by Jeff Carson
“You’ve been waiting for me?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah.” Rachette shrugged. “I just got here.”
Their feet crunched on the dirt road, towards the beeping and scratching of police radios emanating from otherwise silent SCSD vehicles, which were packed into every nook and cranny of the lot. Wolf counted at least fifteen civilian vehicles that wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
Deputies milled about next to a few of them with billowing breath that glowed blue and red from the flashing turret lights.
Wolf scanned the men for Connell and found him on the left side, outside his open vehicle door, talking on his phone while a group of four deputies huddled near. There was a man with a large head of hair in the bright interior of his vehicle, slumped against the back window.
Wolf led Rachette to the right, towards the pub’s front entrance.
Before Wolf could reach the door, Rachette walked fast ahead of him, brushing against Wolf with his chin up and chest out as he did so.
Wolf slowed a bit and watched as Rachette ripped open the door and stepped in. The door bounced off the exterior wall with a loud clang and ricocheted back shut in front of Wolf.
Wolf opened the door and walked into the stuffy barroom, thick with the smell of fried food and beer. Rachette shot him a glance that contained no apology, and then turned away to scan the crowd inside. The many patrons inside were huddled in bunches, subdued in their movements, but wide-eyed and whispering with one another in excited clips.
Wolf looked through the mass of people, catching the gaze of Deputy Baine, who had his notebook out, interviewing a girl with a serving bib on.
She turned her head at the sound of the door and her eyes widened. She swiveled her bar stool towards them, squinted her eyes, and broke into a small whimper.
Wolf watched as Rachette narrowed his eyes, as if the bar was filled with smoke, then strode over and paused next to Baine. “I got this. Thanks, Deputy Baine,” he said as he placed his muscular arm around the waitress’s shoulders and pulled her into a deep embrace.
Her head dove into Rachette’s chest as he ducked his mouth close to her ear, whispering something that triggered her to shake and grip his uniform in a death clutch.
Baine stood back with arms raised and looked at Wolf.
“Sir.” Baine approached Wolf.
“What’s going on?” Wolf asked. “Who’s that guy out in Connell’s car?”
Baine stepped close and looked at his notebook. “At 8:53 p.m. we received a distress call from”—he turned to the young woman, who was now smiling at Rachette, tears still streaming down her face— "that young lady. She was taking out the trash and found a man lying on the ground out back. She noticed blood, and another man lying a few feet away. The second man was her boss, and looked to be unconscious. He was unconscious, and had a knife in his hand. A knife covered with blood.” Baine raised his eyebrows and waved Wolf to a door behind the bar. “Want to see the scene?”
Wolf nodded and followed Baine.
Out the back door of the kitchen was a dirt clearing that stretched behind the building to the left. Straight ahead the clearing dropped off a few feet into the river, and to the right was the windowless exterior wall of the kitchen; the edge of the outdoor patio beyond it.
Crime tape circled the scene.
A darkened spot sat conspicuously in the center of the taped zone, along with three bags of trash. Two of the plastic sacks were on the ground near the waste bins along the wall, and one was nearer the door.
Wolf nodded his head at the two deputies who stood just outside. “Mackey, Tyler.”
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
Footprints smattered the dirt everywhere, inside the tape and out.
Wolf pulled the flashlight from his duty belt and walked the perimeter, looking at the ground. “All right. Give me what you’ve got.”
Baine cleared his throat. “The victim, one Mark Wilson, stabbed once in the stomach. Apparently a very bad wound. More of a slice than a stab. He showed vitals when the paramedics took him, but it didn’t look good. He bled out a lot here.”
Wolf shined his light on the dark circle in the dirt. “How’s he doing now?”
Baine shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I haven’t heard anything further.”
Wolf swept his flashlight beam across the footprints, identifying where the girl had stopped, dropped the trash bag, and scurried back inside. Boot prints of the EMTs and cops were everywhere. Wolf could see scrapes and impressions from the EMTs picking up Mark, and another flurry of prints where they probably picked up the guy that now sat in Connell’s vehicle. Then there were dozens of other unreadable signs. A mess.
Rachette came flying out of the back door. “Hey, what’s happening?”
Wolf stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“What?” Rachette looked to Wolf, then at the ground inside the tape.
Wolf walked near the rear of the building and studied the dirt. There was a set of deep tire marks that began at the crime tape and stretched into the darkness out of sight.
Wolf pointed down. “What are these tracks? Whose are these?”
Baine came over and studied his notebook, flipping some pages. “I don’t know.”
“The EMT footprints go right over them,” Wolf said. “It’s an SUV or truck, pulled up before the EMTs showed up.”
The truck looked to have backed in to the spot and then pulled out forward. Wolf could see the front-wheel marks, how the vehicle had twisted and changed direction as it left.
He pointed the beam of light to the left tire marks, illuminating a deep boot print where a person, clearly a large man, had gotten out of the driver’s seat. The prints were deep in the pale dirt, and the stride was long. The footprints led to where the back of the vehicle would have been, and then towards the pool of blood, where they disappeared in the cloud of more recent activity.
