David Wolf 01 - Foreign Deceit Page 4

  “Sorry boss.” Rachette wiped his mouth and stepped into the trees.

  “Is Baine on his way up?”

  Rachette was already in the trees walking to Connell, “Yep, he’s right behind me.” He let out a long whistle as he looked down on Connell’s inert body, “Yeah, that’s a broken nose. Hey Connell! Wow, he’s out.”

  Officer Baine clamored up the trail into view.

  Wolf stepped toward the ledge again. “All right, Rachette, you’re with me, we’re heading down. Baine, come here.”

  They all convened one last time on the cliff’s edge. Baine peeked over at the body below. “Good lord. That him?” Baine turned away from the cliff and walked toward the pines.

  Wolf grabbed his radio. It was scoured and dusted with dirt, but his voice came through.

  “All right,” Wolf announced, “we’ve found our victim, appears DOA, but we’ve gotta move fast in case he still has vitals.” Wolf gave a sharp whistle and waved his hand to the officers below.

  They waved back and doubled their pace.

  “Right here, at the base,” Wolf said somberly into the radio. “We also have an officer in need of medical assistance on top of the cliff. Officer Connell is unconscious, and may need to be evac’d off the mountain. We need to move fast. Hilton, Walters.” The two men below didn’t break stride, “Let me know.”

  Both officers nodded, and Wolf knew they would let him know the boy’s condition as soon as they could.

  A cacophony of affirmative radio calls barked through their radios.

  Baine was milling about in the trees, staring dumbly at Connell and keeping his distance.

  Connell had woken up. His forearm was raised up, lying against his forehead. He propped up a knee and gave a small grunt.

  “Baine, when he’s up and around, help him down before those storms move in.”

  “Uh, okay,” Baine stammered as he eyed Wolf, then shifted his gaze back to Connell’s bloody face.

  “Rachette. Get a few pictures of the vomit spot here, and then bag it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rachette said.

  “Then catch up to me.” Wolf held up his hand to Rachette.

  Rachette shook his head and tossed him his can of Copenhagen snuff. “I thought you quit this stuff.”

  Wolf took a pinch, tossed the can back, and turned to the trail. “Not today,” he said.

  Chapter 5

  Wolf ended up reaching the parking lot before Rachette could catch up, so he helped coordinate what now had become an extraction of a dead body – Jerry Wheatman hadn’t survived the fall.

  As Wolf waited for Rachette, he directed a couple officers to the top of the trail to help with bringing down Connell.

  “He twisted his ankle bad,” Wolf had said. “But bring the full first aid kit. He might need stitches.”

  Wolf had ignored the puzzled looks his comments caused, but he was finding it hard to sidestep the questions about his own scrapes and bruises, so he decided to take refuge in his truck.

  Wolf climbed into the Explorer with a grunt, his body stiff, muscles stuffed with lactic acid. His adrenaline-injected body had been put through the wringer.

  He turned down the radio chatter to a murmur and sat back, settling in for a good rest. It wasn’t like him to dwell on the past, but right now he longed for his ten-year-ago physique and conditioning.

  “Jesus. I can’t believe you did that to Connell! I wish I would have seen it.” Rachette head was in the open passenger window. “He stared at Wolf with a look wavering between reverence and disbelief. “Was that about next week or something?”

  Wolf fired up the engine. “Get in the damn car.” He waited for Rachette to jump in then backed out of his parking spot, narrowly missing another RPPD truck.

  Rachette held up the bag of evidence he’d collected for Wolf to see, then turned and put it on the back seat. “Where we going?”

  “To tell Jerry’s parents their son is dead.”

  Rachette’s face dropped.

  Wolf couldn’t blame him. This was one responsibility anyone in their right mind would not relish. Wolf loathed the prospect of witnessing the last bits of hope fade from the parents’ eyes as he broke the news.

