“I’m driving,” Rachette said to Yates.
Cain’s Jeep slowed and turned on the unmarked county road that Wolf recognized as the same one they’d used to get to the mine the previous morning. Wolf followed close in his own SUV with Rachette and Yates behind him.
Here the forest was dense and tall, covering the flat land of the valley floor. The road followed a straight path for a mile or so then veered toward the western wall of mountains toward a steep valley, where the mine lay another few miles up and over a knife-edged peak.
Wolf tried to see exactly where the mine was, remembering the view he’d been given from up there of the Dredge Valley. But as he slipped into Deputy Cain’s trail of dust he brought his thoughts back to the moment at hand.
How, when, why, or what did he know her from? His mind kept turning circles trying to come up with the answer. Every moment he spent with this woman he had the feeling of déjà vu, like they’d crossed paths before. Why did he keep mulling this over? Because she was startlingly attractive? Probably.
"It’s coming up here on the right,” Piper’s voice came through the radio.
He pulled the radio and pressed the transmit button. “Copy that.”
Her brake lights bloomed through the dust and all three vehicles pulled over. Wolf stepped out into even cooler air than before. Clouds blocked the sun, threatening rain.
Deputy Cain closed her car door and joined him in the shade. "He lives just right up there," she said, pointing down the road to a clearing in the trees. “On the right side.” To the left stood a second property, set back and just inside the line of pines on the other side of the clearing.
“Who lives there?” Wolf asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
A dog’s bark filtered through the trees.
“He has a huge pit bull,” Cain said.
“Is it nice?” Rachette asked.
“I’ve never stuck my hand in the fence to see,” she said.
The dog was now interspersing growls between barks.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say hell no,” Yates said.
“Let’s go.” Wolf led the way, hugging the right side of the road.
Hammes’s metal chain link fence came into view first, followed by the front of his house. The dog barked even more intensely, putting its giant paws up on top of the chained-shut gate.
“Hey, buddy,” Rachette said, making kissing noises as they walked up.
The dog bared its teeth and barked, spitting saliva. Then it squatted down and did its business. After two seconds it kicked some dirt backwards and began barking again.
“Yeah, that thing’s a full-blown menace,” Rachette said.
The dog dropped back and paced inside a well-worn groove on the other side of the fence. The yard behind it looked like it was once grass but was now almost completely dug up. Plastic toys, all chewed to shreds, littered the space.
A cracked concrete path led from the chained gate to the front door. The house was a squat one-story, its blue paint shedding in large flakes. Like most other places in town, it appeared to have been built at least half a century ago.
Though there was no proper front porch, Rick Hammes had set out a mangled couch and two wire chairs on the dirt. A stump placed in the middle, littered with beer bottles and an overflowing ashtray, served as a table.
Wolf squinted, studying the bottles, and put his hand on the butt of his gun.
“What is it?” Rachette asked.
“Those beer bottles are the same brand that were inside Mary Dimitri’s house.” Wolf recognized the labels.
“No vehicle parked outside,” Yates said, nodding in the direction of the twin-rut driveway with a detached shed at its end. “That shed doesn’t look big enough fit one, either. I don’t think he’s home.”
“What does he drive?” Wolf asked.
Cain spoke up. “A beat-up Dodge pickup.”
“Color?”
“Gray.”
A pathway led from the shed to a house side door, which was on the outside of the fence and unguarded by Cujo.
“Sheriff’s department!” he yelled, knocking on the door.
The others fanned out behind him. He flicked a glance to Cain, noting she looked rock solid under the pressure. She ignored him, stepping sideways to get a view to the back of the house.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“A back door,” she said. “Closed. Two windows. I see no movement inside the windows.”
Wolf knocked again. Again, no answer.
"Do you have his phone number?" he asked Rachette.
Rachette pulled out his notebook and read off the number. Wolf dialed it and listened to the trill in his ear. He had to step away from the dog in order to hear, but nobody answered anyway.
"You've reached Rick Hammes, fuck you," the outgoing message said. He shut off the phone and put it in his pocket.
“Sir.” Deputy Cain pointed and nodded toward the rear of the house.
Wolf and Yates could see her pointing beyond the back of the house, to the neighboring place down the road. A man was outside, watching the action. He raised a hand and waved.
They waved back, and then the man started down the road toward them. They walked to meet him halfway.
The neighbor was dressed in old jeans and a red and black checked flannel dirtied with food stains down its front. He wore a trucker hat sideways on his head, shading the sun from his eyes. A look more utilitarian than stylish.
"You guys looking for Rick?"
"Yes, sir,” Wolf said. “Do you know where he is?"
"Must still be up in Aspen…or Vail? Somewhere doing some construction work or something. I've been tasked to feed that demon monster of a dog every day for him while he’s gone.”
The man stopped and stared at the dog with squinted eyes. “He'll bark like that for a good half-hour now that you guys came by. He does the same thing to me. I just fill up the bowl and scoot it underneath the fence. Try to not get my arm chewed off in the process. First time
