“Piper,” he said. He gently slapped her cheek.
“There.” Rachette pulled out the extension cord, flinging it aside, and then checked her pulse again. “I’m not sure if I’m feeling a pulse anymore. Shit.”
“Get her flat,” Yates said.
They picked her up and laid her back into the hole Wolf had just pulled her out of. Now lying on her back and not Wolf’s lap, he began chest compressions again.
“I’m getting the AED!” Yates climbed up and out of the hole.
“One, two, three, four…” he whispered the numbers with tiny exhales, trying to ignore the grave-like appearance of where she lay. Rain began pelting inside the hole, running down Wolf’s neck and back.
After thirty compressions Wolf did two more breaths. “Come on, Piper!”
“Shit,” Rachette said again. “Where’s the ambulance, damn it?”
Yates dropped down into the hole holding the defibrillator machine. “Here!”
“…eleven, twelve, thirteen.” Wolf kept going as Rachette ripped open her shirt, exposing her bra. He pulled his knife and cut the center, exposing her breasts.
The AED machine was talking now, belting out instructions in a woman’s voice.
“…remove pads and place on bare skin exactly as shown on the diagrams on each pad.”
Wolf continued his compressions. “…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…” He blanked his mind, going through the motions.
Rachette pressed the pads into place.
“Analyzing heart rhythm,” the machine said. “Stop chest compressions.”
Wolf let go of her and sat up on his knees. Rachette kept clear next to him.
“Electric shock not advised,” it said.
“What?” Rachette breathed.
Piper lurched, and Wolf wondered if the machine had inadvertently delivered the ill-advised shock after all.
She coughed and her eyes flew open. She sucked in a desperate, long breath.
“Piper,” Wolf said, as he closed her shirt and put his hand on her ice-cold forehead. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Get a blanket!”
Her eyes latched onto his as she convulsed with more coughs.
“I got some,” Yates said. “Here.”
When the blankets landed on her she squirmed, flinging them off with a grunt. “No!” she cried. “No!”
“It’s okay,” Wolf said. “You’re okay, Piper. It’s us. It’s Wolf, and Yates, and Rachette.”
Her manic eyes stopped darting and rested on his. Her heaving chest relaxed and her breathing slowed.
“It’s okay.”
Wolf put a thermal blanket on her, this time gingerly. “Let’s get her out.”
Her lips moved.
“Wait!” Wolf bent close, putting his face inches from hers. “What?”
She reached up and put her hand on his face. Her fingers were icicles against his skin.
They stared at each other. Then she laid back onto the dirt, closing her eyes.
He checked her pulse one more time, and even with his numb hand he found it strong.
“All good?” Yates asked, bending down to get a grip on her.
“Yeah,” Wolf said. “All good.”
Chapter 37
FIVE DAYS LATER…
People walking down Main Street wore shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Sunglasses. Flip flops. Summer had officially arrived in Rocky Points.
The sun pierced a cloudless blue sky, showering rays full bore onto the town outside. But because of the triple-paned and tinted glass of his office, Wolf barely had to squint. Here he remained cool to the point of nearly shivering as more Jetstream-fresh air blasted out of the floor vents.
“Not bad outside. It’s hot as shit in Denver.” Undersheriff Wilson sat at a chair in front of Wolf’s desk, picking a thread off his pant cuff. “Seems like that place gets hotter every time I visit.”
Through the squad room windows Wolf saw Deputy Nelson march toward Wolf’s door. After two knocks he poked his head inside. “He’s here, sir.”
Wolf nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” His desk phone trilled and he felt a twinge of pain in his back when he raised the phone to his ear. Bruised ribs—a side effect of a couple hundred pounds of rock and dirt being dropped from an excavator onto him from ten feet up—were mending on his right side.
“He’s here, sir,” Patterson said through the receiver.
“I’ll be right there.” He hung up and walked to the door.
“Good luck.” Wilson scratched his blond walrus mustache.
“Margaret will be here in fifteen minutes,” Wolf said.
“I know. Go, I’ll keep her occupied until you’re back. We can talk about the exploding real estate market for the ninety-ninth year in a row up here in Rocky Points, or something.”
Wolf left the office and went down the hall to interrogation room two. Eagle McBeth and his lawyer sat in chairs in the hallway, talking softly to one another.
“Hello, Eagle,” Wolf said.
McBeth and his lawyer rose, the attorney whispering in McBeth’s ear as they both stood.
“John Lessiter, I’m Mr. McBeth’s attorney.”
Wolf nodded and shook his hand. “Let’s head in, shall we?” They walked in through the observation room where Patterson, Yates, and Rachette stood in front of the one-way mirror.
“After you,” Wolf said, letting them pass at the threshold of the interrogation room and inside. “You two can take a seat on the right there.”
Patterson handed Wolf a thick manila folder as Wolf followed McBeth and Lessiter inside and shut the door. They had decided beforehand Wolf would handle this alone.
He sat and placed the folder on the table. “This interview will be recorded with audio and video,” Wolf said, tapping the recording device in the center of the table and pointing to the cameras mounted on the ceiling. “I appreciate you volunteering to come in, Mr. McBeth.”
McBeth nodded, looking at him with weary, haunted eyes while Lessiter pulled out a legal pad and gold pen. He checked his Rolex, smoothed his dark gray suit and crossed his legs.
McBeth wore the same flannel he had the first time he’d been in this interrogation room, but it looked like he’d since washed it. No mud clung to the sleeves and the wrist buttons were fastened tight. The scar poking out of the one sleeve was already safely tucked away under his other hand. His hair was freshly cut to a couple inches all around.
Lessiter cleared his throat. “I’ve advised my client to not answer any questions that may implicate his involvement in the deaths of Chris Oakley and
