David Wolf series Box Set

by Jeff Carson

  The X looked to be lipstick, just like the others. It was scrawled in jagged, angry swipes, gone over a few times to make sure it was highly visible—even more so than the X written on the helicopter cockpit window.

  He returned to his thought about the window shades. They’d all been drawn when he’d gotten home, he was sure of it. All except one—this window right here.

  Wolf remembered leaving the shade drawn up the other day. He’d pulled it in the morning, after his shower, and hadn’t bothered to put it back down before he left for work. There was no rhyme or reason why he’d done this or why he remembered it now.

  And now here was this mark.

  He leaned against the window and checked the ground below. A set of deep, scraping footprints came in from the left, stopped under the window, then led back the way they’d come along the back of the house.

  Wolf went into the family room, shut off the stereo, and began dressing. He buckled on his duty belt, and put on his jacket, boots, and hat. Gripping his Glock now, he slowly opened the door.

  As he suspected, there was one set of footprints into the house—his.

  He shut the door and went from room to room, switching off lights and peeking through the shades. After fifteen minutes of staring outside into the dark from every angle, he’d finally traced the complete route of the person’s tracks. They’d gotten out of their vehicle at the front of the house, walked into the carport past his pickup truck, out the back to his bedroom window, and then returned all the way to the vehicle. And since the vehicle was no longer there, that meant they were gone.

  Wolf unlocked the kitchen door and stepped out. The cold bit him with needle teeth so he buried his face down into the neck of his jacket. He stared at the footprints for another few seconds and went back inside.

  He dialed Rachette on his cell phone.

  “Hello?” Rachette said.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Listen, I’m at home and I just found a red X written on my window.”

  “What? I’ll be right there. Have you called the station?” He clanked something in the background and breathed into the phone.

  “Listen. Get to the mayor’s as fast as you can and bring everyone. But nobody goes in until I get there.”

  “What? No way, I’m coming out—”

  “I’m not in danger. The mayor is. Go now!”

  Chapter 28

  Wolf drove along the river and into town, flew down Main, took a right on Fourth and mashed the accelerator up the steepening road to Wakefield’s house.

  Wolf’s heart was in his mouth because a frantic call had come over the radio a minute before. It had been Patterson calling for backup with high-pitched panic in her voice.

  Wolf had been driving at the edge of crazy ever since.

  The mayor’s house was up ahead, easy enough to see as turret lights flashed everywhere in front of it. He began to slow early so he wouldn’t slide into the forest when trying to make the turn.

  At the last second he jammed the brakes as Rachette jumped in front of the hood.

  Rachette stepped quickly to his window. “Hey!” His eyes were wide, pupils dilated.

  “What’s going on?” Wolf stopped the SUV and got out.

  “He’s inside,” Rachette said, making his way toward the driveway. “Now. We got here and he was inside.”

  From the top of the driveway, Wolf could see an SCSD SUV parked sideways up ahead with roof lights twinkling. Nearest them, four deputies were lined up and leaning on the hood in crouched firing positions. In front of them were the trucks of Chris Wakefield and Kevin Ash, parked nose-in to the front porch, and beyond that the brightly lit front door.

  They jogged down the driveway, and Patterson, Baine, Wilson and Yates turned with wide eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Wolf asked, crouching next to Yates.

  Patterson came over behind Wolf. “Rachette and I went to the front porch, and Kevin Ash opened the door with a pistol aimed at our faces. He told us he wanted to talk to you, told us to back up, and then he slammed the door and locked it.”

  Wolf took a deep breath, feeling the cold air freeze the inside of his nostrils.

  “I don’t get what’s going on,” Patterson said. “Kevin’s been doing this? Is Chris Wakefield involved, too?”

  Wolf looked inside the big windows at the front of the house. There was no movement inside.

  “Stay out here,” Wolf said. “I don’t want you guys coming in and startling him.”

  “You’re going in there?” Rachette asked. “He’s waving a pistol around and looks way over the edge.”

