Dark Mountain (The David Wolf Series Book 10) Page 5

  As he stopped and turned around, something pinged at his feet. “Hey, I have shell casings here!”

  He slipped on a latex glove and picked one up.

  Lorber and Nelson jogged to him with crunching feet. When the ME arrived, he had an evidence bag open and ready to receive.

  “.45 ACP. Two shells.” Wolf dropped them into the bag.

  “Good bet we’ll find that’s what killed Pat Xander,” Lorber said.

  Wolf studied the ground, focusing on a spot behind him. Last night’s rain had been a deluge, but even so, a stain in the dirt remained. “Blood.”

  “Shit.” Lorber stepped over. “Watch it. Jesus, we had two dozen people up here two hours ago and none of them saw this?” The ME started taking samples.

  Tire scrape marks bore into the ground a short distance down the road—the first vehicle in a line that had extended back toward the crime scene. Apparently, no one had been this far.

  The forest off the side of the road was flat, on the same level as the road. The drop-off where they’d found Pat Xander was fifty paces down a slight hill.

  “This is quite a ways from Pat Xander’s car.”

  “Maybe they pushed it down this hill and it finally dumped off the edge of the road and into the trees down there,” Nelson said.

  “Somebody shot him here,” Lorber said. “This is blood, no doubt.”

  “You find any other prints in that car besides Pat’s and Rachette’s?” Wolf asked. “On the driver’s side? The keys were missing. They could’ve driven it down there and dumped it. Taken the keys before pushing it off the road.”

  Lorber shrugged. “Team’s still processing the car.”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Way I see it,” Lorber said, twisting the cap on a sample container, “this is good news.”

  “How is this good news?” Wolf asked, dialing Rachette’s phone again and scanning the trees.

  “Well, good news for Rachette. Two shells. Two holes in Xander. All the shots are accounted for. One bloodstain.”

  Thunder shook the air and rolled down the valley.

  “It’s gonna rain.” Lorber quickened his pace taking a sample.

  Despite the midday hour, the sky was dark as dusk and the hairs were standing up on Wolf’s arms.

  His phone rang and his adrenal glands fired. When Patterson’s number flashed onscreen he pressed the call-end button and called Rachette again.

  A dollop of rain hit him in the shoulder and another slapped his ear.

  “Shit,” Lorber said. “I’d rather we find a dry phone.”

  Wolf stepped off the shoulder and stared down the road. Keeping his eyes unfocused and still, he tried Rachette’s number again, willing himself to catch the light of the phone screen.

  Lightning flickered and a crack of thunder followed seconds later.

  The encroaching storm injected more tension than they needed, but the darkening skies ended up revealing Rachette’s phone. If it had been a bright and sunny day, there would’ve been little chance of Wolf seeing the glow in his peripheral vision. “There!”

  He ran over and picked up the cell with his gloved hand and put it in a plastic bag just as the rain let loose and soaked his shirt to his back.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Shit!” Heather Patterson lowered the cellphone to her lap and looked out the windshield.

  At first, she’d been parked along the front of the county building, but now she sat in the rear lot. Clearly something was going on today. She’d worked here long enough to pick up on the general vibe, and the two SUVs she’d just watched enter the lot came in at faster-than-normal speed.

  Then there was the tow truck delivering a Chevy sedan into the parking garage. It had been dented and scraped like it had gotten in a fight with the forest and lost. Since they were towing it here, and not to Viper’s impound lot, she knew it was evidence.

  Worse, she thought she recognized the vehicle. Familiar hippy-stickers coated the back window, and when she remembered that a man named Pat Xander drove the car her blood pressure doubled. Rachette had once introduced Pat Xander to her as his Uber guy.

  What did Pat Xander have to do with this? Was he the one who sent her the message? He’d not seemed like the psycho type, but few psycho people look psycho until they go psycho.

  Times like these brought forth her memories of being stuffed in a trunk. That guy had been crazy and she’d never suspected him.

