Contents

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

About Jeff Carson

FOREIGN DECEIT

Jeff Carson

Copyright © 2013 Jeff Carson

All rights reserved.

Chapter 1 - Monday

“What? Why you stopping?” Connell yelled from below, making his way up the rocky slope.

“I think I found something,” Wolf said, wiping his forehead-sweat with his uniform sleeve. He plopped his buffalo felt Stetson back on his head and looked again to the forty foot sheer cliff immediately to his right. He looked down the trail to Connell who was hiking toward him like a muscle bound mountain goat.

He decided a change of position was definitely in order. Any other officer, and he wouldn’t think twice. But this wasn’t any other officer.

Wolf walked the ten feet to the tree line, and to the oval discoloration in the rocky soil he’d spotted a few seconds earlier. Only after stepping over it and turning towards Connell’s approaching scrapes and grunts did he bend down to study his find.

Connell charged over the rise to the granite shelf. “What? What the hell do you think you found now?” He sucked in air through his clenched teeth and hocked a spit off the cliff edge. “Fuckin’ Hardy Boy.” Sergeant Derek Connell’s chest rose with alternating flexed pectorals. His thick arms slapped on his hips, threatening to rip the tight sleeves of his brown uniform shirt.

Wolf ignored him and plucked a small yellow spongy piece of material from the confines of the slightly darker dirt, and then looked out over the vista. Bright flecks of light shimmered on the distant valley floor off the metal corrugated roofs in town.

He stood and listened to the conifers. They were dead still, no wind. Wolf was thankful for that as he steeled himself for where he needed to go — where he needed to look.

Focusing on his footing, and keeping a wide berth of Sergeant Connell, Wolf made his way left and forward to the ledge. Though the rock shelf was virtually flat, no more than a five degree slope towards the sheer drop, he was taking zero chances, shuffling carefully, left foot always forward.

“What?” Connell’s eyes widened.

Wolf nodded his head to the cliff, then concentrated back on his footing, but not before shooting a fast sideways glance to Connell. That’s when Wolf saw it — a thought materializing in Connell’s small brain that had no choice but to be telegraphed through the unconscious movements of his eyes.

Wolf’s pulse quickened as he stopped dead, looking up at Connell with narrowed eyes.

“What?” Connell furrowed his brow.

Wolf stuck out his left arm towards the cliff and pointed his index finger down, not shifting his gaze from the muscle-bound behemoth of a cop.

Connell walked towards Wolf, shooting a nonchalant curious glance to the ledge — pretending to shoot a curious glance?

Wolf studied the scene unfolding in front of him with a surreal interest, as if outside his own body. A long time question in Wolf’s mind was being answered with clear certainty. If there was an inkling of doubt in Wolf’s mind what was happening, he pushed it out instantly. There wasn’t time for any doubt.

“What? What do you see?” Connell was only five feet away and steadily walking forward, his eyes focused behind Wolf.

Wolf took the bait, looking towards the cliff edge.

The movement was lightning fast, absolutely no hesitation on Connell’s part. But Wolf hadn’t hesitated either. Turning his head, he brought himself down into a crouch, the full force of the shove just missing, palms bouncing off the side of his ducking head, ripping hair and sending his cowboy hat flying over the precipice. Reaching the low point of his squat, he lunged towards the tree line, took four running steps, and turned back fast.

Connell was already on him, his massive muscular frame coming with outstretched arms, ducking into Wolf’s abdomen.

Wolf was six foot three and two hundred pounds, but Connell was a rhino, at six one and two hundred forty pounds of performance-enhancing-drug muscle, who would have little trouble of tossing him ten feet in any direction given the right leverage.

Wolf grabbed him with all the strength he could muster in a right arm head-lock and sprawled his legs backwards just before Connell got there, sending Connell face first into the dirt. Growling low, Connell flailed with animalistic force underneath Wolf’s body.

Wolf kept his legs wide and stiff, pushing Connell down, and then dug into Connell’s belt holster with his free left hand, straight for Connell’s service Glock. As soon as Wolf got hold of it, Connell went berserk. With a vicious twist, his arm swung back knocking the gun out of Wolf’s grip, sending it flying, bouncing off the granite, and into a bush nearby.

Letting go of the headlock, Wolf pushed off Connell’s shoulders, back further into the trees, and reached for his own Glock, getting a fistful of air. He looked down in panic to Connell’s hands, which were balled into massive white fists. No Glock.

They stared at each other, the only sound their panting and Wolf’s thumping heart. Wolf scanned for his weapon on the ground, and Connell stalked forward.

Wolf looked over his shoulder for any sort of inspiration, advantage, or opportunity to present itself. A fallen tree directly behind him caught his eye — a thick branchless Ponderosa Pine log suspended horizontally two feet off the ground.

He looked back to Connell and began shuffling backwards fast. Once he felt the wood against the back of his knees, he sat, flailing his arms out in a show of unbalance, his face opening into a surprised look. Connell sensed his opportunity and charged like a linebacker, his hands outstretched in front of him, eyes focused on Wolf’s neck.

Wolf laid back fast, grabbing underneath the log on his right side as Connell came diving over after him. Wolf pulled himself down, under, and through to the other side of the pine log, causing Connell to leap-frog him, landing on vacant dirt where Wolf was a split second before.

Keeping hold of the wood, Wolf allowed his arms to stretch their full length. As Connell got up, Wolf pulled with his arms and pushed off his steel-toed boot tips, launching towards Connell’s rising form.

His head-butt slammed into Connell’s nose with a crunch, toppling him onto his back with thick arms stretched to his sides.

Wolf clamored over the log and sat hard on his chest, diving down with right elbows to his face, the full force of his muscle and body weight behind them.

Sergeant David Wolf stood up tall, tilted his head back and sucked in air greedily, his lungs burning with each rapid breath. A full minute later he bent down and pressed his index and middle finger into the slick red muscle-bound neck up against the jawline, feeling for a pulse. It pumped strongly.

Sergeant Derek Connell was a massive specimen, and was going to be tough to move off the mountain. Or maybe he wouldn’t need moving. Maybe he’d come to and be able to walk himself down. Wolf didn’t know. Connell was alive, that’s all he knew. He would need facial reconstructive surgery, that was another thing he was pretty sure he knew. Wolf couldn’t remember how many blows he’d given him.

A long rumble of thunder echoed from the southwest. An early afternoon storm was looming dark in the distance, just on the other side of the 12,329 foot South Rocky Peak. Another batch of monsoonal moisture flowing into the state from the southwest was close enough to bring the smell of rain, but the storm looked like it would skirt them to the north. Over the next couple hours, there would surely be more widespread severe weather.

Wolf stood up and exhaled loudly, looked back down at Connell, and stepped away. He walked to Connell’s Glock 22, stepping right next to his own in the process. How he missed it in the heat of the moment, he had no clue. Connell must have removed it while he was sprawled in the headlock. Bending to pick it up, he heard a voice in the distance.

“You guys up there?” officer Rachette said in the far distance. He followed with a loud whistle.

“Yeah! Up here!” He hurried to Connell’s Glock 22, removed the magazine and pulled back the slide, ejecting the chambered round. He threw the Rocky Points Police issue Glock 22 off the cliff with the full force of his arm, and reared back and tossed the magazine well into the pines beyond Connell’s unconscious body.

Bugs in the surrounding trees ramped up their hissing, the worst of the commotion already forgotten in their tiny memories. A bird flapped past him and coasted out over the expanse — over the immense drop that lay before him.

The air was hot and still. A chipmunk cackled somewhere up the gradual slope in the pines behind him. Sweat trickled down his temples, down his neck and onto his shirt collar. He tasted coppery blood in his mouth.

Wolf inhaled deep and walked back to the edge. His body was humming, his movements fuzzy, body saturated with adrenaline.

Looking over the edge, he finally saw what he knew he would see minutes ago. His mind pictured the teenager slipping up top, tumbling off the edge, deafening wind rushing through his ears, and the slam into the scree field below.

He jerked back, stepped away from the edge and looked back to Connell’s inert form. He still hadn’t moved. Wolf shook his head and rubbed a split on the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He walked twenty feet into the trees and spit blood into a bush, well away from the potential crime scene.

“Hey what’s up?” Rachette scrambled up into view.

“Found Jerry Wheatman,” Wolf answered, walking back to the ledge.

“What? You did?”

Wolf pointed down with a somber look.

“Oh man.” Rachette exhaled staring over the cliff. “Jesus,” he pulled back from the edge, apparently letting his mind race through the same morbid hallucination.

“I noticed this here,” Wolf said in a surprisingly calm voice pointing behind Rachette in the rocky soil near a thick Ponderosa Pine trunk.

“This?” Rachette pointed at the dark soil covered with bright green metallic flies. They burst into a buzzing cloud as he tried shooing them away.

“Yeah. I think it’s vomit,” Wolf said. “You can see the chunks of stuff. Not much left, but some left still.”

“It’s puke? You think?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, so what does that mean?”

“Well, what’s in that vomit would you say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Looks like an overall yellow color. Looks like a ham and egg breakfast to me. All yellow from the yellow yolks of the eggs? Here’s some pink ham chunks,” Wolf pointed.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah it does look like that.” Rachette said. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Obviously this person had last eaten breakfast. Maybe in town. Maybe someone freaked out up here after seeing Wheatman fall off the edge. Puked his guts out and ran. Or maybe he puked his guts out after pushing Wheatman off the edge.”

“You think he was pushed?” Rachette turned, expelling a hefty black dollop of chew spit.

“I think it’s possible.” Wolf looked into the trees at Connell who still lay motionless. “There’s not much to go by right here with the granite rock. I can’t get an indication of struggle or not. But there were two others with him. I could see a lot of signs on the way up. Looked like a girl and a boy by the shoe prints at least.”

Wolf walked to the edge and looked over again.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Rachette was looking Wolf up and down.

Wolf looked down at his uniform, dust powdered the whole left side of his body. A scrape on his elbow was draining blood down the length of his arm to his fingers, and his other elbow was covered in blood, not his own blood. His dark brown Carhartts were scuffed with dirt, a clump of burrs was velcroed to his leg.

“Oh, yeah, that,” He slapped the dirt off his pants. “Give me your handkerchief, will ya?”

Rachette gave him his ever present handkerchief from his rear pocket, and Wolf wiped the blood off his arm.

“Sorry, I’ll buy you another one at Sheps.”

“What the hell happened?” Rachette suddenly went wide eyed, then looked again over the ledge, then back to Wolf. “Where’s Connell?”

Wolf huffed and nodded towards the trees. Rachette took a second to find Connell’s form amongst the sparse underbrush.

“What the…” He swiveled his head back and forth. “Is that Connell’s blood?” He finally settled his eyes on Wolf’s forehead.

Wolf wiped his head, putting another dark spot on the handkerchief.

“Yeah. I think that’s from the head butt to his nose. He’s going to need some medical attention, but I suspect he’ll be able to walk his own ass down the mountain soon. I don’t know. Maybe not.”

Rachette unloaded a bit spit on the rock and laughed, “Whoa-lly crap! You gotta tell me what happened!”

“Hey, watch what you’re doing, don’t spit anymore. We’re treating this a crime scene. Connell and I already messed it up enough, no sense making it worse. And don’t worry about what happened here. He deserved it, that’s all you need to know for now,” he said, contemplating whether he should come out with it. “I don’t know what the heck happened, other than he started it, and I finished it.”

“Sorry boss.”

Rachette wiped his mouth and stepped into the trees.

“Who else is on their way up? Are Wilson and Blaine coming?”

Rachette was already halfway to Connell, “Yep, they’re right behind me!” He let out a long whistle as he looked down on Connell’s inert muscle bound form, “Yeah, that’s a broken nose… Hey Connell! Wow, he’s out.”

Officer Wilson clamored up the trail into view.

Wolf stepped towards the ledge again. “Alright, Rachette, you’re with me, we’re heading down. Wilson, come here.”

They all took another look over the cliff edge.

Wilson approached wheezing hard, and peeked over at the body below. “Good lord. That him?” He turned quickly away from the cliff and walked towards the pines.

Wolf grabbed his radio and checked its functionality. It was scoured deeply and dusted with dirt, but static emitted from the speaker as he pushed the button.

“All right everyone, we’ve found our victim, appears DOA, but we’ve gotta move fast in case he’s still got vitals. We need everyone moving with full medical north on the West Base Loop. He’s at the base of Skipper Cliff. We also have an officer in need of medical assistance on top of the cliff. Officer is unconscious, may need to be evac’ed off the mountain. We need to move fast. Storms are going to be popping up this afternoon. It’s going to be a lot of rain and lightning. Let’s move fast guys.” He put his radio back on his belt.

A cacophony of affirmative radio calls barked through all their radios. Wilson had hiked up, staring dumbly down at Connell, who’s forearm was now raised up lying against his forehead. He had come to and was starting to move around.

“Wilson, make sure he gets attention, make sure the guys on the West Base Loop trail find where they need to go down at the base of this cliff. We’ll have Blaine join you. Where is he?”

“Uh, he should be right here. He was behind me.”

“Let’s go,” he nodded at Rachette walking away from the cliff top and back down the trail. He stopped suddenly, “Give me one of those.”

Rachette dug in his back pocket and pulled his can of snuff out with a smirk, “I thought you were quitting?”

Wolf took a pinch and threw the can back. “Yeah, not today.”

Chapter 2

Wolf led officer Tom Rachette down the slope towards the staging area. The trail was smoothed from the bouts of torrential rain of late. He went fast, following the original line of signs he saw on the way up with Connell, now obscured by the foot falls of four officers. Rachette followed silently for a good hundred yards, then went down in a loud thump and sliding noise.

“Ah!” Rachette bounced up from his butt and looked at the ground.

Wolf turned and gave Rachette an appraising look.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said brushing himself off. “So you think there were two others with the Wheatman kid when he fell?”

“Yep,” Wolf turned back down the hill. “There’s fresh tracks, after the rain from two days ago, and nothing else but a few deer from what I saw. Two teenage boys, one teenage girl. Wheatman drops off the cliff, and now we have left one boy, one teenage girl,” he said.  “And in a frantic hurry. Here.” He pointed, stopping suddenly at a steep slope of loose dirt.

There were two sets of footprints, obviously pointed downwards, heels digging in hard. One set of prints a boyish set of boots, one a smaller thin shoe model. They were stumbling and stopping, helping each other after falls.

Rachette bent down. “Could be a couple of boys, just a smaller boy.”

“Could be. But we both know who these three are. It was Mulroy’s girl, the Wheatman kid, and the Fitzgerald kid. They’ve been inseparable all summer.”

Rachette sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Another rumble of thunder shook the air, still many miles away. Wolf looked at the sky behind the peaks. It was pitch dark save the continuous flickering of lightning from within. There was a torrid downpour being unleashed. If the storm expanded over the peaks in the next hour it was going to be tough going for the boys. Wolf looked to the task ahead of him and Tom and envied them.

Chapter 3

Wolf climbed into the Explorer with a grunt, his body stiff, muscles stuffed with lactic acid. Living on a ranch in the mountains, at nine thousand plus feet, one tended to build up a strength and stamina seldom seen by most frequenters of exercise gyms. Tack on that he was an avid outdoorsman, and Wolf normally wouldn’t have felt the slightest bit of fatigue after climbing up and down a relatively short section of mountain. But this morning his adrenaline injected muscles had been tested to the point of failure numerous times within the span of a minute. Ten years ago, his Special Forces hardened body would have been accustomed to it. But this was ten years later, and he was downright sore.

“Jesus. I can’t believe you did that to Connell! I wish I would have seen it.” Rachette stared at him with revered awe. “Was that about next week or something?”

“Can you get me some coffee from that thermos at your feet?” Wolf held out his screw-lid cup.

Rachette stared at Wolf for a second and shook his head, picking up the thermos. “Dammit.” He patted a dark splotch of coffee on his pants.

“What the heck’s wrong with you today?”

“Psssshhh!”

Wolf chuckled inwardly. He was thirty five, ten years on the force, up for consideration to be appointed to Sheriff of the Rocky Points Police Department, but he’d found the one person on the force he really connected with to be this second-year twenty-three-year-old.

For too many years he’d come to disturbing realizations of the shortfalls of many of the department officers. Some didn’t step up when the going got tough. Some showed borderline psychotic behavior when given a badge and gun. Most of them were good men, he admitted. But would he entrust his life in their hands? Not with a few of them, and sure as hell not with Derek Connell.

Rachette was different. In one and a half years on the force, he’d shown Wolf, without a doubt, that he was one to be counted on above anyone else in the RPPF. He had the attitude, strength, coolness under pressure, reliability, confidence, intelligence, and the drive.

Thinking about all this, watching him wipe coffee off his crotch, he smiled as he turned his attention back to the winding dusty road to town.

The road turned back to the west and dropped in elevation through the dense forest for a couple miles. Gleaming-copper-trimmed, massive houses poked out of the trees on both sides of the road. They were well spread apart, leaving vast swaths of dense forest in between them. At least Wolf was grateful for that.

Wolf’s ears popped as he wound down further still, and finally out onto the dirt straightaway that slung out onto the vast valley floor. Barbed wire lined the road on either side, and cattle grazed in the bright green fields smattered with wild flowers. They reached the “T” junction of the main highway that ran north-south. They took a left towards town.

Rocky Points was a ski resort town first and foremost, but hadn’t always been. In 1883, some hard-nosed easterners came to Denver and kept walking uphill, past Black Hawk miners, past Central City miners, over the Continental Divide, and tried their luck. There they dug, sluiced, panned, found some gold, and set roots. They dubbed their new town Rocky Points. A fitting name referring to the Rocky Pointed 12,000-foot peak to the west of town that would later become the western most peak of the ski resort.

And it was a rough beginning, according to the history books in town. There was a good amount of gold to be found at the start, but as word got out, and more and more men walked over the divide into town, things got dangerous. Fighting, murder, and lawlessness ruled for a few years. That was, until a band of four men joined forces to bring law and order to the town. One of those men was Wolf’s great-great-great grandfather, or so the story went.

Wolf pulled into The Mackery gas station on the northern outskirts and got out to fill up. Ruth Beal, the owner, came out yelling at the top of her lungs, “Did you find the bastards?”

“Hi Ruth. What are you talking about?”

“The hippies who stole the gas!”

Wolf looked at her with a blank expression. “Uhhhh, I don’t know what you are talking about. I haven’t gotten a call about it yet.”

“What? I called it in just now! A couple hippies just drove off without paying for fifty bucks worth of gas! Probably too high to remember to pay. Dang hippies...”

“Ruth, did you get the license plate number?”

“No, I just went in back when they pulled up, came back out and they were gone.”

Rachette opened the door and leaned out with a concerned expression. “What kind of car was it?”

“A gol-darn hippie-mobile! One of those, gol-darn, mini-vans.”

“You mean a bus? Like a Volkswagon bus-type-van?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah, I guess. If that’s what they call em.”

The gas tank clicked to a stop. Wolf pulled the hose out and double-took a sign hanging from the tank. “Ruth, what’s this sign all about?”

All three stood frozen. Rachette got back in the car and shut the door.

“Pre-pay? Isn’t it impossible to fill up unless you turn on the tank after someone gives you money or they put in a credit card?” He pulled out his credit card receipt and waved it before putting it in his pocket.

Ruth stood with her mouth open, eye brows in a worried crease. “Huh. Oh mercy! What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know what happened then!” She burst into a sparsely toothed cackle ending with a ten second coughing fit.

“So, there weren’t any hippies who stole your gas?” Wolf opened the driver’s side door.

“No, I guess not… Sorry, I don’t know what the hell’s goin on…”

He smiled. “Talk to you later Ruth. Stay out of trouble and try not to harass too many people coming into town for the festival, alright? You are going to make a lot of money. They are going to be good for your business. Okay?” He chided her. She looked slighter than usual, which was less than twig-thin. “Where’s Bill? Is he around?”

“He’s in Frasier, he’s coming back today,” she said looking at the ground.

“Okay, well, take care, okay? I’ll come back and check in on you.”

Rachette looked in the side view mirror as they left. “Jesus. She’s not looking too good.”

“Yeah, when you get a chance later today figure out what’s going on with Bill.”

“Will do,” Rachette said. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I figure let’s stop at the Sunnyside to see if they came in yesterday morning, then off to tell the Wheatmans.”

“Fun stuff.”

“Yep. Fun stuff.”

The next two and a half hours were done with detached, depressing efficiency. The first hour they confirmed the three teens to be at the Sunnyside Cafe together the previous morning and got the expected news about the Wheatman boy from the team on the mountain. DOA.

The next hour and a half were spent telling and consoling the Wheatmans about their son and rounding up the two other teens. It was the third time in his years on the force that he’d had to break the news to a family about the death of their loved one. He couldn’t think of a more difficult thing to do as a cop. It was a despicable task.

The two teens were sitting at home like scared rabbits. Crying at the site of Wolf and Rachette, they confessed they were with Jerry Wheatman when he fell. Some moronic idea sprouted in the Mulroy kid’s mind to keep it a secret. It was an accident, and there was no need. But Wolf knew kids will act strange when they’re instilled with life values from alcoholic meth-head parents.

“Been quite a good day.” Rachette’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he stuffed a pinch of snuff in his lower lip.

Wolf nodded his head. Rachette threw the can of chew to him. Wolf took a pinch and threw it back. A well rehearsed act.

Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a smash of thunder. Droves of rain and pea sized hail had been cascading from the sky the last twenty minutes. Wolf and Rachette stood in the doorway of the garage of the Rocky Points Police Station, the wind spraying them with moist droplets.

Rachette spit out onto the frothing ground, “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened up there or what?”

“I’m really not sure,” he lied. Wolf was still running through options for how this was going to play out.

“You are going to get the job next week, right? I mean, that’s pretty much a done deal, right?” Rachette’s look was unmoving. “We cannot have that guy as Sheriff of this department.”

“It’s not up to me.”

“Yeah, but…come on. That guy has been pretty much abusing the rest of the force for the last few months. I saw him slap Blaine the other day.”

Wolf looked at him with furrowed brow.

“I’m serious! That guy is a crazy meat head.”

“And you didn’t report this to Sheriff Burton?”

“Pssssshhh. Yeah, right.”

Of course he didn’t. One didn’t advance very far in the force by tattling their way to the top. No matter how bad it got.

Wolf rolled his neck with a grimace and yawned. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow. If Burton comes round looking for me, tell him he can call me.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

“Later.” Wolf got in the Explorer, fired it up, and drove out into the rain.

His wipers wrenched back and forth at the top setting, still not affording him much of a view out the dash. Lighting was splicing the sky in all directions, thunder so close it was audible over the radio, the pounding rain on the car, and revving engine.

There was a good chance he would run into Gary in the next few minutes if he was at the ranch. What would he tell him?  On top of his ongoing financial stress, Danny’s mother being back in the picture, and the whole Sheriff appointment thing next week, he didn’t know how things could get more complicated.

Chapter 4

As he made his way through the southern end of town and out along the dirt road home, the rain let up. Sun streamed in through the clouds, reflecting brightly off the wet road. Large puddles and new small streams gouged across the only way to the ranch. All in all, the road held up well through the last few weeks, but it would need a new grading before fall.

Wolf crossed the cattle guard that marked the northern edge of the ranch property and continued up the hill, reaching the top of a low plateau that was set twenty feet above the river meandering to the right. The majestic view that rose into view through the windshield as he reached the flat never ceased to inspire him.

The three-hundred-acre property was part forest, part grassy meadow, all rugged beauty. There were two separate buildings with three uses — an understated one-story house that had plenty of windows, sprawling in a wide L-shape that faced southwest — one half of the “L” being a workshop and garage, the other twenty-five-hundred square feet living space. Then there was a small red barn thirty yards to the south.

If he actually got the Sheriff job, something he’d refused to fantasize about too much, he’d be able to begin putting some real money towards the payments again — payments to Gary Connell, the proud owner of this estate ever since Wolf’s father’s death over fifteen years ago. He laughed out loud. The irony of the present situation was thicker than the dark clouds in the rear view mirror. Thanks for helping out the family Gary…and sorry about your son’s face.

Driving up to the ranch plateau also meant driving back into cell coverage. He picked up his phone and hit the button with anticipation.

Four missed calls. One voice message. Jesus.

All from his mother.

He gave her a quick call without bothering with the voicemail. She answered after a half ring.

“Where have you been?” she screamed through the phone.

“What? What do you mean?”

She began sobbing deeply into the phone. He didn’t like the sound of that sob. It was the kind of sob that was followed by earth shattering news — life altering news he’d heard one too many times before.

“Your brother’s dead,” she said simply.

He stopped the truck and got out, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. “What? What do you mean?”

“He died this weekend.”

“What do you mean this weekend, when?”

Her sob was a loud crackle in the earpiece. “I guess Friday night, they are saying.”

“Who is saying? What happened? In Italy?”

She sniffed and then let out another shaky sob.

“What happened Mom? What happened to John, Mom?” His eyes were swimming as he stood slack jawed looking towards the mountains.

“He killed himself.”

Shock and confusion overwhelmed him. He sat down right there on the muddy road.

Chapter 5 - Tuesday

Wolf stirred his fourth cup of strong coffee. He glanced at his watch. Almost one in the morning. The computer screen was the only light in the darkened study besides the sliver of moonlight entering the open blinds. An owl hoo’d on the roof as he stared at the email once again.

On Mon, Sep 10 at 8:20 PM, John S. Wolf wrote:

Hey Bro, what’s happening? How are you doing man? How’s Points? How’s Jack doing?

I just wanted to catch up. I know it’s been a long time that we’ve connected, but…eh, you know how it is.

Lately things have been going well for me (about time!). The blog is doing very well, and I’ve finally got everything squared away with my third book — it was picked up by Nordberg Publishing, and they are going to release it in mid October. In other words, this one will actually be in real book stores. Can you believe that shit?

I was in New York a month ago meeting with them, and they are projecting some numbers that I don’t even want to talk about…at least until I see it happen. No sense jinxing it. But I’m excited.

Italy is going very good. I’m finding the life here really pleasant and great for productivity, as I’ve been writing non-stop since I got here. Let’s see, what else? I’ve been hanging out with the girl who lives right above me, and have met a few people around town. It’s fun, but I miss Colorado. I’ll definitely be coming back at the beginning of the year, then who knows.

So how about you man? I hear from Mom that you are a shoe-in for the Sheriff job. Although I didn’t need to hear that from her to know that. Because you are. I can’t wait to come home and tell everybody my bro is the Sheriff…plus I’ll pretty much be above the law. Maybe I’ll start growing some weed (again).

We’ll have to have a serious talk about the ranch too. If this book deal goes like they are saying, well, again, I don’t want to jinx it.

Talk soon brotha.

-John

Wolf shook his head and stood up. There’s no way he killed himself.

Looking at his watch, he was hit by a wave of dizziness. He exhaled and thumbed the phone number he’d received from his mother earlier. Italy was eight hours ahead, and nine am seemed a respectable time to call.

“Pronto?” The voice sounded distant, like an old vinyl recording.

“Hello, my name is David Wolf. Do you speak English?”

“David Wolf?” Dahveed Vowlf. “Un momento…”

The phone rustled and he waited for five full minutes. He heard bustling activity in the background. After a while, he wondered if he had communicated anything at all to the person who answered the phone.

“Hello? Mister Wolf?” It was a young male voice with a thick Italian accent.

“Yes, this is David Wolf. We received a call earlier today, I mean, yesterday, with the news of my brother’s death. His name was John Wolf.”

“Oh yes. I am a-so sorry for you.”

“Can you tell me what happened exactly?”

“I don’t know too much. I was a not-a part of the team who found him. But I know he killed heemself.”

“Okay.” David squeezed the phone. “Can I speak to someone who found him? Someone who was on the team that found him?”

“I am-a sorry, everyone is gone.”

Wolf raised his watch and studied it carefully. “Okay. Is there a specific time I can call back?”

“Uhh, yes. I would try back tomorrow in the morning.”

Wolf blinked, looking again at his watch, “In the morning? Tomorrow? Isn’t it the nine in the morning there now? They won’t be back later in the day?”

“I think so, yes.”

Wolf inhaled deeply and switched phone hands, “You think they will not be back?”

“Yes.”

Wolf’s blood pressure climbed. “Do you have a direct phone number for someone that was on the team?”

“I don’t think I am allowed to give-a those numbers.”

David clinched his teeth, holding back a tirade he desperately wanted to unleash. “Okay. What is your name?”

“My name uh-eez Tito.”

“Tito, I am in desperate need to talk to someone in the next few minutes. I cannot wait any longer. There is no way I can wait until tomorrow. You guys have told us that my brother has killed himself. He is dead. My mother and I need to get answers as soon as possible, or we are going to go crazy. Do you understand what I am saying, Tito? Can you please, please help me out with a phone number of someone who was on the team that found him? Or is there something else you can do for me?”

A beat. “Okay, I will give you the cell phone number of detective Rossi.”

Wolf closed his eyes. “Thank you so much Tito. My mother and I very much appreciate it.”

Chapter 6

David got the number and gave it a call, immediately getting a recording of a pleasant sounding Italian female voice, sounding like a long-winded reason why the cell phone company couldn’t put the call through. After thirty minutes and six tries later, he got a ring — a two second high pitch single tone followed by a pause, then another single tone.

“Rossi,” a husky male voice answered.

“Detective Rossi?”

“Yes?”

“Hello, my name is David Wolf. I received news of my brother’s death today from someone there. His name was John Wolf? Was that you who called us?”

“Yes. That was me.” He exhaled. “I also found your brother in his apartment.”

“Okay, as I just got done telling Tito at your station, my mother and I are desperate for some information, and we are going crazy. Can you help me?”

“Uh, yes. Of course Mr. Wolf. How can I help you? Please, you can call me Valerio.”

“Okay, thanks Valerio. Well, I guess, what happened? I’m a police man here in the States, so you don’t need to sugar coat details with me because it is my brother. I just need to know what happened.”

“Uhh, we were called by a person who lives at a-di apartamento…So we went to there and found him, where he had killed himself.”

“Okay, I’ve got that much. How did he kill himself? ” Wolf tried to restrain any frustration from seeping into his voice.

“He was found hanged. It looks like the time of death was Friday night.”

“Okay. Thanks. Can you tell me anything more about the scene? Did he leave a note?”

“No, there was no note. We did not find one. He was hanged with a belt, from a light in the ceiling, but the light fell out so he was on the ground.”

David was beyond confused. “He was hanging from a light from the ceiling? A chandelier?”

“Ah, yes. That is right. But he was on the ground. The light pulled from the ceiling,” Valerio added.

“Okay. So he was on the ground when you entered his apartment and found him,” David stated.

“Yes. Mr. Wolf, we also found drugs…cocaina? How do you call…”

“Drugs? I hadn’t heard about that yet.”

“Yes, well, I-a was the one who spoke to your mother earlier, and I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that after I told her about your brother’s death. I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Wolf. I have no idea how you must feel. I will personally help you with the transfer of the remains to your home. There is a lot of, ah, paper work and procedure to follow here in Italy, but I will make sure it happens fast and smoothly. I have a brother myself…”

“Uh, thank you…” Wolf held the phone to his ear in silence for a moment.

“I am sorry I did not tell your mother about the drugs. I did not have the heart to tell her.”

“Okay, yeah, thanks. It was obviously a difficult phone call for you to make. Thank you Valerio.”

Wolf asked some favors and made some plans. They hung up after a half hour and Wolf went into his bedroom and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 7

After four hours sleep, Wolf got up and grabbed another cup of coffee, got his fleece jacket and went to the front porch. The sun was just lighting the sky, the air bitter cold. A few Elk were milling about sixty or so yards away. They all turned his way as the screen door slammed. He held up his coffee to them and took a seat. He pulled out his cell and dialed his mother.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So, I spoke with a Caribinieri last night, a cop, from Italy. He was first on scene to John’s apartment. He’s helping us expedite John’s delivery back to Colorado.”

She responded with an exhale.

“You doing alright?” he asked, immediately regretting the question. “Never mind. Stupid question.” They sat in silence for ten seconds. “We are going to get through this. You and I.”

Silence.

“I’m going to go to Italy to get him.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I’m going to have Nate, Gary, and a couple of the boys check on you when I’m gone, alright?”

“When are you coming back?”

“I think I’ll be gone a week.”

Chapter 8

Sarah’s parents house was lit up inside and out in the early morning light. Venus gleamed just over the pines in the eastern sky, the sun following close behind the mountains.

He rang the doorbell and heard muffled conversation inside. Sarah’s face appeared in the ornate window set in the hand crafted wood door. She opened it a crack.

“Hi David. What’s going on?”

Wolf looked at his watch. “Hi Sarah. How are you?”

She looked down, and then she ducked her head back in, talking to someone behind the door.

“Hey, is that Jack?” Wolf craned his head.

She leaned back and turned sideways. “Uh, no. Jack! Your dad’s here!”

He heard the faint yell reply from somewhere in the interior.

“Who is that? Are you parents here?”

“No, they went to Aspen for the week.”

“Okay.”

A man came up from behind Sarah, hand on the small of her back. She looked down and stepped out of the way. He was dressed in sweat pants and a tee-shirt.

“Heya, how you doing? My name is Mark.” He extended a hand over Sarah. He was taller than Wolf, and Wolf had his work boots on “Mark Wilson.”

“Hey.” Wolf shook his hand.

“Dad!” Jack burst out of the door.

The guy stepped aside and ducked back in the door, giving them a respectful distance to talk. Wolf watched as he persuaded Sarah to shut the door to leave them alone.

Wolf gave him a hug and ruffled his hair. “Hey bud. What’s happening?”

“Not much.” He stayed latched tight to Wolf. “Just watching toons and having breakfast.”

“Cool. Hey I’ve gotta leave town for a little bit, so…”

“Where? Where you going?”

“Uh, I’m actually going to Italy.”

“What? Are you serious? Are you going to see Uncle John?”

