Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

To the north, over Williams Pass, the Chautauqua River flossed a deep ravine into the granite earth, sliding down in elevation into a valley widened by millennia of catastrophic erosion events, where the town of Rocky Points lay sparkling in the late-spring sun.

Before reaching town, Wolf hung a right and crossed over the river on a narrow two-lane bridge before heading back south along the Chautauqua on the opposite side of the highway.

A few miles up the dirt road, he slowed at a familiar clump of bushes that had grown so big over the last half-century they now blocked the view of the river below. He rounded the next corner and turned at a drive that led up a steep rise.

The ranch gate at the apex of the hill framed the thirteen-thousand-foot peaks, snow shining like glass in the late-day sun, and then his house that sat on the acres he had inherited years ago.

His father used to raise cattle on the wide-open field in front of his house, but now it served as a yard, mowed every now and then with his old riding John Deere parked in the red-painted barn next to the house. The grass was getting long, and he would have to carve out some time to mow it that weekend. He enjoyed the chore and saw it as more of an artistic creation to lay down a pattern of stripes he would enjoy looking at for the next couple of weeks.

Piper’s Toyota Highlander sat parked under the carport's roof, the hatch lifted, revealing a large cardboard box inside.

He parked and got out into the bright afternoon sun. The air was comfortable, though, cooled by a northerly breeze.

“Hi.”

Wolf shielded his eyes and looked at Piper coming out of the kitchen entrance. She skipped down the stairs and walked to him.

They embraced and kissed.

“You’re looking at the last box from my house,” she said.

Wolf folded his arms, appraising the cube of cardboard. “Wow, you’ve been busy today.”

“Yeah. Sorry about what it looks like inside.”

He put his arm around her. “It’ll take some time. I’m not worried about it.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “How was today?”

They each took one side of the box and lifted. Wolf cringed as a bolt of electricity traveled up his right leg, ending in an explosion of pain in his lower back.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

The pain disappeared as quickly as it came, and he kept hold of his side of the box. “I’m fine.”

“Your back?” she asked .

“It’s acting up a little again.”

“Probably from lifting those boxes. I told you to let the movers take care of it.”

They went up the kitchen stairs and inside. As they lowered the box onto the floor, he kept his face neutral but felt another twinge. He pushed a fist into his back as he straightened, alleviating the tightness.

“You should sit down,” she said, stepping behind him and rubbing his shoulders.

“I think it’s too much of the sitting down that does it,” he said. “Too much driving. And I’m behind my desk when I’m not doing that.”

Her hands dug deep into his back muscles, and the tension melted away. “That’s the stuff.”

“So what’s happening south of the pass?” she asked.

He told her about the day’s events.

“Holy cow,” she said. “I’ve never heard of biker gang violence down here. Up north, maybe. But here in the county?”

For the first time, Wolf noticed the kitchen. It had been transformed from a bland vision of Wolf’s unartistic eye to a tasteful, color-bound space filled with light and warmth. She had hung two bright paintings, added vases with flowers, and neatly stacked a set of bowls on a normally blank shelf.

“Do you like it?” she asked, hopeful.

He smiled. He did like it. “I love it.”

“Great. I have some ideas for the living room, too. Just…just tell me if I’m…you know, moving in too much.”

He laughed. “Please. Move in thoroughly. We both know my blank white walls, accented by my maroon blanket hanging over the back of my Barcalounger, is, as they say, in right now. But I’m willing to compromise on style.”

He turned to face her, relieving her of her masseuse duties. Piper stood with her hand on her hip, looking around at the boxes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her face tan. She wore yoga pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers, sweat glistening at her temples.

She looked up at him. “What?”

He smiled. “You look good.”

She wiped her forehead self-consciously and then received Wolf as he embraced her.

After a long kiss, she stepped back. “It’s really nice to be here.”

“It’s nice to have you here.”

“Oh. Wait. I have something to show you.” She reached over and picked up a bright turquoise folder from the couch. “Remember I was meeting with the events company today?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they’ve made some preliminary sketches of what the wedding will look like.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to see?” She moved toward the front door.

He nodded, following her out.

“Okay, so they came out, and I know we had talked about putting the wedding tent here, in front of the house, and the reception tent out over there. But I got to talking to the woman, and we both thought it would be better to reverse the two tents.”

Wolf nodded again, smiling at her enthusiasm .

“Because it’s a better view for the ceremony there.” She gestured. “You can see more of the valley.”

“Okay.”

“Here’s what it would look like.”

She opened the folder and pulled out a piece of glossy paper showing an artist’s rendition of the space in front of them with the two tents overlaying the image. It was uncannily real-looking. Almost impossible to tell if it had been rendered by software or some sort of AI tool. That, and it was familiar.

More than that, it was as if one of Wolf’s most terrible memories had been plucked from his brain and printed on glossy paper, even more detailed and specific than his own mind could recreate.

Unbidden, the memory of Lauren leaving in her car came to mind, her daughter Ella waving goodbye out the back. Wolf watching all of it through windows of tears.

