Cold Lake (18 page)

By the time Wolf pulled into the parking lot of the station, his dashboard clock read 6:13.

With a glimmer of hope, he spotted a shiny black Land Rover in the parking lot. Parking near it, he got out, slammed his door and jogged through cool air smelling of barbecue into the station.

Tammy greeted him with a shake of the head. 

Wolf frowned, looking around the reception area. “Where is he? Is he still here?”

She nodded. “I’ve been stalling, and I’ve been calling your cell. He’s in your office, drinking coffee. Looks a little impatient. What happened? You get caught in that blasting on the pass?”

Wolf nodded. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

“I’m leaving to go home.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Okay.” The door clicked and Wolf stepped inside. After a step he froze.

“Bullshit!” Baine was yelling at Senator Chama, who stood in front of Baine’s desk. “That’s what I told him.”

Chama pulled his coffee from his mouth and leaned his head back laughing. “Well, that kid probably had it coming.”

Wolf pulled his lips into a line and walked over with his hand extended. “Senator Chama, I’m sorry I’m late. I see you’ve met Sergeant Deputy Baine.”

“Yes. Yes. Good man.” Chama nodded, his smiled fading to a contented look.

Wolf eyed the Senator as they shook hands. The man was dressed casually in well-worn jeans and a button up dress shirt rolled loosely to the elbows. In his mid-forties, he was a fit, tall man who looked like he took care of himself, and by the looks of his complexion, had a punch card at a tanning salon.

“Why don’t we head to my office.” Wolf edged away from Baine’s desk.

“Ah yes. I’ve already made myself acquainted with it.”

Wolf began walking and looked back at Baine with a questioning look.

Baine gave a big nod, and then two thumbs up just in case Wolf didn’t catch his meaning.

Wolf nodded and stepped in line with Chama. “Sorry. I was detained down south.”

“Me too. Did you get held up with that blasting?”

“Just for a little.” Wolf lied, thinking about how he’d been stuck for ten minutes and then ended up blowing through the entire zone with his roof lights flashing. He stopped at the coffee machine. “More coffee?”

“Please.”

Wolf poured some into Chama’s cup and poured himself one, and then stepped into his office. The lights were already on, and the shades open. Wolf walked around the desk and glanced out the window. Margaret Hitchens was across the street, clearly visible inside her office with her nose pressed against the glass.

Wolf locked eyes with her and twisted the blinds shut.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Chama said as Wolf sat down.

“You’re welcome.”

Chama took a sip of coffee and smiled with his eyes over the rim of the Styrofoam cup. They were gentle gray eyes, with crow’s feet grooves at the corners. Chama’s hair looked like it had been trimmed around the edges with a laser, and a generous amount of gel locked his short black hair in place, looking like it would stay put in a nuclear blast.

Wolf ran a hand over his own head, feeling the lines in his hair from his ball cap along with particles of sand and dirt.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Wolf asked.

“I just wanted to stop in and say hi.”

“Ah.” Wolf sipped his coffee, put it down and sat back.

“I wanted to commend you on a well-run campaign so far,” said Chama. “I certainly think you’re a good man for the job.”

Wolf nodded. “Thank you. Is this what you told Sheriff MacLean earlier today?”

Chama chuckled, and then stared Wolf in the eye. “No.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, listening to the plastic tick from his Rams clock on the wall.

“I saw your recent commercial. Nice move.”

Wolf shrugged. “Not my move, but thanks.”

“Ah, yes. Your campaign manager, Margaret Hitchens. She has the fire, doesn’t she?”

Wolf gave a half smile.

The silence returned and Wolf spread his hands.

Chama broke eye contact and looked over at his jacket on the chair next to him. He dug into the breast pocket and came out with an envelope. Without saying a word he flipped it onto Wolf’s desk, the contents knocking as it hit the wood surface.

Wolf drew his eyebrows together and grabbed it. It had a single object inside, almost rectangular. The envelope was not sealed, so he flipped it open and looked in. It was a red USB memory stick. Wolf stared at it, let the envelope close and dropped it back on the desk.

“And this is?”

Chama took a sip of coffee. “That’s your insurance policy.”

Wolf blinked. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I heard from MacLean today that he had some dirt on you, or one of your deputies. I didn’t get the specifics, but he made it clear it would make you look bad. He wanted to make sure I knew whom I should be endorsing in this campaign. Which one of you two were the winning horse to bet on.”

Wolf kept silent.

Chama nodded and then stood up.

Wolf watched with mild interest as the Senator stepped around his chair, pushed it in, and leaned heavily on the back with both hands. “I want to level with you, David. May I call you David?”

“Sure.”

“You can call me Alexander.”

Wolf shrugged.

Chama hesitated. “I would like to endorse you.”

“What’s on the memory stick?” Wolf asked.

Chama gave a sly smile that made Wolf cringe. “Let’s just say it’s something that catches MacLean with his pants down.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows and then leaned forward and put his hand on the envelope. “And all I have to do is blackmail MacLean with this. Is that right?”

Chama’s smile faded. “That USB stick has something on it that you need to see.”