“Yeah, I am buddy.”

“Tell him he needs to call me. When is he coming back?”

“Listen, buddy. We’ll…we’ll talk more when I get back. I think I’ll be gone a week. But listen, I want you to spend a lot of time at Brian’s when I’m gone, okay?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Okay. I always spend a lot of time at Brian’s.”

Wolf laughed. “Yeah, I know. Just keep it up. Nater will take care of anything you need when I’m gone.”

“And Mom is back too! So, I’ll be fine! Don’t worry Dad.”

He looked at him again and gave him another hug. Shit.

“Listen, buddy. John’s not doing…”

Jack looked at him with big excited eyes. He just didn’t have the heart to tell him what was going on. But he had no choice. It had to come from him. Right now. Otherwise he would know from some other person in town before the morning was through. It’s just how it worked in Rocky Points.

“John died this weekend buddy.”

Jack’s face fell instantly, still looking wide eyed at his dad. “Sorry buddy. I have to go take care of him and bring him back home this week. That’s where I’m going. Okay?”Jack hugged him tight and started crying. Wolf hugged him back.

Jack began shaking softly in his arms.

“I know buddy.” It was all Wolf could think to say. “I know.” They hugged and cried for a full minute, Wolf letting the emotional flood gates go. He finally pushed Jack back and knelt down. “Alright man. Be good. Go back inside. Tell your Mom I need to speak to her again real quick, alright?” Jack wiped his eyes and stared at the ground. Wolf pulled his chin up. “Hey buddy, I love you. You know that, right?”

He nodded.

“All right man. I’ll see you soon okay? Don’t forget what I said about hanging out at Brian’s. Nater will be looking out this week.”

“All right. I will Dad. I get it.”

He did get it. Wolf wished to God he didn’t need to.

Sarah opened the door again. She looked at Jack wiping his tears and shot a questioning look at Wolf, which turned quickly to an accusing one.

“Bye Dad.” Jack turned and walked inside.

Wolf stood up. “So, how are you doing, Sarah?” It was a weighted question and they both knew it.

“Fine, David. I’m doing just fine.” She said sincerely, crossing her arms and looking back toward Jack. “What was that all about?”

“I have to go out of town. I’ll be gone all week, all right?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked down.

Wolf saw a shadow in the door window. “Hey Mark, come here for a second?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him.

Mark stepped around Sarah out onto the front porch.

“Can I talk to you for just a second?”

“Of course, David. Of course.” Mark nodded his head to Sarah, who stepped in and closed the door quietly.

Wolf turned and walked a ways down the massive front deck, and the guy followed next to him. He placed his hands on the railing and looked out into the brightening pines.

“What do you do Mark?”

“I’m a builder. Custom homes,” he said rubbing his hands together. It was starting to get cold during the nights and it was a frosty late summer morning.

“And, do you know what I do?”

“Yep. You’re on the police force. Up for appointment to Sheriff from what I hear.”

“And you’re shacking up with my ex-wife, who’s three days fresh out of rehab, at her parents house, where my son happens to live.”

Mark exhaled uncomfortably and scratched his head.

Wolf looked at him in silence.

“Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what is going on,” he said. “Look, I met Sarah in rehab. I’m…I wasn’t in the rehab myself. Well, not this time around. I…I was before. I’m an addict. Now I’m clean, and I spend a lot of time helping out at the center as a counselor. Sarah and I met, and we’ve become very close.”

“Okay, whatever. I don’t want to know the love story. That’s none of my business. But I’ll be checking out your story, you can bet on that. That’s my business. Because my son is everything to me, and, well, here you are.”

Mark held up his hands in a defenseless gesture, “Hey man, I’m not here to interfere in any way with your relationship with your son, or…anything like that.”

Wolf gave him a sideways glance, “No, Mark, I’m not worried about that. It’s much simpler,” he said looking him in the eye. “If you touch my son, I’ll take you into the hills, kill you, and dump your body in a mine.”

“Ah. Okay.” He chuckled and looked up into the trees.

Wolf stared at him unmoving, waiting patiently for the semblance of a grin to wither to nothing from the man’s face. He didn’t like how long it took.

“Alright then. Just so we’re clear.” Wolf turned and walked away.

Nate Watson’s Watson Geological Services pickup sat in his house driveway; half the windshield locked in frost, the other half dried by the bright morning sun. Wolf pulled in directly behind and got out. He didn’t bother calling before visiting. He knew he would be home, and

Wolf stepped onto the front porch and looked through the windows. Nate looked up wide-eyed, did a double take at the site of Wolf, and gave him a beckoning hand wave.

“Hey! What’s going on? How’s it going?” Nate was cooking what seemed to be an ungodly amount of food on a skillet in the kitchen, which smelled like bacon and fresh ground coffee. Wolf’s mouth immediately began watering. “Perfect timing! The skillets almost done, there’s plenty for you too!”

“Hey man. Uh, cool. I wasn’t fishing for a free breakfast or anything. I just need to talk. But, I’ll take it.”

“Pffffft, sit down. HONEY! KIDS! Breakfast is ready!”

A small boy darted into the kitchen almost running into Wolf’s legs.

“Hey Willy! How you doin’?”

“Good. Hi Dave,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to mooch your food and talk to your dad.”

“Hey Davey.” Brooke entered the kitchen and squeezed his arm. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Hey.” Wolf gave her a hug.

A two kid hurricane blew into the kitchen straight into them.

“Kids! Chill out!” Brooke stumbled sideways.

“Hey Dave!”

“Hey Dave!”

“Hey Joey, hey Brian.”

They sat down at the large kitchen table and dug into their plates. Wolf put on an act of normalcy the best he could. He always enjoyed spending time with their family, but as always, it was also a painful reminder of the alternate reality he was so close to having, but didn’t.

“What’s up Dave?” Brooke studied him. “I hear Sarah’s back?”

“Ah, yeah. She is. I’ll let Nate tell you all about it a little later.” He turned to the kids, “You guys like being back in school?”

“Nooooooooo!” They all answered at the same time.

“Whoa! Easy! What? Isn’t it fun? All I hear from Jack is how fun it is. He says that he and Brian here have a blast - studying hard, doing all their homework, never talking in class, being model students for everyone else.”

Brian was blushing and forking his eggs with concentration. “Jack did not say that.”

Wolf looked to the ceiling with a dumb look. “Oh, yeah. Wait…nobody said that. Ever.”

The kids laughed loud and Wolf gave a knowing look to Nate. Brooke shot him a scolding glance.

When they finished, Nate set down his napkin, stood up and looked at Wolf. “Hey let’s head outside.”

Wolf said his goodbyes and stay-out-of-troubles, and they went to the dirt driveway. Wolf reached into his truck and put in a pinch of snuff in his lip. Nate snapped his fingers and Wolf threw the can his way without looking. He caught it and turned his back to the house, taking a pinch.

Birds chirped and a lone crow cawed in the trees somewhere in the distance, beyond the blinding mist that hung feet from the ground.

Wolf exhaled hard. “John’s dead.”

“What?” Nate stepped forward and hugged him before an answer came. Wolf just stood with his arms limp at his sides for a few seconds, then returned the hug. He shuddered a few times with deep sobs, letting all his emotion out in a five second burst. He peeled away from Nate and composed himself with a steely determination.

“What happened?” Nate was wide eyed.

“We got a call yesterday from Italy telling us they found his body. He had apparently hanged himself in his apartment.”

“Jesus…buddy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty shaken up. I just wanted to ask you a few favors in the next week or so.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“I’m leaving town today, heading over to Italy. The thing is, as you know, Sarah is back on the scene as of a few days ago. She’s at Jack’s grandparents. Keep an eye on Jack. When he’s over here with Brian, ask him how things are going.” Wolf spit onto the gravel driveway. “There’s a guy hanging out over there. In fact, just keep an eye on things over there first hand, please. There’s no reason to think this time in rehab would be any different from before, and who knows what kind of guy this is hanging out with her.”

“I’ll kill anyone who lays a finger on your boy.” Nate’s chin was out, looking Wolf in the eye.

“All right.” Wolf returned the steely look, then broke into a smile. “Easy Turbo…just beat the living piss out of him if need be. No sense making my job any harder. I don’t want to be pretending I don’t know there are dead bodies in your back yard.” He laughed hard, a flood of emotions pouring out again. “Also, keep an eye on my mom too if you wouldn’t mind. I’ve left a note for Gary, too. But, he could be angry with me about something that happened yesterday.”

Nate furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? What happened yesterday?”

“I had to head-butt Derek in the nose. And then some.”

“Huh.” Nate’s expression was dead pan. “Okay. Yeah, that might be strange. But I’m sure he deserved it, right?”

“Yeah. He deserved it.” Wolf shook his head. “In fact, be careful around that guy.”

Nate furrowed his brow and nodded his head.

Wolf got in his truck and rolled down the window, “Thanks man. I’ll be in touch. You ever been to Italy?”

“Yeah one summer in college.”

“Any tips?”

“Ummmm, yeah, the Peroni beer is good? The pizza is good? What are you doing? Are you going to bring him back? Get all his stuff?”

“Yep.” Wolf looked out into the thinning mist. “And to find whoever killed my brother.”

Chapter 9

Wolf drove back into town from Nate’s, straight into the low morning sun on the dusty road. His breathe skipped as he thought about his next and final stop — the station.

He parked in the south station lot and went through the front entrance.

Vickie sat still behind the reception glass looking down at an open file. She raised her eyebrows over her red plastic frames and smirked. “Sergeant Wolf. You have been a naughty boy I hear.” Her voice was conspiratorial.

Wolf rolled his eyes and scanned his card to enter.

The loud chatter in the Squad Room was snuffed to silence with the clack of the door shutting behind him. Every officer in the room looked in his direction, then awkwardly to files, or computer screens, or a dirty fingernail.

Wolf stood still and scanned the room. With relief, he didn’t see Connell. He would be just fine if he didn’t see him all morning.

Sheriff Burton looked up disappointedly, then stood from his desk and looked out the window of his small office. “I don’t know what the hell happened between you two yesterday, and I don’t think I want to know. But keep yourself under control. Play nice with Derek if you see him this morning. In fact, you need to play nice for the rest of your career here, alright?”

Whether or not that was an admission that Wolf had the job, he still couldn’t tell.

Burton plopped back in the seat.

Wolf knew the Sheriff’s old bones were ready to call it quits. He didn’t need any of this so late in the game. Wolf felt a twang of shame.

Sheriff Burton held out his hands. “Well? You wanna tell me what happened?” He leaned forward on his elbows with wide eyes.

Wolf looked behind the Sheriff, out the window at the Rocky Peaks Ski Resort in the distance. He focused back on Burton, and shook his head.

Burton sat back, wheezing through his walrus mustache and crossed his legs. A faint satisfaction gleaned in his eyes. “I hope this little scuffle between you two doesn’t hurt your chances with the town council.”

“Me neither sir.” A heavy silence sat between them for a beat.

“And now you have to go?”

“I need to go over there to get John.”

Burton put his elbows back on the desk and buried his face in his hands for a second. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother son.” He had a look of deep sorrow. “If you need anything, keep in touch. I don’t see how my old ass could help, but if you need anything, just holler. I’ll try to keep you in good standing with the town council while you are gone, but…it would be much easier if you were here.”

“I know sir. But something isn’t right about his death. I don’t think my brother killed himself. Or if he did, I need to be the one who tells myself he did. Not a stranger halfway around the world. I can’t take anyone’s word on something this big.”

Burton stared back blinking. “Keep out of trouble.”

“I will. Thank you sir.”

Another pause hung between them.

Burton picked up his coffee mug, looked in it, and set it down. “I hear Sarah is back from rehabilitation. You seen her yet?”

“Yeah, saw her and Jack this morning.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye on things.” Burton grunted as he got up.

“I know sir. Thanks.”

Chapter 10 - Wednesday

Wolf was jolted awake by the ping of the seatbelt sign and a loud voice in Italian over the Boeing 777’s intercom. He was in Milan. Milano. He looked out the window and saw green fields and countless red roofed buildings. Anything tall enough to be hit by an aircraft was painted in a red and white candy cane striping.

He had absolutely no clue what to expect in Italy. While in the army, he’d been stationed in Fort Lewis, Washington, never serving any missions in Europe. His experience of foreign cultures was all much further east of the Prime Meridian — China, Vietnam, Laos, The Philippines, Australia — in a much less pedestrian manner.

He’d seen the pictures on his brother’s blog, read a few of his posts about life there, but he really didn’t have a sense of what he was getting into at all. For him, the word Italy conjured up thoughts of pizza. Spaghetti, meatballs. Calzones. Food. Mario and Luigi.

The plane came to a halt at the Malpensa International Airport gate. The air was startlingly humid, feeling about seventy five degrees Fahrenheit. His mind came up blank trying to convert it to Celsius. He knew it was nine fifths plus thirty two to convert from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but the other way around? Screw it. It was pleasant.

Looking out the terminal window past the docked planes revealed a flat landscape with a dense hazy sky. There was no view other than a copse of green deciduous trees in any direction he could see. He knew the Alps were very close by. He’d gotten a good look at the Matterhorn before the rough dive into Milan, but the Alps hid behind a veil at the moment. His mental compass was spinning wildly -Rocky Points had the Rocky Points in the west, and Denver had the towering mountains to the west - it added to his unease.

A sea of people chattered all around him in a language he had little experience with — one semester class in high school before he changed to Spanish. Everyone was using the same voice intonations along with the same hand gestures. Grandiose was the word that came to his mind.

Passing through the customs line, the officer asked him why he was in the country.

“Vacation,” he said. No sense causing any confusion.

The customs officer said something else to him, looked at him with an expectant look, then shooed him onward. Wolf couldn’t begin making an educated guess to the topic of what was said.

Signs throughout the airport were in Italian, English underneath. He strained listening to the people around him, noting not a single person speaking English in the vicinity. He thought back on the phone calls and how difficult it was to communicate with the few people he’d spoken to.

A wave of nauseous second-guessing hit him for a split second. What was he expecting here? Sure, he was getting his brother’s body and bringing it back, but he had much larger aspirations for this trip. How the hell was this going to go down?

Pushing the doubt out of his mind, he set out to find the train.

Chapter 11

The next two hours were an exercise of faith. Never once had he been completely sure he was on the right train, or going in the right direction. The air outside was a dull gray, ground revealing no shadows. Coupled with the flat landscape and towering buildings, there was still no way to get a bearing on direction.

Two trains later, however, he was now reasonably sure he was on the right route. Twice he caught a glimpse of the word Lecco on signs, and the Alps finally came into view amid the haze ahead, indicating he was at least heading north. The train stopped often, slowly weaving its way into the green hills. A large slow moving river flitted into view on the left hand side. There were boats pulled up along the shore on each dry river bank, looking like the water line was a few feet lower than it had been in the recent past. Still, the amount of water sliding by looked to be more than a few of the largest Colorado rivers combined.

Brightly painted buildings of sorbet orange, sky blue, purple, lime yellow, and other electric shades were everywhere; next to the river, halfway up the steep inclined hills, even directly on top of the mountain peaks. Nature was choked out by thousands of years of settlement, but the foliage was rampant at the same time. It was thick, dense, wiry and thorny. Grass grew in feet, not in inches.

Vibrant shades of painted stucco gave way to a consistent powdery gray stone color as the train continued north. Each roof on the thousands of buildings of all shapes and sizes was topped with the same tangerine-hue clay tile.

Moving steadily north, the gaping river widened into smaller lakes, then narrowed into a tighter bottleneck before ultimately opening up into a gigantic lake.

Towering steep mountains, densely green with deciduous trees, calved with talk chalk-white cliffs, lined both sides.

Lake Como, he recognized from his Googling. The lake was one of the deepest in Europe, and looking at the steep mountains that dove straight into it, it wasn’t hard to imagine.

The train was now in a the city of Lecco, where his brother had been living for the last five months. Wolf recalled his study of Google Maps on the internet from the other night. Lecco sat on the geographical lower right tip of the lake, which was in the shape of an enormous upside down “Y”. They were on the southeast tip, and the northern most end was nowhere near in site.

“Dahveed Vowlf?” The Caribinieri officer pulled his cell phone slightly away from his ear. He was no older than twenty five, dressed in a dark blue, sharp looking uniform with white leather belt and shoulder harness for his Baretta, a sharp billed military style hat in his left hand, cell phone in the right.

“Yes.”

“I am Tito, come with me.” He turned, resuming his phone conversation.

Wolf thought back on the phone conversation he’d had with Tito and resisted the urge to drop kick him.

Stepping out of the station, Tito’s hair glistened in the sun — hat still tucked under his arm. His sideburns were shaven to a precise point halfway down the sides of his face, a pencil thin goatee was etched on the skin around his mouth. It looked like it took him well over an hour to get ready in the morning.

Wolf felt his own hair, a greasy mat, painful to the touch, and surmised he wasn’t in a place to be making any sort of judgments on appearances.

Tito talked on the phone, walking painfully slow, finally coming to his Alfa Romeo Caribinieri cruiser. It was sleek looking, with three cylindrical lights on top. Wolf sat down and appraised the car with an internal thumbs up.

He gave Tito’s driving, however, an emphatic thumbs-down as he drove half brained; cell phone still in his right hand, shifting gears cross-over with his left, narrowly missing pedestrians and other cars through tight streets and roundabouts as he shifted.

Ten minutes later, they thankfully came to a stop, pulling into a parking lot along the lake shore to the rear of an old looking gray building; how old, Wolf couldn’t tell.

A strong damp breeze came off the lake, and the air wasn’t as hazy as just a few miles down towards Milan had been. There was a train of criss-crossing sails in the distance moving at high speed — kite surfers and sailboarders.

They walked the short distance to the back of the building and entered into what seemed to be hell, or a waiting room for it. A cram of people poured out of a steamy room that wafted the spicy odor of human sweat immediately to the right. The room’s collective impatience and despair was a palpable force.

The art work on filthy dirt-yellow walls outside of the room was a collection of askew black and white pictures of various buildings in rubble, as if after an earthquake, or an intense aerial shelling. Directly in front of them in the distance was another entrance with a metal detector. A young Caribinieri officer armed with his own Baretta was at the entrance was interrogating an Asian couple with a baby, while people streamed in behind them setting off the alarm. No one of authority seemed to care about the blinking light and incessant beeping, so Wolf guessed he shouldn’t either.

Directly above them was an immensely vaulted ceiling, and a stone stairway to the left that spiraled upwards to each level above. Wolf hoped to God they were going up, and to his relief Tito was already halfway up the first flight, wrapping up his phone conversation.

Upstairs was open, light, and had a beautiful view of the lake. The windows were all propped ajar letting in the pleasant breeze which carried nondescript mouthwatering aromas Wolf couldn’t put his finger on. Caribinieri uniformed officers bustled about.

Tito stopped and looked to his right with a big inhale while he pulled down his uniform top with both hands. Colonnello Marino said the door label. A booming voice shook the frosted glass from within. Tito stepped to it and knocked gingerly three times.

“Dai!” The door shook on its hinges.

Tito poked his head in hesitantly, and then entered, opening the door to let Wolf in behind him. Colonnello Marino had a phone up to his ear and looked towards the windows to their right. He waved his hand towards two chairs against the wall to their immediate left without looking.

Colonnello Marino yelled loudly in rapid Italian, slamming his fist into his leg. Tito squirmed in his chair and his face drained white. Sweat beaded and ran down his perfectly manicured hairline.

Marino finished his conversation and twisted in his chair violently. Tito flinched, and Marino held up a finger to them, still not resting his eyes on his new visitors, pushed his finger on the plunger, then dialed a phone number and twisted to the window again.

Wolf watched Marino bounce his head, speak in pleasant tones, laugh heartily, hand gesture animatedly, mumble niceties — Wolf began wondering just what the hell was happening. He waited patiently.

Marino swiveled back to the phone again and Wolf noted on his watch the seven minutes that had already passed. The Colonnello brought his non-phone hand to the ancient rotary, pressed the switch again, then dialed another number and held up a finger as he swiveled slowly towards the window.

“Excuse me, sir,” Wolf said. “I’ve come a long way and would like to speak about my brother. My brother John Wolf?”

Colonnello Marino pulled the handset from his face and swiveled his chair, shooting a hot glare that bore deep into Wolf’s eyes. He pause for a breath and then his face melted into sympathy in a split instant. “Ah, yes. Mr. Wolf. I am-a sorry about your brother. And I am-a sorry about-a-my English-a. It is terrible.” He gently hung up the phone, then launched into a fast paced pleasant sounding paragraph, speaking directly to Tito.

Tito turned halfway to Wolf, taking on the role of interpreter.

“He says that he is waiting for the final release papers for releasing your brother’s body. It should be at some time een the next two days when everything is finished and signed, so you can take him home.”

Colonnello Marino folded his hands and leaned forward on his desk with a sympathetic expression.

“Okay, thank you,” Wolf said. “As I explained to the man I spoke to on the phone, Detective Rossi, I am a police officer in the United States. I would like to see my brother’s body, the police report, my brother’s apartment, and speak to the officers who found my brother.”

Tito turned to Colonello Marino and interpreted for Wolf, using far less words than he had. Wolf furrowed his brow and looked to Tito.

The Colonnello reached and lit a cigarette in a practiced flourish, taking a deep inhale. He spoke his exhale, “Meester Wolf. I-a-understand your-a concern weet your broder’s det,” he placed the cigarette in the ash tray and folded his hands. Smoke streamed from the desk top in front of his face. “I can geev-a you-a Tito tomorrow to go see your broder,” he said picking up the phone and dialing a phone number. He plucked his cigarette, swiveled to the window, and began a jovial conversation into the receiver.

Tito exhaled in relief, stood and opened the office door.

Wolf sat still for a few seconds, then stood, leaving his backpack on the ground, and walked to Colonnello Marino’s desk. He reached out and pushed down the phone switch.

Colonnello Marino looked genuinely puzzled at the handset for a second and then slowly looked to Wolf holding his finger on the switch. His face contorted into a deep hate filled rage.

“I need more than Tito for a day. I need to see my brother, I need to see the police report, my brother’s apartment, and to speak to the officers who found my brother,” Wolf said.

Marino’s face brightened to a glistening tomato-red in a matter of seconds. “Yyyyyyyyyou-a don’t-a tell-a ME what-a-to do!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, and then he snapped a quick order to Tito who relayed something out into the main room.

An instant later, two officers slammed into the office, each snapping an arm back and kicking the back of his knees, landing him hard on the tile floor. A third showed up and wrapped him in a choke hold, pulling him up to his feet.

“You-a-want-a to tell-a…us how-a to investigate? American Cowboy?” Marino said loudly. Wolf could hear a group gathering in the office doorway behind him, officers shuffling to get in on the action.

“Sir,” Wolf coughed, struggling to breath. “No sir.”

Marino motioned for the officer to release his choke hold.

Wolf sucked in a breath, making a show of how mentally and physically destroyed he was at that moment, though the chokehold had been hesitant by the officer behind him, or just weak. “Colonnello Marino, please help me. My mother and I are in desperate need for some answers about his death. I’m not saying you have conducted a poor investigation, I am saying there is no way you could have known my brother like I do, and I know for a fact that he didn’t kill himself. I have some irrefutable evidence that he has not. I just ask for some help from your department, and to please allow me to go over the evidence found at the scene.”

Marino looked down his nose with a puzzled look at Wolf. He seemed to contemplate his words for a few seconds, then looked to the rest of the now crowded room with an amused look. “Non capito niente!”

The officers in the room began chuckling and looking quickly to one another, mood quickly turning to a jovial atmosphere. This crazy American makes no sense!

A female voice interjected loudly, speaking rapidly in Italian directly behind Wolf. He turned to find a stunningly beautiful young woman speaking in reasonable tones, gesturing to Wolf and speaking to Marino in a pleading tone. She looked to be arguing in Wolf’s defense.

When she finished, Marino lit a cigarette and looked at Wolf up and down. The room was dead silent, awaiting the emperor’s decree. A distant car horn honked from somewhere in the streets below. An officer coughed lightly behind him.

Marino put his cigarette into the ash tray and stood directly in front of him, index finger tapping hard on his chest.

“Do not make-a me hangry, do you understand?”

“Uh…yes sir,” Wolf assumed he meant to say angry.

Marino looked at the other officers and began waving them out of the room. He barked a long order at the beautiful young woman who pushed her way to a standing at attention position next to Wolf. She was listening intently with a stone face. She finally answered in a curt affirmative.

“I weel geev you until Friday, de end-a of da-week,” Marino turned to Wolf. “We have very important work to do and cannot spare officers, so I weel geev you officer Parente. She weel show you what you-a need. Den, ayou must leave here after-a dis week. Take your broder home to your moder,” he said with a sudden sympathetic look on his face.

“Thank you sir. I appreciate your help.”

“Vai, vai,” Marino swept his arms forward, sweeping them out of the room.

Wolf picked up his backpack and left, the beautiful officer already lost amid the crowd. Tito saw his confused look and pointed to the hallway, where he saw a slender backside storming away with the gentle sway of a dancer, straight shoulder-length brown hair in a tight ponytail whipping side to side.

He nodded to Tito and walked after her.

She turned an abrupt right and was out of site. He followed fast and almost slammed into her picking up her hat and coat of her desk. She huffed and pushed past him back down the hallway.

“You coming?” She turned her head halfway down the hall.

“Yep.” He strode after her.

Wolf surmised she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her coffee colored hair  was pulled back tight against the back of her skull, hanging down just to her shoulders. She tucked a dangling strand behind her ear and bit her lower lip revealing a perfect set of teeth, while her tormented aqua marine eyes darted back and forth out the front windshield.

“Hey, I don’t know what you said in there, but thanks.”

“Yep.” She gunned the Alfa Romeo out of the parking lot directly in front of a fast moving, large truck.

He fished for his seat belt and put it on, “I’m David by the way.”

She kept her eyes forward, “Lia.”

Wolf sighed in quiet resignation as she picked up her cell phone and dialed a number.

Chapter 12

Lia hung up after a short conversation and plopped the phone in front of the stick shift.

“I have to admit, I’m glad you kept that phone call to a minimum, Tito was on the phone the entire way here from the train station,” he said. “I never did get a chance to even…”

“Tito’s an idiot,” she said.

“Yeah…” He looked at her expressionless stare out the windshield. “Anyways, thanks.” He turned to look at nothing in particular out the window, seeing a large group of pedestrians walking along the lake shore.

Just then Lia downshifted and accelerated into a traffic circle, threading in between two cars that were no more than two car lengths apart, then shot out the other side, swerved into oncoming traffic, looked left at a convex mirror mounted high on an ancient wall, jammed the brakes and cranked the wheel in a sharp button-hook right turn.

It took Wolf a couple breaths to go from shock to realization he was riding shotgun with a gifted Formula One driver. He let go of his white knuckle grip on the door. “Could you take me to my brother’s apartment?”

“That’s where I’m taking you. We have to meet a colleague first.”

“Okay, thanks. I wasn’t sure. I really haven’t been able to communicate with people that well so far. It’s nice to be on the same page as someone finally.” Wolf sat in silence for a minute. “I noticed your English is very good, hardly an accent.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“Your welcome,” he said.

They parked in a shadowy alley and walked a narrow cobble stone street up a slight rise. An archway opened into a bright piazza that was the length of a football field and not quite as wide. Water jumped out of a ground level concrete slab a few feet to the right. Cafes with four or five rows of outdoor seating lined the entire length of the piazza, old ornate looking residential buildings stacked on top. Aromas filled the air, making his mouth gush. There were people everywhere.

A male Cabinieri officer stood in the deep distance — light blue shirt, dark blue pants with bright red stripe down the side of each leg, and white leather belt. Lia began walking swiftly in his direction.

Suddenly a cacophony of noise stirred the piazza. It was a group of four kids on some motorbikes, rapping their engines loudly. Wolf thought they looked like dirt bikes, but they had smooth street tires on them. Upon closer looking, he realized they didn’t look like it, that’s exactly what they were — dirt bikes with street tires.

Three of them killed the engines and leaned their bikes up against a side alley wall, while another circled back and revved hard in front of a group of people, scaring them into a frenzy of stumbling and shrieks. It was a group of young mentally handicapped people.

Lia slowed down and Wolf came up along side her. She was watching the officer in the distance march with determination towards the four kids on bikes, who were now taking off their helmets and laughing. The fourth kid still sat on his bike, leaning against the wall with the engine shut off, pealing off his helmet.

He didn’t see it coming.

The officer walked up and slapped his head, a smack that was clearly audible from the forty yards they were at. He ripped the kid off the bike and pushed him up against the wall, giving the boy a typewriter to the chest and a vigorous speech that, by the looks of his whitened expression, was the scariest thing he’d ever heard in his life. He released the boy and said something to the others, who all began pushing their bikes out of site up the alley. The Caribinieri officer turned and started walking towards Wolf and Lia.

Wolf bounced his eyebrows. “That’s good police work right there.”

“Detective Valerio Rossi.” He shook Wolf’s hand. “We spoke on the phone. I’m so sorry for your loss, officer Wolf.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. Thank you for all your help so far.”

“Ready?”

“Yep,” Wolf exhaled.

“His apartment is right here. Just off the piazza. Let’s go.”

Wolf followed Rossi and Lia watching them have a conversation in Italian. Lia seemed to be confiding something to him, and Rossi was shaking his head in disbelief, consoling her with a fatherly, or brotherly, pat on the back.

Wolf turned his thoughts away from their relationship dynamic to the task at hand. His heart skipped a beat at the prospect of going to see where his brother died.

Security fencing surrounded the property, iron spikes filed to thin deadly points topping each tall iron bar. Rossi pushed the intercom button and spoke to a male voice who buzzed them in. It was the property manager who lived on site.

“Buon giorno.” He had a sullen expression, holding his hand out to Wolf.

“Hello, do you speak English?”

“Uhhh, no.”

“Okay,.” Wolf glanced at Lia and Rossi. “Thank you for meeting us.”

Lia stepped in and began translating.

“You were the one who found my brother?”

“He and the girl, Cristina, that lives above your brother, found him. He called the Caribinieri.” Lia translated to Wolf.

“Okay. Let’s just head up.”

The janitor took a set of keys out of his pocket and expertly inserted the top key into the door of apartment twenty two. He turned it four or five complete revolutions to the left, then put a smaller key in and turning it five more times before the door popped open a crack.

The janitor stepped back and let the door hang open a few inches. They all looked to Wolf, who stepped forward and pushed.

It smelled of lemon disinfectant, and was very dim. Rossi walked around Wolf and went to the small balcony off the main room, sliding open floor to ceiling shutter doors. Bright sunlight poured in revealing a very spacious room with high ceilings he estimated to be ten feet.

There was a dark wood table and four chairs, a recliner seat, television stand, small flat screen television, two person couch, and a couple folding chairs along the wall. No coffee table or end tables. Black and white photographs hung on the walls. Frameless. They looked to be John’s work, perhaps blown up at a local supermarket, or photo shop, or whatever they had here that did that kind of stuff.

“Apparently your brother went out Friday night with a friend, came home, and the girl living above heard a noise. She said she was concerned after not seeing him all day Saturday, or Saturday night. They were supposed to have a date apparently on Saturday night. She became concerned mid-day Sunday and told the manager.

“The manager came with keys and opened the door, which apparently was difficult, because the keys were in the top lock from the inside. He somehow pushed them out and got it unlocked, then they found the body…uh, sorry, your brother.”

“Did you talk to the person he was out with that night? What was his name?”

“No, we did not. I do not know his name,” Rossi answered with a pained face.

Wolf furrowed his brow. “You don’t know?”

“No officer Wolf. The keys were in the lock, locked from the inside, with only your brother inside,” Rossi held out his hands with an apologetic look.

There was a small hole in the ceiling with a capped wire sticking out. He glanced at the floor and noticed a scratch on the wood veneer right below the hole in the ceiling. Wolf bent down and rubbed it. “This is where the chandelier fell and hit the ground?”

“Yes,” Rossi said. “He was underneath it.”

Wolf had heard the story over the phone. They walked in, found him underneath the chandelier, a leather belt around his neck still fastened to it. Drugs on the scene.

“Where did you find the cocaine?”

“There was a small bag here on the table, and residue on his nose. We have the bag in evidence.”

Wolf noted the shiny, clean table as he walked to the kitchen — a narrow alley off the main room, with another smaller balcony off of it. Stove burners glistened, the countertops shined. It was perfectly clean, obviously cleaned by the manager, not John.

The manager said something and Lia translated, “He says he cleaned yesterday. He emptied the trash, got rid of some food, and cleaned the debris up in the main room here.”

Wolf walked back to the main room and out to the balcony. They were high above the piazza, looking directly down on it from the third floor, otherwise known as the second floor European, with the ground floor as designated floor zero, he’d noted in the earlier ride in the tiny elevator.

A vast section of Lake Como was in view over the roof tops. Kite surfers and wind sailers still whipped back and forth. The air was fresh and crisp on the balcony. Not a bad place to live, bro.

Wolf went through apartment to his brother’s room in back. He opened the same type of floor to ceiling shutter doors on the balcony, revealing a completely different breathtaking view. The opposite side of the apartment overlooked a mass of the orange clay tile roof tops of similar height to the balcony.

Butting up against the balcony just to the right extended one of the clay tiled roofs. It looked like one could step out onto the rooftops and walk all the way across the city, if one didn’t mind the thirty-plus degree slope of the first roof here. He studied it hard, then craned his head over and looked up to the identical balcony above.

Ducking back in, he noted his brother’s room was sparse in furniture, just like the rest of the apartment. A queen sized mattress lay directly on the floor with no bedside tables. One reading lamp sat directly on the floor next to a few books. A flimsy looking wood table was tucked in the corner with a Macintosh laptop perched open atop it, a wireless router hooked into the wall.

Wolf went to the computer, swiped his finger, then pushed a few buttons. It was dead.

The small closet was filled halfway with hanging clothes, anal-retentively separated into different color genres.