A returning set of prints led straight to the door, where the man had climbed in and left.
Wolf looked at the print next to his own size-thirteen work boots. The one in the dirt was larger.
Chapter 15
“Nice of you two to show up,” Connell said, leaning against the passenger door of his SUV in the parking lot. A group of deputies were huddled around him, and they all turned to look at Wolf and Rachette as they approached.
Wolf nodded past Connell to the truck’s interior. “Who do you have in there?”
Connell gazed with half-closed eyelids and waved his hand behind him.
Upon closer inspection, Wolf saw that inside was Jerry Blackman, the owner of the Beer Goggles Bar. He was slumped unconscious with his shaggy long brown hair pressed flat against the window.
“What happened?” Wolf asked.
Connell sneered. “Looks like Blackman here did you a favor. Took the competition for your ex-wife’s affection out of the picture for you. You should thank him when he wakes up.”
The surrounding deputies dropped their gazes, clearly wanting nothing to do with Connell’s attempt at humor.
Wolf asked, “Why is he unconscious?”
Connell shrugged. “He was like that when we found him. Holding this knife, covered in blood.” Connell reached into the Explorer and pulled out an evidence bag with a six-inch, wood-handled, thin-bladed fillet knife covered in blood.
Wolf did a double take at the evidence bag. The fish knife was the same make and model as his own. Then again, he thought, it was a cheap model sold at most sporting-goods stores in the western US. Half the fishermen in town probably had one.
Blackman stirred inside the car, pulling his head away from the window. He was smacking his lips and cracking his eyelids.
Wolf stepped to the rear door. “May I?”
“Have at it,” Connell said.
Wolf opened the door, and Blackman jerked his head up and fell back across the seat.
“Whoa!” Connell laughed and walked a few steps away, slapping his leg.
“Dave?” Jerry squinted and turned to Wolf.
Wolf pulled some of the hair out of Blackman’s eyes and hooked it behind one of his ears. Then he did the same to the other side.
“Can I get some water?” Blackman smacked his lips again. His beard was caked with dirt.
“Someone get a bottle of water here,” Wolf said.
“No! Do not get a bottle of water here.” Connell stepped in, pointing at the cluster of men.
Wolf ducked back into the vehicle. “What happened, Jerry?”
Blackman looked around. His eyes widened. “What the hell? Where am I?” He struggled against the handcuffs behind his back.
“Jerry,” Wolf said, “listen to me. You’re in the back of one of our vehicles. We found you behind the pub. Do you remember what you were doing behind the pub? What happened?”
“What are you doing, Wolf?” Connell bent down.
“What happened, Jerry?”
Blackman furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. I was just taking out the trash from the kitchen and …” He shook his head. “I don’t remember a single thing.”
“Get out of there, Wolf,” Connell said. “He’s waking up, we’ll read him his rights and take him into custody, and then we’ll question him.”
Wolf ignored the order. “Nothing at all? Do you remember—”
“Sergeant Wolf!” A hand slapped on Wolf’s back, grabbing a fist full of shirt.
Wolf sensed an attack, and turned around and shoved as hard as he could, sending Sergeant Vickers into a sideways stumble so that he collided with Deputy Baine, who caught him and propped him back up.
Vickers stood up and looked defiantly at Wolf’s chest for a second, then met his gaze.
“Don’t touch me again, Sergeant Vickers.” Wolf thought it had been Connell and already felt bad for the man as he watched Vickers adjust his belt, his face flushing red.
“You’re skating on real thin ice, Wolf.” Connell’s voice was menacing as he stepped forward.
Wolf stared, flicking a glance down to Connell’s hand, which was white-knuckled on the handle of his Glock.
Connell let go of the grip and dropped his arm, a move that was clearly observed by many of the deputies.
“Let’s relax, guys.” Rachette stepped forward and put his hand on Wolf’s shoulder.
Wolf walked away with Rachette close on his heels.
Rachette caught up next to him. “What did Blackman say?”
Wolf stopped at his SUV and opened the door. “Not much. But I know he didn’t do it.”
“How?”
“Blackman was drugged, and then the knife was placed in his hand to make it look like he did it.”
“How do you know?”
Wolf looked at his watch. “Look, I’ve gotta go. There’s some strange stuff going down, and I need to keep watch at Sarah’s parents’.” He climbed in and fired up the engine. “Remember, watch your ass. And meet me in the lot at eight a.m. Stay out of Connell’s sights. You and I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Wolf slammed the door, jammed it into drive, and mashed the gas all the way down.
Chapter 16
Young peered toward the quiet house from his perfect vantage point at the edge of the meadow. The moon was behind the thick pines, engulfing him in shadow, and for good measure he wore jet black, head to toe.
His body was exhausted after a long day of hormonal saturation. The earlier action behind the bar had been satisfying, even though he hadn’t gotten a chance to kill the man completely, and the sight of Wolf and his family leaving the house in a panic was downright exhilarating.
And then there was Wolf’s ex-wife. She had been a surprise. At the sight of her, it had taken every ounce of his self-control to not run and tackle her right then and there in front of Wolf and the whole family. He vowed to himself that he would have her.