“MacLean paying a hooker for a blowjob?” Wolf shook his head and leaned back, leaving the envelope on his desk. His teeth squealed as he clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see it. You know, I rushed here from an important case. Had to leave my deputies all alone to handle everything, without me there to back them up. It’s been the busiest Sunday I can remember, and there’s still a lot of work I have to get done.”

Chama stood straight and looked at his Rolex.

“We’re working on a case my father started over twenty years ago. It stumped him, but we’re making some good progress. And I should have known it was something like this a Senator of the United States of America was bringing to me. Not an endorsement for the man I am, for the job I do, but an endorsement because there’s shit out there,” Wolf gestured to the envelope, “shit that makes MacLean look bad. And you know the score. You’re not going to back him with this out there. So you’re here to tell me I’m your man, and you’re giving me the dagger to take down MacLean. And for what? What will you want from me after all this is over?”

Chama narrowed his eyes.

“I can’t even imagine the favor you already have lined up to call in on me years down the road. I bet it’s a real good one. Well beyond my political IQ, that’s for sure.”

Wolf leaned forward and shoved the envelope across his desk. It shot off the edge, flew through the air, clanked against his closed office door and landed on the carpet.

Chama looked down at it and then glared at Wolf.

“Pick that up and get out of my office.” Wolf swiveled in his chair and powered on his computer.

Wolf watched from his peripheral vision as Chama shook his head and picked up his jacket, then bent over and plucked the envelope from the floor.

“Nice meeting you, Sheriff. Good luck with your campaign.”

“You know the way out. Good night.”

Chama twisted the knob and walked out, leaving the door swinging open and bouncing off the inside wall.

Wolf stormed around his desk and shut it. With a sigh he sat in his chair, the springs squealing as it leaned back. He pulled himself forward and leaned his elbows on the desk, rubbing his temples. Shaking his head, he opened the top drawer and looked at the crisp packet of paper Margaret had prepared for him.

He slammed it shut, stood, and opened his door again. “Baine!”

“Yeah!”

Wolf went and sat back down.

“Yeah.” Baine leaned in the doorway.

“Did you find her?”

“Yep.”

Wolf stared at him. “So what are you waiting for?”

Baine looked lazily at his watch. “Seven-thirty.”

Wolf frowned.

“That’s when she gets off work.” Baine lifted his lips in a jackal smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get what you need.”

Wolf’s skin crawled, but he stopped short of calling Baine off. Instead he nodded, and Baine disappeared around the corner. 

Wolf jerked his head as his desk phone shrilled. He stared at it for two rings and then picked it up.

“Wolf.”

“So?” Margaret’s voice was just below a yell. “I just saw him leave. How did it go?”

“It went.”

“Okaaaay. What did he say?”

“He wanted to endorse me.”

“What?” She laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

Wolf felt a ball of molten lava hit his gut as he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Margaret exhaled into the phone. “Oh, my God. That’s such good news. With this video going viral, and now Chama’s endorsement? We’re sitting pretty. Do you know the pull this guy has? Do you have any clue the contact you’ve just made for the rest of your career? Listen, I saw Sarah earlier today. Maybe we should all go out and celebrate. I’ll buy dinner.”

Wolf’s gut churned the lava. “No thanks. I already have something going on.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, you and Sarah probably don’t want me being a third wheel.”

“Listen, I gotta go.” Wolf leaned forward.

“All right. Great work, Sheriff. Remember to study your—”

Wolf hung up the phone and leaned back.

The clock said 6:40.

Politics
, he thought. Whatever it took to be a politician, Wolf had not been endowed with it at birth. And the more he spent time with politicians, the less interested he was  in developing whatever it was he needed to become one of any skill.  

For a few minutes he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the tension melt through the chair under him.

What seemed like five hours later he snorted awake.

The clock said 6:51—an hour and nine minutes until his drink date with Kimber Grey. He had a VIN number to pursue, two burnt bodies with one possible ID being the owner of the vehicle to investigate, an old man with a hundred stalker photos plastered to the wall of a back room in his basement, missing and nowhere to be found, and six unidentified, mutilated bodies.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out and read the screen.

Sarah.

Wolf snorted out loud, hit the ignore button, got up, and left for the bar.

“I tell you what else,” Rachette stepped over a downed log, his foot crunching on dead branches, “she’s got another thing coming if she thinks Scott Reed is some sort of saint.”

Wilson looked over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rachette concentrated on his steps.

“Are you saying Scott’s been cheating on Patterson?”

Rachette exhaled and shook his head. “No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Good-looking guy like that? Always shuttling women off the mountain in that snow cat? Men can only hold back for so long.”

Wilson stopped and looked at him with a sour face.

“What?”

Wilson rolled his eyes and started walking again. “I don’t know what you want from me here. You want me to start bad-mouthing Patterson?”

Rachette shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Good idea.”

They walked in silence for another few seconds, and then Wilson froze with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Shh.”

Rachette tilted his head and listened. It was probably another squirrel, or chipmunk, or another deer. They’d been hiking zigzag patterns in the woods for over two hours now, and hadn’t found anything of interest. But Wilson was a big man that was hardly excitable, so this definitely got Rachette’s heart going.