“What do you think?” Piper asked, ripping him from his thoughts. “So, the wedding tent goes there, see? And the reception right here, in front of the house. It’s also logistically better for the caterers, who will have easier access to the kitchen. They can—” She stopped talking, looking at him. “You don’t like it.”

“What?” He frowned, shaking his head. “No. It’s great.”

She went quiet, lowering the picture.

“No. Sorry, I was just thinking about the case for a second. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m here now. It looks great. I love it.” He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I think it’s going to be great. Good job.”

Why was he lying? There had never been a time in their relationship that he’d refrained from telling Piper something that bothered him. But he’d never really spoken about Lauren, at least, not ever conveying the depth of the hole he still had inside from her leaving him a few short years ago. About how he’d grown to love Ella as if she were his own daughter before she’d been ripped from his life. It had been too much to ever thoroughly process himself. He wasn’t going to lay that on Piper.

Stop complaining. That had been the mantra repeated by his mother growing up anytime he was upset for any and all reasons. Fall on the ground and scrape your knee? Stop complaining . Your dog died? It happens. Stop complaining . Be grateful for having had a great pet at all.

Piper leaned into him, raising the photo again. “It makes everything more beautiful and easier.”

“Yeah,” Wolf said, his voice like raking sandpaper.

She turned around, studying his eyes. “You’re sure nothing’s bothering you?”

Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “None of this really matters,” he said, plucking the papers from her hand. “Nothing’s going to be as beautiful as you.”

She rolled her eyes, rose up on her toes, and kissed him.

Their bodies latched together like two magnetized and perfectly fitted puzzle pieces. To him, their embraces always felt so familiar and yet so new every time.

“I’m tired,” he said. “I think I’ll go take a nap.”

“Okay.”

“Are you coming?”

She smiled. “Okay.”

The next morning, Wolf woke at sunrise and headed out for work. The dew that had covered his windows when he left was mostly dry by the time he reached the southern end of town.

He stopped at the Dead Grounds Coffee Shop and bought a breakfast burrito, then made his way three blocks further north and parked behind the county building.

The air was cool, carrying the scents of pine and river water. After entering the warm interior of the building, he rode the elevator up to the third floor.

His office was cold and smelled of cleaning agents. He pulled open the blinds, letting in the visage of the ski resort and town. The ski lifts hung still, but the town bustled silently on the other side of the triple-paned glass.

Putting down his bag of food and coffee, he sat down at his desk, his backside fitting deep into the well-worn chair.

He pushed aside his computer mouse, waking the machine while he ate his breakfast burrito. One bite in, somebody knocked on his door, and Rachette poked his head inside.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Wolf waved him in.

Rachette sat on one of the chairs. “Patty’s on her way.”

Patterson walked in, cradling a travel mug of coffee and carrying a stack of manila folders. She sat next to Rachette and slapped them on the desk.

“They got the bear,” she said by way of greeting. “Shot and killed it yesterday evening.”

“That sucks,” Rachette said. “We shouldn’t be leaving dead bodies lying around to tempt wildlife. Hey, did you see Thatcher’s here with some guy?”

“Yeah, I did,” Patterson said, a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Waze and Thatcher are longtime buddies now, I guess.”

Before the last election, the one she had ultimately dropped out of, Waze had the backing of Thatcher, the eccentric billionaire living twenty miles north of town.

“We’ve positively ID’d our two bodies.” She opened the top folder and splayed two rap sheets with color photos attached to each. “The first here is our man found against the tree. James Whitcomb, a.k.a. Jack Whitcomb. And our bear snack was a man named Benny Cruz.”

Wolf put a palm on the pages and twisted them, looking at the pictures. They both had mugshots attached, white males, heavily laden with facial hair. Benny Cruz smiled maniacally into the camera lens.

Patterson read aloud. “Aggravated assault, attempted murder, robbery, multiple traffic citations. Failure to appear in court. These guys have it all.”

She set the sheet aside and picked up another.

“Last known address of Jack Whitcomb is Cheyenne, Wyoming. For Benny Cruz, it's Doyle, Colorado. The bike with Colorado plates is registered to a man named Donald Cruz, same last name as Benny here.”

“What’s that?” Waze’s voice came from the doorway. He walked inside and sat on the couch, sipping coffee. The fabric of his crisp sheriff’s uniform rustled as he lowered to the cushion. His hair was wet-looking, combed precisely, like a silver field of corn.

Patterson cleared her throat. “We were just talking about how we ID’d the two victims found at the cabin. One of them is James Whitcomb, a.k.a. Jack Whitcomb. The other is a man named Benny Cruz. ”

Waze crossed his legs, leaning back heavily. He checked his watch, then waved his hand. “And?”

“One of the motorcycles had Colorado plates registered in Doyle, Colorado, to a man named Donald Cruz, who I found out was Benny Cruz’s brother. The other motorcycle was unregistered. Last known address of Donald Cruz—the owner of the motorcycle—is Doyle, Colorado.”