Wolf raised his voice, “The girl upstairs, what was her name? Cristina?”

“Yes,” Rossi walked to the bedroom doorway.

“I’d like to go talk to her.”

“Let’s go.”

There was no answer at the door upstairs.

“How about the apartment below his apartment? What did they say? Didn’t they hear anything? The chandelier hitting the floor?”

“Nobody lives there,” Rossi shrugged.

“Okay, obviously this girl isn’t home. Do you guys know where she is? Where she works?”

“I do not know.”

“Did you question her on Sunday?” Wolf asked.

“I talked to her a little. I didn’t think to ask her a bunch of questions. Just if she heard anything. It was a tough time for her and she needed support. She was very upset. We called in a person, but she had disappeared before the…person could arrive.”

“A counselor?”

“Yes, a counselor. But she left before the counselor arrived.”

“Okay,” Wolf sighed heavily. “You didn’t ask her about drugs?”

They walked down the stairs to the outside of Wolf’s door.

“No. It really was not an interrogation. We were, dealing with the delicate task of…removing your brother’s body. Knowing what the evidence inside was presenting us, it was more a matter of comforting the girl.”

“And this neighbor?” He pointed to the only other door that was on his brother’s level. Number twenty one.

The manager said a few sentences, and Rossi took the reigns with translation, “They were gone, and have been for over a month. A lot of people go on vacation for August here, and they have been gone all of August, and all of September so far. They weren’t here.”

“Okay.” Wolf suddenly felt light headed.

The manager said something to Rossi and Lia while pointing at Wolf. He held up the keys and shrugged his shoulders.

Rossi began answering in the negative, then looking questioning at Lia, who looked skeptically at Wolf.

“What’s going on?”

“He is saying you can stay here if you like. The rent is paid for the month, and he can give you the keys,” Lia said.

“Thanks, that would be perfect,” Wolf took the keys from the manager’s outstretched hand. “What is your name?”

“Guiseppe.”

“David. Thank you.”

The manager showed Wolf the different keys for the gate and door locks, then left. They all looked at their watches, 5:38 pm.

“Is it too late to go see my brother?” Wolf’s body screamed for sleep, but he knew it was a luxury he would have to forego.

“I have to leave for other commitments,” Rossi looked at his watch.

Lia nodded her head, “The morgue is open twenty four hours. We can go right now.”

Chapter 13

Wolf sat in silence on the way over to the morgue. Glancing at his watch, he did a quick calculation — Eight hours ahead, it was 10 am Colorado time. He’d been up since midnight Colorado time when the plane landed at 8 am local time, with a few hours sleep before that on the plane. So what did that mean? It just meant he was tired as hell.

“I’m sorry I was so angry earlier,” Lia said, looking at Wolf. Her tanned olive skin coupled with her luminous eyes in the subdued evening sunlight was startling to him, and he wasn’t easy to startle. He unconsciously rubbed his face, noting the long stubble — way past a five o’clock shadow.

“No problem. I would have been pissed too,” he said.

She shot him a suspicious look.

“I couldn’t tell if your boss was just a terrible English speaker, or a terrible bigot. I take it he’s a terrible bigot. ‘We have eemportant work to do and cannot spare officers, so I weel geev you Lia for two days,’ I believe he said. Yeah, that would piss me off too.”

Lia gave him an unreadable look and resumed driving.

“I know that what your boss thinks is important to you, and you think that he thinks he’s put you on an unimportant case. Obviously that pisses you off, and I’d be pretty angry, too. But, the thing is, my brother didn’t kill himself. I’m one hundred percent sure of that. So that only leaves one other option. He was murdered.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Wolf could see Lia glancing at him from his peripheral, unsure of what to say.

“I was really sweating being paired up with Tito there for a minute,” he said with a shake of the head, breaking the silence. “So, thanks again.”

“Yeah, Tito’s a dumbass, you would be pretty screwed with him,” she said laughing out loud with a wide smile. She was beautiful.

Lia pushed a button on a state of the art looking electronic keypad next to a heavy steel door.

“Si?” said a tinny male voice.

“Noi siamo.”

Buzz, click.

“Ciao,” a voice said from a doorway down the hall. A bald man was peaking his head out, looking over his pushed down glasses. They followed his beckon.

The room was cold, and smelled of formaldehyde, just like any other morgue five thousand miles to the west in the US. Two rows of four refrigeration units lined the far wall. The lower right-most one was pulled out displaying a sheeted lump of a figure. His brother.

His heart skipped and his breath caught as he looked down, then he turned to shake the hand of the pathologist.

“Ciao. I am Vittorio.” He blinked rapidly behind thick glasses while stretching his neck muscles as if his collar was itchy. He stood just under the height of Lia, who Wolf judged earlier to stand at about five foot eight inches.

Vittorio and Lia had a brief exchange in Italian, Vittorio looking intelligently at Lia in between blinks. Vittorio left the room quickly, and Wolf turned to the pulled out refrigeration unit.

He didn’t want to waste any more time, but he knew he should probably wait for the pathologist to return before looking at his brother. He wasn’t in that much of a hurry to look at his face, a face he hadn’t seen alive in over five months, other than in tiny pictures on a blog.

Lia came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder as he stared at the sheet below.

“Sorry.” Vittorio moved swiftly into the room. “I have the records all-a here now. Are you ready, officer Wolf?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” He wasn’t.

The sheet was pulled back in a well executed, not too slow-not too fast technique, revealing his brother beneath.

John’s skin was a bluish white, a peaceful sleeping expression on his face. Wolf noticed his hair had been closely cropped, and a large straight-line bruise was on the right side of his head, angling from the top of the forehead to ear. There was a deep black bruise lining the circumference of his neck, indicating where the belt had been wrapped around his throat.

“Why was no autopsy ordered?”

“We-a determined the external evidence on the body to be consistent with suicide,” Vittorio said quietly. “And we normally do not perform an autopsy for a suicide, unless ordered by the Coroner in collaboration with officers on the scene.”

“How do you explain the bruise on his head?” Wolf asked.

“We determined the bruise-a was antemortem, how you say?”

“Sure, antemortem.”

“Bruising from the chandelier falling on his head.”

“Okay.” Wolf shook his head. “so how did he die? Are you saying he died from the hanging, then the chandelier fell on his head, causing a bruise?” Wolf looked skeptical. “Once the heart has stopped beating, isn’t it impossible to bruise?”

“It is actually entirely possible to bruise shortly after death. If he died while hanging, then shortly thereafter the chandelier gave way, falling on him, it could bruise his head. There was also pooling of blood on the left side of his body, as you can see by the bruising all down the left side, consistent with the position he was found underneath the chandelier.”

“What was the evidence of drug use?”

Vittorio produced some photos from the file he had. “Since we didn’t do an autopsy-a, we did not do a complete toxicology report. But I did an exterior exam-a, and found residue on his nose that was confirmed to be cocaine. I have some photos of your brother’s body at the scene.”

Wolf took the photos and looked. There were close-ups of John from every angle. He was covered in small glittering slivers of glass, apparently from the chandelier.

“You can see there, a bar on the chandelier lines up very closely to the bruise on his head.” Vittorio dug for another photo and pointed at the wooden chair that was tipped over, five feet from John’s dead form. “I am not completely sure, but I feel the chair was kicked out from under him with a spasm, which could have began the process-a of the chandelier falling.” He flipped to another photo. “And here is a close-up of his right nostril, with cocaine residue.”

Wolf smiled humorlessly. “You don’t think this is grounds for ordering an autopsy? That seems like a very manufactured explanation of his death. What if the bruise was caused by someone else?”

The pathologist looked at Wolf with a look that said it all. “It is not my decision, but in my opinion, I think it could go either way. But we have other pressures here-a, Officer Wolf. Your brother was not a resident here, and the Comune pays for the autopsy —”

“The Comune?” Wolf asked.

“Yes, the municipality, I think you say?”

“Okay, I get it. You guys looked at the whole scene with worry about money? Jesus Christ, that’s some bullshit.” Wolf shook his head in disbelief, but also knew full well the same thing could happen if a foreigner showed up dead from apparent suicide in his home town.

He looked in silence at the pictures. John was wearing jeans and a long sleeved button up shirt. The jeans had small stains on each leg. Like oval mud stains.

“Do you have the clothing he was wearing here?” Wolf asked.

“Yes, I do, I will go get his belongings.”

Vittorio gently placed the sheet back over John’s face, again with a well executed touch, and left the room. Wolf stood up and paced in thought.

Vittorio returned with a sealed large plastic bag and put it on a steel table against the wall, motioning to Wolf to go ahead and look. He took the bag and began laying the contents out on the table. Vittorio and Lia had a quiet conversation in Italian, walking to the other side of the room.

He dug for John’s jeans first. Pulling them out, he looked at the knees. There were two large, faint circles, as if he’d been kneeling in wet, muddy grass. Next he pulled out his sneakers. They were black Puma low top canvass shoes. The bottom sole pattern held a bit of mud, and the canvass was streaked light gray with the same.

Two belts were in the bag. One for the hanging, one for the jeans he was wearing he guessed. He took another look at a picture to see that the black belt was the one John was wearing, and the other light brown leather belt was the one around his neck. He took the light brown belt over to John’s body, and motioned for Vittorio to pull back the sheet again. Wolf ignored Vittorio’s show of being insulted. The belt looked to be the exact same width as the marks on the neck. It was definitely the instrument that strangled his brother.

He returned to the table and rifled his brother’s pants pockets. Nothing, but he took his brother’s wallet out and looked through it, pulling out the driver’s license and finding a dated receipt from a pub tucked in the main pocket, which puzzled him for a second, until he realized the different way Europeans wrote dates — day, month, year. It was from Friday night.  The last night his brother was alive.

His iPhone was in the bag as well, but the battery was dead.

Wolf stood straight and felt light headed and stumbled into the table, bending over, breathing deeply a few times to stop from passing out.

Lia and Vittorio rushed over and patted his back. “Should we go? You need to rest after such a long day,” Lia had on a look of concern.

“Sure. Can I take these belongings with me?” Wolf asked.

“They must-a be released with your brother’s body as soon as the paperwork is finished.” Vittorio scooped his brother’s cell phone off the table and placed it in the clear bag.

They thanked the pathologist and left.

“They don’t do many autopsies here in Italy?” He looked out the car window.

“If determined it is needed, then they will order the autopsy.”

“Do you think there should have been an autopsy?”

She shifted uncomfortably, then shifted the car, “I don’t know, it looks pretty cut and dry. Italians don’t do well with complications. If the shoe fits, they put it,” she said. They poot eet.

“Wear it.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

They sat in silence for a few moments as she drove.

“Look, I guess I’ll go sleep. I am dying here.” Wolf pressed his hand against his eyes. “Are you still with me tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will help you until the end of the week.”

He looked at his watch. It was 6:54 pm. Wednesday night. No pressure.

Chapter 14

He dug into his backpack, filled his lip with a pinch of snuff, fetched a spittoon from his brother’s kitchen, and plopped down on the couch with a grunt. He pulled off his shoes. His entire body ached from a long, long day.

Then he thought of the laptop. He went into John’s room and found the charger, thankfully already hooked to an electrical adaptor, something that never crossed his mind until that moment.

He was presented a login screen. He sighed. Bernie? - their first dog. Nothing.

That was the extent of his hacking skills, especially in his current state of mind. Leaving the computer to charge, he returned to the main room feeling newly dejected.

He plopped down deep into the couch, settling his gaze on the hole in the ceiling, then to the chandelier above his head. He put down the spittoon and pulled a chair underneath the remaining chandelier. Reaching high up the center of the main chandelier trunk, he pulled down with his right arm. Then harder when nothing happened. Then harder still.

Finally he straightened his arm and sagged down, putting the entirety of his weight on the chandelier. With a crack, it jolted free from the ceiling, sending him in a sudden free fall. The chair sputtered sideways from underneath his feet, and he landed hard on his side, instinctually pointing his shins and forearms up to block him from a plummeting light fixture of yet undetermined weight. When nothing hit him, he rolled hard to his right twice and finally stole a look upward. The light fixture swayed violently side to side, hanging by two wires.

Just then a soft knock was at the door. He took stock of his injuries as he struggled to his feet. He’d have some bruises in the morning, but otherwise he was all right.

Opening the front door revealed yet another strikingly beautiful young woman. She stood outside with wide, timid chocolate eyes, and a puzzled expression. She had brownish blonde hair, chiseled facial features, and a slender athletic body. Her scent was flowery, all femininity, and she was dressed in a skimpy white tee shirt, flannel pants and slippers. She asked something unintelligible, and Wolf gave a blank stare in response.

“Who are you?” she tried in English.

“I’m David Wolf. Who are you?”

“I’m Cristina, I live upstairs.”

“Oh, I came to your apartment today, you weren’t there. I’m John’s brother. I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Are you okay? I just heard a loud noise.” She was excited, looking behind Wolf at the still rocking chandelier.

She didn’t speak English in an Italian accent. She spoke well, but not like Lia. His instincts, or what he’d learned from his love of spy movies, told him Eastern European.

“Yes, I’m fine. Will you come in? I’d really like to speak to you.”

She backed up a few feet with a look of horror on her face.

“Uhh, sorry. Here, I’ll show you my passport.” He hurried to his backpack leaning up against the wall, pulled out his passport, and brought it back to her.

“No, I can see that you’re John’s brother. You look just like him. I just don’t want to come in there. You can come up and talk if you want.” She turned and padded up the stairs.

“Okay, I’ll be right up.”

Her apartment was in stark contrast with John’s. While he went with the interior design of minimalist, six-month-stay, one stop at Ikea, whatever you can pack in a suitcase look, she was all about decoration and permanence. Every square inch on the wall was meticulously decorated in a way that took a lot of thought and creativity — pictures of her, her and her family, landscapes from exotic forests in countries he’d never seen, flowers on shelves, hanging dried flowers, books on shelves, and all sorts of other interesting things. It reminded him of the Pub in Points, though not to the same gaudy interior-of-a-ski-bar extent.

Ambient jazz was playing softly in the background. Pat Metheny, he noted. A few candles were lit and smelled like flowers. She looked to be in the middle of writing in a journal. She bent down and closed it, but not before he caught a glimpse of writing with letters of an entirely foreign alphabet.

She offered him a seat on a comfortable recliner chair. A patterned blanket draped on the back of it was reminiscent of Navajo designs he’d seen countless times in his grandmother’s house, but with more vibrant colors, and with flowers lining the edges of it.

She saw him looking at it. “It’s a traditional weaving from my home. I am from Romania.”

“Oh, okay.” He struggled to picture where exactly that was.

“It’s directly east of here. You travel to Venice and keep going east, through Slovenia, Hungary, and into Romania,” she said.

“Ah, I see.” A deep silence fell between them. “Were you dating my brother?”

She was staring at her hands in her lap. She began to shake. The beginning throws of a good cry, he recognized from recent experience.

“Y-y-y-yes. We have b-b-een seeing each other for a few months.” Her hair drooped across her eyes and she shook lightly. “Had been seeing…”

She lifted her chin and tucked her hair behind her ear, a bright smile lighting up her face. “We met on our balconies. He was sitting there on the computer, and I accidentally threw a cigarette on him because of the wind.” She burst into laughter. Wolf couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I heard him shuffling and grunting, and he poked his head out to yell at me. Then he forced me to go out with him as payment for ruining one of his shirts. It was a piece of crap T-shirt.” She smiled, then when into a fresh fit of tears.

He looked away and steeled his gaze on nothing in particular. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I have a few questions,” he said finally. “Firstly, do you think he killed himself?”

“You don’t think he did?” She looked at him with wet, wide eyes.

“No, I don’t. I just don’t think he was that type of person, and…there’s just something going on.”

“I have been thinking all along there is no way that he would do that. But then I kept thinking maybe I didn’t know him that well anyways, so then I wasn’t sure. I’ve been so confused.” She looked back at her hands.

“Well, I don’t think he did,” he said. “Do you do drugs Cristina? Did you and John do drugs together? Just tell me, I don’t care either way. I just need to know.”

“No,” she said quickly. “We don’t do drugs…didn’t do drugs. Not even marijuana. We talked about how it made us both paranoid, so that’s why we didn’t like it. Why are you asking?”

He studied her reaction, her eyes. He believed her. A woman trying to hide her drug use was something he was intimately familiar with, something he’d learned to read on a woman’s face just as plainly as an animal track in fresh mud.

“Because there was cocaine found on the table in the living room, and in his nose.”

She looked genuinely surprised. “I never knew him to take drugs. He and I never did. We would drink wine, and he would maybe have a cigarette with me every once and a while…but that’s it.”

“Do you know anything about the night he died? That Friday night? What was he doing? Who was he with?”

“He was supposed to go out with a friend,” she said. “His astronomer friend, who works at an observatory.”

“Okay, where is that observatory?”

“In a town just south of here.”

“Okay, do you have the phone number for…what’s his name?”

“Oh, sorry, his name is Matthew. Matthew Rosenwald. No, I don’t have his number. But I know where he works. It’s called the Merate Observatory, I think, or the Osservatorio di Merate I guess it would be named in Italian?”

“Have you heard from him at all?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Okay, so, what was he supposed to do with Matthew that night, do you know?”

“He said they were just going out for a few drinks. They usually went out about once a week together. Matthew’s from Australia, and they met through a friend of mine. They kind of hit it off because they could speak English together, and they both like to drink beer.” She laughed.

He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. “Do you know this bar?”

She looked at the receipt for the Albastru Pub. “Yes. It is actually a Romanian bar.”

“Have you been there?”

“Once with John, and actually with David.”

Wolf’s thought’s were burning through the fog of jet lag, excited to have a good direction to take tomorrow.

He put the slip of paper back in his pocket. “The Caribinieri said you heard something downstairs on the night of his death?”

“I did. I heard a crash and went downstairs and knocked on his door. But it was dark underneath his door, and it was locked. I just started to think I probably heard something else, outside, or from across the hall, or something. I just went back upstairs and went to sleep.” Her eyes were wide, staring, unblinking.

“When was that?”

“It was 1:15 in the morning. I remember looking at the clock when I heard the crash.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” he whispered.

She nodded her head, staring at her hands.

“So you talked to the Caribinieri the next day?”

“Ummm…no. I talked to them on Sunday. When he didn’t call me, or respond to my texts, or answer his door all day Saturday, I started getting worried.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. Sunday.” He rubbed his temples. His mind was struggling to keep details straight. His body demanded sleep. “Let’s see, so, what did you tell the Caribinieri?”

She looked to the ceiling. “Not that much. One guy was just asking if I saw or heard anything the night of his death. I just told him about what I heard, and how I came down and knocked. I told them how he didn’t answer my calls, or my knocking, and how he stood me up for our date, and that’s why I was concerned.  Then…well, that was pretty much it. A couple of officers were just waiting outside my door. They said they had a special counselor coming for me to talk. I didn’t want to wait around to speak to some government worker who doesn’t know me, or didn’t know John. I just walked out.”

“Yeah, I understand. I don’t blame you,” he said. “Did they ask about drugs?”

She looked confused. “No, not at all. I didn’t know about the drugs until just now.”

A warm blanket of exhaustion wrapped around Wolf again. He’d had enough. His body needed rest. There was no use fighting it any more.

“Are you going to be around in the next couple days?”

“I have to work during the daytimes, but I am usually home at night.”

“All right. I may need some help with some things this weekend. We’ll see.” He went back to his brother’s apartment thinking about the Friday deadline for Lia’s help.

Chapter 15

Wolf picked up his backpack and went into his brother’s room. He put his bag down and exhaled, staring at the bed. “I’m sure these sheets are dirty as shit,” he said out loud to John. Pulling the comforter back, he confirmed his suspicion.

There was a set of sheets on the shelf in the bathroom closet. They smelled nice and washed, but there were no pillow cases.

Looking in John’s bedroom closet bore no fruit. He stood, shaking his head, marveling at the anal retentive organization. The assortment of clothing was meticulously separated into dark and light segments, coats in a separate segment still. John’s six pairs of shoes were lain out in a straight line along the closet wall floor. A cheap hanging plastic rack housed his belts and ties on the very right side.

Clean tee-shirts over the pillows seemed a good substitute, so he pulled two out of his pack.

Pulling it on, he stopped with a jolt and went back in the closet.  He pulled the clothes over hard to get an un-obstructed view of the belt and tie rack.

There were four belts, a missing space, and then four ties. A perfect spot to put the belt John was wearing the night he died. So where did the belt he hung himself with hang?

Chapter 16 - Thursday

Wolf had been up for four hours when Lia picked him up at 8 am. He met her outside the gate.

She shot a couple appraising glances as they walked. “You look better this morning.”

He had shaved, showered, shampooed the grease mat that was his thick dark brown hair, and put on some fresh clothes. He felt better. Wolf looked at her and smiled. “Thanks.”

He’d always been confident in his good looks. The saying, or whatever it was, tall, dark, and handsome applied to him. He was six-foot-three, taller than most men he came into contact with, had spiky dark brown hair, a complexion that tanned if the lightbulbs were too bright, dark walnut eyes, thick eyebrows, and a mole on his upper right cheek that women in his life had often referred to as a “beauty mark”…not that he considered himself a heart throb, but he wasn’t an idiot either.

He stole a glance at Lia, who was walking fast, chin up, chest out, slender athletic body, a tight pony tail of shoulder-length straight brown hair swaying underneath her Caribinieri cap.

“You look nice this morning too.” He examined her with raised eyebrows, meaning to sound nonchalant, unable to do so with such a truthful statement. He caught a whiff of her lavender scent and cleared his throat, snapping to his senses. “Hey, so, I talked to John’s girlfriend last night, she was home.”

“And?”

“She had the name of the guy he was with the night before. I’d like to go talk to him, his name is Matthew and he works at the Merate Observatory. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, I do. In fact I’ve been there a few times. For high school…I was in Liceo Scientifico.”

“What does that mean?”

“In Italy, you choose your vocation very early in life, and go to school for it. Or, you choose the…how would you call it…the track…”

“The major? Like in college?”

“Well,” she said. “it’s much earlier. It starts in high school. But, I guess it is kind of like a major for college. Anyway, I was Scientifico. We studied natural sciences and I went there a couple times for astronomy.”

“Great. But we have to go back to the morgue first.”

She gave him a puzzled look as they climbed in the Alfa Romeo cruiser. “Why?”

“I have to see the belt he hung himself with again.”

He explained what he saw in the closet the night before.

“Okay,” Lia said. “Definitely sounds interesting. Do you want to get a coffee before we go over?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about coffee since I woke up, six hours ago.”

They pulled up to a bustling “Bar” as it was called on the sign. A herd of people were standing up against a ten foot long elbow-height counter, packed three people deep, barking fast orders to the baristas. Lia expertly wove her way to the front of the crowd immediately and got eye contact from one of the men behind the bar.

“What do you want?” she yelled back at Wolf.

“Just a…I’ll get what you are having.”

She whipped her head to the barista. “Due caffe’ e due brioche marmallatta.”

A few seconds later a familiar thimble of coffee was presented to him with a jam-filled croissant. He took a large bite of the croissant and a small sip of the coffee.

“Bouna?” She nodded her head to Wolf.

“Uh, si.”

He felt the glares of people waiting, impatiently, for the counter top real estate they occupied at the moment. He shoved the rest of the croissant in his mouth and downed the coffee with two hearty sips. She followed his actions, slapped down her cup, went to the unoccupied cash register, laid down some coins and threaded her way out the door. He followed her out, wondering what the hell just happened.

“Good lord. Felt like my first time all over again,” he mumbled to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

They continued walking for another few seconds.

She turned with squinted eyes. “Are you saying that was like your first time having sex?”

“What? Uh, yeah,” he said. “That’s what I was saying.”

She looked down and resumed her walking. “So, your first time was that crowded? I don’t understand.”

“No, more like standing, uncomfortable, and over before I knew what happened.” He looked into the distance at nothing in particular. “Never mind. I very much regret saying that now.”

She burst into a high pitched natural laugh that magnified his caffeine buzz.

Wolf turned to Lia as she drove. “So, how the heck do you speak such perfect English?”

She laughed. “My mother is from New York. She spoke only English to me and my brothers growing up my whole life. It just comes second nature to me. And I also went for two years in college in North Carolina, at Wake Forest.”

“Aha. Okay, that explains it.”

“And you and Valerio?” He braced himself as she dove full speed into another traffic circle. “You seem like close friends on the force.”

“Yes. Valerio is kind of like a brother to me. He grew up with our family. I have three older brothers, and he has a brother, and they were all friends growing up.”

“Wow. Three brothers? Older brothers?” She nodded. “That must have been rough for you growing up.”

“You could say that,” she said with a smirk. Then her expression turned serious. “I had to fight for independence from my brothers growing up. Two of them were very protective of me. I hated it. I didn’t need the protection. It was hard.”

She paused, glancing to the right, then cranked the wheel left, throwing Wolf into a spastic look to his left, then realized she was using another convex mirror.

She looked at him and laughed softly. “I fought and gained the respect I deserved from my brothers.”

A heavy silence engulfed them for a minute.

“So, you feel this job…the colonnello…you aren’t getting the respect you deserve, or the chances you deserve?”

She glared out the windshield. “Yes. Something like that. Valerio was a friend of the family. He grew up with us. He knows I can handle myself. He knows I’m better than what they think. But it’s also a matter of paying your dues. But the dues are much more expensive for a woman in Italy.”

Wolf nodded his head. They drove alongside the lake shore once again. Diamond waves glistened in the sun.

“What do your brothers do? They cops too?”

“Ehhhhhh,” she exhaled, “let’s see, one is a lawyer in Roma, one is a Caribiniere in Bergamo, and one is Guardia di Finanza.”

“What’s Guardia di Fananza? Finance guards?”

“Yes. They are part of the military, kind of like the Caribinieri. They patrol the territorial waters of Italy. Working against smuggling, illegal immigration, that type of thing. Among a lot of other duties.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, Luca is my brother in the Guardia. I am most close to him.” Her face melted into a fond smile, then looked to him with a tinge of regret, as if she realized she was just flaunting a toy he didn’t.

She was, but she didn’t mean anything by it. They drove on in silence.

Chapter 17

They were buzzed into the morgue, this time by a female voice. He met the morning pathologist on duty, Bianca. Lia explained the situation, and Bianca left for a few minutes, returning with the bag from the night before.

Wolf brought the bag into the room where his brother lay, and set it down on the steel table. Lia followed close behind, intrigued. He removed both belts and lay them side by side on the table. The brown belt that was found around John’s neck was noticeably longer. The holes still lined up, but the wear marks were at least five inches apart.

“This brown belt isn’t John’s. It’s from someone with a waist band that is at least five inches bigger.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t the belt have stretched from him hanging on it?”

Wolf looked close at the belt. “It’s not stretched at all,” he said. “There’s a thread pattern on the edges, those would be broken with significant stretching. There’s not one broken thread.”

“Okay, so what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that my brother was found on the ground in his apartment. Not hanging from the ceiling. The chandelier couldn’t hold his weight, there was irrefutable evidence of that. So you tell me which is more likely…

“One —  He borrowed someone else’s belt, or stole it for the purpose of hanging himself, did some cocaine, then hung himself with the belt. He hangs there until he is almost dead, kicks the chair out with a convulsion, which sets off a slow drop of the chandelier…but a perfectly timed drop…because the hanging has to kill him. Otherwise he would have just gotten up later with a bad bruise on his head. So, the chandelier stays hanging, just until he dies, then it falls within time to still bruise him after death. Because, like the pathologist said last night, bruising can occur for only a short period of time after death.

“Or, scenario two — Someone strangles him with the belt, probably in a fit of rage. In an effort to cover it up, he strings him, or rather, they string him, to the chandelier.”

“They?” Lia asked.

“There’s no way one man could hold his dead weight up and string the belt on the chandelier at the same time. It had to have been two people. So, they are trying to cover up the murder with a hanging. They string him up, and all goes wrong when the chandelier won’t hold him. He drops, the chandelier drops. It makes a very loud noise, and they freak out. They lock the door and turn out the lights. Cristina said she went downstairs and saw the lights were off underneath the door. John wouldn’t have hanged himself in the dark. That wouldn’t have made sense. The door was locked from the inside. Keys still in the top lock. So they had to be still in the apartment. They probably freaked out after the loud crash…probably didn’t want to go out the front door in case the neighbors came knocking to see what happened. So they turned off the lights and sat quiet. Then they heard the knock at the door. They had to leave some other way, like out John’s balcony along the rooftop next door. They couldn’t have left out the front door, the door was locked, and his keys were found in the apartment.”

Lia was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

He caught her expression and stopped talking.

“I think that there was another man’s belt found around his neck.” She used a slow controlled voice. “I believe that.”

“How do you explain that fact? How does he have a heavier man’s belt around his neck?” Wolf asked. “It’s not his belt.”

She looked at him. “I don’t know.”

Wolf stared wide eyed at the floor, envisioning the night with perfect clarity. Doubt stabbed his line of thought, and it began to waver, and swirl apart. “We need to go talk to an astronomer.” He walked out of the room.

They drove in silence for the twenty minute journey south. Wolf stared unblinking out the window. In his mind he was there the night of John’s death. What really happened? Is it conceivable John killed himself? Had he given up on life? He waits to become a mega successful blogger and author, only to end it all after snorting a bit of cocaine?

What if he actually had given up on life? Maybe his apparent successes to the outsider’s point of view were actually a hollow reminder to John of something John didn’t have in his life. What the hell that could have been, Wolf had no idea.

Wolf thought about a bitter Colorado mountain winter day in middle school when the school bully, Billy Tranchen, and his three buddies stole his brother John’s winter hat. John had slogged all the way home on foot that day, came in the house, grabbed a hat, went to Billy’s house, knocked on the door, asked his mother for Billy, then beat the crap out of him right there in front of his own mother, took the hat back, and left.

Wolf had marveled at that story for years to come, and never even spoke about it with him all but one time. John told him, “The guy had it coming.” And that was that. John Wolf was a tough, stubborn, hard nosed son-of-a-bitch, just like himself, and just like their dad.

Wolf laughed and shook his head, returning to the present moment.

“Look, David,” she said. “I am sorry. I know it must be so difficult to be going through this right now. I can’t imagine having to go through this with one of my brothers. If you say he didn’t kill himself and doesn’t do drugs, and…he was killed instead…then I believe you. We just have to have some very strong evidence to change the minds of those who have already opened and shut this case.”

He pursed his lips, “Let’s just go talk to this Matthew guy and see what we can find out.”

Chapter 18

The Merate observatory was three buildings and two telescope domes sitting on a small hill. Tall spindly pines and an iron fence topped with Roman spear-heads lined the entire perimeter, which looked to be about five or six acres in area. Dense foliage of all types filled in the property surrounding the structures within.

The European Union and Italian flag hung limp from the pole next to the wrought iron gate. Lia jerked off the main road in front of a slow approaching truck and leaned out the window to push the button in one move. A small sign said in English, “Osservatorio Astronomico Di Brera - European Astronomical Society.”

“Pronto?” A male voice crackled through the speaker.

“Caribinieri, possono parlare per un minuto con il dirretore di l’osservatorio?”

“Si, ehh, parla inglese?”

“Yes, I do,” Lia answered.

“Please pull up to the guest parking lot, and I will meet you outside.” The metallic sounding voice was a well mannered English accent.

Two lights flashed yellow as the gate swung jerkily open to the inside. Lia waited patiently, then shot through with precise timing to miss the side view mirrors with an inch to spare.

They parked and got out. Wolf had been studying the foliage of the area, and could only come to the conclusion that nature looked confused. There were palm trees, pine trees with long drooping limbs, stiff spiked trees with red flowers that looked like fruit, large leaved prehistoric looking bushes, pine trees you might see in Colorado, and a variety of exotic looking foliage he’d never seen. The lawn was lush green, full of grasses and thick stemmed wild flowers with tiny yellow and blue bulbs, and was at least a foot tall. One thing was certain, this area got a lot of rain. He noted the haze in the warm, moist air.

The surrounding area seemed densely populated — corn fields lined with dense pockets of apartment buildings and villas of all sizes, much like the entire whole of northern Italy he’d seen so far. Definitely not the best location for observing stars.

A tall, lanky man with thick glasses approached with clicking shoes. He was disheveled looking — pants too tight, too high, and one side of his collared golf shirt tucked in. It looked like he just got done using the bathroom and redressed in haste.

Wolf hoped that wasn’t the case as they shook hands.

“Hello, I’m Stephen Wembly,” he said with precise Queen’s English and a squint-eyed smile. “I’m the director of the observatory. What can I do the honor of helping you with today?”

Lia stepped forward and offered her hand. “Hello, we are looking for an astronomer named Matthew Rosenwald who works here.”

“Oh, yes. Well, he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him all week.”

“Do you mean, he hasn’t been to work all week?” Wolf asked. “Or you just work at different times?”

“I mean he hasn’t been in at all.” Deep lines formed on Wembly’s forehead. “Quite frankly I was wondering if something dreadful had occurred…has something…dreadful occurred? Oh my. Is that why you’re here?”

“We are very interested in talking with him,” Lia said.

“Well, we can go inside and I could get his phone number for you if you like?” he said. “He hasn’t been answering for me.”

“This is the Zeiss one meter telescope, installed in 1926.” They entered the large dome-ceilinged room. “Light pollution for this area is considerable nowadays, but the telescope will still be used for University of Milan students on clear nights. Otherwise the observatory complex is now a leader in x-ray optics development, and ground-based gamma-ray astronomy.”

The telescope was painted off white and lime green, the paint scheme of a Colorado nineteen fifties house.

Wembly stood beaming at the telescope for a few seconds, then seemed to snap out of his tour guide mode. “Ah, yes, sorry. This way please. I need to get my cell phone from my office.”