“What?” He whispered again.

There.
A branch snapped in the distance, somewhere up to the left.

A century of fire suppression in the area made the forest so thick it was impossible to see further than fifty feet from where they stood.

“I think I saw movement.” Wilson’s eyes popped.

“What? In this?” He looked at Wilson. “I didn’t see anything. Probably a deer again.”

“No. I saw … I don’t think it was an animal. I think it was a person.”

Rachette pulled his gun without thinking, his pulse racing now. “You’d better be sure. You’ve got me freaked.”

A second later there was the sound of footfalls, the rhythm of a person running at a fast jog travelling west up the slope ahead of them. They looked at each other.

“Let’s go.” Rachette started running toward it.

Sheriff Wolf had sworn he’d encountered a person a couple of nights ago, and Rachette was determined to prove his boss right. After his debacle with Jessica and the backpack, or
Gail
, or whatever her name was, he was desperate to redeem himself.

So now they were west of county road 16, up into the virgin forest with the lake at least a mile behind them, and the light was beginning to fade above them.

Saplings scratched against his jacket, his lungs pumped, blood rushed in his ears, and he pushed harder. Still not seeing anything, he stopped and listened again.

Wilson came up huffing. The big man was already hurting at the fifty-yard run.

“Shh.” Rachette cupped his ear.

Wilson closed his mouth and a squeak came from his nose as his chest heaved.

Rachette shook his head. There was no sign of the person anymore.

The sky above was turning orange, and despite there being at least thirty minutes of light left, the forest around them was turning pitch black. Though it would give away their position by using a flashlight, Rachette saw no choice. He pulled his Maglite and clicked it on. Wilson did the same.

Wilson’s breathing normalized, and the forest went silent once again.

They stood motionless for another minute.

Rachette flicked his head and continued west, up the mountainside toward the noise that was no longer there.

“I don’t hear anything anymore,” Wilson said in a low voice.

Rachette ignored him. He stepped between the dense pines, the trunks as thin as his forearm and no more than five feet apart. They needed to burn this part of the forest to the ground, damn it.

Another five minutes later he stopped, breathing hard out of his mouth to try and catch his breath, happy to rest his legs, which ached from the incline.

Rachette shined his beam on Wilson’s face and saw he was clearly the worse for wear. The forest had thinned out considerably, and it seemed a good spot to get their bearings.

They stood still for another minute listening. Crickets and a mourning dove were all they heard.

Wilson and Rachette shot their beams behind them when they heard what sounded like something falling through a tree, smacking branches for a couple of moments, and followed by a thump on the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Rachette swept the forest with his beam, seeing only pine trunks and needles.

“I don’t know. Sounded like something falling from the top of a tree.” Wilson pointed his flashlight. “That direction. Probably a hundred feet at least.”

They crept toward the noise, keeping pistols aimed and flashlights pointed.

Rachette looked around them, wondering what they were getting into. It had not been a natural sound. If palm trees on a desert island had surrounded them, then something falling and thumping to the ground would have made sense. But barring an owl dropping dead and hitting the forest floor, that noise was man-made.

Blood swished in his ears, his breath quickened. His limbs felt clumsy with the excitement pulsing through his veins, but his pointed pistol gave him all the courage he needed.

“Who’s there?” Rachette called, realizing they might accidentally shoot one of their own. But they were the only ones out here. Patterson and Yates were down at the Heeter place. Rachette wasn’t thinking straight.

Wilson led the way for a few minutes, and then they reached a clearing. Wilson swept the forest floor with his flashlight beam and honed in on a rock.

“I think this was it.” Wilson leaned down and picked it up.

Rachette swung his flashlight in a circle. There were a few more rocks twenty or so feet away, but they had clearly not been disturbed in ages. Pine needles were naturally laid on top of them, parts of them settled into the soil.

Wilson twisted the rock in his beam. It was caked with mud on one side, but it had not been embedded in the ground. It had been sitting on top of the pine needles.

“Someone threw it,” Rachette whispered. He swallowed, wondering what the hell was going on. Had someone thrown it for a diversion, bringing them to this spot while he escaped to another direction? Or had someone lured them in to where he wanted them to be? If so, why? Rachette could not help but think the person who’d decapitated seven people and sunk them in the lake was literally a stone’s throw away.

Olin Heeter? A seventy-year-old man? It didn’t seem likely, unless Heeter was a fitness buff, but the pictures they’d found of the man said otherwise. Heeter’s two pictures in his cabin of himself holding fish, and another with him and his wife, showcased quite a gut on the man. He was the kind of a man who spent hours on end fishing on a boat, not hours on end wandering the dark forest.

No. It had to be someone younger.

Wilson dropped the rock and swept his beam in a circle.

Rachette did his own sweep, trying to peer deep into the woods. It was no use. The beam only went so far and the light was only getting worse.

“I vote we get the hell back down.” Wilson’s voice had an edge. “Come back in the day time.”

Rachette nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I agree.”