  “Can you please pour me some of that coffee?” Wolf nodded toward a dinged-up metal thermos and fished an old Styrofoam cup from the floor at his feet.

  Rachette stared at Wolf for a second and shook his head, picking up the thermos. “Dammit.” He patted a dark splotch of coffee on his pants as they passed through the deep puddle at the mouth of the parking lot.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Wolf jabbed.

  “Psssshhh.”

  Wolf chuckled inwardly. He was thirty-five, ten years on the force, and a candidate to be appointed to sheriff of the Rocky Points Police Department, but somehow he’d found the one person on the force he really connected with to be this second-year twenty-three-year-old.

  For too many years, he had observed disturbing shortfalls of many of the department’s officers. Some didn’t step up when the going got tough. Some showed borderline psychotic behavior when given a badge and gun, a la Connell. Most of them were good men, but would he entrust his life in their hands? Not with many of them.

  Rachette was different. In his eighteen months on the force, he’d shown Wolf that he was the one among the RPPF force that Wolf could count on. In Wolf’s estimation, Rachette was the full package—with the attitude, strength, coolness under pressure, reliability, confidence, intelligence, and drive Wolf liked to see in a leader on the force.

  Thinking about all this, while watching Rachette wipe coffee off his crotch, Wolf smiled as he turned his attention back to the winding road to town.

  …

  The road turned back to the west and dropped in elevation through the dense forest for a couple miles. Gleaming-copper-trimmed, massive houses poked out of the trees on both sides of the road. They were well spread apart from one another, leaving vast swaths of dense forest between them; just the way the extremely well to do from all corners of the world liked their Rocky Mountain getaways.

  Wolf’s ears popped as they wound down further still, and finally out onto the dirt straightaway that slung out onto the vast valley floor. Barbed wire lined the road on either side, and cattle grazed in the bright green fields smattered with wild flowers. They reached the “T” junction of Highway 734 that ran north-south and took a left toward town.

  Rocky Points was a ski resort town first and foremost, but it hadn’t always been. In 1883, some hard-nosed easterners came to Denver and kept walking uphill, past Black Hawk miners, past Central City miners, over the Continental Divide, and then a little south to try their luck. There they dug, sluiced, panned, found some gold, and set roots. They dubbed their new town Rocky Points, a fitting name referring to the two rocky pointed 12,000-foot peaks to the west of town that would later become the ski resort.

  It was a rough beginning, according to the history taught in town schools. There was a good amount of gold to be found at the start, but as word got out, and more and more men walked over the divide into town, things got dangerous. Fighting, murder, and lawlessness ruled for a few years. That was, until a band of four men joined forces to bring law and order to the town. One of those men was Wolf’s great-great-great grandfather, or so the story went.

  Wolf took comfort knowing he was carrying on his family tradition. He knew if his father were still alive, he would be proud. Probably prouder if I could figure out exactly what had happened to the Wheatman boy, Wolf thought. And probably prouder still if he were to become sheriff.

  “Might as well stop by the Mackery now,” said Wolf as they approached the northern tip of town. “Maybe Bill can shed some light on where his daughter is. I need to fill up anyway.”

  The Mackery gas station was in a perfect location, right on the north end of Main Street, where all day trippers from Denver drove past on the way in and out of town. However, a less than perfect owner, Ruth Beal, ran t
he Mackery. So it had yet to take monetary advantage of such a great location.

  Wolf pulled off the highway and docked the truck next to a clean gas pump, the only part of the Mackery one could consider clean and not run-down looking.

  Before Wolf could shut off the truck, Ruth was out of the small shack of a convenience store, yelling at the top of her lungs.

  Ruth wore dirty jeans and a dirtier denim jacket to match. Her hair was twisted every which way like a nest, and she looked like she was just in the middle of eating, because there was a yellow dollop of mustard on her lip.

  “Did you find the bastards?” she yelled.

  Wolf opened his door and got out. “Hi Ruth. What are you talking about?”

  “The hippies who stole the gas!”