  “He won’t kill me,” Wolf said, hoping he was right.

  Wolf stepped around the SUV and walked up to the porch. He put his ear to the cold wood and listened. Hearing no sounds, he knocked three times.

  “Who is it?” a muffled voice screamed inside.

  Wolf reached out, grabbed the handle and pushed his thumb down. The door opened an inch.

  “It’s Sheriff Wolf,” he said through the crack.

  “Are you alone?” the voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then come in.”

  Wolf put both hands in first, and then swung the door open with his forearms. Keeping his hands up high and visible, he entered, stopped the door with his foot and kicked it shut. Then he reached behind him and twisted the lock. It clicked home.

  Kevin Ash was in the big room straight ahead. He lay on the floor, facing Wolf, his back against one of the big leather couches. His neck was cranked forward, and he was leaning on an elbow with one knee up. He held a pistol in his hand and rested it on his stomach, aiming at the floor beside him.

  Wolf held up his left hand and reached for his pistol with his right. “I’m going to take off my gun and set it down right here,” he said.

  Kevin pointed his gun at Wolf and held it stock still. “Don’t try anything.”

  Wolf slowly pulled out his pistol and set it on the bench next to him. He backed off from it and stepped further inside, keeping his hands high.

  Kevin squinted one eye and lined Wolf up in his pistol sight, then twisted his lip a fraction. “You sure trust me, after what I did to your window.”

  Wolf shook his head and shrugged. “I knew you were just setting a diversion. And I know you aren’t going to kill me. I know what happened. I know why you’re doing this.” Wolf lowered his hands.

  Kevin opened his eye, keeping the gun pointed at Wolf.

  “I know about your mother. I know how she died,” Wolf said. “More importantly, I know why she died.”

  Kevin lowered his gun and sat up straighter against the back of the couch. He flitted a glance past Wolf’s left shoulder.

  Wolf looked to see why, and then took a sharp breath and shook his head.

  Mayor Greg Wakefield sat inside the den, slumping heavily in the office chair. One side of his head was gone, blown out onto the table in front of him. The small desk lamp was on, covered in blood and brain. It cast a red light that silhouetted his body and reflected off the fluids everywhere. His arm was dangling off the armrest and a pistol was on the carpet beneath his limp hand.

  “He didn’t hesitate when I told him to do it,” Kevin said. “Just lifted up the gun and bam.” Kevin lifted the pistol to his own head and pantomimed.

  Wolf stared at him, waiting until the gun dropped back down. “Where’s Chris?”

  “He’s okay. I gave him a roofie. He’s sleeping it off. So you think you figured it out?” Kevin sprang to life and stood up. “I thought I’d thrown you for a loop with making it look like I was coming after you.” He nodded and walked away from Wolf toward the windows. “And don’t think I’ve never thought about it. The way you treated me in that job interview last year.”

  “I just got off the phone with the police chief from Lake Tahoe,” Wolf said, meeting Kevin’s gaze in the reflection. “I know about your mother’s car crash. She’d been drinking, so eve
ryone thinks it was an accident how she drove into those trees. But I know what you and your father know. I know she killed herself.”

  Kevin turned and glared at Wolf.

  The grandfather clock in the corner ticked as the brass pendulum swayed back and forth. Faint beeping and scratchy radio voices came from outside.

  “Tell me about what happened,” Wolf said.

  Kevin shook his head. “You wouldn’t—”

  “Tell me about Mary Richardson.”

  “He killed her,” Kevin said, his voice barely a whisper.

  Wolf cocked his head. “Your father killed Mary Richardson?”

  Kevin frowned. “No, my mom. She killed herself because of him, and he didn’t give a shit.” Spit flew out of his mouth.

  Wolf kept as still as possible.

  “He was screwing her.” Kevin stared into the past. “Mary Richardson. She was an agent with my dad’s real-estate company, and my mom found out. That’s why they got a divorce in the first place.