  Rain drops started smacking her SUV, then marble-sized hailstones that sounded like rocks.

  “Shit,” she said again.

  Watching a deputy jog across the lot toward the rear doors, she got out and ran, timing it perfectly to arrive behind him.

  The deputy must’ve worked in the jail in the basement because she failed to recognize him. He looked at her, and she made a show of fishing for her own card inside her purse, like they were now in a race for the honor of slapping their magnetic card on the reader before the big rain hit.

  He won. The doors hissed open and the deputy eyed her again.

  She smiled and held up her hands. “Thank God you’re here. I’ll probably find it halfway up the elevator … I hope.”

  The man looked less than fooled but walked in anyway, pulling out his phone and tapping on the screen as he disappeared into the building.

  Idiot. She could have been a gun-wielding maniac walking in off the street.

  The doors hissed shut behind her, and she felt like she’d stepped into a walk-in freezer. Someone needed to take their palm off the thermostat in this place.

  Contemplating whether to ride up the elevators or go talk to Tammy, she opted for the reception area at the front of the building and found a familiar woman behind the glass.

  The receptionist and dispatcher talked into her headset, furiously tapping keys on her computer. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll send a deputy over this afternoon to speak to him … you’re welcome. Have a good day.”

  Tammy gave Patterson a double take as she took off her headset.

  “What’s going on today?” Patterson leaned her elbows on the counter.

  Tammy looked like she wanted to speak but couldn’t, which was technically exactly what was happening.

  She was no longer Detective Heather Patterson. She was a civilian walking in off the streets.

  “Not much,” Tammy said.

  “I saw Pat Xander’s car being towed into the garage just now.” Patterson narrowed an eye. “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you, Heather. Come on, you know that.” Tammy stood up and walked away. A few seconds later, the door in the wall opened and she came out. “Come here and give me a hug.”

  Tammy was a bear of a woman and had a hug to match. “I’ve missed you. I hear about you coming in every once in a while, but you never come say hi.” Tammy let her go. “Which is a crap-shoot, because I’m the receptionist.”

  Patterson smiled. “Yeah, sorry. I usually come in the normal way. Through the back, on the heels of someone and their key card.”

  Tammy’s eyes glazed over, then she locked eyes with Patterson.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You’ll have to talk to somebody upstairs.”

  “About Pat Xander’s car?”

  Tammy hesitated, then nodded.

  “I’ll talk to Wolf. Is he up there?”

  “No. But he’s on his way back in with Dr. Lorber.” Tammy flourished her hand toward the elevator banks. “Third floor, Mrs. Patterson.”

  “It’s technically Patterson-Reed.”

  “Right.” Tammy peaked her eyebrows. “You look good, honey. How’s Tommy doing?”

  She smiled. “Great. He’s doing great.”

  “I saw him at the playground the other day. Kid’s growing up so fast already. All right. I’ll let you go. Come in more often and say hi to me.”

  Patterson nodded and made for the elevator bank.

  Stepping inside the elevator was like slipping on an old pair of boots. How many times had she rushed in her
e with her morning coffee and stabbed that third-floor button? Stared at these God-awful green tiles on the floor, looked up at the fish-eye camera lens in the corner?

  The bell chimed and the door swished open. The terrazzo hallway gleamed like ice after a Zamboni had passed over.

  She stepped out and considered her options. The hall was empty, but at the end of it excitement echoed from the squad room. Sheriff MacLean paced inside his aquarium office, talking excitedly on the phone.

  Squeaking footsteps rose in volume and a deputy strode out of the squad room and into the hallway, straight toward her. She froze at the sight of her friend Charlotte approaching.

  There were hundreds of people in this building and Charlotte was the last person she wanted to see.

  Charlotte wiped her nose as if she was crying. Studying the floor in front of her, she failed to see Patterson and darted sideways into the women’s bathroom.

  Not waiting another second, Patterson moved, making straight for the second office on the right. She knocked on Wolf’s door, and when there was no answer she twisted the knob. Relieved that it was unlocked, she pushed the door open and entered.

