who had to work in the same county as Sergeant Derek Connell as better suited for the position, did not kid himself—Wolf wanted the job. There was no indifference about his future. Wolf hoped he himself would be the council’s appointee, and no one else. Wolf’s father had been sheriff many years ago, and since the day of his father’s death in the line of duty, Wolf had had the goal of becoming sheriff embedded within.
The current sheriff, Harold “Hal” Burton, knew this. Burton was on his way out and had mentally checked out a year ago, and for that year he’d effectively given over the reins to Wolf. It was clear to the deputies in the department, and to the residents of the town of Rocky Points, that Wolf was being groomed to be the next sheriff of Sluice County.
But Wolf wasn’t the kind of man to get overly confident about anything. His years as an army ranger had taught him that with harsh lessons. So, assuming he was guaranteed for the council appointment never crossed his mind. Assuming he was the best candidate? Well, that was just the truth. But that still didn’t mean he was a lock.
Until recently, Sergeant Derek Connell had seemed resigned to that truth, taking it as fact that Wolf would be Sheriff Burton’s successor. In fact, on many occasions, Wolf thought he’d read relief in Connell’s demeanor when Wolf had taken on more and more responsibility over the last year.
So why was Connell flexing his muscles of authority so hard now? It was like he’d been putting on an act for someone for the past two weeks. For whom? For the other deputies? Were the members of the county council listening right now on police scanners? Was Connell now suddenly interested in becoming sheriff? After a full year of showing no initiative?
Whatever was happening, Wolf didn’t like it.
They drove down Main Street with the lights flashing and no siren. What little traffic had existed on a summer Monday morning in a small ski-resort town had since died out, so Wolf didn’t bother blasting the town with noise.
They drove to the north, past the Mackery gas station, and out of the town proper. After a mile or so of puddled cattle-fields, they took a right onto the rutted dirt road that led up into the surrounding mountains, and to the trailhead for Pine Cliffs Recreation Area.
Rachette had been looking at Wolf with a worried expression for most of the drive, apparently sensing Wolf’s thou
ghts. “That guy can’t become—”
The truck lurched and bounced with a deafening roar as they made their way up the rock-strewn road through the forest.
“Yeah, I know. Let’s just concentrate on what we’ve got going on right now. When we get to the trailhead, let me handle Connell. Just don’t talk to him.”
Rachette held his hands up. “Sounds like a good idea to me. In fact, that’s a major goal of mine every single day: Don’t talk to Sergeant Connell.”
…
Ten minutes later, Wolf slowed the SUV as they passed the road sign for the trailhead lot. At one time, it had read Pine Cliffs Trail and Recreation Area, but the writing had since been obscured by rusted bullet holes, and one had to infer its meaning.
The lot was a small clearing in the dense forest off the side of the road, empty except for Deputy Wilson’s department-issue SUV parked next to a newer-model Nissan truck.
Wilson was shuffling his feet and anxiously wiping his face, but visibly relaxed after realizing it was Wolf and Rachette, and not Connell, who would be joining him on scene first. The woman watched them approach with red, wide eyes.
Wolf slowed almost to a stop, and then turned into the lot, rocking the Explorer back and forth as it passed through a deep puddle. Wolf recalled that it had been two days since the last rain. By the looks of the darkening sky, the puddle would be growing much larger in a few hours.
Despite all the recent rain, the lot was dusty and Wolf and Rachette got out of the SUV and stepped into a swirling cloud they’d kicked up.
Wolf resisted a sneeze and grabbed his buffalo felt Stetson from the back seat, but waited to put it on. He walked to the woman and held out a hand. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Sergeant Wolf.”
The woman looked to be in her early sixties. Short in stature, thin, and fit looking. Her gray hair was cut short and tucked underneath a red nylon hat with an oversized bill that shaded her face.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Branson. I was just telling the officer ... uh—”
“Deputy Wilson, ma’am,” Wilson said.
“Yes, Deputy Wilson, about the form I saw at the base of the cliff.”
The form. That was an interesting way to put it, Wolf thought.
“I know you’ve already called this in on the phone, Ms. Branson, and now you’ve told your story to Deputy Wilson. But I need to hear what you’ve seen. If you could start from the beginning, please?”
“Yes, of course.” She turned and pointed to the trailhead sign at the edge of the parking lot. “I went on the lower Pine Cliffs Trail, there. About three miles up ... at least, I think it was about that far. I’m sorry, I’ve never been on this trail before today. I’m from Denver, and I’ve been up here on vacation for the past week. Staying in town.”
“About three miles up?” Wolf asked, pulling her back to the important details.
“Yes. About three. I–I think. I was looking up at the big cliffs on the left there, and then I saw a form at the base of one of them. It was, well, it was like a person lying there.” She whispered the last part and her eyes became unfocused.
Wolf placed his hat on his head, and then gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “I know this must be difficult, ma’am. Can you tell us any more? Was the person moving?”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t moving.”
“He?”
“It looked like a boy.”
“Did you notice what was wearing?”
“It was a boy.” There was more conviction in her voice now. “And I could tell he was dead.” She looked up at Wolf with shining eyes. “He was wearing a blue vest and a yellow shirt underneath it. And jeans, I think. I remember the vest and shirt. I’m not sure about the jeans.”
Jerry Wheatman. His parents had described his outfit as such when they’d visited headquarters earlier that morning.