  Wolf looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m not sure what you are talking about.”

  “What? I called it in just now! A couple hippies just drove off without paying for fifty bucks worth of gas! Probably too high to remember to pay. Damn hippies—”

  “Did you get the license plate number?” Wolf asked, swiping his credit card, and then inserting the gas hose into the tank.

  “No, I just went in the back when they pulled up, then I came back out and they were gone.”

  Rachette opened the door and leaned out with a concerned expression. “What kind of car was it?”

  “A gol-darn hippie-mobile! One of those gol-darn mini-vans.” She was getting red in the face.

  “You mean a bus? Like a Volkswagen bus-type van?” Wolf asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. If that’s what they call ‘em.” She muttered to herself and looked into the distance, like she was spotting hippies in the trees.

  “Ruth, is Bill Mulroy here today?” Wolf asked.

  “Nope. He’s in Frasier … I think.”

  Wolf met eyes with Rachette then turned back to Ruth. “Why’s that?”

  “Why? What do you mean, why?” She stared bug-eyed at Wolf.

  Wolf was confused. “Why is Bill Mulroy in Frasier? Why did he go there?”

  “Oh,” she said. “I don’t know why.” She scrunched her face thinking about it.

  The gas pump clicked to a stop and Wolf pulled the hose out. As he did so, he noticed a sign hanging from the tank. “Ruth, what’s this sign all about?”

  All three stood frozen. Rachette got back in the car and shut the door.

  “Pre-pay?” Wolf asked. “Isn’t it impossible to fill up unless you turn on the tank after someone gives you money or they put in a credit card?” He pulled out his credit card receipt and waved it before putting it in his pocket.

  Ruth stood with a sparsely toothed open mouth. “Huh. Oh mercy. What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know what happened then!” She burst into a cackle, which ended in a brief coughing fit that made Wolf hope he wasn’t going to have to perform CPR on her.

  “So, there weren’t any hippies who stole your gas?” Wolf opened the driver’s side door.

  “No, I guess not. Sorry, I don’t know what the hell’s goin on …”

  Wolf smiled. “Talk to you later, Ruth. Stay out of trouble and try not to harass too many people coming into town, all right? They are good for your business.” He chided her.

  Wolf noticed she looked slighter than usual, which was a usual twig-thin. He got in the truck and turned to Rachette. “Why don’t you run in and make sure Bill really isn’t here.”

  Rachette ran in past Ruth.

  Wolf waved Ruth over.

  She swayed over, concentrating hard on each step.

  “Are you doing all right, Ruth?” Wolf asked.

  She nodded and sighed. “Oh, you know. Ever since Ed died, I’m just countin’ the minutes.”

  Rachette came back out of the building. He ran over and jumped in, jostling the truck.

  Wolf looked at him, and Rachette shook his head. Bill was apparently in Frasier for the day.

  “You take care of yourself, okay?” Wolf said, reaching out the window and patting Ruth on her bony shoulder.

  Ruth nodded absently and returned to her shack.

  Wolf started the truck back up and turned onto Main Street.

  Rachette leaned toward the side view mirror. “Jesus. She’s not looking too good.”

  “Yeah, we’ll need to keep an eye on her. And we need to keep up with Bill. To ask him about Julie when he gets back.”

  Rachette nodded. “So, what’s the plan? Off to be the bearer of shit news?”

  “Yeah, off to tell the Wheatmans.”

  “Fun stuff.”

  “Yep. Fun stuff.”

  Chapter 6

  It took Wolf and Rachette two hours to get to the Wheatmans’ home, tell them the horrid news about their son, console them as little as two police officers could, and return to the RPPD Station.

  Wolf and Rachette stood in the vast doorway of the department squad-vehicle garage and stared into the deafening deluge of rain. Lightning flashed and a crack of thunder followed immediately, but Wolf didn’t have the energy to flinch. He was whipped – physically and mentally. The day had thrown a lot at them. At him.