  Now she was trespassing, and an inner voice screamed at her to get out, but she had nowhere else to go.

  Ducking inside, she shut the door and stood in the dim office.

  The room was almost silent. Despite the monsoon outside, the rain was a mere whisper against the triple-paned glass. A flicker of lightning lit the office and a low rumble shook the building.

  It smelled like cheap soap and aftershave. Classic Wolf.

  She considered flicking on the light, but decided against it. Somebody might walk by and peek inside to say hello.

  The window blinds were pinched between his office chair and the glass, as if he’d left in a hurry.

  She walked to the chair and ran her fingers over the empty desktop, then swiveled the chair back into its position at his desk. It bumped the wood and the computer screen flickered to life.

  Breaking into his office was one thing. Breaking in and snooping on his computer raised her sense of betrayal to another level so she walked to the loveseat against the wall and sat.

  But the glowing screen beckoned and gave her an idea. She pulled out her phone and emailed the photo she’d received to herself. She looked out at the rain. My God, she thought. Was he getting rained on right now? She needed a better look at that photo.

  And who was she kidding? Wolf would understand.

  She walked to the desk, pulled back the chair, and sat down.

  Wolf had a video open onscreen. Deciding she would minimize her violation of Wolf’s space, she steered the cursor to the close button without looking at it. She clicked once and when it failed to close she flicked a glance inside the video window. She couldn’t help noticing a man sitting with a pistol lying on the table in front of him, which froze her in her tracks.

  Was this something to do with Rachette? Had Wolf gotten the same message she had? Probably not … he would’ve answered her calls during the past couple of hours, not screened them.

  What was this?

  She pressed play.

  CHAPTER 12

  Wolf and Lorber arrived at the station during the height of the downpour and ran through the lot to the automatic doors. Once inside, they made straight for the first-floor forensics lab.

  Lorber led the way in, supremely at home among the modern microscopes, fume and particle extractors, chromatographs, and spectrometers perched on clean white countertops. He made a circle, all the while clicking on devices, and pointed at Wolf.

  “Hit the lights, please.”

  Wolf turned and flicked a switch, and the overhead lighting blazed on.

  “Team must be out in the garage with the sedan,” Lorber said.

  Wolf watched the tall ME don a pair of blue latex gloves and approach a boxy-looking machine no larger than a toaster oven. He swung a glass door open, fished out a shell casing from the bag, and placed it inside.

  “This is called CERA,” Lorber said, bending his lanky frame over the machine as he pressed some buttons. “Cartridge Electrostatic Recovery Analysis. You know how futile getting a latent off a spent cartridge can be. Firing temps vaporize and break down the skin oils left on the shells prior to firing. Of course, this baby uses a high-voltage static charge along with some graphite spheres to show the prints that would’ve otherwise been invisible.”

  “Let me know when you’re finished.” Wolf paced across the white-tiled floor, thinking about the Paul Womack video and Pat Xander’s body in the trunk. And now his detective was gone. All indications that Rachette was in major trouble.

  He needed to know Paul Womack’s fate.

  The video had gone black and there’d been a shot. If Paul Womack had shot himself, as the video suggested, then who sent the video? Or had Wolf missed something? Had Paul shot someone else?

  “Hey.” Lorber stared at him expectantly.

  “What?”

  “I said I got a print.” Lorber walked to a desktop computer and sat down. “This is a good one. If it’s in the system, we’ll get a hit.”

  “There’s still Rachette’s phone, too.” Wolf picked up the plastic bag with the cell in it. “Might be a clue in the data here. The calls he made, his texts. Maybe that’s why it was in the woods. Maybe he threw it there for us to find.”

  Lorber nodded absently, then tapped the keyboard with some finality. “Okay. Now we wait on this.”

  “How long?”