They followed closely behind Wembly. The rest of the building they were in was not large by any means outside of the main telescope dome room. Wolf counted five offices through the hall, some with open doors — name tags that read like an international phone book. Chang. Izhutin. Rosenwald. Egger. Vlad. Wembly had an office at the end of the hall and around a corner. There looked to be a similar wing in the opposite direction.

Lia got the number from Wembly and called Matthew.

“Dr. Rosenwald is our one and only representative from the southern hemisphere here at the observatory,” Wembly told Wolf, rocking on his heels.

Wolf heard movement from the Vlad office and glanced in that direction. The scientist was kicking the rubber door stop with his heel, trying to shut his door.

Lia was pointing to her phone with the universal no luck happening with this call facial expression, and Wembly read it.

“Vlad! These two are looking for Dr. Rosenwald. I was telling them about how he hasn’t shown up in the last few days.” Wembly turned to Wolf. “This is Dr. Vlad. He knows Dr. Rosenwald on a more personal basis.”

“Uhh, yes, I do not know where he is.” Vlad’s voice was raspy, like he hadn’t used it in a day or two. He cleared his throat for a few seconds.

Vlad was a short, large, and sweaty individual. His jet black facial hair was sporadic, denser on the neck, and had obviously been growing for at least a week. Whether or not he had showered within that same week was a toss-up. Looking at his shining greasy mass of black hair, Wolf would have bet not. His dark gray shirt had darker still finger lined grease stains, undoubtedly from eating the potato chips from the bag splayed on his desk which sat in front of four empty Coke Lite cans. He wore dirty jeans and flip flops. A hand wasn’t offered as introduction, and Wolf thanked Jesus for that.

“Have you talked to him this week at all?” Wolf asked.

“No, I have not.” He shook his head.

His accent sounded similar to Cristina’s. Romanian as well? Eastern European?

Vlad’s shifty eyes darted between Wolf’s clothing, the wall behind him, and Director Wembly. “I have not spoken to him all week.” His glance rested on Wolf’s eyes for a split second before jumping to the wall behind him again.

“So, you know Dr. Rosenwald on a personal basis? Do you guys spend a lot of time with each other?”

“We have gone to have a beer or two after work a few times before,” said Vlad.

“Have you met my brother before? His name is John Wolf?”

“Oh yes, I have.” Vlad’s voice was suddenly quiet.

“How did you meet him?”

“I believe he has, eh, come out with Matthew with us for a beer after work a time or two.” Vlad’s forehead was glistening with sweat. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m asking because my brother was killed this weekend, and I’m looking for Matthew for some answers.”

Vlad’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh, that’s terrible. I…”

“You what?” Wolf asked.

“I, I…that’s terrible. What happened?” He looked Wolf in the eye, then wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“He was killed in his apartment, and someone is trying to make it look like suicide.”

“Oh, wow…” Vlad looked down, shaking his head, which slid a bead of sweat off his nose onto the terrazzo floor. “That’s terrible. And you think Matthew has something to do with it?” He pulled his pants up and smoothed his shirt.

“That’s what we’re checking. Was there a particular bar you guys went to for beers?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah, well, no,” his face flushed red and his eyebrows raised for a split second.

“Did you guys ever used to go to the,” he fished the receipt out of his pocket, “Albastru Pub?”

Lia glanced at Wolf with a furrowed brow.

“Uh, yeah. We’ve been there before,” Vlad said.

“What were you doing Friday night?” Wolf put the receipt back in his jeans pocket.

“I was working in the office, actually,” he said. “I was here quite late on Friday night.”

“You weren’t with them at the pub getting a beer that night?”

“What? No.” He was excited now. “I was at work all night. I had a lot of work to catch up on.”

Wolf paused for a few seconds and stared unblinking. “Okay, thanks, Dr. Vlad. And you didn’t see Matthew or my brother at all this weekend?”

He shook his head, “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.”

“So what do you do here? Are you an astronomer as well?”

“Me? I, uh, I work for the European Astronomical Council, and I am overseeing the re-furbishing of the Zeiss telescope currently housed in this facility.”

“Vlad is a very important man in the world of astronomical equipment, Mr. Wolf,” Wembly said. “In any given month, a lot of astronomical equipment is exchanged between countries and continents, and Dr. Vlad has become the top man for the EAC to oversee its logistics. We are lucky to have him on site here.” Wembly wore a proud expression.

Vlad nodded his head with closed eyes and held up his hand.

Wolf took this as a deflection of an apparently shameless suck up maneuver from the director. Wolf nodded back to Vlad. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Cluj, Romania.”

“And what about Dr. Rosenwald? What does he do here?”

“He works on our Gamma-ray astronomy team with Dr. Chang there.” Wembly pointed toward the center of the building.

“Okay. Mr. Wembly —”

“Doctor Wembly…never mind, sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and squinted his eyes in apology.

“Dr. Wembly,” Wolf corrected, “how did he get to work? By car?”

“Yes, he drove a car.”

“And what is the make, model, and color of it?”

“It’s a, um…oh, you know better than I, Dr. Vlad. What did he drive?” Wembly asked.

Vlad was pulled from deep thought. “He drives a blue Fiat Panda.”

Wolf looked back to Dr. Wembly, “Do you mind if we question Dr. Chang? And can we please have Dr. Rosenwald’s address? Do you have that on file?”

“Yes, I believe I do. Let me fetch it for you.”

“Thanks, Dr. Vlad. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

Vlad stuck out his hand to shake. Wolf walked out the door.

Dr. Chang was in his office down the hall three doors, cradling a tea cup with both hands, looking intently at his computer screen.

“Dr. Chang?” Wolf knocked on the open door.

“Yes?” Dr. Change looked up through steamy glasses.

“You work with Mathew Rosenwald, correct?”

“Yes.” He put down his cup and turned to them.

“Have you seen him or heard from him in the last few days?” Lia asked.

“No, I have not.”

“Is that usual?” Wolf asked. “To not hear from him for days?”

Chang furrowed his brow and stood, crossing his arms. He wore a white lab coat unbuttoned and draped over his blue t-shirt and tight jeans. He wore large Buddy Holly style glasses that looked way too big for his face, and had tall spiky hair. “No, it is not usual. We usually keep in touch, and he has missed some important milestones for our work earlier this week, in fact.”

“And what is that work exactly?” Wolf asked.

“We were, uh,” he hesitated.

Wolf didn’t blink. “What’s the matter?”

“Well, I don’t know how to explain it, other than in a way that won’t make sense to you, I’m sure.”

“Try me.”

“We…we were shaping X-ray beams via deformable mirrors. We have been analytically computing the required mirror profile.”

Wolf looked blankly at Dr. Chang. “Do you have a relationship with Dr. Rosenwald outside the work place?”

“Uh, no. Not at all, actually,” he said pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if realizing it for the first time.

“Were you with him at the bar this weekend getting beers? Or did you see him this weekend?”

“Uh, no. Like I said, I didn’t ever socialize with Dr. Rosenwald outside of work.” He looked to Lia and Dr. Wembly. “What’s this all about?”

“Never mind. Thanks for your time Dr. Chang. If you hear from him, can you please call this number?” Wolf looked to Lia, and she gave a phone number.

They asked Dr. Wembly a few more questions and left mid morning with Dr. Rosenwald’s address in hand.

Chapter 19

“What was that all about with Dr. Chang?” She revved the RPM’s to pass two trucks. “Why were you pressing him about the work?”

“I wanted to ask him that question before asking him about Dr. Rosenwald. To see his reactions. He wasn’t hiding anything. Not like Dr. Vlad was. That guy was a comical liar. I’m surprised he didn’t start dry-heaving right in front of us.”

“Yes.” She smirked while cranking a particularly tight left turn. “I admit he was acting strange. And, where did you get that receipt?”

“I picked it up at the morgue.”

She stared at him for a moment then went wide-eyed. “You took that when you pretended to almost pass out!”

“I wasn’t pretending. I almost passed out.”

M. Rosenwald said the label next to the ever-present wrought iron gate outside of the apartment building. Lia pushed the button and waited.

“No answer.” Wolf smacked a mosquito on his neck.

The apartment was along the same wide river that dumped out of Lake Como, a few minutes’ drive to the north, halfway between the observatory and the city of Lecco. The building was large, containing thirty or more apartments, and built directly within a hollowed out section of a steep hill that sloped to the water.

“I don’t think he is home.”

Wolf bent forward. “Is there a building manager button?” He waged war on two more mosquitoes hovering around his ears.

“I don’t see one.” She shrugged.

“Okay, you do the talking.” Wolf pushed five buttons in quick succession.

She turned and gave Wolf a dirty look, hands on her slender hips.

“Pronto?”

“Pronto?” Two people answered almost simultaneously.

“Buon giorno. Siamo iCaribinieri. Lasciateci entrare?”

The gate buzzed and clicked open, then buzzed again.

“Okay, now let’s go get a closer look.” Wolf pushed through the gate.

“Is this how they do it in Colorado?”

“Nope. We don’t have fences like this where I come from.”

They climbed the stairs to Dr. Rosenwald’s floor and ran into a concerned looking old woman poking her head out the door.

She and Lia had a brief conversation.

“What did she say?”

“She hasn’t seen him.”

A knock at the door produced no response from inside, no sounds at all.

“Would you object to me picking this lock?” Wolf raised an eyebrow.

“I…could you do that?”

“I could. They don’t teach that here in your military?”

“I don’t remember learning that skill, no.” She smirked. “Well, in Italy, we do not need a warrant for drugs to search a person’s property. Since your brother had drugs in his system on the night of his death, and he was with this person on the night of his death…then, I don’t see any problem with us entering this apartment on suspicion of drugs.”

“Okay, good. I’m going to need some things — I need something that is long and thin metal, and I haven’t seen a lock like this in my life. I say let’s go to the old lady’s apartment and see what we can get there.” He turned to walk down the hallway.

Lia reached down and turned the door knob. With a soft click the door creaked open to the inside.

She swept her hand at the door. “They don’t teach that skill in the American military?”

“Huh. No I don’t remember learning that. Touché.” He stepped in.

The apartment was dimly lit. A corridor hallway inside the entrance was lined with a body length mirror and framed painting that looked to be Australian aboriginal art.

Two doors were closed on the right hand side and a brightly lit bigger room was at the end of the narrow hallway.

“Hello?” Wolf called into the apartment.

Lia flipped a light switch and the hall flooded with yellow light. She shut the door, suffocating all outside noise.

He caught the smell her breath as she turned toward him, and then the lavender scent of her hair. The apartment was completely silent save the gentle rustle of Lia’s clothing.

Wolf was aware he’d passed beyond the act of looking to staring. “I’ll check this door.” He turned and opened the nearest door, revealing Rosenwald’s bedroom. A queen sized bed lay un-made with two shirts strewn across it. A dirty clothes wicker basket was filled to the brim giving the room a musty body-odor smell. The screen-less window was open a crack, and Wolf felt another tiny sting and slapped his forearm.

A distant thunder rumbled outside, shaking the building deep. Light dimmed by the second. A mid-day thunderstorm was building outside somewhere within the haze.

“Pretty nice place!” Lia’s voice was somewhere else in the apartment. He left the room and followed her voice down the hall into a large living room that had vaulted ceilings. There were two massive windows set in an exposed brick wall that looked out on the river, filling the room with subdued natural light. The opposite wall was painted Italian-flag-green. From it hung a medium sized flat screen television. Australian landscape photography and paintings adorned the rest of the wall space. It was thoughtfully and tastefully designed with attention to detail. There was a leather couch, dark wood end tables and a kitchenette with a table where Lia was digging in a back pack.

“Notice the coffee table over there.” She nodded her head toward it.

Looking, Wolf saw a small pile of Euro coins, a few pieces of paper, and a tiny white bag. It looked like a bag of cocaine. He picked it up and looked closely. It looked and smelled like it at least.

“So, Matthew here is also using cocaine,” she said.

“I don’t think my brother was using cocaine.”

“Sorry.” She gave him a sideways glance. “What about what the coroner’s report?”

“It said there was residue on his nose. There weren’t any blood tests done.”

“True.”

He closed and pocketed the tiny bag and they began a thorough search of the apartment. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for a single male from Australia, living his life as a Gamma-ray astronomer in a foreign country. Other than the bag of coke that is. Receipts were strewn about on the kitchen counter, none giving any clues to anything but his diet, which consisted of a lot of vegetables from the local supermarket.

“There’s no phone. That reminds me, can we look at phone records for my brother and this guy? There may be some clues there. We should have the cell phone company ping his phone as well to see where it’s at, if there’s any charge left in it. Did it go straight to voice mail when you called it earlier?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Okay, that says something. He’s not charging his phone. Maybe he knows someone could trace his phone if he charged it. Maybe he’s running. I don’t see his car keys anywhere. What about his passport? I haven’t seen one, have you?”

“No.” She looked around with her hands out.

“Okay, so he has his passport also. Can we trace movement with his passport?”

“Probably not. At least, it’s not easy. Schengen rules allow free travel between most European countries. Most countries don’t even have electronic passport control of any kind. There will be a guard, and he will look at the passport, and done.” She swiped her hands together as if wiping off crumbs. “We can check of course, but it is very difficult to trace by passport now. We can check his credit cards and cell phone.”

“You have a person in the Caribinieri that does all this stuff?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “there is a guy who does all this stuff. He is the technical genius of the office.”

A close thunder rumbled long and slow, followed by a deluge of rain drops hitting the roof and windows.

“We’ll have him check on Dr. Rosenwald’s car as well,” she said. “He can get the registration.”

“I wonder if he could hack into my brother’s computer at the same time.”

“If it can be done, he will be able to do it.”

I’d also like to take a thorough look at the police report, or whatever you call it here in Italy,” he said. “All after we go to the Albastru Pub.”

“Is that all?” She looked at him facetiously.

“I hope that’s all. Yeah.”

A white flash of lightning lit the interior of the apartment, followed by a deafening boom that rolled into the distance.

Chapter 20

Lia cut a chunk off her Margherita pizza. “So, what’s it like in Colorado?”

“It’s a beautiful state. There aren’t nearly as many people as here, at least where I come from, in the mountains. Some days you’ll see more animals than other people. I love it.”

They sat inside a crowded pizzeria along the river while it poured rain outside. Pizza and cokes and water were served — much needed fuel.

“Have you been there your whole life?”

“Most of it. I was in the military for a number of years right out of high school, then I returned.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Where did you serve?”

“I was stationed in Washington.”

“Where did you go?”

He laughed at her intense interest. “Pacific Rim. Mostly Asia and Australia.”

“Oh, wow. That must have been amazing.” She shook her head and sipped her Coke. “Did you see any action?”

“Nah, not much,” he lied. “I was lucky. Just a nice tour of the world.”

She stared at nothing for a beat, then shook her head sharply. “What is your position on the police force there?”

“I’m a…Sergeant”

“Is that a bad subject or something?”

“Well, it’s an interesting time for my career at the moment. There’s a possibility I’ll be appointed to Sheriff on Monday.”

Her eyebrows raised high. “Really? Monday? Wow, congratulations?”

“Yeah, not congratulations yet.”

They sat in silence as he swilled another small glass of water. “That’s if a few things go right, of course.”

“What do you mean? Do you not have the job already?”

“No, I don’t. I have to be appointed by the Town Council, which means I have to be unanimously chosen by all of the members.”

“Yes…and?”

“Well, I hurt a guy pretty bad before I left, and his father happens to be on the Town Council.”

“Uh oh.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “And you are a bit worried?”

“Well, yeah. They could be persuaded to vote for another person as Sheriff instead. Because of what I did.”

“Oh, okay. So, is there another candidate for the job?”

“Yes,” he said. “The guy I hurt pretty bad before I left.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Ah, I get it,” she said. “He may try to convince the others to vote for his son, especially since you just hurt his son. Also, of course there is the matter of your brother here, which you want to make sure is taken care of before you go home.”

They both resumed eating.

She paused. “So, you think that that Town Council member would have voted for you before you hurt his son? I’m confused.”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s confusing as all hell. But, yes. He probably would have voted for me over his own son. That’s probably the reason his son and I got into it the other day.”

She nodded her head as if all was crystal clear, and then she finished her last bite and wiped her mouth. “Alright. So let’s figure this whole mess out soon so you can bring your brother home and go win your job.”

He liked this girl.

Chapter 21

Lia parked the Alfa Romeo right in front of the Albastru Pub, which sat in a piazza that looked otherwise restricted to vehicle traffic.

The pub had a large dark wooden sign with hand carved lettering above the front door, with a blue, yellow, and red square flag hanging from a pole above it. A single deciduous tree grew thick from a small brick square in front.

“Romanian.” Lia pointed at the sign as they got out, answering Wolf’s forthcoming question.

They entered the pub, Wolf noting the nautical-looking clock on the wall that said 2:10 pm. It looked like the bottom rung customers were there at the moment — a few older men slumping over a yellow beer or a brownish clear liquor in their squat glasses. Punk rock music Wolf didn’t recognize buzzed softly from out of the large wall mounted speakers. Two muted televisions showed the same channel, a sports highlight show.

No one was behind the bar, nor was there any indicator bell or anything to telegraph their entrance.

Lia took off her hat. “Buon giorno!”

A thin face with buggy cobalt eyes peaked around the corner from a surprisingly tall height — higher than Wolf’s eye line.

Almost imperceptibly, the eyes widened, then a stringy arm appeared holding up a finger, “Buon giorno! Un momento per favore,” the second half of the sentence retreating away from them. There was a fast clipped conversation just audible over the music somewhere in the back, a door closing, and then the man returned.

He was tall. What Wolf thought to be a man standing on a step stool and peaking around a corner was in fact a man that stood a few inches taller than Wolf’s six foot three height. His head was shaved on the sides all the way to the skin, with tapered ridged spiked on the very top with copious amounts of gel, giving the illusion of even more height. His ears protruded from the side of his head like two open car doors. He had a large nose, with a tight small mouth below it where white spittle had built up on the corners. A gold necklace jostled around his neck, well displayed on his bared chest above his mostly unbuttoned white silk shirt. He hurried over.

“Ciao, sono Cezar,” he extended a huge hand across the bar to Wolf.

A pattern of five dots in between his right forefinger and thumb caught Wolf’s eye as they shook, like a five on a dice. He’d seen the tattoo countless times. All on bad people.

Wolf shook. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes, I speak English, why?” The faint sound of a car engine fired up toward the back of the building, revved, and gradually faded.

“Because I’m from America. I’m Wolf.”

“Wolf! What is that, German?”

“No, actually it’s not,” he said. “Do you mind answering a few questions for us?”

“Of course I do not mind! I’m Cezar.” He slumped down on his elbows giving Wolf his undivided attention. “How can I help you?”

Cezar blinked long and hard while turning his mouth downward, ending the move with a hard sniff. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Marlboro’s in a black box, a type Wolf didn’t recognize ever seeing. He pointed the box in Wolf’s direction. “Would you like one?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Wolf forced himself to say. He held up his brother’s driver’s license. “I need to know if you’ve ever seen this man before.”

Lia cleared her throat next to him.

Cezar paused a pulse with a blank look. “Yes! I know this guy. He and his friend come in sometimes.”

Wolf pulled the license back and Cezar pulled out his cell phone, apparently all his undivided attention used up.

“You own this place?” Wolf asked.

“Yeah, it’s mine, all mine.” He raised his arms out showing off his pterodactyl wing span.

Lia stepped forward and put her elbow on the bar. “Did you happen to see him this weekend? On Friday night?”

Cezar paused for a few seconds swiping his finger on his phone.

“Cezar?” Lia reached across and put her hand over his phone screen.

Cezar inhaled a sharp breath and burned a look at Lia. He blinked hard and sniffed, eyes transformed to a cool gaze as he opened them again. “I don’t think so, I normally remember everyone who comes in, and I don’t remember seeing him that night.”

Wolf pulled out the receipt and laid it on the bar counter.

Cezar glanced at it, then back to his phone. “He might have been in here, I don’t know. It was pretty busy that night.”

“This is my brother’s receipt from that night —”

“Yeah, I get it. Look, I didn’t see him that night, okay? Sorry to disappoint you.” He stared with a sad look on his face, head tilted to the side. A shrug was added for good measure.

“Yeah. Okay.” Wolf stared icily. “Hey, you have a bathroom in that back room I can use?” He looked over Cezar’s shoulder to the back hallway.

His eyelids drooped lazily as he pointed to the far wall. “The toilet is over there.”

Wolf stood still, returning his unblinking glare to Cezar.

Cezar held up his arms in a defensive gesture, a vaudeville look of fear twisting his face, then laughed through his bean-toothed smile.

Wolf opened the car door. “He knows something.”

“That guy is creepy.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Lia’s phone trilled loudly, and she talked for a minute.

“Valerio is going to meet us at the station with the police report. Let’s go pick up your brother’s computer and head down there.”

Chapter 22

Wolf followed Lia into the Caribinieri station. She darted up the stairs to the left without a glance to the chaos below, which Wolf saw had escalated to biblical status.

Upstairs was light and smelled refreshing after the mid day rains. The lake in the distance was white capped once again, more aquatic boarders riding the winds back and forth across the vast expanse. He shook his head looking back at the stairway, like it was a wormhole into another universe..

The room bustled with activity, officers on phones, paperwork being shuffled from desk to desk, paperwork that wasn’t anchored down blowing off of desks. Colonnello Marino’s room to the right was closed, a booming voice rumbling from within. Detective Rossi stood up from behind a desk off to the left and greeted them with a nod of his head and wave over.

“How are things coming along, David?” Rossi folded his arms and furrowed his brow.

“There have been some developments for sure.” He looked to Lia, who sat comfortably on the edge of Rossi’s desk. “We found that the belt around my brother’s neck was not his own belt.”

“What do you mean?”

Wolf explained the length of the belt and how it couldn’t have been stretched.

“About your brother, I am working on getting all this paperwork done to release him and his belongings as fast as possible. And did you find this friend he was out with the night before?”

“No, we just went to his place of work and his apartment, and no luck at either place. It looks like he’s been missing for the same amount of time as my brother. Or, at least he hasn’t shown up for work all week.”

“Interesting again.” Rossi raised an eyebrow. He waved them to the chairs in front of his desk and sat back down. Wolf sat gratefully and stole another glance out to the shimmering water behind Rossi. His desk was amongst many others in a vast main room, a mid 1990s looking computer perched on his desk.

Rossi pushed a manila folder over to Wolf. “Here is a copy of the police report. If you would please not let Marino know that I gave you that, it would be much appreciated.”

“All right.” Wolf took the folder and put it on his lap. He looked around the room, noticing the piles of paper on each desk. It seemed mountainous compared to what he was used to. Every single person at a desk was dealing with paperwork, or holding a piece of paperwork while on the phone, or handing a stack of paperwork to someone else.

Rossi seemed to sense his curiosity. “What?”

“Oh, I was just noting the vast amounts of paperwork on everyone’s desk. I thought we had it bad in Colorado.”

Rossi and Lia laughed. “Really? This is a lot of paperwork?”

Wolf nodded. “Yes. This is a lot of paperwork.”

They laughed like school children at the observation, Rossi slapping his hand on the desk. “Paperwork is in the DNA of all Italians. We are born with paperwork in our hands.”

Rossi leaned forward and furrowed his brow, as if remembering the sober reality of Wolf’s visit, “David, all that paperwork is the reason it can take a lot of time. But I’ve been keeping on top of your brother’s release papers. They are sitting on Marino’s desk now for final approval. In the meantime, I see you have your brother’s computer?”

“Yep.” Wolf nodded. “I can’t get into it. I was hoping to get your guy to help me.”

“Good, give it to Paulo. He will be able to help you. If he can help me with this pig,” he slapped the side of his dirty cream-colored desk top monitor, “then he can help you with a brand new computer like that!”

“I hope,” Wolf said.

Chapter 23

“Porco miseria.” Lia plucked a slip of paper off her desk. “I have to go see Colonnello Marino. Let me get you started with Paulo.”

“Ciao!” Paulo stood peaking over the two giant monitors on his desk.

Wolf estimated his age at about fifteen years old, but then again he wasn’t good at estimating ages past twelve years old, Jack’s current age.

Paulo was dressed in plain clothes, wearing a black t-shirt that had two 1950s style American hot rods smashing into each other. His jeans were faded, baggy in the mid section and skin tight in the legs, a popular look Wolf had noticed propagating with the youth of today’s Italy. He wore thick red plastic framed glasses and had a faux-hawk hair-do. Silver rings on three fingers and a bright red plastic watch adorned his arm extended to shake Wolf’s hand. It was a firm hand shake with solid eye contact.

“Piachere.”

“Hello. Uh, do you speak English?” Wolf asked.

“Yes, yes! I am a, not very good,” he said in an impressive American accent. “But, I learned in University.”

“Great,” Wolf wondered if college for Paulo was done pre or post puberty.

“Well, what’s up?” Paulo pointed at the computer bag slung on his shoulder.

“I would like to get into this computer, but I don’t have my brother’s password.” Wolf wore a pained expression as he pulled out the thin Macintosh laptop.

“Pfffffffft, okay.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

“Yes, no problem.”

Lia looked satisfied. “Paulo can do anything with computers, and programming, and the internet, and, all things that confuse the rest of us.”

Paulo was blushing ferociously but tilting his head back proudly. He opened the computer and pushed a few buttons simultaneously, his attention unwavering from Lia.

“He’ll take care of you,” she said slapping his back. “I have to go talk to Marino, I will be back, hopefully soon.”

Wolf looked around. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll be here.”

Lia walked away back across the room and down the hall. Wolf caught himself staring and turned quickly to what was happening with Paulo, who was now standing at his desk staring intently at Lia leaving the room.

“Mmmmmadonna.” Paulo breathed the words, turning to Wolf with a conspiratorial look. “She is beautiful, eh?”

“Yes, she is,” Wolf agreed with a resigned smile. “Okay, what’s happening?”

“Oh, yes, you can pull up that chair there. I am going to create another administrator account on the computer. It takes a few minutes. Then I can go in and access all the files.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

Wolf waited and watched Paulo work his magic with the computer. The computer screen looked to be displaying lines of code — a site Wolf was completely unfamiliar with. He felt proficient enough with a computer, but he was watching a master mechanic rip the hood off of a car and dig into the engine. A tweak here, a command there, and a few minutes later they were inside the computer with a normal view Wolf was more accustomed to.

“Okay, I’ve created a new admin account, and changed the password to your brother’s account, allowing me to log in as him. I’m going to fire up a few of his programs. Otherwise, what would you like to do?”

“I’d like to look at his documents, I guess.”

Paulo worked for a few minutes, opening windows and programs. “Well, wait a minute, this is interesting.” Paulo was looking in the Skype program.

“Why?”

“Well, you haven’t had the computer on at all since you got here? Obviously not…never mind.”

“No, I haven’t. It was closed when I found it in my brother’s room and tried to hack into it last night. Well, I tried a couple passwords and gave up, then just left it to charge.”

“Okay, okay. Well, there are messages on Skype from a person on Tuesday.”

“Okay,” Wolf said expectantly, “and what does that mean? I really have little experience with Skype. My brother was always trying to get me to use it, but I just ended up talking to him on the phone.”

“Well, okay. Look here.” He pointed towards the little logo on the bottom of the screen. “If there was someone who was trying to get hold of your brother with some messaging on Skype, say, on Tuesday…then I would have just logged into his account and a bubble would have shown up on the icon showing how many messages he had missed since he last logged in.”

“Okay.”

“But there was no bubble that popped up on the icon.” Paolo was tilting his head with wide eyes. “But, if I go into his account and look at his recent conversations here on the left, look what someone is saying to him.”

--Hey man, you there?  09/18/12  9:12 PM

--What’s happening? Are we doing this interview or what? Let me know… 09/18/12  9:53 PM

—You okay? You there?  09/18/12  10:09 PM

Wolf felt his face getting red. He couldn’t see the significance of what Paulo was saying to him, and Paulo sensed it.

“So, the most important part is here. Look at the date these messages were sent. This was Tuesday, September, 18th, three days after your brother’s death, at 9:12 PM local time…or, how many hours behind is Colorado?”

“Eight.”

“Okay, so that means between 1 and 2 PM in the afternoon your time, someone was trying to get hold of him, looks like for an interview. But he wasn’t answering. However, Skype is telling us these messages have already been looked at, because there was no indication on the icon that there were unread messages!”

“Which means someone was on the computer looking at these messages at some point before we just looked at them, otherwise there would have been unread messages.” Wolf was finally getting the significance. He sat back hard in his chair, putting his hands on his head, Paulo following his gesture.

“Exactly,” Paulo said. “Someone has opened this computer and looked at Skype in the last few days, after your brother’s death. So, what do you think they were looking for on this computer?”

“I honestly have no clue,” Wolf said. “Can you somehow tell? Can you see what they did on it?”

“No, not unless I had pre-loaded key-stroke recognition software on his computer. But, we can infer some things, just like we did now.”

“They probably got on the computer to erase something, right?”

Paulo raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Okay, let me check. It’s actually more difficult than people think to erase all evidence of a file off of a computer. We’ll see if this hacker knew more than just the log-on-trick, which is actually very basic.” He rolled his eyes as he dove back onto the keyboard in a flurry.

Paulo’s fingers were a blur entering commands on the screen. Wolf marveled at the strange sequence of letters, numbers and punctuation this wunderkind was commanding at mach speed.

“Ahhhh.” Paulo had a pained expression. “Well, either they cleaned it completely, or they simply didn’t erase anything. There’s no trace of any files that were recently erased to be found. It’s more likely they didn’t erase anything.”

Lia came around the corner and walked to the desk. She looked pained, avoiding eye contact with Wolf. “So, any luck?”

Wolf gestured to the laptop “We’re in, and we’ve seen that someone else has been looking at the computer in the last couple days.”

“Really?” She leaned forward with interest.

“Yeah. According to Paulo, these Skype messages tell us that someone was on the computer sometime Tuesday night or later.”

She came around and looked at the screen from behind. “Ma-donna. What else?”

“Well, we can’t find any indication that anyone erased anything. We have to get online and do some work. Your brother was what, a blogger?”

“Yes,” Wolf answered.

“Okay, he probably did things more online than off. What’s his email address? A gmail account?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. Give me a few things, and I’ll do some work. I want your email address, his email address, his blog name, your Facebook account login…you do have a Facebook account, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He squirmed. “I don’t remember how I log in, though.”

Lia smiled at his obvious discomfort.

Paulo ended up just shooing them away after he got the blog URL.

“How was your talk with Marino?” Wolf asked quietly.

She avoided eye contact. “It was fine.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” he said. They stood in silence, Lia obviously in deep thought about something.

Wolf left her to her thoughts and went to the window. Leafing through the police report, his stomach sank a few inches. It was all in Italian. Of course. There was going to be a lot of translating. And things were always lost in translation.

“Twitter! Haha!”

Wolf looked to Paulo who was holding up his arms in triumph.

Wolf shoved the papers back in the folder and joined Lia at Paulo’s desk.

“I went into your brother’s gmail account. It was simple enough, all you have to do is type the first letter of his email address and the web browser remembers his username and password. Good for us, but the bad news is someone else already did this. Looks like someone from your brother’s IP address logged into his gmail account and erased a few messages on Tuesday night at 11:37 PM.

“So, the question is, what is this guy erasing on his gmail account? So I went onto your brother’s blog, thinking there might be a hint there. I didn’t see anything of any use on his blog. It looks like he hasn’t done a blog post in a couple weeks. He has a different contact email address on his blog. He runs it through gmail as well, so I checked that email account. Nothing there either. They could have erased some stuff there. I could probably hack into his blog, but…well, let me move on.

“I checked his Facebook account through his blog. It looks like there wasn’t any activity on there. But, that could have been erased also. The login and password information was, again, stored in the browser settings.

“But, Twitter!” His eyes lit up. “It looks like he tweets a lot. A lot. Your brother was a pretty big deal online I take it. He has 72,839 followers on his account and he’s following 320 people.”

Wolf shook his head with eyebrows raised.

“Right. Well, the point is, that shows that he has a pretty popular Twitter account with a lot of clout. Basically, he has 72,000 fans listening to his every word. So anyways, I logged into his Twitter account at ‘JohnWolf12345,’ again with the browser settings. Again, someone did the same thing removing some Tweets.

“But you can’t just erase Tweets from the web. Especially if you have 72k followers! Because, when he Tweets things, 72,839 people see it. Some of those people will ‘re-tweet’ those things to their followers, or reply to his tweets. And on the night of your brother’s death, it looks like he tweeted a couple things that people re-tweeted immediately and replied to. So, whoever logged into his Twitter account undoubtedly realized they couldn’t erase all evidence of his tweets that night.”

“So, what did he tweet that night?” Wolf asked.

Paulo pointed his finger at the screen.

“I found references to two Tweets that tell a story about what he was doing that night. You can see the first tweet talking about how he is going to the pub with an Aussie friend. A few people told him to have one for them, and to have a fun time, conversing with his Tweet. Then you can see this second tweet that people are retweeting and responding to, talking about seeing Jupiter. It looks like he posted a picture from his cell phone of Jupiter, and of a telescope. He must have put the camera up to the eye-piece of the telescope.”

“Can you show me those pictures?”

A picture of his brother popped up. He was leaning up against a lime green and white telescope. He smiled big, mouth slightly open with his head tilted back, looking to be in the throes of a good laugh.

“These are the same clothes he wore the night he was killed,” Wolf said. “He was there at the observatory that night.”

There were no mud stains on the knees of his jeans. Not yet.

“It looks like there were responses to it on Friday night at around 11:30. Looks like the original tweet was at 11:17 PM.”

“He was at the observatory Friday night at 11:17.” Wolf stared at the screen and shook his head. “How about phone records? Can we get access to both John’s and Matthew Rosenwald’s phone records to see what they said that night? Or earlier in the week as well? We also need to find his car.”

Paulo sat back and looked at them. “Yes, I’ll call the phone companies to get the records next, and I’ll see if I can get a triangulation of where his phone is at. I’ll check credit card activity for both of them as well. I’ll look up the car registration too. These things could take the rest of the day into tomorrow. But I’ll get cracking on it right now.”