  “He made a little agreement with my mom—she agreed to keep quiet about the whole thing if he gave her a divorce and paid her well enough.” A tear trickled off his cheek and hit the floor. “She was a good woman. It’s not like she was blackmailing him or anything. She wouldn’t do anything like that. She just needed to survive, you know?”

  Wolf blinked and nodded, goading him to keep talking. There was a good fifteen feet between them now. With slow movements, Wolf stepped his right foot forward, then his left.

  “And so they got the divorce.” Kevin stared past Wolf. “But my dad did something, and ended up screwing her out of getting any money. I don’t know how. Somehow he and his lawyer made her look bad, so she didn’t get anything.”

  Kevin lowered his eyes.

  “And then what?” Wolf asked, watching the stringy muscles on Kevin’s forearm flex, the knuckle of his index finger white on the trigger.

  Wolf took another step forward and then froze.

  Kevin looked up, both eyes swimming with tears now. “Then my mom came over that night after dinner and was screaming at my dad. She just needed some money. She’d been staying at a friend’s house … and a fucking motel. She didn’t have anywhere to go. Her mom was dead. Her sister lived in London. There was nowhere for her to go. She was asking how he could do this to her.”

  Kevin swallowed and wiped his cheek with the palm of his gun hand, pointing the pistol at the ceiling.

  “I was sitting on the steps listening, and I came down and watched them fight. And I never knew my dad was like that until then. Even after all those years of yelling at me when I sucked at baseball, or when I couldn’t pass math … still, he’d never acted like this.

  “He was calling her a cunt, had her up against the wall, pinning her neck with his forearm.” Kevin clenched his teeth and held up a shaking forearm in front of him. Then his face relaxed and he dropped his arm down. “I just watched. I just watched as my dad pinned her, dug through her purse and pulled out a stick of lipstick, and wrote an X on her forehead. He kept saying, ‘You’re my ex-wife and you don’t get shit. You’re my ex-wife.’ And I just sat there … I just watched her choke and stare at me, and I …”—he shook his head—“I picked up a brass statue, and he heard me, and then he let her go. I was about to kill him, I swear to God. I wish I had … none of this would have happened.”

  Kevin screwed his eyes shut and bared his teeth.

  Wolf took another couple of steps forward and then cleared his throat. “So she killed herself that night. But only you and your dad knew it.”

  Kevin opened his eyes and nodded, wiping tears again, this time with the knuckles of his free hand. “Everybody else said it was an accident, but we both knew what’d happened. Nobody wanted to bring up the obvious question—Do you think she just jerked the wheel? But if they’d known about what my father had done to my mom ...”

  Wolf exhaled. “So you went and killed Mary Richardson. The woman who split up your parents’ marriage. You got back at your dad the only way you knew how. And he found out, so you guys came to Colorado. To escape any suspicion.”

  Kevin nodded and sniffed. “He helped me cover it up. Helped me stage it to look like it was a break-in. Then we kind of ran, to get away from what I’d done.”

  Wolf squinted. “So you killed her and then felt bad about it? Told your dad and he helped you cover it up?”

  Kevin sagged. “No. He found me next to her. I’d already killed her. It’s complicated and you wouldn’t believe me anyway.” He started to raise the pistol.

  “Wait, Kevin. Listen. Just tell me about it. All of it.”

  Kevin glanced around the room and then looked embarrassed. “I’ve got a disease where I do stuff and don’t remember it.”

  Wolf frowned. “Are you saying you don’t remember doing any of these killings?”

  Kevin shook his head. “Like I said, you wouldn’t believe me. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  As Kevin shut his eyes and lifted the gun, pressing the muzzle into his temple, Wolf was hit with a realization that made him flinch like he’d just been punched in the nose.

  Because Kevin Ash was holding the pistol with his left hand.

  Wolf lunged forward as fast as he could and the gun flashed with a deafening boom.

  Chapter 29

  Ash stood at his office window, looking out at the twin headlights as they flickered through the edge of the forest and out into the meadow. It was unmistakably a deputy cruiser—one of those decked-out expensive models of SUV the Sheriff’s Department drove nowadays that sucked the county coffers dry.