“Doyle?” Waze asked. “Where’s that?”

“North,” Wolf said. “Near Craig. Almost to the Wyoming border.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Anything on those prints inside the cabin yet?” Wolf asked.

“No,” Patterson said. “Haven’t heard from Lorber yet.”

“And the cabin itself?” Waze said. “Where’s the owner?”

“I looked online and found the place for rent through a property management company,” she said. “A place called High Lonesome Management. They have no record of anybody renting through their system. So we’ve put in calls with the owner himself.”

“And?”

“His name is Jim Everson. Seventy-three years old. Lives down in Ashland. He’s not gotten back to us yet.”

Waze scooted forward on his seat. “Okay, well, I’m off to a meeting.” He stood up, straightening his jacket as he looked down at them. “Also, Thatcher’s not pleased.”

Roland Thatcher and the case of his missing-in-action security manager, Xavier Jorel, from nine months prior still hung over Wolf. The presence of Jorel’s brain matter and blood at the crime scene told of the man’s fate, but they still had no body to show for it.

“We’ve followed every lead, and we’ll continue to follow every lead,” Wolf said. “Short of using magic…” He splayed his hands.

Waze nodded, resigned. “I know. I know.” He walked to the door but turned around before he opened it. “And speaking of Thatcher and that whole case…how’s Detective Yates doing?”

The question sucked the air out of the room. Detective Jeremy Yates had been shot in the chest on duty by the same woman who had killed Jorel. After numerous surgeries and walking the edge of life and death, the wounds were closed, but he was still struggling psychologically.

Wolf was not as versed in the saga of the man’s journey of healing as Rachette, but he’d heard Yates had begun a relationship with Gemma Thatcher, Thatcher’s daughter. Then there came news that Yates had somehow sullied that relationship, hampering his progress in getting back on his feet.

Wolf had gone to visit Yates at home a few times over the last six months. The last time had been the most appalling, discovering how low Yates had dropped. Once a specimen of health, the detective had been overweight, pale, unkempt, and unwashed. His eyes had been dead like they were ready to shed from his skull. Wolf had tried a pep talk but he was unfit to undertake such a task and had called Dr. Hawkwood to help. Wolf had set up a meeting between the two, and Rachette had volunteered to follow up on that front, giving him a ride to and from the psychologist’s office. But that had been weeks ago. With Piper moving in and the wedding coming up, Wolf had completely forgotten about it.

Waze looked at them in turn, ending on Rachette.

“He’s doing better, sir,” Rachette said .

Waze smiled. “That’s not what I’m hearing.”

“Well, he’s getting there.”

“I heard he didn’t show up for his appointment with Hawkwood.”

Rachette said nothing.

“Weren’t you going to take him there? What happened?”

Again, Rachette remained silent.

“And he still hasn’t come in to talk to me.”

“Have you gone to talk to him?” Rachette asked.

“No. But I’ve called him. I’ve left multiple messages, and he’s never once returned any of them.”

“He was shot on duty, sir,” Rachette said. “In the chest. Ambushed by some psycho bitch who would have killed me if it weren’t for him. And I think we should cut him some slack while he heals.”

“It’s been three months since he’s been physically cleared by the doctors to come back, not back on full duty, mind you, but he’s been cleared. So, where is he? He hasn’t set foot in this building. Again. No answer to me, his new boss who’s reaching out.” Waze shrugged theatrically. “I understand that he might be struggling mentally, but he has to show some initiative here.”

Waze turned back to the door. “I’m all for cutting some slack for our deputies, especially somebody in his position. But the writing’s on the wall here, and at some point, I’m going to have to move on. We’re in a situation right now where we need our fourth detective.” He twisted the handle and opened the door. “Keep me posted on everything. I’ve got to talk to the press, and I have meetings all morning.” He left and shut the door behind him.

They sat gripped in silent guilt.

“I’ll go talk to him today,” Wolf said .

“No,” Rachette said. “I’ll talk to him.”

“We can both go.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go myself.”

Wolf and Patterson exchanged a glance.

“You think that’s a good idea?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do. Or else I wouldn’t have said it. I was his partner. I was the one who spent every day, for hours on end, for years on end with him. So, I’ll go.”

“Okay. But?—”

Rachette shot her a glare.

“Okay, yeah,” she said. “That’s probably best. If anybody can get through to him, it’ll be his partner.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Rachette said. “Like it’s amazing we haven’t had a run-in with these bikers before.”

Wolf picked up his coffee. “Let’s get on the owner of the cabin.”

“Yes, sir,” Patterson said.

Wolf nodded. “And did you call the sheriff in Doyle?”

“I did. But I got a deputy named Larkin, who took a message. I haven’t had a return call from them, either.”

“I’ll call them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rachette’s eyes were on the floor next to him.

Wolf knocked on the desk, bringing his gaze up. “And Yates.”

Rachette nodded.

“We have to reach him.”

“I know we do.”

“Let’s get to work.”