“Give me a call when you have more information.” Lia walked to the front of his desk and leaned both hands on it.

Paulo lit up. “Of course I will, Mi Amore!” He added a quick sentence in Italian that caused Lia to roll her eyes.

“Shall we go?” she asked Wolf.

“Sure. I think we need to go back to the observatory.”

Lia bit her lip and looked at her watch. “It’s just after 5:00 pm, what are the chances he’s still there?”

“He seems to be a late worker. I’d say pretty good.”

Chapter 24

Walking out of the main room, a voice from behind called out, “Lia, David!” Rossi put his phone to his ear, said a quick goodbye to someone, and waved them over. “What are you guys doing?”

They explained the situation to Rossi as quickly as possible. He stopped them numerous times, asking them to expand on points, and go over others again before egging them on for more details. After a few minutes, he looked to Wolf with folded arms and a furrowed brow. “Okay, so what are you going to do at the observatory?”

Wolf was taken aback by the question, “Well, we’re going to get the real story from this son of a bitch, Vlad. He’s obviously hiding something from us about Friday night.”

“What did you and Marino just talk about, Lia?”

“Uh, he was wondering about what was happening.” She glanced at Wolf, then the desk.

“And?” Rossi asked.

“He said…he said that David’s brother would be released tomorrow, and he wanted him out of the picture.” She was pointing at Wolf.

Wolf stood still, not reacting.

“David,” Rossi glanced to Marino’s closed door, “we have to be careful about your next moves. Your brother is released tomorrow, that means you can get the belt with the belongings, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Wolf said. “When will the body be released?”

“Marino said first thing in the morning,” Lia said. “Then he wants to talk to you after that, to try and persuade you to go home…cooperatively.”

“I’ll go home cooperatively when I find out who killed my brother. And it’s looking like Vlad had a hand in this whole thing.”

“David, let me finish.” Rossi put his hand on Wolf’s shoulder and stepped closer. “Marino has pressure from higher ranking officials to make this situation go away. They don’t like that a police force from another country is coming in and helping with a closed investigation. I know that is not what is happening,” he said quickly, “I’m just telling you what Marino must be thinking about right now behind that closed door. It’s important that we do this right. Right now you have the testimony from a worker at an observatory that he didn’t see your brother the night of his death. That’s it. He could be telling the truth, he could have been locked in his office the entire night, never seeing a single soul outside of his office. However, if you had the belt, and we could show that it was Vlad’s somehow, then we actually have a piece of evidence. Or we need to find Matthew, which Paulo is working on right now, like you said. But right now, you are just risking some sort of ugly international incident if you go over there right now.”

Wolf took a deep inhale and pushed it out loudly. “So what do you propose I do instead?”

“Eat,” he said with zero hesitation.

“What?”

Rossi touched both of them on the arm, “You and Lia come to my house, this second, and have an excellent meal with my family. We will talk this out, on full stomachs!”

Wolf stared at Rossi’s motionless bug eyes and broke a smile. He looked to Lia, who seemed all on board with the idea, then nodded his head. “All right. That sounds good, I guess.”

“Oh-kay!” Rossi pulled his coat off his desk chair. “Now let’s get the hell out of here before Marino’s office opens.” He marched between them and down the hallway as fast as he could.

Chapter 25

Two miles into the tunnel, Wolf’s back pressed into the seat letting him know they were gaining altitude at a good rate. He leaned discretely, keeping a white-knuckle grip on the Jesus-bar, to grab a glimpse of Lia’s dashboard gauges.

No more than five car lengths behind Rossi, she was doing one hundred sixty kilometers per hour, a straight one hundred miles per hour. Wolf thanked Rossi for the nice round number, then held his breath and as they blew past another train of cars as if they were standing still.

They slowed to breathable speed as a series of flashing signs indicated a sharp turn, which turned out to be the end of the tunnel. The view was stunning, looking down on Lecco from what was at least a thousand feet up the steep Alpine mountain. They continued onward and upward for another few minutes.

Wolf craned his head to see the distant valley floor through the trees as they weaved through small traffic circles and switchback streets. “This seems to be far from town, and a really nice area.”

“Yes, they moved here a few years ago, when Valerio’s father died. He and his family were left an inheritance, and they didn’t hesitate to move to this nicer area. You’ll see his house. It’s quite beautiful.”

Wolf couldn’t help but think for a moment about his own father’s death, and how it had caused quite the opposite effect on his own family.

They pulled up to a bush lined property and waited. Gate lights flashed while it slowly swung inwards.

A dog pranced with wagging tail in front of Rossi’s Alfa Romeo, and Wolf sucked in a breath as Rossi pulled in, pushing it aside with the bumper of his car.

Stepping out of the car, Wolf noticed the air was crisp and clean, smelled of pinesap, and was a noticeable cooler temperature. As they rounded the side of the house to the entrance they looked straight down on the city below. Lecco sprawled like a model city on a gleaming Lake Como. It was so steep it looked like he could run and jump, and land smack in the middle of the lake below.

The yard of the house was perfectly manicured, surprisingly flat for how steep the surrounding area looked. The stucco concrete house was one story in front, with a walk out bottom level to a stone patio, where two boys were playing soccer below.

“Ciao ragazzi!” Rossi bent over the railing, then yanked the door to the side entrance.

“Ciao!”

“Ciao, Daddy!”

Inside, a male Italian singer was belting out high vibrato notes from a loud speaker system. Perfectly cooked Italian food smells saturated the moist air inside. A slightly disheveled looking woman wiped her hands and kissed Valerio quickly, then gave a loud welcome to Lia as they kissed each other’s cheeks.

“Ciao, sono Maria.” She extended a hand to Wolf.

“Ciao,” he said. “I’m David.”

“Nize-a to meet you,” she laughed. “I am terrible Eenglish.” She pointed to herself with a red faced smile.

“Not as bad as my Italian.”

Rossi’s home office had dark green ceramic tiles on the floor, and color photos of vineyards adorning the bright yellow stucco walls. Rossi turned on the tall floor lamp and ripped open the shades, revealing the view below. The sky outside was now a dark orange, high white-stoned peaks gleaned, and the city below speckled with lights. Rossi plopped down at the dark wood desk, fired up Skype, and showed Wolf how to use it.

Rossi opened the door, letting in the loud music from the rest of the house, “Take your time. We’ll be having apperitivo.”

Wolf picked up the headset and took a seat. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

“Oh thank God. What’s going on over there?”

“Well, I’m just taking care of everything. Getting John on a plane home.”

She paused. “So?”

“Well, I really haven’t got any news yet, Mom. I just wanted to check on how you were doing. Is everything okay?”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him.”

A rustling sound filled the headset. “How did he look?”

“He looked good. What…how’s it going? Has Nate checked on you?”

“Yes, he was here last night. He made me dinner.” She sniffed. “Then I will probably go to dinner over there tonight.”

“Oh, good.”

And so it went.  Hey, I don’t think John killed himself, and I’m going to find the son of a bitch that murdered him. Wolf didn’t say those words. They were well implied. The Wolf family was always more interested in results and actions, not talk.

They squirmed their way through a few more minutes of long silences and said their goodbyes. He would check in later. He would let her know what was going on.

He called Jack and left a message, disappointed, but thankful he wasn’t answering his “emergency cellphone” in class.

He dialed another number. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Wolf.”

“Hey,” Nate said. “I was wondering what this random phone number was. I hoped it was you. How’s it going over there? You find anything out?”

“Well, maybe. It’s taking some time. There’s definitely something going on that doesn’t look right.”

“Jesus, really? What’s happening?”

“Ah, I can’t talk about it now. I think we’ll find out some more stuff tomorrow though. Anyways, I talked to my mom. She says you made her dinner last night. Thanks for that.”

“Of course, man.”

“I just wanted to know if you’ve been keeping an eye on Jack? Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, he’s been here every day this week with Brian. He seems good. He keeps asking about you. Have you talked to him?”

“No, not since I left. I finally got a chance to use Skype just now. Tell him I’ll be home Sunday, and I’ll see him then, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem,” he said. “I’ve been checking on things. I took him home yesterday, even though he had his bike. I insisted I drive him home. I went in and said hey to Sarah. She looked okay. Didn’t look strung out or anything. Nobody was at the house except for her. Apparently her parents were out and about doing something. Otherwise I’ve driven by the house four times. Nothing seems to be happening. But —” He stopped.

“But what?”

“Well, I saw her with a guy in town walking around yesterday. They weren’t with Jack, he was over here. But anyways, the guy looked, like, normal looking. Not like a junky. Had all his teeth and respectfully dressed and shit.”

“Yeah, I know. I talked to him before I left.”

“Yeah? Well so did I,” Nate said. “I introduced myself.”

Wolf smiled. “Introduced yourself?”

“Well, yeah. I kind of pulled him aside and talked to him a bit.”

Wolf put his head in his hands and laughed silently.

“What?”

“Nothing. What did you say to him?”

“I just told him to keep his hands off Jack, or I’d kill him.”

Wolf smiled wide, thinking of Nate’s tough-man face.

“What?”

“Nothing, man. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He sounded proud. “You coming back Sunday? There’s a lot of talk around town. Apparently Dickhead is trying to make it sound like you jumped him the other day. I talked to Rachette yesterday.”

Wolf wiped his hands down his face, pulse quickening. “All right man, well, thanks. I’ve gotta make some more calls.”

“All right. I’ve got everything covered with your family here. Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just get the guy.”

“Thanks. I’m workin’ on it.”

“Rocky Points Sheriff’s Department.” The connection was garbled, but it didn’t sound like Burton.

Wolf wondered if he dialed the wrong number. He thought he dialed the Sheriff’s direct line. He looked at the screen and saw he dialed correctly.

“Sheriff Burton please.”

There was a long drawn out pause. “Who’s calling?” Who’s callink. The call reception went back to fine. It was Connell, sounding like he had a nose plugged with gauze.

Wolf gritted his teeth. “It’s me. Where’s Burton? What are you doing answering his personal line?”

“Just covering for him for a bit, we’re a bit short handed with officers skipping town and whatnot.”

Wolf paused for five seconds. “You telling people I jumped you, Derek?”

“I’m just telling people what happened, Sergeant Wolf,” he said. “Doesn’t look too good what you did to me, then skipping town right before the Sheriff appointment. Not too good for you at least.”

Wolf sat silent.

Connell gave a quiet chuckle, “Damn good timing for brother John, though. I tell you what,” he said. “Aaaaaaanyways, have fun over there. I hope you enjoy your vacation.”

With a sploosh sound the Skype session ended. Wolf stared at the screen and ripped off the head set. He stood and flexed every muscle in his body as hard as he could, hissing through his clenched teeth.

Dinner turned out to be a needed distraction, and some of the best food he’d tasted in his life. Valerio and Maria Rossi’s two boys seemed like good kids, despite Wolf not understanding a word they said.

It was fascinating to observe the foreign tongue and animated gestures. They would all laugh, and Lia would stop to translate, and then he would laugh, well after the magic of the moment. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the company.

“Lia used to try to be one of the boys,” Rossi explained. “We would be playing soccer as you Americans call it, or calcio as we call it, and she would insist to play all the time.”

Lia was concentrating on her meal with a quickly ripening face.

“She, of course, was better than everyone,” he said. “Except me!”

Lia kept her gaze on her food.

“No, she really was. All the boys were so confused by her. Here is this beautiful young girl who wanted desperately to kick their butts at every chance she could get.”

Lia jutted her head forward. “I didn’t want to kick anyone’s butts. I just wanted to be treated like everyone else.”

“It is the same today. She is one of the best soldiers we have in the Caribinieri. The boys are confused by her once again.”

“They are not confused, they are…” She looked back at her meal and resumed eating. Tension fell on the table, and everyone ate in silence for a good ten seconds.

“They are confused.” Rossi used a quiet tone. “They don’t know what to do with such a talented, beautiful, strong, and vicious young woman. You have already been recognized for your talents. We have a saying in Italy,” Rossi looked to Wolf, “‘Il tempo viene per chi sa aspettare’ — which means ‘All things come to those who wait.’ Isn’t that right, David?”

“In a perfect world, I guess.”

Rossi studied his expression. “What is your job at home? Are you an officer? A captain? How do you say?”

“I’m a Sergeant. In our town we have Officers, Sergeants, then the Sheriff.”

“Do you wish to be Sheriff some day?”

“My father was the Sheriff of the town I live in when I was growing up.” Wolf took a deep breath and rolled some spaghetti. “I would very much like to be Sheriff.”

The table went quiet again.

“I, too, lost my father,” Rossi whispered. “A few years ago. It was his time. He had a long life. Obviously your father was taken from you at a younger age than I. It must have been very difficult.”

Wolf nodded. “I’m sorry about your father,” he deflected. “I heard about it from Lia on the way up here.” He stopped himself, suddenly self conscious of he and Lia’s conversation on the way up. Like they had gone behind his back in some way.

“Yes. My father was a good, hard working man. At least that’s the way I remember him. He and my mother split when I was a child. He helped my brother’s family and my family tremendously after his death. We had no idea that he had amassed such a wealth over the course of his life. He never taught us about how to invest or save the way he did, he just quietly did it for his entire life. It was a surprise for the entire family to get such a large inheritance.” He raised his hands and looked around. “It gave us this. And gave my brother a place to call his own in Liguria as well.”

His eyes glistened as he pushed his pasta in an aimless circle on the plate. Maria rubbed his back and gently lay her head on his shoulder.

Lia reached to Wolf’s leg under the table and gave it a soft squeeze, looking at him. She pulled her hand away, rolled her eyes and resumed rolling her spaghetti on her fork. She looked up suddenly, “I’m not vicious!”

Hearty laughter burned away the tension. Rossi’s two boys joined in, giggling and staring wide eyed at Lia.

Wolf threw the tiny bag from Matthew Rosenwald’s on the table in front of Rossi. Rossi thumbed it. “It looks just like the one that I found in your brother’s apartment. The same size and look of the bag.”

They sat on the back patio overlooking the lights of Lecco, sipping a local grappa served by Rossi’s wife. Wolf felt like he was observing reality from another dimension, exhaustion overtaking his body and mind.

“I don’t know what to make of the whole cocaine thing. I’m not sure if this is even cocaine. You’ll need to test it. I don’t think my brother did drugs. He may have experimented in the past, but he never really did drugs. I know what people act like when they do drugs, and my brother didn’t. I need to find this Matthew guy. And something’s off about that Cezar guy at the pub, and Vlad at the observatory. They are holding things back. Something’s off about those two.”

Rossi took a sip and furrowed his brow. “What if Matthew was supplying your brother with these drugs?”

“I guess it looks that way. But looks can be deceiving. Then there is the whole thing about the belt. That wasn’t my brother’s belt that was found around his neck. There’s only two things that can mean, either he stole a belt and hung himself with it, or someone strung him up with it…or more accurately, smacked him on the head and strangled him, then tried to make it look like a suicide, and did a poor job of it, because the chandelier couldn’t hold his body weight. That’s what happened, and I’m sure of it. And it had to be at least two people who strung my brother from that chandelier. There’s no way one person could have done it.” He stood and went to the patio railing, gazing at the city below.

Valerio cleared his throat. “I think there needs to be more evidence. And until then, I don’t see what we can do. There is no name tag on that belt, there’s no way to find out whose it is, other than finding finger prints, which we’ll check. But it’s been handled by more than a few people by now.

“Secondly, we cannot bring in this Vlad character for questioning because he was sweating profusely as you spoke to him. We cannot arrest the bar owner for being rude to you guys.” He sighed heavily. “I do think that it is strange that this Matthew fellow left town immediately after your brother’s death, though. So, I think we need to find him. Paulo is working on it. He will look at the phone records, and find Rosenwald’s phone, and who knows what else he can uncover? He is a talented boy.”

Wolf yawned uncontrollably once again and nodded his head.

Lia stood up. “You need to get some sleep, David.”

“Yes, you need sleep. We will know more tomorrow.”

“We need to go over the police report,” Wolf said, sitting back down. “And I don’t know how the hell to read Italian, so I’m going to need your help.” An unstoppable yawn stretched his face.

Lia stood in front of Wolf and placed her hand gently on his. “You need sleep.”

Rossi set down his glass and stood. “David. Please. It doesn’t do you any good to not rest. We still have all day tomorrow.”

Wolf sat forward. “And if I need your help Saturday? What if I need more time?”

“Then you will have our help on Saturday as well,” Rossi answered immediately.

Wolf sat back in the seat hard. They were right. If they went over the police report now he probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Every cell in his body screamed for sleep. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Sleep now,” she said, like talking to a small child. She turned the key and pulled out of the gate.

“What do you think? Do you really think my brother killed himself?”

“I think…I think we will find out. I think you need sleep. Go to sleep.”

He tilted the seat back and lost consciousness immediately.

Chapter 26

A light brushing on his cheek pulled him from a dreamless sleep.

“Yep?” He popped his eyes wide open.

“We are here.” Lia’s face filled his view. She was close, tilting her head sideways to the same angle as his, her hair dangling across her face.

Wolf lay still. Without thinking he reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear.

She narrowed her eyes slowly with a short lived smile that turned to a hard gaze. Her lips parted and she exhaled loudly. He could smell the sweetness of her breath.

He reached and pulled her head close, zero resistance, zero hesitation.

Lia’s warm moist mouth gently connected with his, her tongue diving with eager swirls that tasted of sweet saliva and red wine. Her breaths came in hard pants, vividly audible over the soft Italian music that played on the radio. Lia reached between them and yanked hard on the emergency brake with a loud crank, then groped at his crotch hungrily with the same hand as she moved closer.

He reached his right hand between her thighs and shifted himself closer.

Suddenly she ripped free and pushed his hand away. “No, sorry. Sorry, I…we cannot do this!” she said, straightening and putting her hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry.” She sat, looking down at the steering wheel.

Wolf looked at her with wide eyes. “Okay, uhhhh…okay. What’s the problem?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I will pick you up first thing tomorrow, okay?” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” He shifted himself upright, then struggled with the seat reclining lever. “See you tomorrow at eight?”

“Okay then.” She turned with a smile.

“Bye.”

He got out and stood up, suddenly lightheaded, with absolutely no clue where he was. He looked forward and craned his head back looking at the strange building in front of him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it before. Turning quickly, he reached to knock on the window to stop her, to tell her she’d dropped him off at the wrong place. Then he saw his brother’s apartment building across the street.

Jesus. Goodnight.

Chapter 27

“Piano Terzo” the elevator told him while his watch showed him 10:25 pm. Surprisingly, or not surprisingly, he felt wide awake, full of wired energy.

Stepping out on the balcony, he took a look below at the piazza. It was filled with chatter, billowing smoke, food smells and clusters of young people. Thursday night.

“Hi,” a voice startled him from above. Cristina was looking down, exhaling smoke from a cigarette.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you mind if I come up and have one of those?” He was not feeling like being alone all of a sudden.

“Sure, come on up.”

The cigarette was lighter and a little bit thicker in his fingers than he remembered. He brought it up to his mouth, catching a brief scent of Lia’s hair, and lit it with a well practiced move.

The second drag hit him with a harder buzz than he was expecting, a dizzy wave shifting his balance off, so he reached for the balcony railing and looked over the edge. Fighting through the lightheadedness, he enjoyed the first half of the first cigarette he’d had in years, then had a sudden overwhelming urge to put it out.

She leaned next to him and looked over the railing, “So did you find anything out today?”

“Maybe. We went to the pub my brother was at on Saturday night, the Albastru Pub. You ever been there? It’s Romanian.”

“Yes, I’ve been there.” She shifted upright. “John used to go there a lot. I went once. I do not like the place.”

“Why?”

“The guys that work there. I know their type from home. A few of them have tattoos that are the symbol of gangs from where I come from.” She looked at Wolf then took a drag. “Bad gangs.”

“Yeah, I saw tattoos. What kind of gangs? What do they do?”

“They would beat up people at home that owned small shops and make them pay them. They would sell drugs. Sometimes they would kill people. I think even policemen were scared of them. I learned to stay away from those types of men. There were many disappearances of girls my age growing up. Not where I lived, but close by. In the city. They were made to be prostitutes and often shipped off to other countries.” She took a long drag. “I told John that he needed to be careful there, and to not mess with anyone. He laughed and said he wouldn’t, but I told him I was serious. That they weren’t the types of guys you wanted to mess with. At least not at home, in Romania.” She took another drag. “He liked the beer I guess.”

“Did you ever meet the Romanian guy from the observatory that Matthew works with? His name is Vlad. That’s his last name.”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t met anyone but Matthew from the observatory.”

Wolf furrowed his brow. “Did John ever say anything about the bar? Like, he suspected anything else going on there? Like any crime? Drugs?”

She opened her eyes wide then squinted and shook her head slow, “No, not that I can remember. No.”

“You holding up all right?”

She exhaled and her bottom lip quivered, eyes watering. He gave her a hug and let his emotions run free for a few seconds, blurring his vision.

He pulled away and wiped his eyes. “Can I use your scooter?”

She laughed. “Well, I kind of need it to get to work. Do you need a ride somewhere tomorrow?”

“No, I mean, right now.”

“Uh, sure. I guess. What are you going to do?”

“I have to go check on something.”

Chapter 28

Wolf cut the engine of the scooter, coasting to a stop well past the gate on the main road. He turned on a dirt road that lined the south side of the property and pushed the scooter to a dark pocket underneath a tree.

The fifty cubic centimeter engine Italian scooter ticked and hissed underneath him, still hot from the twenty minute screaming loud strain on the way there. He had quickly learned he was ridiculously large for that model of scooter.

The observatory hunkered in the dark, the dome peeking over the top of a pine tree in the near distance from Wolf’s view through the wrought iron security fence. The rear of the building was faintly lit, a bright light from within the back of the property shining up on the damp air and surrounding trees. Cornfields chalk-filled with singing crickets surrounded the rear of the property.

He reached in the pack and dug out two leather jackets, a heavy hooded sweatshirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of jeans. He folded one of the leather jackets like an accordian, then hauled up and draped it length-wise across the spikes on the fenc, pulling it down hard on each individual spike to seat it. The process was repeated with each article of clothing. There was no sense in taking chances.

He pulled, sagging down with extended arms, then propelled himself over with silent fluid move. A squish pierced the air as he landed on the damp interior lawn.

Running low and fast, he reached the edge of the southernmost building. He crept to the rear, peaking around the corner behind a broad leaved bush. Vivid white light poured out onto the rear lawn from above two propped doors.

A heated argument was ensuing between two men, in a language that wasn’t Italian. It was more Germanic, harsh sounding.

The first man was tall and lanky, with a mohawk. Cezar from the Albastru pub. His face was in and out of deep shadow, but the body was unmistakeable. The second man was unmistakeable as well — Vlad.

Suddenly a loud slap pierced the silence, and Wolf raised his eyebrows. Vlad was pleading in a crouch, and Cezar seemed to be contemplating whether or not to kill him on the spot, shuffling towards him with raised hand.

Wolf’s pulse accelerated at the unmistakable site of a pistol in Cezar’s hand, pointed straight at Vlad’s head. Any idea of confronting the two immediately left Wolf’s mind. Avoiding detection had just become a high priority.

Both men froze in their theatrical poses for five full seconds. Cezar shuffled his feet closer, apparently seriously considering the repercussions of shooting Vlad in the head. Vlad hunched down further.

Cezar suddenly relaxed his posture, put the pistol in the back of his pants, then turned and walked away. He stopped a few feet away and stooped over.

Wolf narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t noticed until now that a box-shaped moving truck was parked, rear facing and wide open. The interior was pitch black due to the angle of the lights.

Cezar was rummaging through things, speaking in a nonchalant tone. A few seconds later they both walked swiftly into the building. Two loud clacks and the doors began swinging shut slowly.

The rear of the building suddenly plunged into pure darkness. Wolf hunched down with the sudden change. He knew from plenty of experience and training that it would take him about thirty minutes to fully get his night vision after exposing his eyes to that much light. Waiting, however, was not a good option.

There was no noise coming from within the observatory, no conversation. He knew at that very instant Vlad and Cezar had entered the building to take care of something. Some thing that would take long enough to justify shutting off the light, but not so long that they would risk leaving the truck open for any length of time. There wasn’t going to be a better opportunity than that moment.

He sprinted fast to the side of the truck, stopping with his back to the aluminum exterior, then craned his head for a look. His blood pumped fiercely — his breath fast, yet controlled. A fresh taste of the earlier cigarette pumped out of his lungs.

The truck interior was dark. Very dark.

One of the first things he’d learned about night tracking, first from his father, and later in the Army, was to use peripheral vision in low light situations. Looking straight at something utilized the cone cells on the retina, which were rendered worthless if too dark. Scanning with the peripheral used the rod cells, which were distributed more evenly throughout the back of the retina.

He swept his vision, taking in the truck interior with an unfocused gaze, and groped with his hands.

It was filled with computers — computers of all shapes and sizes. Mostly laptop computers. Monitors lined up along the floor of the truck all along the back and left side. There were six large cardboard boxes with flipped tops filled with laptop computers of all types. None of them looked new. Some had stickers on them — A.C. Milan, Vespa, Hello Kitty…they seemed to be all used computers. Hello Kitty? Wolf pressed his face close to the sticker and felt it. It was on a lap top with a pink soft plastic covering.

Wolf remembered the conversation from the day before inside the observatory - Vlad worked for the EAC, overseeing the logistics of moving astronomical equipment between observatories throughout the European Union.

A clear mental picture was forming in Wolf’s mind as to the true nature of Vlad’s activities.

Small light-colored boxes caught his attention, stacked underneath the open boxes of electronics. Wolf moved a box, unveiling a stark white cardboard one about one foot cubed in size. A dark blue logo was faintly visible. He bent closer and ran his finger across it - it was the letters EAC with what looked to be stars or planets. He lifted it. It was packed densely, heavy, and shaking didn’t produce any movement or sound inside.

He straightened and turned an ear towards the doors, keeping his breathing still. There was no noise. The best he had in way of a blade was a tiny scooter key in his pocket. It wasn’t his Leatherman, but it would have to do.

Cutting it open and pulling up the cardboard, he saw a square plastic bag packed densely like a clear sack filled with flour. Cocaine, he thought. Cocaine was found at his brother’s apartment, and a white bag was found at Rosenwald’s. It could have been planted by these guys. And, of course, wholesale cocaine smuggling to other countries makes a lot of money. But he wasn’t going to get anymore sure than that about the nature of the substance. He’d seen many lethal white powders in his day, and he wasn’t about to jab it open, shove his finger in and taste it. That was a move reserved for television actors.

Wolf heard a jostling inside the door, sending a shock through his body. He shut the flap and replaced the box as the light switched on in a blinding flash. He darted around the side of the truck. Looking down, his feet were bathed in light. He took one large stride, aligning his feet with the tire.

The door swung open and hit the exterior wall with a thud. Vlad and Cezar were in mid conversation, one of them walking briskly to the truck.

The truck jolted downward with bodyweight, rummaging sounds came from the other side of the thin metal side wall. Wolf looked to the front of the truck. He squinted and bore his vision into the darkness to see just where the truck was going to drive. It was parked on grass, smooth black pavement just in front of the front tires.

His eyes followed the jet black void cutting through the dark lawn. It went on about ten yards then veered to the right. Wolf swung his body to the right and followed the road all the way out to a gate, which then veered right again, where the road lowered below the level of the property as it descended downwards.

A secondary punch of adrenaline hit him when he realized the road was the same perimeter road his scooter was parked on, right out in plain sight with a stack of coats on the fence directly above it.

Facing the back of the truck again, his eyes widened as four fingers came into view gripping the back corner of the truck.

Just then Vlad, illuminated from the floodlight, stepped into view from the back of the truck. He turned and looked directly in the direction of Wolf. Looked right at him. “Eh?” He turned his head to the back of the truck. Vlad shot an uncomprehending glare to the mumbling voice Wolf heard within the truck and disappeared out of site. The truck jolted downwards again. Further downwards. They were both in the truck.

Wolf moved to the front of the truck, eyeing the open gate to the perimeter road. If he ran out to the gate, he could do it without detection, but getting the scooter as well? Not unless they stayed inside the truck for at least a full minute so he could slip past the good fifty foot section of road that was illuminated through the iron fence. He didn’t want to bring attention to himself in case they recognized him.

Vlad and Cezar launched into a loud argument which sounded right next to his ear. They were deep into the back of the truck.

Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth, cursing his options. He shuffled to the rear of the truck and inched his eye around the back corner. Wolf saw the faint flashlight glow and heard them talking probably eight feet in — hands rummaging through materials.

He eyed the dangling rope on the truck door.

Wolf sucked in a breath and lunged, gripping it with both extended arms, and pulled with the full force of his body weight. The door slammed all the way down faster than he expected, bouncing up from the floor a good three feet as he stumbled backwards onto his backside. He immediately bounced back up to the now slowly rising door and pulled down hard, catching a glimpse of shoes right at the door interior. The door began to rise, and Wolf knew the leverage they had trying to raise the door from the standing position was much more than he had holding it down with his arm. It inched higher.

The locking latch was right there in front of his face, but the door needed to be completely closed. Putting both of his hands on the exterior handle, he pulled down with the force of his two hundred pound body. Just as it slammed, he flipped the latch with his right hand.

Instinct told him he was already too late. He laid back and rolled just as loud reports from inside pealed open holes next to the door handle. He got up and sprinted back the way he came in. Muffled gun shots rang out behind him. Huffing loudly, he reached the fence and vaulted it in a single bound, barely touching his left hand to the top.

Wolf was suddenly flying ten feet over the scooter towards the rapidly approaching dirt road. Wind filled his ears as he finally landed — hard on his heels, instantly rolling and smashing his hipbone into the rough road, elbow bashing a split instant later. He gasped and stumbled to his feet gripping his elbow hard to contain the pain.

Suddenly the sound of a diesel engine roared to life from within the property fence. He heard a yell of a man, then the deep thundering of the gurgling engine.

“Shit.” He rammed the scooter key into the ignition and sat on the seat, slapping the kickstand up with his heel. He cranked the throttle, producing more ear-splitting whine than forward movement, so he put down his left foot and skateboard pushed, sending a fresh jolt of pain into his hip.

Acceleration gently took over and he propelled down to the main road. To the right was the direction of John’s apartment, but it was an uphill jaunt for a hundred yards or so past the front of the observatory property. The street slanted downhill to the left, which would give him more acceleration from the small engine.

He went left, shooting out onto the black pavement in a deep lean, just keeping his balance, barely maintaining tire contact with the road.

Vibrating handlebar mirrors showed the bright lights of the truck passing where his scooter had just been parked seconds before. Out of nowhere a sharp turn to the right came up fast. He hand-braked hard and leaned deep again, the rear tire sliding a good foot before grabbing purchase with a jolt, kicking the scooter hard right, leaning him into a sharp involuntary turn to the left. He maintained control, but lost all speed.

A straightaway stretched for a hundred yards, corn fields on the right and left, ending in a dim lit township. He cranked the throttle wide open and leaned down, the scooter inching forward painfully slow. The hairpin turn in the handlebar mirrors was illuminated with bouncing light.

Suddenly a dirt turnout materialized on his right. He jammed the brakes, went up the road, and crashed into the cornfield. He turned the key off and laid the moped down. Reaching up, he steadied two corn stalks that swayed wildly with his hand.

Wolf calmed his heaving breaths and listened carefully, hoping to God he hadn’t kicked up too much dust. The diesel engine was getting louder from the distant left. It slowed considerably, taking the turn carefully, then swung out onto the straightaway, faint light illuminating Wolf’s sliver view of the road. It coasted onwards, slowly and quietly at low RPM’s. It braked to a slow halt, pausing for a few seconds, then turned onto the road. Light swept across him through the stalks as it bumped onto the rough turnout with a slow crunch.

His heart thumped in his chest. Chances were good he could out-run Cezar. Cezar was a smoker, and he could use the corn to stay a hard target. Of course, he would have quite a stride on him being at least a couple inches taller than Wolf, and who knew what kind of shot he was.

The truck came to a halt. It was fifteen feet from Wolf. From Wolf and his white scooter. Five or so rows of corn between it and himself. Cezar was in the driver’s seat, looking to his left out the glass — but more down the road than into the corn immediately in front of him. Wolf stayed frozen.

Cezar lit a cigarette, momentarily lighting the interior of the cab, and rolled down the window.

Wolf narrowed his eyes and kept an eye on the cab, for any sign of a pistol aiming directly in his direction. Light blue writing on the outside of the white truck momentarily distracted him. It was the same light blue writing as on the wooden Albastru Pub sign. In fact, it said “Albastru” on the side. However, underneath it, it said “International Shipping Co.”

Wolf darted his eyes back to the truck cab as the truck rocked slightly on its wheels. The rear lit up and a continuous beep filled the air. The truck slowly backed up, pulled onto the road, and went back the way it came.

Chapter 29 - Friday

Drool ran up Wolf’s face as he watched Connell laugh and sharpen a stick with a camping axe. Chop-chop-chop-chop. Dangling by his ankles with heavy boat rope from a tall tree branch, Wolf pleaded, but couldn’t produce any intelligible words. He tried to move, but could only struggle against the tight restraints. Chop-chop-chop-chop.

Wolf woke with a start.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

He looked at his watch, it was 8:15. When? P.M.? Did he sleep through the whole day? He got out of bed, then stared at it for five seconds. Looking slowly around the room, he couldn’t remember where he was to save his life.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

He moved towards the sound of the knocking, wincing at the hot stabbing in his left hip. He opened the door. Lia was wide eyed looking at him. Wolf came to the present moment in a sudden instant. He looked down at himself and straightened his twisted boxer shorts.

“Oh shit! Sorry! I don’t know what happened. I forgot to set the alarm last night I guess. Here, come in…”

Lia’s stiff expression melted to a slight smirk as she walked in.