His face twisted into a snarl as he thought about the explosion. It had failed, and now things were complicated. He had to admit, though, that a large part of him was glad it had failed. That meant a lot more action for him.
His crotch swelled as he fondled the panties in his pocket—a souvenir he’d retrieved from inside the house that would have to tide him over for now.
He turned towards the moon and flared his nostrils, then bared his teeth and stuck out his tongue with eyes wide. Making the fearsome face was something he’d learned by watching the Maori warriors in New Zealand. He didn’t remember the actual significance of the act, other than to freak out anyone looking at it. For Young, it was something he did to get in touch with that primal part of himself. He was a wild animal now, who no one could tame.
With a hard exhale he turned and jogged back into the forest.
Chapter 17
Wolf drove north with Rachette along Highway 734 with the rising sun blazing into the cab of the SUV. Wadding up an egg-sandwich wrapper, he threw it onto the passenger side floorboards.
“How was last night over at the in-laws?” Rachette yanked down the visor and turned it against the sun with a squint.
“I didn’t see anything. But I told Dennis and Angela I wanted them and Jack out of town today.”
“And?”
Wolf sipped his coffee and turned down the radio. “They’re packing now, leaving this morning. Going to Nate’s place in Durango until we figure this out.”
“Good idea.” Rachette took a pinch of snuff and gave Wolf a sideways glance. “And Sarah?”
Wolf exhaled loud and held out his hand for the can of snuff. “She’s been sitting at the hospital all night, and she’s still there. Mark’s in critical condition. Apparently it’s not looking too good.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes.
Wolf thought about the night before, and what Sarah had been about to tell him before he’d gotten the call from Rachette. Had she cheated on him all those years ago? Last night she had started talking about something that had happened when he went into the army, which was strange. As far as he knew, she hadn’t started using drugs until years later, when Jack was born. Or a few years later than that, when he’d gotten out of the army and come home.
He’d always assumed it was his life in the military, leaving her home alone with their only son for six years, with only a few weeks here and there for visit time, that drove her to take painkillers and alcohol.
Or he’d assumed it was when he’d come back. He’d been so ashamed of the way he’d acted when he got home that he’d scarcely allowed himself to think about those few months. The bad dreams, the way he’d woken up screaming, scaring his family witless. That would be enough to drive any wife to popping pills. But she was talking about something that had happened before that part of their life. She was talking about when he went into the army. Before any of the soul-altering stuff had happened to him.
“Wolf?” Rachette was looking at him expectantly.
“Huh?”
“I asked why you think Blackman was drugged. And last night you said he didn’t do it.”
Wolf shifted in his seat, adjusting the rearview. “Did you see the way he was acting when he came to? Looked like barbiturates. Sedatives. There’s only one way to administer fast-acting, long-lasting sedatives—by needle. When I was brushing his hair out of his face last night, I saw a needle mark on his neck, plain as day. Whatever it was will be in the blood-test results.”
Rachette scratched his chin and looked into the distance. “Blanche said that Blackman went to take the trash out and never came back. She said she was going to check on him and take out some more trash, and then she found him.”
“Yeah. Blackman never got a chance to put that trash in the bins. Remember those two bags sitting on the ground next to them? He must have been drugged right then.”
They drove in silence for a few seconds.
Wolf stared at Rachette. “Blanche?”
Rachett
e raised an eyebrow and looked at Wolf. “Yeah. She’s my lady.”
Wolf drove for a minute and looked at Rachette. “Your lady?”
Rachette put the visor up, closed his eyes, and turned his face to the sun. “Yeah.”
Wolf nodded to himself. “How come you haven’t told me about her before?”
Rachette looked at Wolf. “So, where are we going? The Connell compound?”
Wolf sipped his coffee. “There were Sasquatch-sized footprints coming out of the truck that made those tire marks up behind the bar. The only guy that could have made those footprints is that guy, Young, our new navy SEAL friend in town.
“I’d say Young abducted Mark from somewhere else,” Wolf continued, “then to that spot at the back of the building. Then he set it up to look like Mark was stabbed there by Blackman.”
Rachette thought silently for a few seconds. “But why?”
“With how much Mark bled out in the back of the pub, he must have been stabbed right there. Otherwise, he would have been found dead, and there would have been less blood. Which means he was probably knocked out and kept in the back of Young’s truck until it was time to set it up. They’re going to find the same stuff in Mark’s blood as was in Jerry Blackman’s.”
“But why set up Jerry Blackman? Why stab Mark in the first place?”
Wolf shrugged. “Young could have been parked on the blind side of that bar for a while, looking for the perfect person to set up. Or just any person to set up. He sees Blackman come out with the trash, hits him with the needle, sets up the whole thing in a few seconds.”
Rachette shook his head. “Why would Young try to kill Mark? What does Mark have to do with any of this?”
Wolf shrugged. “I don’t think we’re going to get any answers from Mark, either. If he isn’t dead already, he’s going to be nearly there for at least a few days.”
Rachette shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shielded the sun with his hand as they approached the gateway to the Connells’ 2Shoe Ranch.
