David Wolf 01 - Foreign Deceit Page 2

  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 City 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 took 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 last two weeks. Who? For the rest of the police officers? Were the members of the City Council listening right now on police scanners? Wolf supposed in reality, that could be exactly what was happening right now. 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 that 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 flat 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 thoughts. “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 point, 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 Officer Wilson’s RPPD-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 they passed through a deep puddle. Wolf recalled 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 dwarfed her face.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Branson. I was just telling the officer … uh—“

  “Wilson, ma’am,” Wilson said.

  “Yes, Officer 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 Officer 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’d never been on this trail before today. I’m from Denver, and I’ve been up here on vacation for the last 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 went 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.”

  “Did you notice what … he was wearing?” Wolf asked.

  “It looked like a boy. I could see the hair and the clothes.” She shut her eyes and dropped her head. “It was a boy. 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 the station 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 Rocky Points Police Department 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 wearing when he went missing. Short sleeves and a vest. It hadn’t rained in the last two days, but it had still been frosty cold the last 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 truck was clearly visible, kicking up a huge plume of dust, which obscured the other three flashing roofs behind it. One by one, the squad 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 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 360º views of the valley and town below and the surrounding majestic peaks.

  The Upper trail was a straight u
p 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 carved huge chunks off, 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 two years ago when a school bus-sized boulder 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 he looked like he might tackle the woman.

  Jennifer Branson, along with Officer 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 serious expression.

  “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Connell. Please tell me what you saw.”

  Wolf knew Connell would be too self-involved to ever ask her name. He stepped away to the other officers now milling outside their vehicles, motioning for Rachette to follow.

  “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 officers Hilton and Walters. “Get going now, double time. We’ll be on your tail.”

  The two officers 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 officers turned and left in a blur.

  Wolf ignored Connell’s huff of protest and turned back to the men. “All right everyone, we’ll need an official statement from Ms. Branson here.” Wolf looked at Connell. “Sergeant Connell.” Then Wolf looked back to the men. Wolf could feel Connell’s icicle glare, but he didn’t care. His patience was running short with Connell’s alpha-sergeant display, and time was running short enough.

  “Baine, Wilson, Rachette, stick with me,” Wolf continued. “I need another officer 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 officers 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 to stay with Connell.

  “Yates!” Wolf called. Officer Yates stopped short of the trail sign and turned around like a man just picked out of a crowd to be executed. “You’re staying here.”

  Wolf could sense Connell’s presence next to him expanding with boiling hatred. Wolf turned to face him. “We’ll keep in touch. Who else is en route?”

  Connell didn’t answer. Instead he stepped so close that his RPPD baseball cap slipped underneath the bill of Wolf’s Stetson.

  Wolf didn’t move or blink. Despite the muscles and aggressive demeanor, Wolf knew Connell for what he really was. Connell, along with all the other bullies he’d encountered in his life, was a coward.

  Connell’s cool gaze fractured for just a second, then he raised his lips.

  Wolf assumed Connell was trying to smile nonchalantly, but it was more a snarl, like a rabid dog baring its teeth. Wolf had seen the same look from Connell many times. It was classic Connell—trying to look composed even as he seethed with hate and lusted for violence.

  Only Connell never acted on those impulses with Wolf. Not since the seventh grade, when Wolf had put Connell in his place. Ever since that day, Connell had kept his hate corked tightly for Wolf, never acting on it ever again. Wolf wondered if that cork was going to blow. If it did, Wolf was smart enough not to look forward to that day. Connell had spent a few thousand hours in the gym since seventh grade. Then again, Wolf had killed a lot of men since then. Many men, much more dangerous than Connell. And Wolf knew his relaxed glare at the moment told Connell exactly that.

  Enough time had been wasted. Wolf backed away and turned to Rachette and Baine. “Get the cameras, we’ll need casting materials for footwear evidence also. Bring it all.” He turned toward the trail and began walking when a heavy hand thumped down on his shoulder. Wolf turned quickly, certain he would see Connell’s hurtling fist.