“They say it takes one day per one hour time difference to get over jet-lag,” she said from the hallway as he quickly put his clothes on.

“Yeah, I’m definitely still feeling the effects.” Visions from the night before came to him like distant childhood memories.

“So, they have all the paperwork done to release your brother down at the morgue.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go for coffee in the piazza before we leave.”

He felt as if he’d taken a handful of sleeping pills after just running a marathon. “Heck of an idea there.”

The piazza was bustling once again. His brother was onto something coming over here for inspiration. Too many people for Wolf’s taste. But, had he been here for any other reason, he could see himself enjoying the atmosphere. Throngs of people milled about in a murmur of words Wolf couldn’t understand.

The bar was bustling, people lined up two-deep against the counter, baristas behind the bar clacking, and smacking, and twisting, and frothing.

“Due,” Wolf held up two fingers to Lia.

“You want a double?”

“Yes,” he said. “It was a difficult night.”

Wolf looked in the mirror behind the shuffling baristas and saw Lia’s face turn red.

They had a croissant, or a ‘brioche’ as they called it, and slammed their coffee without eye contact or a word said.

Walking out, Wolf said, “Look, about last night. I didn’t mean it was a difficult night because of you…or because of us.”

“I’m sorry about that…”

“No, I don’t care. I mean, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head. “Look, there’s more to last night. I went to the observatory, and I found out something big.”

Driving to the morgue, Wolf detailed the night before to Lia. He told her about the load of stolen looking electronics and bags of white substance in the Albastru Shipping truck, how Cezar shot at him, and the ensuing chase. He left out the part where he spent a full hour sitting motionless in the cornfield after Cezar left the scene, only to get hopelessly lost on the way back to his brother’s.

“Okay, that connects the Romanian bar owner and Vlad to the cocaine. I’m not sure what that means. Was Matthew dealing the drugs for them? Why the baggies found at your brother’s and his apartment?”

“I don’t know. But Cezar was really roughing up Vlad. I’ve been thinking, and I would bet if we found out where these two were from in Romania, they would be one in the same place.

“What did Dr. Wembly at the observatory say about Vlad? He was kind of kissing his ass, like he was surprised Dr. Vlad chose to work there. He said something to the effect of, ‘He’s gracing us by working here.’  In all the places in Europe, he chooses that outdated observatory in Northern Italy to set up shop? Why? I think it’s because he wanted to be close to Cezar. Or maybe he didn’t have a choice. Cezar might have something on him.

“Anyways, it’s obvious that Cezar is running some sort of electronics fencing and drug operation, and Vlad’s complete reign of a respectable, European agency’s shipping and logistics operation is a perfect means to transport the stuff wherever they want. The Albastru International Shipping Company and the European Astronomical Confederation. It’s a perfect marriage.”

“So how does your brother fit in?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out, today.” He jabbed his finger into his knee. “I want to talk to these guys. I think it might be best if I go about this alone.”

She laughed, and looked over at Wolf who was staring out the window.

She turned back to the road. “I will help you.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble, Lia. I plan on getting the truth today. I don’t have any time left.”

They drove in silence the rest of the way.

At the morgue, his brother was packed and ready to go in a heavy duty plywood box with metal latches and handles. A large gray and black stenciling saying “Handle With Extreme Care” in English was scrolled along the side diagonally.

An Air Tray. He’d seen plenty in the Army, all of which stabbed his heart, but none like the sight of this one. He gave it quick jolt with his palms to check the quality of construction — an unconscious maneuver that told him nothing.

They pointed where he needed to sign, and he signed. He took his brother’s bag of belongings, and they wheeled him away to the truck waiting out back. Wasting no time. That was good. He was on his way. Wolf had accomplished half of what he came to do.

They left the morgue and drove to the Caribinieri station. The underbelly ground floor was devoid of people, the faint odor of sweat still thick in the stagnant air. Friday mornings off.

Lia turned the corner at the top of the stairs and almost slammed into an officer jogging out of Colonello Marino’s office. “Che cazzo!” She twisted, coming to a stop.

A silence fell over the room as Wolf and Lia entered.

“What the hell’s happening?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s go talk to Paulo.”

They walked on and everyone resumed their talking, looking towards Wolf and Lia. Lia led them to the computer geniuses desk in the back room.

“What the hell is happening Paulo?”

“Oh, good morning.” He didn’t smile, looking between Lia and Wolf. “I couldn’t trace Dr. Rosenwald’s phone. I found that his latest credit card transactions were normal enough. Groceries and then a payment to the Albastru Pub on Friday night at 10:43 pm. His car is missing at his apartment building. We are looking for it.”

Wolf and Lia looked at each other.

Paulo shifted uncomfortably, now speaking at a million miles an hour. “His passport had no activity on it. Rosenwald doesn’t seem to spend much time online. Anyways, we don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

Lia folded her arms. “And why is that.”

“Because they just found him?”

Wolf’s eyes widened. “Where?”

“Near the lago by the Osservatorio di Merate. Lying in some long weeds.”

Chapter 30

Lago Sartirana was a good sized lake to the eyes of a Coloradan — described as a retention pond by Lia. It was surrounded by dense vegetation and hills on the north side, where a bright yellow villa stood shining brightly in the morning sun. A trail circumnavigated the oval lake, the main access point being at a straight outflow canal that was fifty feet wide.

To the left of the straight canal stood some locals — some curious onlookers, some un-curious fisherman throwing in their lines. To the right, local Poliziotti stood. Lia and Wolf walked by them without receiving a single glance.

The path was well worn. Fisherman’s trash was strewn about, hooks, weights, old brightly colored lures, brittle knotted line, and lots of cigarette butts.

The lake shore itself didn’t look much cleaner. Plastic and galss bottles bobbed above the water line. A thick film of green algae had blown up against the rocks and mud, piling on itself in small waves. The smell was that of stagnant lake water with a whiff of raw sewage thrown in every ten breaths. It wasn’t a swimming lake.

After two hundred yards they came around a bend. The main trail veered to the right, away from shoreline. To the left, the shoreline turned wilder, dense with marshland. There, the Caribinieri were milling about.

They took the narrower, less traveled path, stepping on roots and rocks to keep out of the thick mud and puddles.

Rossi was bending over to the left of the trail ten yards away when they approached. He saw them and walked over.

“Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

Wolf looked behind Rossi, “Hi. What’s the situation?”

“We have found our elusive Dr. Rosenwald. A few hours ago an anonymous tip was called in.”

A handful of Caribinieri officers stood about smoking cigarettes. Wolf and Lia stepped under the perimeter tape toward an officer in heavy-duty rubber overalls who bent over taking pictures of something on the ground.

The body was well hidden. Whoever found it couldn’t have been on the narrow trail into the marsh they just came in on. They had to have come all the way in to the underbrush to see. Maybe chasing a dog. Or looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or maybe a million other reasons.

The first piece of the body Wolf saw was a Converse Chuck Taylor poking out from the dense foliage. It was light gray with mud, the original dark blue hue underneath.

Wolf let his eyes move upward from the shoe. Jeans, button up white shirt strewn with dried mud and blood. He looked back at the jeans. The knees. They were darker, similar to John’s circular mud patterns, though much less pronounced.

Wolf steeled his nerves and allowed his eyes to keep traveling towards the face. He’d seen many dead bodies in his time, and it never got any easier for him. Depending on the time of death, cause, and climate, he’d seen some disgusting, mind-branding scenes.

The left side of Dr. Rosenwald’s head was caved in. It was a blow much at the same angle as his brother’s bruise, but obviously given with a force that didn’t result in mere unconsciousness. He figured Rosenwald had received at least two blows. He narrowed his eyes. Three or  more blows was more likely. The first hit had probably opened a wound that gushed with blood. The second, third and other blows had occurred in the same spot with the blood on the blunt object, leaving some spattering on the clothing.

The channel in the skull was deep. There was serious aggression behind the blows, pounding the same spot over and over again. Gray brain folds were visible.

Wolf moved his gaze to the scene. “How many people have been walking in here?”

“Ricardo and I have been taking care of forensics for the last hour. The anonymous caller must have been in here, and who knows how many people he was with. We’ve had no officers come in here, on my order. But there are footprints everywhere.”

Wolf agreed with that, surveying the immediate vicinity. Little yellow A-framed plastic evidence indicators were strewn about in an illogical display - a bent twig here, a foot print there, a cigarette-butt obviously too old to be relevant.

But no matter what Wolf thought, he had to admit this was a difficult, if not impossible scene to read. The rain storm that drenched the area while they ate pizza yesterday obviously hit this area as well. It was sopping wet. The deluge of rain could have washed away any number of pieces of evidence. But nonetheless there were a few things that caught Wolf’s eye.

The most definitive being two cattail reeds at Rosenwald’s hip. They were bent twice, which was completely unnatural — physically impossible without the help of human intention — bent once when the body fell on them, and another time when the killer bent them back up, undoubtedly to ensure better concealment of the body.

Which indicated he was probably dumped here after he was killed. Which indicated that he probably wasn’t killed in this very spot. Which told him a crime scene was still out there to be looked at.

“Estimated time of death?”

Rossi looked to Wolf. “Looks like at least three to four days. Nothing definite. But Ricardo says it looks like this weekend. Looks like it could be Friday night.”

“Underneath? What’s it look like?” Wolf pointed and bent down.

Rossi barked to the forensics officer to come over. They rolled the body to the side and looked underneath. Lia put her hand on Wolf’s shoulder and got down to look with them. Rossi put on gloves, and pulled the body to the side with the forensic specialist. A mat of leaves, grass and branches stuck to the back of the head. A fresh waft of death and decay filled his nostrils with the movement. Dark brown dried blood stains covered the back of the neck, shirt, and the underlying vegetation.

“Blood on the vegetation underneath. The blood coagulated around the grass, sticks, and leaves behind his head. Looks like he was dumped pretty quickly after death. The blood was still flowing down his neck, not yet coagulated.”

“Yes,” Rossi said. “That’s what I was thinking as well. So we swept the scene, couldn’t find a weapon…”

Wolf was looking in the distance through the thick brush to the left of the group officers now smoking and pantomiming soccer plays. The silver reflection off the observatory dome winked at them through the trees. No more than a few hundred yards away.

“There,” he said pointing. “Is there a path from here to the observatory?”

“Wolf,” Rossi said pulling off a glove and touching his shoulder. “Let me finish, my friend. We have been here for over three hours surveying the scene. I have found out much. We couldn’t find a murder weapon here, but, yes. We followed the trail to the observatory.” He walked back towards the narrow trail. “Come.”

They followed Rossi to a trail that joined from the right. An officer stood guard of the narrower-still pathway, shoving his cell phone in his pocket with a red face as Rossi passed with a grunted order.

Pieces of orange ribbon were tied in small bows in various spots on the limbs. Rossi stopped at one and pointed to it, moving to the next and pointing wordlessly. Blood stains, blocked from the rains by the dense foliage.

They hiked up a small rise, slapping mosquitoes and pushing aside branches, and broke through to a farm road that led towards the observatory in the distance. Tall corn stalks with fat cobs lined both sides of the road.

Another couple officers with two German Shepherds were fifty yards ahead, talking on the top of the rise.

“The dogs found a weapon here,” Rossi gestured towards the side of the dirt road. Both dogs growled, one of them barked with teeth bared, slobber flinging from its lips. The dog yelped as the officer ripped it back, following with a sharp smack on the top of its head.

Rossi yelled at the two officers, who pulled the now crouching dogs away to the observatory. He bent down and pointed closely at a tubular groove in the mud.

“The dogs found a copper pipe here on the ground. It had large amounts of blood on it still on the underside, and fingerprints. I’ve had it taken for identification. We should know shortly whose they were,” he said.

“Well, that will be good. About time we come up with a cut and dry piece of evidence. So, otherwise, the dogs didn’t pick up any other scent here?”

“No, but they picked up a scent on the grounds of the observatory. There is still evidence left, even after the rains.” Rossi raised his eyebrows and exhaled. “It looks to be where he was killed. Then it looks like he was dragged down here, the weapon ditched in the corn here, then the body dropped down where we found him.” He pointed back to the lake.

The lawn of the observatory was as unruly as ever, with foot and a half long grasses, weeds and wildflowers making it difficult to walk. It was damp, holding moisture from yesterday’s downpour, or over-zealous lawn watering, or both. Rossi led them to a familiar spot.

It was a beautifully manicured yard space, other than the lawn. Vines clung to the rear of the entire building and the exterior of the rounded dome, as if keeping it earthbound. Wolf saw two wide skid marks in the lawn.

He looked at Lia and looked to the marks in the lawn. She was following his eyes as they walked by.

“Here is the spot,” Rossi pointed, reaching another perimeter of crime scene tape. “The dogs located a lot of blood in the lawn there. It seems to be where he was killed with the pipe.” There were little yellow evidence A-frames clustered on the lawn.

Wolf grabbed the tape, “Can we go in?”

“It’s wet.” Rossi ducked under. “Good choice of shoes you brought to Italy.” He looked at Wolf’s old Danner leather work boots.

Wolf ducked under, stealing a glance towards the perimeter fence. The clothing he’d used to climb over was gone.

Rossi led the way through the soggy lawn, their feet sucking and sloshing with each step. Mud patches were visible at the roots of the lawn. Wolf bent down next to a small yellow plastic A-frame evidence indicator. It was almost impossible to discern any difference between the spot and the surrounding area, all except a tiny shard of white. Another nearby A-frame tent marked a larger piece, this time with skin and hair on it.

“The dogs were going nuts in this spot. The forensics team found a lot of skull fragments. The largest concentration is there,” Rossi said pointing at the number one plastic indicator. “That is a large concentration area of blood.”

Wolf stepped to the area and crouched down, looking intently. He imagined the A-frame indicator to be Dr. Rosenwald’s head, then imagined his body laying out. He swept his gaze in a tight spiral around the marker, working his way out.

Five feet from the evidence marker at two o’clock, a pair of indentions captured his eye. Wolf stepped over and felt the ground. There were two holes, just about the size of knees. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye. Dr. Rosenwald had knelt down right here and received his first blow to the side of his head.

The A-frame indicator marked the pool of blood as just a few feet to the side. It looked like he’d been hit once, fell to his side, then was finished off with numerous blows to the head. There would be chunks of skull, brain matter, and blood strewn everywhere. Probably under the soles of his boots.

He stood up and shuffled to the side, feeling another slight depression under his foot. Massaging the ground with his hands, he found two more depressions a few feet from the others. Realization sent a jolt of electricity up his spine. The mud circles on his brother’s jeans now made perfect sense. His eyes closed slowly as he felt the knee depressions where his brother had taken his last conscious breath.

“Pronto?” Rossi barked into his phone, walking away towards the crime tape perimeter.

Lia looked to Wolf. “What are you doing?”

“Remember those circles on the knees of my brother’s jeans?”

“Yes?”

“There were similar circles on Rosenwald’s jeans, but less noticeable. Probably from being out in the rain. But there are still four deep indentations right here on the ground. Two for each man who knelt down.”

Lia let out a gasp and bent down to see for herself. “Ma-donna.”

“Have you spoken to anyone in the observatory yet?” Wolf stood up, turning to Rossi.

Rossi was twenty yards away with his phone to the ear, looking at Wolf with wide eyes and propping an index finger. He looked to the trees in the distance and asked some sharp questions, then hung up the phone, keeping his head bowed for a few seconds. Pocketing the cell phone, he looked to Wolf with a pursed mouth.

“What?”

“That was forensics at the station. They have the fingerprints match.”

“Let me guess. A Romanian national.”

“No David,” he said with a deep breath. “They are your brother’s fingerprints.”

Chapter 31

“What?” Wolf exhaled.

“They are your brother’s fingerprints.” Rossi folded his arms and looked to his feet.

Lia put her hand on his shoulder.

Wolf and Lia walked to Rossi, looked back at the evidence tents strewn about, then ducked underneath the crime tape.

Wolf walked slowly to the observatory gate, turning his head to look at the skid marks as he passed. He continued on through the gate and out onto the dirt road, turning back towards the lake.

Wolf reached the groove in the mud where the pipe was found and swiveled around. “This is too perfect.”

Rossi and Lia stopped and looked at him with neutral expressions. Silence hung for thirty seconds as Wolf studied the impression in the mud.

“He’s getting framed for the murder.”

Rossi blinked and looked to the ground at his feet. Lia shifted uncomfortably.

“Let me get this straight. He beats his friend to death, then drags him down here along the road, leaving the copper pipe right here, for anyone to find. Why not throw it out in the corn field at least? Or a better idea? Toss it in the lake. The same lake he’s about to dump the body at.”

Lia pointed towards the lake, “David…”

“Nah, I’m not buying it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why lug the body all the way down there? Why…why does he dump the body and then go kill himself at home?” Wolf looked up to the sky, “Here’s a good question…How did my brother get home? If he killed Rosenwald, then how did he get home? There’s no way he walked. His girlfriend said she heard the crash at 1:15 am. There’s no way he went home on foot. So how did he get home? His body was removed from this lawn, by someone else, and taken to his apartment to be strung up on a chandelier, that’s how.”

“He could have taken Rosenwald’s car,” Lia offered.

Rossi stared at Wolf.

“Okay, yeah. We need to account for his car.” Wolf turned his back and kicked a small rock into the corn stalks. He turned back to them. “We need to go talk to Vlad in the observatory. He said he was working that night. He said the reason he wasn’t at the bar with them that night was because he was at work. So, let’s ask him what he saw. If he was here, then he can tell us what happened. You don’t just miss a blow out argument between two guys that ends in a murder in the back yard, do you? It’s beyond suspicious.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow and nodded his head, looking to Lia.

“And you don’t know everything yet, Rossi,” he said pushing past him. “This guy, Ferka Vlad, is involved in cocaine and electronics smuggling with the owner of a Romanian pub in Lecco named Cezar.”

“What?” Rossi turned.

“I was here last night. I saw the truck they were packing with stolen computers and drugs. I actually looked in the back of the truck and saw at least a hundred stolen computers. I ripped open a white cardboard box and saw what looked to be cocaine. There were at least ten of those boxes. It was dark, there could have been many more.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” Rossi held out his hands.

Wolf blinked and shrugged. “There hasn’t exactly been a good time this morning for me to tell you.”

Rossi shot Lia a questioning look.

She shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

“I was shot at and chased by this guy, Cezar, last night. So to me this whole situation looks very different.” Wolf stopped and looked to them. “The way I see it is, my brother and Rosenwald had a few drinks at the Albastru Pub and headed to the observatory. I have no clue why they did, but we saw the tweets and the pictures online. They didn’t look under duress or in danger when they took those pictures. It looked like they were probably just coming here to look through the telescope.

“So things obviously went sour at some point in the night. Maybe my brother and Rosenwald saw Vlad and Cezar packing the stolen stuff, or the drugs. Whatever the exact situation, they somehow see something they shouldn’t have, and Vlad and Cezar know they can’t un-see it. So they are now a liability. Cezar deals with my brother and Rosenwald the best way he knows how.

“They are taken out back and forced to kneel down, probably by Cezar and his gun. But obviously gun shots could raise some alarm from the neighbors, so they get a pipe. Some words are said, and Cezar flies off the handle, beating Rosenwald’s head in.

“Maybe Vlad injects some calm, scientific reasoning in the situation. They know getting rid of the two bodies is going to be hard, so they leverage a little deception. They decide to frame my brother for the murder. My brother is hit on the head with the same pipe, and then strangled with one of their belts. It wouldn’t have been Cezar’s belt, he’s too skinny. Ferka Vlad,” he said pointing towards the dome with a steeled expression. “Ferka Vlad is a man with an ample belly.”

“Okay. Then they take your brother back to his apartment and string him up?” Rossi asked with a tilted head. “How do they bring the dead body in the apartment building?”

“On a Friday night? They carry him in,” Wolf shrugged. “Anyone who sees thinks he’s drunk and his buddies are bringing him in. They could have pulled right up to the gate in a car, brought him in, and strung him up. Then they make sure Rosenwald’s body can be found in due time, and the weapon is left here in plain sight, flush with my brother’s fingerprints. They probably figured my brother would be out of the country in a box before too long anyway, making the case even more complicated to figure out for you guys.”

“How did they get your brother back to his apartment?” asked Lia. “That would have been a tough situation. How do they know where he lives?”

Wolf continued walking in front of them. “Maybe Vlad knew my brother better than we thought. Maybe he’d been there before.” Wolf thought of Cristina, John’s girl friend. A Romanian too. Was there a connection?

“It seems to fit pretty well, but there really is no evidence at all against these guys,” Rossi said. “We have to have something solid.”

“Well, then let’s go talk to Vlad and get something.”

Chapter 32

Vlad sagged at his desk, sipping at a Coke Lite can when he saw them approach the office doorway. A puzzled, horrified expression contorted his face for a split second and he coughed out a mist of Coke into the air.

“Vlad, how are you doing today?” Wolf entered fast.

“David, please. Let me handle this.” Rossi put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him aside, a wild look on his face. “Let’s keep this official.”

Rossi reached out, gently and took the Coke Lite can from Vlad’s shaking hand, placed it on the desk, swiveled the chair to face him, then placed his palm on his chest.

Vlad looked into Rossi’s eyes with horrid fascination, then shot a glance to Wolf and Lia.

Rossi twisted his shirt, pulled him up with the sound of ripping fabric, and pushed him against the window. The aluminum blinds clanged, letting in bright rays of morning sun.

“You were here on Friday night. And yet you told these two that you did not see anything at all.”

Vlad looked confused, then nodded his head quickly. “Y-y-yes sir. I didn’t see anything! I was working all night Friday in my office —”

“I don’t believe you!” He wadded the shirt underneath Vlad’s chin, exposing his jiggling belly.

“You didn’t hear them come into the building? They didn’t simply come down the hall and see you working here with the light on? They didn’t say hi to you? What is that, twenty feet away?” He jerked his head towards the observatory room down the hall.

“No, they didn’t. I-I-I-…I heard them down the hall, and I shut my door to block out the sound. I had a lot of work to do. I was talking on the phone and had important conversations. They didn’t speak to me. Th-th-th-then they just left. I didn’t see them at all. It was only a couple minutes!”

“Why did you lie to us?” Wolf asked. “You said you didn’t see them Friday night.”

“You asked if I went out to have beers with them! I did not.”

Wolf said nothing.

“I did not ever see them. When they showed up here on Friday night, I heard them from here. I was on the phone, and I could hear…someone. But I never saw them,” Vlad’s expression steeled. “I’m sorry. I was in here working.”

Rossi let him go and stepped back, still looking at him hard. Vlad pulled his shirt down and breathed hard.

“What were you doing last night, Vlad?” Wolf asked.

Vlad paused. “I was home last night. Why do you ask?”

Rossi held up an index finger. “I’d like to see a list of shipments you have been overseeing for the last 24 hours.”

Vlad looked at Rossi. “Why would you want to see that?”

“Let me see them. Now. Pull them up on your computer screen there.”

Vlad pushed a few buttons. A jumbled mass of numbers filled the screen in different colored columns.

Vlad held his hands towards the screen and pushed his chair back.

Rossi gripped the back of the chair and slammed him into the desk with a crash. Papers dropped to the floor and the can of Coke Lite tipped on its side, spilling its remaining ounce onto the desk. “Show us the shipments for the last 24 hours. Now.”

Vlad pulled his hand from below the desk and grabbed the mouse. Lia and Wolf approached to look close.

Wolf pointed at the screen. “Click on that shipment there.”

The shipment had an address from Merate, Italy to Cluj Napoca, Romania. There were blue links lined up underneath the shipment title and description.

“Click on the Commercial Invoice and Bill of Lading.”

Vlad clicked and an official looking invoice sheet displayed on the screen. The list of contents included official sounding components with numbers, dashes, and letters.

“And the Bill of Lading?”

The document took a while to build from top to bottom on the screen, a scanned copy of an original document. As it appeared slowly in front of them, Wolf tried to read the pertinent information, written in Italian. Two words materialized on the screen.

“Albastru Shipping,” Wolf said. “The same name as the Albastru Pub.”

“Yes,” Vlad looked at Wolf. “The owner of the shipping company also owns that pub.”

“You guys have some serious ties to the Albastru brand it looks like,” Wolf said. “Beers after work and now the shipping company?”

“Well, that is how I learned about the pub. I was approached by the Romanian shipping company, and the owner told me about his pub as well. We were both Romanian…” Vlad finished his sentence with a shrug.

“You Romanians all stick together, huh?” Rossi glared.

Vlad was silent.

“All right. I’m going to need the truck information for this shipment here.” Rossi tapped the screen.

Vlad looked at him with wide eyes.

“Now!”

“All right, all right.” Vlad pressed some buttons and a printer whirred in the corner.

A piece of paper shot out of the laser printer into a collection tray. Rossi picked it up and studied the page, pulling it close to his face with a squint.

“Ah,” he said, pointing to the page. “Thank you, Mr. Vlad. We will find this truck en route and search its contents. We have come across some anonymous information that you may be helping with the smuggling of stolen electronics. And drugs. Obviously if we find anything suspicious in any truck you are involved with, you’ll be spending some hard time in San Vittore.”

Vlad sat still without any expression.

Rossi turned. “Have a nice day.” He looked to Wolf. “Are you good?”

Wolf looked at Vlad and narrowed his eyes. “I guess.”

Wolf and Lia followed Rossi out to the rear of the building.

“I’ll call this in right now. It shouldn’t be any trouble to find this truck and search its contents at any of the few eastern borders. You said you saw it here last night,” he said, pointing to the skid marks in the lawn. “If it left in the middle of the night, then it could be out of the country by now. According to this manifest, shipment delivery date is Monday in Cluj Napoca. Today seems a better day to leave for that delivery date. Two days travel time.” Rossi looked seriously at Wolf. “Wolf, you are sure you saw what you saw last night? I’m putting myself on the line here making this call.”

“I swear on my life. There were stolen computers and boxes packed with kilos of cocaine in the truck that made these marks,” he said, pointing at the lawn. “The owner of the Albastru pub was driving the truck, the side of the truck said ‘Albastru International Shipping Co’ and Vlad was with him.”

“And you just happened to be on a night time walk last night seeing all this?” Rossi smirked, sweeping his arm to the surrounding land.

“Yeah, I took a wrong turn on a scooter ride.”

“Madonna. You looked like a zombie after last night’s dinner. You are crazy.”

“I got a second wind,” Wolf said.

“A second…wind?” Rossi looked puzzled.

“Nevermind. Just make the calls. I swear I saw what I saw.”

Rossi pulled out his phone and began dialing.

Dr. Rosenwald’s body had been removed by the time they returned. They continued past the taped scene to the wider pathway surrounding the lake, which was still devoid of civilians.

Rossi put his phone back in his pocket. “Okay, I have every border crossing into Slovenia and Austria looking for the truck. It will be stopped, I will be notified, and it will be searched thoroughly. I’ve also sent out a, how do you say in English, notification for all law enforcement agencies for the entire northeast of Italy to look out for this truck.”

“We call that an APB in the United States.”

“Yes, now I remember that from the television shows,” he said. “If our friend Vlad decides to call the driver and turn him around before he gets to the border, it is going to be difficult to find.”

Wolf nodded his head. “I get it. Don’t get my hopes up.”

Chapter 33

Wolf’s stomach digested itself with a loud growl as they approached the car. So loud that Lia heard it.

She looked up at him and leaned back. “I guess you are hungry?”

“I thought you’d never ask. I would kill for another pizza.”

“I know just the place.” She turned to Rossi. “You coming?”

Rossi was concentrating with a pensive expression. “What?”

“Do you want to go have pizza with us for lunch?”

“Uh, no thanks. I have to go take care of some things at the station. I’ll catch up with you guys afterwards.”

“See you then. Keep Marino happy for me please. I’m supposed to talk to him this afternoon.”

“I promise nothing!”

The uncut pizza overhung the plate’s edge by two inches. Steam moistened his face as the waiter pushed it under his nose, edging aside two cans of coke, ordered just for Wolf.

Half a pizza and a full Coke later, he asked, “What does Colonnello Marino need to talk to you about this afternoon?”

Lia shifted in her chair and wiped her mouth. “I have a…deadline.”

“A deadline?”

She looked at her plate. “To wrap everything up with your brother’s case. To make you happy and want to bring your brother home.”

“I have a plane ticket on Sunday,” he said. “My brother is already on the way home.”

“I know.”

They ate in silence for a few bites.

“It’s my job to make sure you are on that plane on Sunday.”

“Believe me, it’s in my best interest to be on that plane. It’s in a lot of people’s best interest for me to be on that plane.” He looked at her without moving.

“I am sorry. I know it must be so difficult. I…I also know that I have no idea how difficult it must be.” She forked a piece of pizza. “I think you have convinced Valerio about your brother’s death — about him being murdered.”

“Yeah? And what about you?”

“I believe the evidence is looking like your brother was murdered. But you don’t need me to be convinced.” She leaned forward. “I’m just saying, if you have to go home without this situation being resolved, it would be good to have Valerio on your side. There are a lot of unseen forces at work here. Your brother’s situation has come at an interesting time in our station.”

Wolf furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

She dropped her fork with a huff, wiped her mouth, and looked to the ceiling. “Colonnello Marino is looking to be promoted out of the current position he is in. The Generali above him are choosing their next…successors, and he is well known to be on the top of that list. Only the top Colonnelli will be considered, and those top Colonnelli won’t have Americans coming in to question their investigations. If this gets out that you are here and somehow contributing to change the outcome of an already closed investigation, then that wouldn’t be good for him.”

“This case was going to be complicated anyways with the discovery of Rosenwald’s body.”

She nodded her head quickly and took another bite.

“I know, I know. I’m just saying everything is even more complicated now. The evidence points directly to your brother being responsible. The fact that Valerio has just stuck his neck out for you, as you Americans say, is very big. He is risking a lot by searching for this truck you saw last night.” She raised her eyebrows. “Because he is next in line for the position of Colonnello.”

“And right now it’s all tied up in a nice bow.”

“Exactly. Everything makes perfect sense. Your brother’s fingerprints are on the pipe, and it will look like a perfect explanation to Marino.” She swiped her hands against each other, another done and dusted gesture.

“Yeah, I know that. Only, it’s at the expense of my brother,” he said, shaking his head. “And my mother. I frankly don’t give a shit about Marino’s career.”

“Yes. I know. I don’t agree with it, I am just telling you what I know he is going to talk to me about this afternoon. Marino has been very angry and uptight the last month, and it gets worse with every passing day.” She forked another piece of pizza. “I know that he will not like our progress.”

They ate in silence for a minute

“What is it, election time or something for you guys?”

“Something like that, yes. Everyone is trying to keep their positions, or move up in the coming weeks and months. I do not know the exact time everything will happen, but change is in the air and everyone is well aware of it. It happens like this every year or two. Men and their power struggles…”

“Yeah,” he said. “And how about you?”

“Me?”

“How’s this big shake up going to play out for you?”

She scoffed and put her head down, forking another chunk of pizza into her mouth.

“What? You aren’t expecting to be moved up?” he asked. “You don’t have your sights set higher?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I do. We’ll see how things play out.”

“What position does Valerio hold?”

She pointed her fork at Wolf, then touched her nose with her index finger. “He is a Maggiore. How do you say?”

“A major?”

“Yes, a major. If Valerio moves up to Colonnello, it will likely shift a lot of others up in rank, opening a spot for an officer. I am young, and I am a woman. I don’t think I have a realistic chance.” She glared unfocused at the table. “But I am by far the best candidate in the entire station.”

“Good luck,” he said. “I hope you can beat out Tito.”

She paused mid-fork and glared hard.

They ate in comfortable silence for the rest of the meal, and he thought of home — thought about how he had to get the Sheriff on the phone. Not being there immediately after the incident with Connell was proving a PR nightmare.

Entrusting his future to the Derek-Connell-influenced-minds of others was killing him, especially since he’d lived his entire life not caring what others thought about him. Not that he treated people with disrespect; he just didn’t give a shit what they thought about him. Now he was on the other side of the world, unable to defend himself, desperately wondering what they thought of him.

“Thinking about home? Seems like you have much the same situation going on,” Lia asked him.

He sat back in the chair and wiped his mouth. “Yeah, it’s a bit more complicated, but essentially the same.”

“More complicated? I don’t believe it. Nothing is more complicated than Italian bureaucracy. Nothing.”

He plopped his napkin on the plate and sat forward, putting his elbows on the table. She matched the move, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Let’s say you and Tito were up for the same job promotion.”

She shrugged. “That’s not a stretch. He probably is up for the same promotion. His father is a very powerful man.”

“Okay, okay. But how about if you knew a secret about him.”

“A secret?” She scrunched her face. “Like, what?”

“A secret that only you knew. That you can’t prove, but you know it to be true.” He scratched his chin and looked to the ceiling. “A secret that would make it very bad if he were promoted.”

“I do know a secret about Tito. He is an idiot. It would be very bad for him to be promoted.”

He leaned back and squiggled his right hand in the air to the waiter.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. What do you mean? A secret? I don’t get it.”

He leaned forward to his elbows again. “What if you knew he was a murderer?”

“A murderer?” she leaned back and laughed out loud at the ceiling — a high pitched natural lilt that drew the longing eye of every single man in the room.

She looked again at Wolf, who sat with serious expression unchanged.

“Okay,” she said. “And how would I know that?”

“What if he tried to kill you? What if he attacked you, and tried with all his might to kill you, but you got away?”

“Then, yes, that would be very bad,” she said confused.

She looked at the plate in front of her, then lifted her chin and looked wide-eyed at Wolf, mouth agape with realization.

Chapter 34

“Can we have a look at that report now?” Wolf leaned back, letting the waiter clear the plates.

Lia pulled it from her bag. It was a thick red paper folder with a half inch of neatly stacked papers inside. She exhaled, swiped a smattering of crumbs on the floor and opened it up. The top of the first page had an ornate swords and shield letterhead. Underneath the logo was a series of cells with check boxes, some checked.