  Lorber shrugged. “You know the drill. Average wait time is twenty-seven minutes. Could be more. Could be less. Meanwhile,” he snatched the bag from Wolf’s hand and poured out the device onto his hand, “let’s look at the phone. Shit. Locked with a PIN.”

  “1-2-3-4,” Wolf said.

  “Seriously?” Lorber tapped in the code. “Apparently, you are. Looks like he messaged Charlotte at 7:05 p.m. Here …” He leaned forward for Wolf to see.

  Rachette: Hey baby, I’m at Goggles. Tipping a few with the boys.

  Charlotte: Okay. Remember I have the doctor’s appointment tomorrow.

  Rachette: You do? For what?

  Charlotte: (Emoticon of a middle finger.)

  Rachette: I’ll be up bright and early ready for action.

  Charlotte: Just try and cap it at six tonight, huh?

  Rachette: Bright and early.

  Charlotte: I miss drinking.

  Rachette: Me too. Wait … here’s my beer. Ah. Tastes good.

  Charlotte: (Emoticon of middle finger.)

  Rachette: I love you, baby. You’ll be sipping your wine chillers again in a few short months.

  Charlotte: Love u 2. Later.

  Lorber looked up from the phone. “She misses drinking? Doctor’s appointment? Is she pregnant?”

  Wolf shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  “Come to think of it, I’ve noticed.” Lorber blinked behind his John Lennon-style glasses and tapped the screen. “Okay, that’s it for last night’s messages. He made a call at 11:09 p.m. to Pat Xander for a duration of thirty-four seconds. Nothing after that.”

  “And prior?” Wolf asked.

  “Charlotte in the afternoon … 3:32 p.m. Looks like he called you at 1:43 p.m. …”

  “Scroll further.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. Yates … Charlotte … Charlotte … you …” Lorber raised his eyebrows and held out the phone. “Gloves are over there.”

  Wolf put on some latex gloves and grabbed the phone. Scrolling through the messages and recent-calls list, he agreed.

  “All right.”

  He handed back the phone and trashed the gloves, then took off his damp SBCSD baseball cap and ran a hand over his hair.

  You robbed me. It’s … your fault.

  “… and check the phone, too.”

  He looked at Lorber. “What’s that?”

  “You seem rather preoccupied. I know that look. You’re not telling me something.”

  Wolf shook his head
. “Let me know the second you get a hit on any prints. You’re checking the phone, too, right?”

  Lorber took off his glasses. “That’s what I just told you.”

  “Right.” Wolf left the lab and went upstairs.

  CHAPTER 13

  Patterson watched with growing anxiety as the man in the video grabbed the pistol.

  “You—witness. Wolf. It’s … your fault. Wolf. It’s … your fault.”

  The screen went black.

  Pop.

  “My God.” She stood up and wiped the sweat off her forehead, noting the shake in her hand. She sucked in a breath, then exhaled and closed her eyes, trying to blank her mind.

  The door flew open and the light came on.

  She turned around, involuntarily glancing at the computer and the still twisting computer chair. “I ... hi, sir.”

  “What are you doing?” Wolf’s eyes bulged. “Get away from that.”

  Patterson stepped out from behind his desk. “I’m so sorry. I was just …”

  “You were what?” Wolf pushed her aside and went to the computer. He moved the mouse, saw what she’d been looking at, and froze.

  Patterson said nothing. She felt like she’d been caught stealing from his wallet, but after the text message she’d received earlier, she’d had an unshakeable resolve. And now there was this video. “What is that?”

  Wolf let go of the mouse and turned to her. “You watched it.”

  “Yes. What the hell is it? What’s it supposed to be? A suicide video? Is that noise him shooting himself or … who’s this guy? The email address has the name Paul Womack in it. Is that his name?”

  Wolf ignored her, stoking her anger.

  “I called you three times this morning,” she said. “I had to talk to you. Didn’t you get my messages?”

  “I did. Well, it broke up and I couldn’t understand what you were saying. And I’ve been a little busy this morning, so I couldn’t talk.”