  “We’ll both go up top together,” Connell said jovially. “Wilson, please get an official statement from this woman, and Baine, Rachette, you’re coming with us.”

  Connell swept past Wolf and took a left at the sign, following the Upper Loop. He lunged up the rocky trail with the ease of a large game animal. After thirty feet he wheeled around, “You guys coming or what?”

  Wolf looked at Officers Wilson and Yates who were exchanging relieved looks. “Talk to you soon. Keep any other officers that show up here, unless I say otherwise. I want this trailhead closed off.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Officer Yates.

  “Yes, sir,” said Officer Wilson.

  They both looked like they’d just won the lottery.

  “Lighten up, you two,” Wolf said.

  Yates and Wilson exchanged puzzled looks.

  Wolf shook his head and started for the trail.

  Chapter 3

  For a few minutes, they trudged up the trail, Connell setting a calf-cramping pace in the lead; Wolf, Rachette and Baine well behind. It was obvious Connell had the destination in mind—the top—and he was treating the hike like a race he was going to win at any cost.

  The first quarter mile of the trail was steep, switching back and forth through the ponderosa pine trees, and Wolf’s lungs pumped hard to wring the oxygen out of the Rocky Mountain air. He’d grown up in the mountains, no more than a few miles away, and he was used to the depleted oxygen. But his lungs stung, and the back of his throat tasted like rust. Wolf’s relaxed attitude toward vigorous exercise for the last few months was catching up to him.

  For six years of his life while he was an Army Ranger, Wolf had been in the kind of physical shape only achieved by the likes of top professional athletes or an Olympian. Army Ranger school was designed to kill the spirit of men, and Wolf had endured it in a way that stood out among the others there. And then when it came to serving his country, to killing men and protecting his own, he did so in a way that stood out in his battalion. Exertion like this wouldn’t have even registered in his conscious mind back then.

  Today, Wolf still had a strong physique, as he had fifteen years ago, though it was a faint shadow of what it had once been. Once a bulky six foot three man pushing two hundred thirty pounds of muscle, now he was more thin and wiry, hovering around two hundred pounds. Now, rather than spending any time in the gym, he was hardened by spending more time outdoors than in, and by using his hands to fix, and haul, and bait, and shoot things.

  They reached a flattened part of the trail after the initial climb, and Wolf’s legs ached as he walked the flat ground. Rachette and Baine were close behind, panting through clenched teeth. They continued to an opening in the trees, where the trail cut th
rough a small field of grass and wildflowers.

  Sergeant Connell stood grinning. “What’s the matter, guys? You need to hit the gym a little more with Uncle-D and spend a little less time at the Sunnyside.”

  The Sunnyside was the best breakfast joint on Main Street, and Wolf thought the amount of time he spent there, at least three mornings a week, was just perfect. As far as spending more time at the gym? Maybe Connell was right.

  Wolf stopped and turned. The field to the west meandered down a few yards and ended abruptly against the backdrop of a forested valley floor. It was like looking at the edge of an infinity pool. The grass just ended, and then nothing. It was the first of many cliffs, and Wolf knew what he was looking at was a sheer drop of at least twenty feet.

  “I already checked,” Connell said. “He’s not at the bottom of that one and not at the bottom of the next three, which you can see from up there. He must have fallen off the top.” He whistled. “Sure a long drop from there. Shit.” There was more amusement than sympathy in Connell’s voice.

  Wolf turned back toward the way they came and then back toward the cliff.

  “Fine, take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Connell said.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Wolf said looking down at the ground of the trail.

  “Seriously, you guys gotta get in the gym more,” Connell said. “Jesus, your face is pasty white Rachette. What have you—“

  “Check this out.” Wolf pointed at a line of deep shoe prints in semi-dry, flat mud. He felt one of the prints.

  Rachette and Baine came over, and Connell put his hands on his hips and stayed put.

  “It rained two days ago, right?” Wolf asked.