The police report was foreign in every aspect to Wolf, who was familiar with Rocky Points, Colorado police reports. He recognized his brother’s name, Johnathan Dennis Wolf. Apart from that, he may have been looking at a schematic for a nuclear bomb.

She turned the first page over and looked at the second, then turned back to the first page again. “I will translate.”

“Who wrote this? Was this Rossi?”

“No, this is written by Maresciallo Capo D’Angelo.”

They spent the next twenty minutes going through the written report sentence by sentence. It was mundane, and it was biased. Biased, Wolf thought, because it was written from the point of view of a group of cops called in to investigate a suicide of an unknown foreigner.

The report was written with conviction and little skepticism to the cause of death. An American was found on the ground, strangled by hanging. The superintendent had called it in on Sunday at the advice of the woman who lived above him, who was concerned.

She was self-described as dating the man, and was concerned he didn’t return her calls or show up for a date on Saturday night. She reported hearing a crash on Friday night, which was most likely the chandelier dropping to the floor. She then knocked and tried to enter the apartment, there was no answer and it was locked from the inside. This, coupled with observations by the coroner on scene, determined time of death to be early Saturday morning around one o’clock.  The woman didn’t report hearing or seeing anyone else in the apartment with him that early morning. Drugs were found on the scene, and close examination of the nostrils indicated drugs were used by the victim.

And that was that.

Nothing jumped out at Wolf as any different from what he had heard from Rossi, Lia, the superintendent, or Cristina.

Wolf spent another ten minutes clarifying the wording Lia used, not wanting anything lost in translation. The clarification process didn’t tell him anything. Nonetheless, something was nagging at his subconscious mind. A subliminal whisper was telling him he was missing something.

Lia looked at her watch and got up.

“We have to go. Marino awaits.”

They went out to the street and got in the Alfa Romeo.

“I’ll need to be in on that conversation,” he looked at his watch. Two o’clock. “I’m at the end of my rope.”

Chapter 35

Marino’s office was bright and hot. He sat in his leather throne, shouting loudly, with a roiling mass of cigarette smoke engulfing his shadowed form. The humid stench of sweat and tobacco was itchy to Wolf’s skin and throat.

Marino twisted in his chair, raised an eyebrow and a finger, motioned to the two chairs against the wall, then finished his conversation. He gently lowered the phone and dropped it from his fingers in place for the last inch. Sighing, he sat rocking back deeply in his chair.

“Mr. Wolf, officer Parente,” he said, extinguishing his cigarette. Almost. It sat smoldering in a wobbling stream. “I am sorry to hear about all of the developments of your brother’s case Mr. Wolf.”

He tented his fingers against the bottom of his nose. “I was shocked to say the least. I,” he said, “I do not know how to, uh…what to say. I know it must be difficult to hear these things about your brother. Especially being a police officer yourself.” He gestured to Wolf.

Wolf shifted forward, tilting his head, and took a breath to speak.

“But I don’t like what you did this morning, Officer Wolf.” Marino’s voice raised in volume. “You put one of my best policemen in a a bad situation. He trusted you.” He stood up and walked halfway around his desk, sitting one buttock on top.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, sir.”

“You don’t?” Marino folded his hands on his leg and stared motionless for five seconds.

Wolf waited again.

Marino glanced sideways at Lia, then back to Wolf.

“We’ve had some interesting developments in the last couple hours. We almost had all of north Italia going on a wild…turkey chase looking for this white truck of yours. A hunch from an American…consulente.”

“That wasn’t a hunch, I saw—”

“We found the truck,” he spoke loudly, holding up his index finger again. “Without having to call a national search, Officer Wolf. National search orders have to come from me.” He pecked his chest with his finger. “So officer Rossi took every action he could to keep me out of this cowboy show. I am in debt to him for that. And do you know why that eez Officer Wolf?”

Sergeant. “No.”

“They stopped the truck in question at the Trieste border within the last hour.” He held up a piece of paper between his thumb and index finger. “The truck was searched thoroughly, by human and by dog — much like many of the shipments that go through that border. There was nothing but the parts listed on the manifest prepared by the employee my officers harassed this morning at the Osservatorio di Merate!” His face flashed to a bright crimson, veins bulged in his temples.

“It was the wrong truck then,” Wolf said. “I know what I saw, and I saw a truck loaded with cocaine and stolen electronics.”

Marino began to chuckle, yanked a cigarette from the pack sitting on the desk, lit it, and dismounted in a high handed pirouette.

“Ah, yes! The brilliant piece of detective work you did last night! I hear you broke into the observatory grounds and saw some interesting things!”

“Yeah. I did see some interesting things.”

“Did you? Well, let me tell you a few interesting things. You were trespassing. Trespassing illegally in a foreign country. As my guest in our country,” he gestured wide with his arms, “you cannot come strutting into Italy on your horse and play cowboy, doing as you please. If you would have been caught, you would be in jail right now and there would be nothing I could do to get you out.”

“If I would have been caught I’d be dead like my brother right now. Because I was shot at! How are you turning a blind eye to this? You’ve got a pub fronting as a legitimate business, going around murdering people, smuggling stolen electronics and drugs! If you don’t care about that, then what the hell do you care about?”

Marino snapped his head to Wolf and let the silence hang for a beat.

“Don’t test me Officer Wolf. I am warning you.” Marino looked at the door, and back to Wolf for effect.

Wolf calmed himself with a deep breath.  “I know what I did was out of line, and I could have put you in a very compromising position. But I haven’t tried to make you or your department look bad on purpose. I was acting on a hunch. A hunch I should have talked to you guys about first, I admit,” he said. “But I swear I saw what I saw.”

“And I will take your observations under consideration and proceed accordingly in due time, Officer Wolf. Just because you have a flight to catch back home doesn’t mean we can cut corners and ignore laws in this country. There is no evidence to go on here. Nothing! So, you are going to have to make a decision right now, Officer Wolf. You have to trust me, and trust officer Rossi, and trust officer Parente here, and the rest of our very capable Caribinieri to follow up with this case in due time, the proper way.”

Wolf exhaled hard and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Marino’s expression melted to sympathy, and he flopped down in the chair with a grunt. “Look at this from my point of view. I have hard, undeniable evidence that a man used a pipe to beat another man’s skull in, killing him in cold rage. I have fingerprints, usable fingerprints, in blood, on the weapon. I have evidence that both men were taking drugs. We all know what drugs can do to human beings. It can bring out otherwise hidden rages in a person.

“I have evidence that a man hung himself from his ceiling. I have evidence he died of strangulation. Putting those two pieces of evidence together tells me that I have evidence this man killed himself. There was no one else in the apartment at the time. We have a testimony from the upstairs neighbor that she did not hear anything at all. If there were men inside, she would have heard, would she not? The door to your brother’s apartment was locked from the inside, keys still in the door. All of the evidence points to no one being in the apartment that night.

“And then,” he gestured to Wolf, “we have the conviction of a brother who doesn’t want to believe the evidence that is staring him in the face.”

Wolf didn’t move. “You guys dismissed this case from the beginning. You haven’t given it enough attention. There’s more to it. You didn’t even perform an autopsy, which probably would have told you the bruise on his head was not after death, but before death. You would have found out my brother doesn’t take drugs. There wouldn’t have been any drugs in his system.”

A tinge of doubt crept into his mind with the last statement, but he kept his poker face. “If you would have followed up on the receipt in my brother’s pocket, you would have seen that he was at a pub the night he died. A pub owned by some shady individuals who are current or former gang members. The kind of guys you want to look into further. Guys that I now know are smuggling drugs. Undoubtedly the same cocaine that was found at my brother’s and at Dr. Rosenwald’s apartment.

“There wasn’t even an investigation into the night of his death. Who was he with? What exactly was he doing? Where were the people he was with? These questions didn’t come up for your investigators?”

Marino inhaled deeply and let the question hang.

“Officer Wolf, it looked like a suicide.” He swiped his hands together and held them up, a gesture Wolf was becoming intimately familiar with.

“Not to me.”

Marino took another drag and swiveled his chair to the side, smoke seeping from his nostrils. He stood up. “I will have my men look into it further. Officer Parente will help,” he said. “You have my word. Now I need you to go home and let us do our job.”

Wolf shook his head and looked to the dirty tile floor.

Marino sat on the edge of his desk. “You will let us do our job. Or we will risk having an international incident. I do not want to have to take you into custody, Officer Wolf. But I will not have you going around breaking into property and conducting an investigation by yourself. How would you like it if this happened in your town in Colorado? How would you deal with it?”

Wolf looked at Lia, who gave him a sympathetic sideways glance. He narrowed his eyes and stared back at the floor, coming to a lucid conclusion. “All right. I have your word you will look further into the pub owner and the observatory employee?” He stood up straight and tall.

Marino put his cigarette in his mouth and stood, hands out to his sides.

“You have my word.”

Wolf exhaled, looking to the ceiling, a resigned look on his face.  “Okay. I’ll take the next day and get my brother’s things in order, then I’ll be leaving on Sunday morning.” He looked back down to Lia, who sat obediently. “Is it possible to get a ride to the airport on Sunday morning from officer Parente? Rather than take the train again?”

“If it is her day off. You will have to arrange that with her.”

“I’m on duty Sunday, sir,” she said.

“Then Lia will take you to the airport in the morning. You two can arrange it. Now if you will excuse officer Parente and myself, we need to speak about something.”

Wolf shook Marino’s hand and opened the door.

“Officer Wolf,” Marino called.

“Yes?”

“I’m very sorry. Good luck to you and your family.”

Wolf nodded and closed the door.

The room outside Marino’s office was subdued. A few officers pecked at their cream colored keyboards. The air was stagnant, hot and damp, windows all shut for some indiscernible reason.

Rossi looked up from his desk and ran over in a hurry. “David, I’m so sorry. Did you hear about the truck?”

“Hi, Valerio. Yes, I did. They must have been spooked and changed their plans.”

Rossi shrugged. “I’m sorry. I was going to let you guys know about it, but I was just inside Marino’s office myself. I didn’t have a chance to call, then I saw you enter his office just now.”

“No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Lia came out of Marino’s office behind Wolf.

“Why didn’t you tell us about the truck Valerio?” she hissed, closing the door.

“I was just telling David, I didn’t know about it until just now, then I had to talk to Marino. Then I didn’t get a chance to talk to you when you came in here.”

She shook her head in disgust, looking back at Marino’s office.

“Anyways, thanks Valerio,” Wolf held out his hand.

Rossi straightened and shook it. “You are welcome, Wolf. I wish you and your family the best of luck.”

“I would really appreciate it if you looked into this further after I leave.”

“David, I am going to look into this personally. I’ve already spoken to Marino about it. If they are running a smuggling operation, I will get the evidence needed to bring them in. Then we can find out if they are behind your brother’s murder, once and for all.”

Wolf fetched his brother’s computer from Paulo, said his goodbyes, and made his way down the stairs, giving one final wave to Valerio, who was dialing his phone. He stopped and put the phone to his chest. “Goodbye, David. Do not worry.” Rossi nodded his head with a steeled look.

He didn’t worry. He also didn’t give a shit what they did.

Lia was glancing at him frequently on the ride back to his brother’s house.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking I let my brother down.” He looked at the hordes of Friday afternoon lake shore walkers whizzing by.

“We will…” She let the futile sentence die, sensing his mood.

Wolf glanced in the side mirror as they swept around a traffic circle, revealing another Caribinieri Alfa Romeo cruiser directly behind them.

He looked at her and nodded. “I appreciate it. I really do.”

They pulled up to the courtyard of his brother’s apartment building. He unbuckled his belt and climbed out.

“What are you going to do for the next couple days?” She leaned over the seat, looking up at him with perfect eyes.

“I’ll probably get some rest tonight and just pack up my brother’s things. Then, I have no clue,” he lied. “How about tomorrow night you pick me up and I take you out for a pizza?”

She smiled wide and laughed.

“There’s more to Italian cuisine than pizza! I will take you for Risotto Milanese.”

He shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” He closed the door and slapped the roof.

“I will see you at eight!” She rolled up the window and drove off with squealing tires.

Chapter 36

The room was pitch black save for the screen on his cell phone, the alarm on it chiming next to him. A bright flash flickered through the shutter slats from outside and the building rumbled. He ripped the sheets back and stood with a forced enthusiasm and walked to the bedroom balcony. He opened the sliding shutters, revealing a bright orange sunset sky with jet black storm clouds stacked up against the mountains. A long ground strike of lightning flickered for a two count halfway up the mountain followed by a deafening boom that shook the windows near the point of breaking. The thunder rolled long, sound waves sloshing back and forth across the lake against the surrounding mountains.

It jolted him into action. He put on his pants, socks, and shoes and ran up the stairs to Cristina’s.

He knocked loud and Cristina cracked the door, showing her big coffee eyes. She smiled pleasantly and opened the door wide. The apartment was filled with the sounds of modern electric jazz and an aroma that made his mouth water.

“How are you?”

“I’m doing well, how are you?” Wolf mused that he was telling the truth. The few hours’ nap had energized his mental and physical state.

“One second, come in!” she said shuffling to the stereo. She wore a pair of black tights without shoes, a long gray sweater and black leather belt that cinched to show her slender waist. Her sandy blonde hair was pulled up in a quick pony tail, and she swept the straggling strands behind her ears as she straightened.

“Please,” she beckoned again. “Come in.”

He realized he was just staring dumbly. She looked a lot better than he’d remembered, and she didn’t seem to be trying too hard. Maybe it was her chipper mood and spring in her step. Or the beautiful body, face, hair and eyes.

“Who was that?” He pointed to the stereo and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, it’s a group from New York. Incognito.”

“Okay. Yep.”

She looked skeptical. “Really? You? Country boy from the Colorado mountains?”

“Yeah. I like them actually. I’ve got some of their stuff, but I’ve never heard this CD.”

“It’s their newest. It’s great,” she said. She turned it a little louder. “I would think you listened to country music.”

“I do.”

She laughed, walking to the kitchen. “So what’s happening?” She lifted a pan lid revealing a simmering tomato sauce.

“I was hoping you could give me a ride somewhere tonight.”

“Right now? I’m about to eat. Are you hungry? I have plenty of food.”

He looked at the spread. “No, it can wait until later. And yes, I am hungry.”

They ate pasta and listened to jazz while it rained torrential sideways sheets outside, drumming the dining room window. They mostly swapped stories about John.

He felt energized after the conversations, meal, and the nap from before. “Cristina.” He looked at her with a serious expression.

“Yes? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about these guys who own this pub. The Albastru Pub that John was always going to.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know the guys from home? From before you came here?”

“No, I don’t. Why? Because we are both Romanian?”

Wolf wiped his mouth and looked out the window. The rain was letting up gradually. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. How about this guy, Ferka Vlad, from the observatory? Did you know him from before?”

“I’ve met him before at the pub once. But it was just the one time. There really are a lot of people from Romania in Italy. But I don’t know many. I know that they are often looked at as criminals here, though. There is a lot of crime in northern Italy, where there is more money — more theft and people’s houses getting robbed. The finger is often pointed at the Romanian.” She shook her head. “There are bad Italians just like there are bad Romanians. But I do know that those guys at the Albastru Pub look bad. I would bet a lot of money they are criminals.”

“So would I.” Wolf looked out the window. She didn’t seem to be lying.

“Why? What’s going on? What have you found out?”

“I’m pretty sure that the owner of that pub and this guy Vlad killed my brother. But they’ve covered all their bases, and I can’t prove it. They’re smart. Or one of them is smart.” He set down his fork. “Or, they’re getting lucky.”

He looked around the kitchen, then got up and walked over to the knife set on the counter. He pulled four smaller knives on the bottom row, then checked the larger blades on the top. “You know my brother doesn’t have a single knife in his apartment other than four butter knives? Didn’t he ever cook?”

She laughed, then stopped, watching him put all but two blades back. He picked them up in one hand and brought them back to the table.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I need these.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “You have to be careful with those guys from the pub. I’m serious. They are probably killers.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She shook her head with glistening eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“It will come to me.” He picked up the plates and put them in the sink. “They beat my brother over the head and strangled him to death. And they beat Matthew Rosenwald’s head in. Making it look like my brother did the whole thing.”

He fetched the blades from the table and put them back in the wooden housing.

“I’m going to just bring this down to my brother’s apartment, okay? I’m sorry, you’re going to have to get another set. If anything happens, I don’t want anything tied to you. And come to think of it, it really would be better if I could just borrow the scooter tonight.”

Chapter 37

Faint ambient light from the city beyond the piazza streamed into his brother’s otherwise pitch dark bedroom. His show of walking around in his underwear, turning off the lights in the entire apartment, as if turning in early, was over.

Now he was dressing quickly. Wearing the darkest clothes he had, without overtly looking like a cat burglar. The two most important things he wore were tucked into his socks — two kitchen knives, the blades loosely covered with folded paper towel sheathes to protect his skin.

His stomach was queasy with nerves. He was paranoid from seeing the Alfa Romeo in the side mirror earlier. But more importantly, he needed to prove something to himself. There was no other way to know for sure how the killers left his brother’s apartment, leaving it locked from the inside.

He patted the knives, twisting his ankles to test the tuck-job, adjusted his socks, and went to the balcony. The piazza was ninety degrees to his right and out of site, on the other side of the A-ridged roof. The roof extended straight out to a distance of at least fifty yards. He could hear the murmur of a bustling Friday night crowd and see bright lights pouring upward against the thick humid air, swirling with insects.

There was no moonlight shining on the ceramic roof. It was dark, difficult to get a sense of the exact angle of pitch. He knew it wasn’t too steep to navigate, no more than thirty degrees, but steep enough to keep his heart rate racing, and wet enough to quicken his pulse even more. If it was a ski slope, it would have been labeled black diamond.

The roof butted right up against the balcony to his lower right. Ceramic tiles could be brittle, and he had no idea how old and brittle these were. He also knew that old ceramic tiles that were wet after a rain storm were probably slick with a thin film of clay.

He looked over the edge to his left, away from the roof to the narrow walking alleyway below. It was far. Three vaulted-ceilinged floors up from the hard cobblestone ground. He stared for a full minute, not seeing a single soul.

He gritted his teeth, gave a sharp exhale, and stepped over the railing. He put his left foot on the roof and gradually placed more and more weight on it while still straddling the balcony. There was a creak. He placed more weight still and tested the traction of his left foot.

Satisfied, he stepped his other foot over, and made the entire transition to the roof, laying forward in a low push up position, on his hands and tip toes.

Wolf’s stomach fluttered as he thought of slipping over the edge, hearing the gradual rush of air becoming deafening right before he hit the ground with an unfathomable pain. Jesus. He shook his head, thought back on his Army Ranger training and how this was nothing, looked up, and crawled.

Small ceramic scrapes and creaks accompanied every movement, though the tiles seemed solid. He shuffled quickly up towards the ridge of the roof that was a straight line of shadow against the bright piazza beyond. He stopped just before the top, not wanting to risk being seen from the other side. He got to the soles of his feet, stooping with his right hand in contact with the tiles, and made his way.

Step by step, foot by foot, the tiles held up beneath him as he crept along carefully keeping focus.

Impatience overwhelmed him. He glanced at his watch and noted the ten full minutes it had already taken him to travel a mere thirty yards.

He stood up with bent knees, arms out for balance. Looking to his right, he couldn’t see the other side of the roof, so no one could see him from below. He began walking at a faster pace toward the dark void that was still twenty yards ahead.

No more than three paces into his light footed trot, his left foot gave way, sweeping violently down to the left with an air-splitting ceramic crack. His right foot shuffled forward in mid stride and caught on a tile as his body weight plummeted towards the roof. His right knee bent, smashed into his chest, bounced him up to the left, and into an uncontrollable fall.

He hit the roof with a hollow thud on his entire left side. For a moment, he stalled, planking parallel to the roof ridge line, shifting slowly, unstoppably into a roll towards the roof edge. He extended his right leg out and up to stop it, but it was no use.

Without thinking, he kicked up with his left leg, extended his right arm straight above his head, and twisted hard to his right, towards the drop. A fraction of a second later he split his legs and arms into a wide X, toes and hands digging for purchase, belly against the wet roof. He landed in a cacophony of cleaving tiles, which tumbled like the sound of plates sliding off a waiter tray, into the darkness, now just a foot to his left.

His body skidded a few inches as he gritted his teeth, digging his toes and finger tips into the wet ceramic. His body stopped with inches to spare. Panting quickly now, he forced himself to take a deep breath, then heard a few distant splatters of tiles hitting the cobblestones below, giving him yet another shot of adrenaline.

Ten seconds later he managed to get back to a position perpendicular to the crest of the roof, using the sturdy tiles beneath. He went all the way to the peak this time, willing to trade being seen from within the piazza for living to see another day. Straddling the crest, he walked low and quick the remainder of the way.

As he approached the black void at the end of the roof, growing discouragement gave way to instant relief as his eyes adjusted, revealing a one meter drop onto a flat topped black roof below. He could see puddles reflecting the city-lit clouds. The roof extended twenty feet, then there was a steel rectangular structure at the edge. A fire escape stairway?

He slunk over the edge and made his way there.

It was a fire escape. Steps zig-zagged all the way down to the ground, or so he assumed. He wasn’t about to test the strength of the railing by leaning over to see.

It wobbled and creaked with each step, but he was on the ground safely in a few minutes.

His body tingled with adrenaline as his feet hit the ground. He turned to look back up at the stairway. He shook his head with wide eyes — cold-blooded conviction pounding in his veins. That was how the murderers got out of his brother’s apartment that night.

The piazza was just around the corner. He walked the opposite way, through a narrow gap — to where Cristina had told him to go earlier. The familiar white scooter was parked right where she said it would be. He cranked the key, fired up the kazoo-sounding engine, and took off down the side street.

Chapter 38

He rode the scooter fast to the Merate Observatory. The gate in the rear of the property was wide open, just like every other time he’d seen it, so he planted the scooter in the corn and walked in. Checking the back door with a tug, he was surprised as bright light poured out, opening without any resistance.

Walking in like a stalker would have drawn a cautious eye to any observers inside, so he walked in like he belonged.

Opening the door hard, he strode across the brightly lit telescope room floor while looking down at his hooded sweatshirt zipper, making a mild show of struggling to unzip it. A man at a computer terminal looked to him over a pushed down set of reading glasses.

Wolf raised his eyebrows and his hand in a quick wave as he walked in full stride through the propped door to the interior building.

“Ciao,” the man said distractedly, already turning his head back to the computer screen.

Wolf took to his right, down the hallway towards Vlad’s office, and allowed himself a quick look over his shoulder. No one was in sight along the hall that extended in the opposite direction, but a few lights were on. He glanced at his watch. 8:44 pm. For a Friday night, it seemed positively bustling. But then again, it was an observatory.

He walked past an occupied office on the left. Inside, a man sat with his face to a computer screen, an Asian man looking over his shoulder — Dr. Chang. He passed unobserved down the hallway. Blinds were drawn tight over Vlad’s hall windows, lights on inside, and his door was shut. Wembly’s office was dark, looking shut tight for the night.

Wolf stopped, swiveled another look down the hall, and pressed his ear lightly against Vlad’s office door. There was no sound.

He twisted the handle and entered fast.

Before he finished shutting the door, he knew he was in big trouble.

Chapter 39

Nothing inside the office moved but the swirling digital lines on the computer screen.

Vlad sprawled motionless, directly face down. His head was back slightly, face balanced on his nose and gaping jaw which was mashed into the terrazzo floor.

What bothered Wolf was not Vlad’s obviously lifeless body, as much as what was wrapped around his neck — a shiny black leather belt. A shiny black belt of a design he might have remembered seeing in his brother’s closet earlier in the week.

His mind raced.

He looked at the computer screen. The lines had disappeared, blanking out to a black sleep-mode screen. He snapped his head to Vlad and bent down, feeling his cheek with the back of his hand. The body was still warm.

Wolf stood up with a jolt and turned towards the door. He pulled the door open with his sweatshirt pocket covered hand and scrubbed clean the exterior knob. Suddenly, a faint two tone siren became audible somewhere in the distance. Turning to the exterior window, his breath quickened when the flicker of red and blue flashed through the closed blinds, and the siren become louder.

Wolf sprinted down the hall, past the Asian scientist who was now taking a long swill of soda in his office doorway.

“Hey!” He stepped back, spilling his drink on himself as Wolf blew past him.

Wolf ran hard through the telescope room and out the door. He stopped outside with a skid and lunged back to the handle, wiping both inside and outside knob quickly with his sweatshirt before turning and sprinting as fast as he could out the gate.

Running down the dirt road to the left, red and blue pulses dimly lit the corn rows in front of him, coming from behind. He dove straight left into the corn rows, stopping his movement as fast he could. Looking up, he steadied two cornstalks in place.

The siren was now muted, but the brightening strobe of red and blue told him the vehicle was getting closer by the second.

Wolf inched to the edge of the corn and stole a glance. It was a Caribinieri Alfa Romeo Gazelle slowing at the observatory’s back gate, then whipping hard into the property. He waited for the next car, which never came. He held his breath and listened. A faint familiar clack of the observatory door told him the officer had probably entered the building.

None of it made any sense. The body wasn’t even cold yet, not even discovered by his fellow employees milling about. Wolf instinctually twisted to look behind him. Nothing but corn.

He poked his head out and looked to the building, seeing flashing blue and red against the corn rows lining the road. Faint radio noises came from the vehicle inside the property.

He ran down the road to the scooter. Pausing, he looked and listened again, then pushed it up the dirt road, away from the observatory grounds. Reaching the small rise, he jumped on, coasting towards the lake — towards the narrow trail they’d navigated earlier in the day. Towards the crime scene.

He jammed the brakes hard, skidding to a stop. Whether or not the crime scene would be manned was a toss-up. If he were the one giving orders at a crime scene in Colorado, he would have a couple men down there. Probably not at the trail head below, but more near the actual crime scene. He knew there was a farm road to the left and to the right at the bottom of the small hill ahead, right where the narrow trail began. He coasted forward.

The narrow path at the bottom had yellow tape across the entrance, but no officer in site. He fired up the scooter and gave it a small rev that echoed in the still night, sounding like a handful of pebbles in a tin can. He chose the road to the left, towards the road he took here. It was also towards the road the Caribinieri screamed in on, but most importantly, it was back in the direction of Lecco.

Time wasn’t on his side anymore, and there was a lot to do.

Chapter 40

Wolf got off the hissing scooter and eyed the Albastru Pub across the piazza. It was lively, chalk full of patrons, merry laughter gushing from the pub doorway as they came and went.

Walking past the front window, he could see a thickly muscled bartender working behind the counter in a blur of activity. A young waitress weaved in and out of standing customers. Her face sparkled with facial piercings.

A group of young men wearing soccer jerseys charged out with cigarettes in their mouths, beers in hand.

He slowed his pace, stalling to get a longer look inside, digging in his pocket and pulling out a cigarette from the pack he borrowed from Cristina. “Excuse me, do you have a light?” He flicked his thumb.

Two of the bigger guys turned toughly, eyeing him up and down. “Yes, I have one!” Another guy stepped forward with a friendly smile and extended lighter. “Where are you from?”

Just then Wolf saw Cezar’s tall head bobbing above behind the bar, above the other patrons. Wolf took the lighter and turned his back to the window to light.

“Tijuana.” Wolf tossed it back without looking and walked away.

He took a left and walked down the street, the pub noise fading in the distance.

Thirty yards down he took the first left, then the next, into a dark rain soaked alley. He made his way toward where he pictured the rear of the pub. Through a slot canyon of thousand-year-old connected buildings with dark doorways.

Ahead was a blind curve with a bright glow beyond it. He tossed the cigarette in a puddle and walked.

Two men stood in a brightly lit garage doorway sucking on cigarettes.

He ducked into a sunken doorway on the right and looked.

The two men were wiry, much like Cezar, as if they didn’t eat much, or had the metabolism of ferrets. They didn’t look particularly dangerous, neither being over six feet tall, nor bulky, but they were undoubtedly raised on the streets of a country he had no knowledge of.  Whether from Italy or Romania, he didn’t know the skills these guys brought to the table. They were heavily tattooed, and his gut told him they weren’t just a couple of dishwashers out for a smoke break.

The shorter of the two guys was telling an animated story while the other one stood still, chuckling silently, looking self consciously at his own cigarette. Neither looked to have guns or knives tucked in their waist.

They finished their cigarettes and stayed there, like they were going to wait for something, then ducked inside.

Wolf put another smoke in his mouth, walked out of the doorway and directly towards the bright garage.

As he got closer, he heard the sound of at least two men talking. Definitely Romanian, not Italian.

Wolf walked to the door and looked inside, bathed in bright light. The interior of the garage was large enough for one American SUV, or two Italian cars. Boxes were stacked along the walls of either side. It was obviously used as a loading dock for restaurant supplies to be offloaded from a truck and into the establishment through the door in the back left.

The two men were hard at work pulling full boxes from a haphazard area in the middle of the garage, taping them shut, and stacking them along the walls. The boxes were brown, of the same dimension he’d seen in the back of Cezar’s truck the night before. And just like the night before, they were filled to the brim with what looked to be stolen electronics.

One of the guys did a double take when he saw Wolf, who was now standing just in the garage doorway with a cigarette in his mouth, digging in his pocket with a frustrated look.

They both stood with wide eyes and began walking to Wolf, chests out, heads leaned way back and to the side.

“Excuse me,” Wolf said. “Do you have a lighter?” He flicked his thumb.

The shorter guy on the right took the lead, skipping in front of the other guy. “No, no, no, no.” He shook a finger, walking up fast.

Wolf took his left hand out of his pocket and cigarette out of his mouth with his right, hands out in a defenseless gesture. “No, sorry, I’m just looking for a lighter!” He pointed wildly to his cigarette.

The small guy put his right hand on Wolf’s chest and pushed gently.

Wolf kept his hands up and shuffled backwards, a look of horror now displayed on his face, out into the center of the alleyway.

The short guy kept his hand on Wolf’s chest and began chuckling. He patted Wolf a couple times hard, pushing Wolf back further with each smack. The guy looked Wolf up and down, like he was creepily sizing up a woman, then launched into an amused conversation, looking over his left shoulder to speak.

Wolf knocked the guy out with a hard left knuckle punch to the right temple, following with a massive right elbow to the middle of the face.

The taller guy spit out his cigarette with wide eyes and ripped his hands from his pockets.

Wolf stepped over the still crumpling body straight towards him. He could see that fight or flight instinct was being weighed against each other in the tall guy’s eyes. Flight won out. He turned around and bolted to the pub door.

Wolf was in full stride the second the guy turned, catching up to him immediately. He put his shoulder down and tackled him from behind, just underneath the waist, landing on him hard, driving chest and face into the smooth concrete floor with a slap. Wolf bounced up onto his knees, grabbed two fists of greasy hair and slammed the man’s head down face first. The guy went limp beneath him. Wolf shot a look to the guy in the alley, who still lay motionless.

Wolf got up and pulled the man underneath him into the dark, leaving a red smear. When he reached the rougher alley surface, he flipped him over onto his back, feeling a slight twinge of pity for man’s face.

Within a minute he had both guys stowed up against a dark doorway in the alley.

He hurried back into the open garage and began rummaging. Boxes, some open, some shut, were filled with electronics. A stack of the white EAC logo boxes were piled along the right wall. He lifted one quickly. The contents felt the same as the night before — heavy and packed densely.

Clipboards hung on the wall with official looking shipment papers. He pulled down the first one — an original Bill of Lading from an Italian shipping company. It was in Italian making it almost one hundred percent illegible to Wolf, except one line that said Genoa, Liguria, Italia. The line before it Tenes, Algeria.

A shipment from Algeria? North Africa?

Sheet after sheet was the same. Genoa, Liguria, Italia and Tenes, Algeria. Another line stood out to him, being that it was the same on each and every sheet - Fratelli Importatori.

A loud clang of a pot or pan from inside the door jolted him into quick action. He set the clipboards back on their hooks and ran out of the garage, careful to step over the darkening blood streak on his way out.

As he turned the corner he heard the door inside the garage open with a squeak.

He ran quietly down the road and around the bend.

Chapter 41

Wolf ran down the alley, back to the right, and out to the front of the pub once again. He walked inside, past the resentful eye of the man he bummed a light from earlier, who was now sucking on a new cigarette.

The thick necked, heavily muscled, and tattooed guy was alone behind the bar. He nodded to Wolf and leaned forward with an ear, looking at him sideways with beady pollution-brown eyes.

“Stella Artois,” said Wolf over the thumping music.

The man twisted to the glasses and swiftly poured him a beer from the tap.

Wolf took a sip, paid the behemoth, and sauntered to the drinker’s side of the bar, which gave him the best view into the back hallway. The hallway ended in a kitchen where two employees paced back and forth. Beyond them was a brightly lit doorway, wide open to the rear garage.

Cezar appeared in it, striding into the kitchen. He closed the door hard and leaned against it, then turned and marched through the kitchen towards the bar. He was gritting his teeth and flexing both fists.

Wolf grabbed his beer and walked through the standing patrons, wincing at the various cheap colognes and bodily emissions as he weaved his way through the loud room. There was an open small table in the corner, so he took it.

The waitress was quick to the table. She had a half circle piercing dangling from the center of her nose, a couple lip rings, and three neck tattoos that he could see. Her blue spiky hair was shaved in a stylistic side wall configuration, like an eighties NFL football player.

She asked something he didn’t understand, then looked at the dumb expression on his face and smiled. “Would you like a menu?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

She looked him all the way down and up, then left with an evil smile.

He watched her shapely body go for a second, then brought the beer up to his lips. From behind the glass he watched Cezar, who was bending in towards the thick necked guy’s ear, whispering with sharp head snaps.