“I just stared up at him,” she continued. “He couldn’t have been more than fifty yards away. I don’t think I breathed that whole time. I just stared. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then I realized I was looking at a dead body, and I just freaked out.” She shook her head again and looked at Wolf and Rachette with wild eyes. “I just freaked.”
Wolf nodded. “It’s hard to see such a thing, ma’am.”
He didn’t want to press her too much about the condition of Jerry Wheatman. She saw what she thought she saw, but they weren’t going to rely on the fifty-yard diagnosis of a witness to tell them Jerry Wheatman was dead. Wheatman could be clinging to life by a thread at the base of that cliff, waiting for rescue, and the Sluice County deputies would treat the situation accordingly.
But Wolf silently suspected otherwise. The kid had been missing for two days. Now he was lying at the base of a cliff with the clothes he was reported as wearing when he’d gone missing. Short sleeves and a vest. It hadn’t rained in the past two days, but it had still been frosty cold the past few nights. They were now sitting at 9,200 feet, give or take a few hundred feet at Jerry’s location. If he were badly hurt, clinging to life, with massive external and internal trauma from a fall, the exposure would have been almost impossible to survive.
They turned to look at the road as a cacophony of sirens and revving engines came into view. The lead SUV kicked up a huge plume of dust that obscured the other three flashing roofs behind it. One by one, the department vehicles shut off their sirens as they neared, keeping their strobes twinkling.
The front vehicle, however, kept the piercing whine of the siren going up to the last. Only after it had barreled into the lot, almost scraping the bumper off and shooting muddy water out twenty feet to the side as it plowed through the puddle, did it fall silent. Connell.
“Thank you, Ms. Branson,” Wolf said, turning back to the woman, ignoring the stampede. “I know you’re experiencing a lot more than you bargained for this morning. But we’re going to need to take your official statement as well.”
She nodded. “I should have stayed in Denver this week.”
Wolf looked toward the trail signs denoting the upper and lower routes of the Pine Cliffs Trail. The lower route was an eleven-mile loop circling the mountain. The upper route was much shorter, going straight up the mountain, offering three hundred and sixty-degree views of the valley and town below and the surrounding majestic peaks.
The upper trail was a straight up-and-down path rather than a loop, and wasn’t for the faint of heart. The entire mountain was a bulge of granite, and the freezing and thawing of the rock over millions of years had carved off huge chunks, leaving numerous sheer cliffs on one side of the trail. Those with any fear of heights stayed on the Lower Loop, which didn’t necessarily keep them out of danger. Wolf recalled that two years ago a school bus-sized boulder had dislodged and tumbled down the mountain, crossing and blocking the lower trail below. Thankfully, it had happened in the middle of the night and no one had been hurt.
Wolf turned back to the onslaught of vehicles just as a huge cloud of dust overtook them.
The first truck slid next to Wolf’s SUV and Connell jumped out, rocking the vehicle, feet touching the ground just as the wheels skidded to a halt. He rounded the back bumper and materialized through the brown cloud like a wrestler emerging from the tunnel on the way to the ring.
Connell’s heavily muscled arms swayed, outstretched from his sides due to the massive bulk of his chest. His huge legs wobbled then flexed into solid trunks as he stepped, threatening to split his uniform pants with each step.
Wolf knew Connell spent a borderline psychotic amount of time in the gym for moments like these. Connell lived for the look of awe and fear that bent people’s faces as he approached. He lived to intimidate.
Connell approached with such speed that he looked like he might tackle the woman.
Jennifer Branson, along with Deputy Wilson, stepped back as Connell stopped on a dime in front of her and outstretched his hand. He loomed over her with intense glacial blue eyes. His small mouth was pursed with a ser
ious expression.
“Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Deputy Connell of the Sluice County Sheriff’s Office. Please tell me what you saw.”
Wolf stepped away and motioned for Rachette to follow, and then made his way to the other deputies now milling outside their vehicles.
“All right, everybody. We have a victim at approximately three miles along the Lower Loop, near the base of one of the cliffs. His description matches our missing person wearing a blue vest and yellow shirt.” Wolf motioned to Deputies Hilton and Walters. “You two get going now, double time. We’ll be on your tail.”
The two deputies grabbed their first-aid bags out of the truck and bolted to the trailhead.
“Hey, what the hell is going on?” Connell’s voice boomed, his back now to the woman.
Hilton and Walters hesitated and looked back.
“Get going!” Wolf said. “Now!”
The two deputies exchanged a glance, turned, and left in a blur.
Wolf ignored Connell’s huff of protest and turned back to the men. “Right, we’ll need an official statement from Ms. Branson here.” Wolf looked at Connell. “Sergeant Connell.” Then Wolf turned back to the wide-eyed group of deputies. Wolf could feel Connell’s icicle glare behind him, but he didn’t care. His patience was running short with Connell’s alpha-deputy demeanor, and time was running short.
“Baine, Wilson, Rachette, stick with me,” Wolf continued. “I need someone else with Sergeant Connell to secure the parking lot, which is now the rescue staging area. I want everyone else on the Lower Loop.” Wolf pointed at the cave-black sky in the southwest. “As you can see, we need to move fast. Let’s go!”
Five deputies broke off and ran to the trailhead, then took a right following the Lower Pine Cliffs Loop arrow. As expected, no one volunteered to stay behind with Connell.