  When Wolf had called him twenty minutes earlier, Ash had been hunkering in his upstairs office for the fourth hour, sitting in the dark with an aching back and a desperate need for water. He had been about to go crazy. Not stir-crazy, but actually crazy. The suspense had been tormenting him like fingernails clawing inside his skull.

  And now it was over. The phone conversation with Wolf had told him as much.

  “I need to come tell you some bad news. It’s about your son,” Wolf had said.

  “Why don’t you just tell me now? What the hell is going on?” Ash had said.

  Wolf didn’t tell him specifics, but Ash knew exactly what had happened. So far, Ash was acting the part of a concerned father well enough, but he was going to have his work cut out for him. He watched Wolf’s SUV slow at the head of his driveway a quarter-mile away, then walked downstairs and began getting his mind right.

  When Ash had been a kid, he’d been able to turn on the waterworks on command. It was a gift few had he realized later in life. Even world-renowned actors spoke of the difficulty of acting sad—with actual twitching lips and gushing tear ducts—but he had been able to do it. But this was going to be tough, because if he heard the news that his son was dead, then it was going to be a relief. Not exactly good news, but news couldn’t get better for him at this point. Every single stroke of misfortune in the past few days, in the past few years, was now going to be wiped out.

  Ash reached the bottom of the stairs, went back to the great room, which was now brightly lit like the rest of the house, and turned on some smooth jazz. He felt like he was getting ready for a date or something. When he felt the steel of the snub-nosed revolver that he’d stuffed in his pants dig into the small of his back, he paused and flipped the stereo off. What the hell was he thinking? He had just lost a son. He needed to act the part.

  …

  Wolf drove into the curving drive of Charlie Ash’s ranch house. Long and sprawling, the layout of the house was two rectangular wings topped with A-framed roofs attached to a cylindrical center. On top of the cylinder was a pointed cone with a band of windows underneath, like a turret on a modern-day castle.

  The windows in the center of the house sparkled with light, and exterior halogens painted yellow smears on the snow outside.

  He stopped in front of the house and looked down the straight shoveled walkway that ended in tall wooden doors on the fron
t porch. Shutting off the vehicle, he peered into the woods as far as he could, then checked the road behind him, which meandered into the forest and out of sight. He wondered just where Stephanie Lang and the mayor had rendezvoused that night of the party. Then he figured it really didn’t matter.

  Stepping out of the SUV, a cold wind whistled past his ears, and he pulled his winter cap down. The moon was a yellow blob behind some high, thin clouds. The peaks to the west were invisible, which meant that low cloud, indicative of another front rolling in, enveloped the higher elevations. Forecasters were warning of accumulations of another twelve to eighteen inches.

  Hopefully, it would hold off for the next couple of hours.

  Wolf’s boots crackled on rock salt as he walked the dry path to the porch. He stepped under the light in front of the door and pressed the doorbell. A song chimed quietly, barely audible through the heavy doors and rock façade.

  The door clunked and then opened, and Charlie Ash stood in the doorway. He was fully dressed, wearing jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt on top of a T-shirt. His gray comb-over hair was firmly in place, looking wet from a recent shower.

  He looked curious and concerned, but behind his gold-rimmed glasses his eyes darted around—like he was expecting someone to come out of the dark behind Wolf at any second.

  Ash nodded. “Sheriff.” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Please, come in.”

  Wolf nodded back and stepped inside onto a thick brown rug. A crystal chandelier hung from a vaulted ceiling above, illuminating the entryway as light as day. It smelled like tobacco and leather inside, and there was no sound other than a soft whoosh of a nearby heating vent on the wall.

  An expansive room behind Ash was full of leather couches and dim lamps with stained-glass shades perched on dark-wood. Off the room to the right was a brightly lit hallway that veered out of sight into the kitchen and dining areas. To the left, another hallway that was more dimly lit led to the wing with the bedrooms and the stairway to the office on the second floor.