  Wolf knew there was going to be more to come. What kind of aftermath could he expect with Connell? What was Connell going to tell people when he got back from the hospital trip he was on now? What was Connell telling people right now? What should Wolf tell people about it? Wolf felt like he’d missed the boat on some right action he should have taken after the fight. But what that action was, he couldn’t figure yet. He was trusting that he and Connell were in this thing together, and they were going to deal with it like men. Maybe that was putting way too much trust in Connell.

  “Been quite a good day.” Rachette’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he stuffed a pinch of snuff in his lower lip.

  Wolf smiled and nodded. Rachette threw the can of chew to him, and Wolf took a pinch and threw it back. The tobacco juice burned the cut inside his lip, which was now swelling nicely. “Thanks.”

  The wind swirled inside the door and sprayed them with mist from the downpour.

  Rachette spit out onto the frothing puddles, “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened up there or what?”

  “I’m really not sure,” he lied. Wolf was still running through options for how this was going to play out.

  “You are going to get the job next week, right? I mean, that’s pretty much a done deal, right? We cannot have that guy as sheriff of this department.”

  “It’s not up to me,” Wolf said.

  “Yeah, but … come on. That guy has been pretty much abusing the rest of the force for the last few months. I saw him slap Baine the other day.”

  Wolf looked at Rachette.

  “I’m serious. That guy is a crazy meat head.”

  “And you didn’t report this to Sheriff Burton? Baine didn’t?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Of course they didn’t. It was an unwritten code of conduct for police forces world-wide, and one of the reasons why Wolf was keeping tight lipped about what just happened on the cliff. You don’t rat-out a fellow officer. No matter how bad it got.

  Wolf stretched his neck with a grimace and looked at his watch. 3:39 p.m. “I’m going to head home early today.”

  Rachette nodded. “I don’t blame you. Go get some rest, and you might want to ice that cheek.”

  Wolf felt his bulging cheekbone. “Yeah, good idea. If Burton comes round looking for me, tell him he can call me.”

  “All right, sounds good.”

  “Let me know what comes of the evidence, and especially let me know if Julie Mulroy shows up.”

  Rachette scoffed and held out his hands. “Of course. What am I an idiot?”

  “Eh, no comment.” Wolf got in the Explorer, fired it up, and drove out into the pounding waterfall of a rainstorm.

  …

  The SUV’s wipers wrenched back and forth at the top setting, still not affording Wolf much of a view out the windshield. Lightning spliced the sky in all dir
ections; with thunder so close it shook the change in the center console.

  This storm and his inability to see what was coming more than a few feet ahead seemed to parallel his life at the moment.

  Wolf mused there was a good chance he would run into Gary Connell when he got home. After all, Gary Connell had every right to visit his own ranch, and often did so unannounced. What would Wolf tell him? Hey, sorry, I just beat the crap out of your son because he tried to kill me?

  Wolf didn’t know if he had the heart to do that to Gary. Unlike his son, Derek, Gary Connell was one of the sweetest men Wolf had ever known. When Wolf’s family was financially ruined after his father’s death, Gary Connell stepped in to buy the ranch and rent it back to the Wolfs, for nothing.

  Wolf would still be living rent free on the ranch if not for his pride. In the end, Gary had been a good enough man to realize he needed to respect Wolf’s wishes – that he had to take monthly rent payments from Wolf. Not that the great Gary Connell needed the money. That wasn’t the point. The Wolfs paid their own way. They always had, and always would.

  Something occurred to Wolf. Could Derek Connell have been willing to kill Wolf because of Wolf’s relationship with Gary? Was that it? Connell was jealous and had decided terminating Wolf would set things right?

  The thought was jolting, and for a split second, Wolf allowed a tiny vibration of sympathy for Derek Connell to enter his mind. Then Wolf thought of plunging off the cliff, and as quick as it came, the sympathy was gone.