The bartender nodded towards the front window, just to Wolf’s left. Cezar stood up straight and looked, eyes hardening. Wolf froze, the beer pouring down his throat slowly. He stopped drinking, letting the beer rest up against his closed mouth, breathing out his nose. Then he realized they were looking at the front door as a warm, smoky breeze hit his face — a fully clad Caribinieri walking in.

Wolf set the beer down on the table and bent down to his boot. He fondled his laces and looked sidelong towards the red stripe of the Caribinieri uniform pants. They were poised right inside the door for a few seconds, then turned, stepping away from him.

Wolf straightened in his seat and strained to see through the patrons. He spied Cezar, who was wide eyed and turning pale. His Adam’s apple traveled up and down fast as he swallowed dryly.

He seemed to be shitting himself, and he should have been with the stuff he had sitting twenty feet directly behind the thin wood and concrete at his back.

Wolf stood and shuffled through the crowd to a more central locale, his curiosity peaked. Had the Caribinieri begun their investigation into the shady dealings of the Albastru Pub?

The girl with the piercings cut him off. “You not going to eat after all?” Her bottom lip was out with a pouty look.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I think I’m just going to go up to the bar.” He pointed past her, then stopped dead in his tracks, accidentally juking the waitress into bumping straight into him. His eyes narrowed.

The waitress laughed excitedly, placing her tiny hand on the small of his back.

“Oh, sorry!” she giggled.

He didn’t notice her. He was still looking hard at Cezar, who had made a subtle move that didn’t make sense — a nod of his head towards the end of the bar.

Wolf looked to the Carabinieri officer, who changed the direction of his approach to the bar, following the nod.

It was an odd interaction. It was like Cezar was calling the location of the conversation, which he was, or else he wouldn’t have nodded his head. It didn’t make sense. It was a very familiar gesture, as if they were friends.

The officer reached the end of the bar, plopped his hat down and leaned over onto his elbows.

Cezar reached him and immediately leaned down, launching into a conversation in his left ear. The Carabinieri officer turned his head to his right, revealing the unmistakeable profile of Detective Valerio Rossi. Cezar was gesturing behind himself with a thumb, then also sat his elbows on the counter.

Cezar was looking at Rossi with raised eyebrows, looking like he was waiting for some kind of an answer from Rossi.

Rossi stood slowly and stared at his hat on the counter, contemplating. He began looking around, down the length of the bar, then at the patrons who watched the television.

Wolf’s heart skipped. Something wasn’t right.

He looked down at the waitress who was pulling her hand back and moving on with her life. She began shuffling past, and he twisted away from the bar following her, then he gently pulled on her arm. Turning back, she had a puppy dog look of curiosity. He bent and kissed her. She returned the gesture eagerly, a clicking tongue piercing bouncing off his teeth. Wolf opened his eyes and searched the reflection in the front window while they kissed. Rossi was walking straight towards him.

He stopped kissing her and breathed in her ear. “Sorry, no. I won’t be eating tonight after all.”

“That’s too bad.” Her breath was hot, her lips flicking his earlobe. “Well, we could always eat together later.”

“What’s that?” He said pointing at his ear, keeping his head down. She repeated herself as Rossi pushed past Wolf’s right shoulder, brushing up against him, and out the front door.

Wolf stood and watched him leave out the door and down the road to his left.

Looking in the window reflection again, he saw Cezar turning the corner back into the rear of the pub.

Wolf walked out the front.

“Fucking American piece of sh—” the waitress’ voice was snuffed out by the shutting door.

“Later asshole,” the soccer fan guy raised his beer as Wolf walked past.

He walked to the scooter, but not before glancing back to Rossi, who was hanging a left —towards the alley Wolf had just come from.

Chapter 42

The officer on Wolf’s brother’s balcony looked to the northwest corner of the piazza, then, raising a radio to his mouth, turned to look directly at him.

Static erupted, followed by a tinny voice, no more than five feet to Wolf’s right. Wolf flinched, ducking fast to his left, suddenly very conscious of his conspicuous height compared to the people around him.

He slalomed through the piazza crowd and made his way to the side shops, then ducked into a narrow side street. He bummed a light from a teenager and puffed hard on a cigarette, surveying the piazza from behind the thin smokescreen.

Wolf was on the west side of the piazza, looking up at the northeast corner. The figure left the balcony and ducked inside to the fully lit apartment. It was an officer he’d never seen. Obviously the rest of the piazza was crawling with Caribinieri, though he had yet to see any.

Meanwhile, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle in his mind were being shuffled and fitted together, his brain beginning to see the clear picture.

Rossi was everything. And if Wolf didn’t act fast, he’d be spending the rest of his life in an Italian prison. Either that, or going home in a box right behind his brother.

Wolf dropped the cigarette and walked down the side street, working his way right, then right again, into a pulsing artery of people that flowed into the piazza.

Wolf centered himself within the throngs of people and shuffled forward, surveying ahead. He narrowed his eyes. Tito just inside the entrance to the piazza along the left side, talking conspiratorially on his cellphone. A quick plan materialized in Wolf’s head.

“Can I get one of those, Officer?” Wolf watched Tito slip his phone into his pocket and put a cigarette in his mouth.

Tito’s sagging eyelids shot open in surprise at seeing Wolf.

Wolf nodded up to the apartment. “How’s it going? You keeping an eye on my brother’s apartment?”

Tito’s mouth sagged open, dropping the unlit cigarette from his mouth. “What are you…” Tito stopped at the sharp pressure at the small of his back. Wolf waited patiently as he fumbled in his empty holster, then realized it was his own Baretta held on him.

“Don’t you dare make a move or a sound,” Wolf said menacingly. “I’ve got nothing to lose here. If I have to kill you to get away, that’s no problem with me.”

People streamed by, pushed forward by the current of humans behind them, none seeing the situation for what it was.

Wolf jabbed the barrel up harder. “Give me your phone.”

Tito pulled it out, and Wolf took and opened it up. Capitano Rossi with his phone number listed underneath was displayed on the screen.

“Was that Rossi on the phone just now?”

Tito arched his back at the gun’s pressure and winced.

“Relax, Tito.” Wolf stepped in front of him and removed the radio from his belt. “Just relax. I’m going to let you go on about your business. You stay right here as if all is fine.” Wolf put the radio and phone in his left sweatshirt pocket, pointing the gun at Tito’s belly through the fabric of the right. “Otherwise, I’m going to shoot you.”

Tito’s mouth dropped open a sliver and his arms went limp by his sides.

“Good. Now first, tell me who just called you. It was Rossi, right?”

Tito nodded his head.

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know if I had seen you yet.”

“Yeah? What did you tell him?”

“I said I had not.”

“Okay, and what did he say?”

“He was very angry sounding, and said to call heem when I saw you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? He did not say why, just to call heem.”

Wolf eyed him. “Remember what I said. See you later, Tito. We’ll have a laugh about this someday, I promise.”

Chapter 43

Wolf walked briskly away from the piazza, taking one random turn after another. The long tone rang up against Wolf’s ear.

“Pronto?” Paulo’s voice was distant sounding.

“You in front of a computer?”

“Tito? What? Who ees thees?”

Wolf stopped walking. “It’s David Wolf. I’m here with Lia and Tito. But, listen, we have a few favors to ask, well, Lia has a couple favors.”

He proceeded with the acting job of his life, and hung up with a spark of hope.

Wolf scrolled through the phone and found Officer Parente.

The phone rang and rang, then cut out with a beep, beep, beep.

Wolf’s blood pressure rose as he looked at the phone. The reception bars were gone, a dashed line in their place. He reluctantly back tracked his route, the bars jumping up to three as he turned left around the corner he’d just come from.

He dialed again, and listened to the ring repeat for a full thirty seconds.

His stomach sank. He hadn’t thought of the simple fact that she’d probably screen Tito’s calls at all costs.

Wolf closed the phone and exhaled loudly, staring straight up. Swarms of huge insects clouded around the lights along the tall walls of the surrounding buildings. Dark blurry fluttering bats dove in and out of the swarms.

The phone vibrated in his hand. Wolf looked at the phone, the illuminated screen displayed Officer Parente. “Hello?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Lia? Is that you?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s David. I’m on Tito’s phone.”

There was silence on the other end, then a group of fifty CC motorcycles revving loud into the phone. A split second later Wolf heard the same sound in his free ear, though much fainter, coming from the direction of the piazza.

“Couldn’t hear the phone the first time because of the noise in the piazza, huh?”

There was silence for a second. Wolf looked back at the phone reception. “Where are you David?”

“I’m near.”

She stayed silent.

“I didn’t do it.”

“Didn’t do what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Vlad. What am I, an idiot?”

She exhaled loud, crackling the speaker in Wolf’s ear.

“Look, I need to meet with you,” he said. “I’ve figured everything out. I need to meet with you and Rossi. Get hold of him, and you two meet me at my apartment in one hour. Okay?”

She paused a beat. “What’s going on David?”

“I’ll tell you when you show up, all right? All I ask is make sure you answer each and every phone call you get tonight, all right? It’s important.”

He hung up and headed back down the street and around the corner, straight into a pistol pointed at his face.

Chapter 44

Behind the sound suppressed pistol was the now familiar tiny smiling mouth of the man he’d come to know as Cezar. “Don’t move.”

Wolf didn’t move, nor did he put his hands up in a defenseless gesture. He was studying the pistol in front of him. It didn’t waver a centimeter, the knuckle white with tension on the trigger.

“I said don’t move,” he repeated, reading Wolf’s thoughts.

Wolf slowly raised his hands out to his sides. Just then a shuffling came up behind him, and hands dug into his waistband, pulling out the Beretta tucked into the back of his jeans.

“Ciao.” Rossi was behind him. “Let’s go,” he said giving a sharp shove on Wolf’s back.

They walked quietly for three or four minutes. Wolf could hear Cezar’s long stride and his energetic throat clearing, and Rossi’s shorter stride, breathing heavily from his mouth, maybe to withstand the pungent sewage smell that seeped from every other drain.

Down and down they continued along twisting and turning narrow streets. Of the few patrons they saw, only a few noticed what was happening as they passed. Those that did let out hushed whispers and turned with interest to watch the strange procession.

They came around a slight bend to Rossi’s Caribinieri Alpha Romeo.

They reached the door and Rossi turned to Wolf, “Put your hands behind your back.”

Wolf stopped and looked around, putting his hands on his hips.

Rossi raised his hand in a fluid motion, pointing his suppressed Beretta at the side of Wolf’s face. “I said put your hands behind your back.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “It was you who killed my brother.”

Two gargantuan hands gripped his wrists and shoved him up against the side of the car. Steel handcuffs clamped hard and tight.

Wolf lashed his right heel up and back with as much strength as he could muster, then turned around.

Cezar was doubled over on the ground grabbing both hands at his crotch.

Wolf smiled, and all went black.

Chapter 45

Cold water slammed his face, forcing underneath his eyelids. He sat up straight, sucking in a hard breath, blinking and wincing in pain.

“Ancora!”

Another cold explosion hit his face, forcing him upward into a wide mouthed inhale. He shook the water away and opened his eyes in hard blinks.

A bright halogen light on a pole was set up in front of him, shining directly in his face. He squinted hard, turning his head back and forth hard, desperately trying to figure out what was happening. There was a guy sitting cross-legged against a wall to his immediate right. He lowered a bloody towel that was pressed against his nose, revealing a rueful grin.

Wolf nodded with furrowed brow. It was the guy he tackled in the garage earlier.

He looked to the right of the strange sitting man, recognizing the clipboards on the wall, and the door. He was back in the Albastru Pub garage.

The light shifted upwards towards the ceiling, allowing him to look straight ahead. Rossi was lounging on a chair with crossed legs, smoking a cigarette.

Wolf coughed lightly, lungs itching from the smoke. “Jesus, everyone’s always smoking in this country.”

Rossi took a long drag and smiled, but it was different than Wolf was accustomed to. His face had changed, a relaxed malicious look replacing the friendly disposition.

“You should have stayed home, Officer Wolf.” He didn’t blink.

Wolf did a double take to his left. A dead guy’s body lay on a sprawled out piece of clear plastic. Nose to chest, he was caked with dark maroon dried blood stains. There was a neat hole in his head, and he lay in a large pool of brighter red blood. A pool that, upon closer study, was still spreading slowly. Wolf recognized the man, but couldn’t place where he knew him from.

His head pounded. Wolf furrowed his brow and looked back at Rossi, a movement that sent a sharp pain through his head. “It’s Sergeant Wolf, dickhead.”

Rossi was still looking at Wolf, now with wide-eyed amusement. “Oh. I am sorry.” He pointed to the body on the floor. “The man you murdered tonight.”

Wolf looked again at the body, then back to Rossi.

“The man who also murdered you, I’m sorry to say.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

Wolf’s head pounded. Leaning forward to shake the cobwebs, a dizzy spell hit him hard, and he began to free fall forward. Subconsciously Wolf assumed he was somehow fastened to the chair, but there was just a pair of steel cuffs on his wrists.

Rossi caught him. “Whoa, attento, Officer Wolf!” He helped him back into the chair with a lift. “I guess I should not have hit you so hard, you are not doing so well.”

Wolf remembered the pistol in his face. The side street. Being escorted out at gunpoint by Cezar. The walk. Kicking Cezar in the balls. The phone calls. Wolf smiled at the memory of Cezar buckled over on his side on the damp alley street.

Rossi sat back and returned the smile with a tilt of his head. “What is it…Sergeant Wolf?”

Wolf’s smile vanished. “I’m going to kill you, Rossi,” he said. “You were the one who killed my brother. I’m going to kill you.”

Rossi inhaled sharply and sat back, launching into a lazy overhead stretch with his arms. “I don’t think so, Officer Wolf. Just a few more minutes now, and you’ll be dead.” He smacked his lips and crossed his arms.

Bouncing light was coming from beyond Rossi, and Wolf realized the door to the garage was wide open.

“Well, you should have killed me earlier.”

Rossi got up slowly, turned around and poked his head out the garage, “Ah, here is your ride right now.”

A white truck emblazoned with a blue Albastru Shipping Co logo slowed at the door then rumbled past. Reverse lights lit the rear of the truck and a loud continuous beep split the air.

Rossi slapped the back of the truck. It stopped, and he lifted the rear door.

Wolf noticed the metal patchwork on the door of the truck, covering the bullet holes from the night before.

Cezar stepped into view from the driver’s side of the truck, and the thick necked rhino of a guy stepped into view from the other side.

Rossi launched into a speech, gesturing to the guy on the floor, Wolf, and the other guy sitting against the wall. Cezar and Thick Neck were nodding their heads, and then sprung into action, laying out a fresh sheet of plastic, moving the dead guy onto it, then wrapping him up like a burrito. They carefully picked up the old blood soaked sheet of plastic from each corner.

Cezar and the bartender moved the body and plastic into the back of the open truck, and then unfurled a fresh piece. Rossi leaned against the wall and lit another cigarette, watching.

Wolf flexed his feet up and down. Blood was circulating poorly in his legs. Through the numb tingling, he suddenly realized he could still feel the pressure on his inner calf muscles in the tight socks.

Wolf eyed the plastic sheet with indifference. “So, don’t you want to know why you should have killed me earlier, Rossi?”

Rossi took the cigarette out of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Wolf. He had his attention.

Wolf raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “I know about your dad.”

His eyes rolled and head whipped back. “Please, Officer Wolf. Die with dignity, why don’t you. Your brother did, you know. I won’t lie to you. He died with dignity. Of course, he was unconscious when I strangled him, but…”

“In fact, I’ve already told other people about your dad,” Wolf said. “People in the Caribinieri. Your days are numbered. Hell, your hours are numbered.”

Panic flickered for a tiny moment in Rossi’s face, and Wolf knew he’d hit home.

Cezar saw it too, pausing while cutting the sheet of plastic, he looked imploringly at Rossi.

Rossi gave him a sideways glance and narrowed his eyes at Wolf.

“What exactly are you talking about, Officer Wolf? What do you think you know?”

“It’s over Rossi. It’s just a matter of time before they tie you and your brother with the activities going on here. I’m sure there’s some good forensic accountants that you and your brother haven’t paid off.”

Rossi stared hard for ten full seconds, then shook his head laughing. “You don’t know what you are talking about, Officer Wolf.”

“You’re laughing, but you’re going down, and you know it. It’s over. Your life is over. I know that your father didn’t leave you an inheritance three years ago. And now other people, people in your force do too. Tomorrow your job isn’t waiting for you, Rossi. A jail cell is.”

Rossi nodded his head and turned quickly.

“And a pine box is waiting for you, Officer Wolf. Goodbye.” Detective Rossi walked out of the garage.

Chapter 46

Cezar and the bartender followed Rossi out the door and out of site.

Wolf didn’t take any time to consider what just happened. Instead, he looked to his right. The guy whose face he smashed into the floor earlier was just a few feet from him, still slumped against the wall, sitting cross legged. He was looking eagerly towards the garage door, gently patting the bloodied towel against his face.

As Wolf leaned forward, slid off the chair, twisted one hundred eighty degrees, and rolled along his back to his shoulders, he wondered what the guy was all about. Was he not in any better position than him right now? Was he going to be shot in the head like his buddy in the plastic wrapping? Why wasn’t he helping the others? Was he a captive?

The guy looked to Wolf with confusion as he brought the handcuffs over his feet in a swift soundless move.

Wolf never took his eyes off the guy for a second as he rolled back down his back, planted his feet, twisted left, straightened his legs, pulled up his pant legs and pulled out two three inch kitchen blades.

The guy dropped his towel and widened his eyes, hands spreading in the air next to his face. He paused a beat, then shut his gaping mouth.

Wolf stood up silently, nodding his head, then kicked him in the temple with his right steel-toed boot.

The guy slumped over, out cold.

Wolf snuck to the garage door, sticking to the wall to minimize his shadow outside. He listened hard. Two men spoke in the guttural tones of eastern European, not the staccato of Italian. Rossi was gone.

He wanted Rossi. That was the only objective he cared about. There was no sense flicking the ear of fate with two very big guys. The Caribinieri, the real ones, could bust this place wide later.

But fate had other plans.

Just as he began making his way to the door to the kitchen, it swung inward. Nose ring waitress stuck her head out, asking a loud question in her native tongue. She was looking straight ahead to a blank spot on the garage wall, as if consciously averting her eyes to any goings-on.

Wolf froze.

She turned, saw him, looked at the unconscious figure on the floor, then back to Wolf who stood with his two knives pointing at her.

He raised his eye brows. “Ciao.”

“Cezar?” She panicked hard. “Cezar!”

Wolf turned away from her, rushed to the edge of the garage and backed up against the inside right wall.

Wolf tensed, relaxed his face, widened his eyes, and listened for footsteps. The bartender flew into the garage first with animal athleticism.

Wolf jumped out an instant later with arms chest high, blades sticking out from the pinky side of his fists, thumbs hooked on each knife handle. Cezar didn’t have time to stop or put his hands up as Wolf planted his feet and drove his arms hard forward, both blades piercing the chest plate, the right plunging directly into a chamber of Cezar’s heart.

Two hundred pounds of dead weight smashed into Wolf, along with a warm spray of blood, pushing him back into an uncontrolled fall. Bracing for impact, he looked right, just catching a glimpse of the bartender pulling a pistol from his waistband. Wolf hit the floor hard and frantically tried to get under the falling body for protection. A warm gush from Cezar’s chest pulsed on his face relentlessly. The last thing he saw was the bartender bending toward him close with pistol extended.

Three deafening pops filled his ears, and he went still.

Suddenly the weight of Cezar’s body lifted off him. He sat up blowing air out his mouth hard, spitting wildly to get a breath. He held the knives in front of him and shook his head back and forth, flinging the blood off his face.

“David, it’s me! It’s me!” It was a female voice.

“Lia?”

“Yes, it’s me! Put down the knives!”

He dropped the knives and wiped his face hard with his hands.

“Careful, that girl in the door. Where did she go?”

Lia stood and turned. Finally getting focus back into his eyes, he realized she wasn’t in her Caribinieri uniform. She was in civilian clothes, jeans and a sweatshirt. No wonder he hadn’t seen her in the piazza.

She walked low with her pistol aimed at the door.

“Wait a second,” he said. “Unlock me here.”

Lia took out her handcuff’s key and unlocked him.

Wolf pulled the pistol from the bartender’s stubby hands — a CZ-99. Wolf didn’t have much experience with the weapon, but it was ready to go, safety off and round in the chamber.

Wolf turned the knob, opened it a centimeter, then gently let go, careful to not let it slide closed. He kicked and aimed his gun forward, the door opening and banging against the inner wall. No one.

Entering fast, he pushed aside the rebounding door, Lia right on his heels. The kitchen lights were turned low with no burners on the stove going. It was closed, but hastily so. Pasta sat cold in dishes, bread and salami slices were strewn on cutting boards.

Commotion and mayhem resonated from down the hallway. The bar was going nuts — people screaming, glasses breaking, wood chairs bouncing off hard floors.

Wolf continued fast down the hallway, and cautiously looked around the corner, then lowered his gun and walked out.

None of the employees were in sight. People were lined up, pushing hard out the door, now with renewed fervor with the sudden appearance of a man drenched in blood holding a gun with a gun-toting woman close behind.

Wolf went to the stereo on the wall and turned down the music.

The faulty pub door slammed shut hard, sleigh bell bouncing with a jingle, as the last patron got out with his life. They were now in dead silence behind the bar, commotion retreating outside. Wolf took a look at himself in the mirror behind the scotch bottles and saw his bright red face.

He put his gun down, grabbed a wet bleach towel from the bar back sink and began wiping his face. He dug into the crevices of his eyes, blew his nose, threw the towel in the sink, and got another one and repeated it.

“Lascia! Lascia!” a voice boomed from feet away.

Wolf turned just as a pistol clanked on the floor next to his foot.

Chapter 47

Wolf turned to Lia. She stood dead still, a Beretta pointed at her from the other side of the bar. She had her hands up in a simultaneous defenseless and what the hell gesture.

“What are you two doing here?” Rossi said, shifting the Beretta to Wolf. “You’re wanted for murder, Officer Wolf. Officer Parente, what are you doing? Are you helping him right now? What is going on?”

Wolf shook his head. “You going to play that angle, Rossi?”

“Get your hands in the air and come out here!” Rossi waved the gun to Wolf. “Now!”

“I know the truth about your dad,” Lia said quietly.

Rossi gave a quick dismissive look to Lia, then inhaled sharply, looking again.

Her eyes were wet, her lower lip quivering.

Rossi shouted loud to her in Italian, thrusting the gun in her direction.

She shook her head. “He never left you an inheritance,” she continued in English, obviously for Wolf’s benefit. “Paulo just told me your dad was killed twenty five years ago in Sicily. He checked thoroughly. You’ve been lying this whole time?”

Rossi shouted in Italian again, this time with flying spittle.

“Rossi, you don’t want to do this,” Wolf said quietly. “It’s over. We know about you and your brother smuggling drugs in from Africa. Obviously he didn’t get a big inheritance either. We know you two have been leveraging his position in the Guarda Di Finanza. In Liguria. In Genoa, the place where these shipments are coming in.”

Rossi shifted, twitching as his eyes went unfocused and calculating. He seemed to come to a conclusion looking at Lia, gun still on Wolf.

“Killing us both won’t change anything,” Wolf said quickly. “Paulo knows everything. I’ve told him everything I knew on the phone earlier. He checked out your father, and now it’s just a simple task of looking into finances to prove what you’ve been up to.” Wolf shook his head slow. “It’s all over. It’s all out in the open. There’s nothing you can do to cover it up now. Killing us both won’t help.”

Rossi looked at Wolf with hatred, then tracked his gun to Lia. He was as unstable looking as it gets, sweat beading on his forehead to add to the rest of the fluids emanating from his wobbling face.

Suddenly he stepped back, and dropped his arm to his side, looking down. It was a decisive move. The decision made, however, wasn’t clear to Wolf.

Wolf and Lia glanced at each other briefly. Rossi’s finger was still tense on the trigger.

The CZ-99 Wolf took from the bartender lay too far away, a good foot beyond his arm reach and on his left hand side. Wolf stepped forward six inches, stopping as Rossi’s head jerked up.

“Is that what you were doing with these guys here in the pub, Valerio?” she asked. “Did you kill John Wolf? Did you kill David’s brother?”

Rossi sniffed hard and went perfectly still as he looked at Lia. A quick smile quivered on his face, then disappeared.

“Did you?” Her look of disappointment deepened.

“Yes, he did,” Wolf said. “He was there that night at the observatory. With Vlad. He killed Matthew Rosenwald and my brother.”

Rossi turned his unblinking eyes to Wolf, still motionless, arms still hanging, finger still tense on the trigger.

“They saw something they shouldn’t have. And you killed them. You killed them both. Isn’t that right?”

Rossi’s lip curled into a snarl.

“Then he couldn’t trust Vlad anymore,” Wolf continued. “You weren’t roughing him up the other day. You were warning him, goading him into saying what you wanted him to. You must not have liked the way he was acting.” Wolf turned his head to Lia, keeping his eyes trained on Rossi. “So he killed him, in a way that would implicate me. But even that wasn’t enough. I was getting too close. He knew I knew too much and needed to be killed.”

Rossi looked back to Lia.

Wolf flicked his eyes back to the CZ-99. With a full stretch, it was now in reach of his left arm. But it lay on its left side, pointing forward. It would be an awkward move picking it up, repositioning it, pointing it, and firing, even if he was left handed. Which he wasn’t.

Suddenly Rossi’s face twisted in agony, mouth moving silently and rapidly as if saying a well practiced prayer. Then he slowly and steadily lifted his gun.

Wolf reached fast with his right hand, gripping Lia’s sweatshirt, ripping her behind him to the ground while picking up the pistol with his left.

Rossi’s eyes streamed, “Non avevo scelta! Prenditi cura di loro per me!”

Eyes open wide, Wolf saw exactly what Rossi was doing. Looking at the CZ pistol for a brief instant as he transferred it to his right, wanting every single movement to count, his right palm smacked against the grip, index finger threading the trigger guard. He aimed true.

One deafening pop reverberated as two muzzle flashes lit the barroom, Rossi’s and Wolf’s rounds discharging simultaneously. Rossi’s head exploded into a red twist of expanding skull and hair. What was left flopped sideways, dangling from his still standing body, which propped motionless for two full seconds before buckling down to the hard barroom floor with a thump.

Wolf set the smoking CZ down and looked to a wide eyed Lia sprawled on her back. He raised his eyebrows, and she nodded. Satisfied she was okay, he walked through the open bar gap to Rossi’s lifeless body. He stepped directly into the expanding crimson, bent close, and spit hard.

Chapter 48

The Saturday lunch crowd in the piazza was the largest he’d seen yet. Day trippers from Milan, Lia had told him. It was warm, and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of coffee felt good.

Wolf shook his head and took his first bite of yet another pizza. “How the heck were you there last night at the pub?”

“The whole thing was actually very lucky,” she said. “I saw Cezar in the piazza just a few minutes before we talked on the phone, and thought it odd to spot him there, so I was watching him the whole time. He kept stopping and looking around, like he was searching hard for someone. Then he got a phone call and left the piazza in a flash, and I watched him go out of site down an alley.”

“And you followed him?”

“No. After he left I got the call from you, then I got a call from Paulo no more than a minute later. He told me Valerio’s dad wasn’t buried in Lecco, so I couldn’t send flowers. And that I had the time of his death completely wrong. I was puzzled to say the least. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. Then he said that Valerio’s dad had been killed twenty five years ago in Sicily, something to do with the mafioso.

“I asked him what the hell he was talking about, and he said that you called saying that I was the one requesting the information. I hung up, and remembered what you said on the phone, and figured you were trying to tell me something — obviously about Valerio.

“From that second on, all I could think about was Cezar in the piazza. And I realized he had been looking up at your apartment also. I wondered if maybe he was looking for you. Since he ran off, and you said you called from near the piazza, I decided to leave and follow his trail.”

“They caught me seconds after our phone call,” Wolf said with creased brow. “I was pretty far away from the piazza. How did you find us?”

She shrugged. “I went down, and down, and wound my way towards the lake. Then I saw Valerio and Cezar loading you in the back of Valerio’s Gazella. You were out cold, which was shocking to see. Then of course, there was no call on the radios from Valerio that he’d caught you, so I just ran to my car and went to the only place I could think they’d be taking you, the Albastru Pub.” She gave another shrug and dove back into her pizza.

“Jesus.” He stared at her.

She smiled and took a sip of Coke.

“Jesus.”

“You said that.”

“Have I thanked you for saving my life last night?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said laughing, “you have. Last night.” She took another sip. “So my question for you. How did you get the idea to have Paulo look into Valerio’s father’s death?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Everything came to a head when I saw Vlad’s dead body. I knew someone was trying to set me up, and doing a damn good job of it. And there were only a few people who could have been doing it — you, Rossi, or Cezar.” He shrugged. “That’s basically everyone I know in this country. Well, there’s Cristina, but I was with her. And Colonnello Marino or Tito? Nah.

“Then after I saw a few things, well, it was obviously Rossi. Firstly, the shipping documents. I couldn’t read anything but the ports — the destination port was Genoa, Liguria, Italy and the source port Tenes, Algeria. The only other thing I could gather from them was the shipping company name, which was Fratello Importing or something like that.

“What caught my eye was Liguria. I read it, and remembered that as the place Valerio said his brother lives, working for the Guarda Di Finanza. Remember he said his brother bought a nice house in Liguria with his inheritance money?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “That’s where he lives. Liguria is the region. Genoa is the capital, where the port is. In fact, his brother lives minutes from Genoa.” She shook her head. “It was called Fratello Importers?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Fratello means brother in Italian.”

“Huh. That would have been nice to know at the time.” He stared for a beat at the ground, then snapped out of it. “But it was seeing Rossi talking to Cezar in the pub that clicked everything into place in my mind.

“And I thought, that could be a great cover story for a pair of brothers who were involved in smuggling drugs and actually wanted to enjoy spending the money they earned. ‘Our father died. It was an inheritance.’  Who’s going to call them out on that? Nobody.

“Of course, their father had to have been out of the picture the whole time. Otherwise, people would have been pointing fingers at them saying ‘Your dad died twenty five years ago, there’s no way he just left you an inheritance!’” Wolf took a sip of Coke. “Anyways, that’s what gave me the idea to check on Rossi’s dad.”

Lia stared deeply into nothing. “Our family always assumed their father just lived in Sicily, and that his parents were divorced. They never talked about their father. It was like a taboo subject.”

“It probably was. Rossi’s own wife didn’t even know about him. It worked out perfectly for a cover story…for a while.”

They ate in silence for a minute.

She looked at him with a wry smile. “How did you get Paulo to do that for you?”

“Simple. He didn’t do it for me. I just pretended like I was calling in the favor for you, like you were too busy to talk at the moment, and we didn’t want to bring it up to Valerio. You know, because it was a touchy subject. He seemed pretty reluctant, or suspicious, but I sealed the deal when I told him to just call you directly with the answer.”

She blushed and forked her pizza.

Wolf gave a shrug. “Any excuse to talk to you.” He put on a somber expression. “I wish I could say I’m sorry he’s dead. I know he was a lifelong friend. A friend of the family…” he let his sentence die unfinished.

“No. It’s okay. He was a shell of a person. A phony. Obviously the person I was friends with probably died a few years ago. Maybe a long time before that. He was probably just using me for all sorts of subtle reasons I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

They finished eating in silence. Wolf reflected on the vengeance Rossi afforded him, and the anguish he would be in now if he’d been a millisecond later with his shot. He silently apologized to his brother for not being a millisecond sooner.

Chapter 49

Wolf and Lia spent the rest of their Saturday in Marino’s office recounting the week’s events leading up to the harrowing demise of Detective Rossi.

Relief flooded him that evening in a crashing wave, allowing him a much needed release of grievous emotion, and to his surprise, his later date with Lia was the most enjoyable night with a woman he’d had in years.

They both slept at John’s, and Wolf found out that Lia Parente was a liar. She was vicious. And he told her so facetiously as they lie next to each other afterwards, completely spent.

The next morning she took him to the airport, and they hugged, and gave each other a soft kiss, knowing it was a long shot they would see each other again.

Wolf’s back pressed deep into his coach window seat as the 777 lifted from the ground. He looked at the receding clay tile buildings below and looked forward to seeing the mountains of Colorado once again. The thought of home raised his pulse.

As the plane popped through the low clouds into the clear blue yonder above, David Wolf squinted out the window, thinking about how the last six days had colluded to mercilessly change his life, bringing him to a wholly foreign land, and now back home with a dead brother. He closed his eyes to get some rest. Something told him it wasn’t about to get any easier.

Chapter 50

It was mid-afternoon Sunday, and Wolf swiveled on his heels in the Rocky Points Police Station dirt parking lot, taking in the view and sucking in the smell of pine.

Once again a storm loomed just behind Rocky Points Ski Area. The air shook with a continuous rumble as the sky pulsed behind the dark green curtain of hail and rain. Wolf could feel every hair on his body gently rising as the sky darkened.

Rachette pulled Wolf’s backpack out of the RPPD issue Ford Explorer and set it at Wolf’s feet. “It’s been raining every day since you left. That looks like a big one though.”

Wolf nodded. “Thanks for the ride again.” He picked up the pack, slung it over his shoulder and walked to the light of the open station garage doors, where his own RPPD Explorer had been parked for the week. Turning back, he tipped his buffalo-felt Stetson hat. “Oh yeah, and thanks for getting this back. I still owe you a hanky.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Rachette hadn’t moved from the side of the truck. “Hey, Sarge?”

Wolf stopped. “Yeah.”

Rachette looked over both shoulders and towards the garage, then stepped close. “You going to stick around if you don’t get the Sheriff’s appointment tomorrow?”

Wolf gave a half smile as the air around them lit up with a bright flash. Thunder crashed in under two seconds, but they stood unmoved. He let out a deep breath as a dollop of rain smacked the bill of his hat.

There was a funeral for his brother to be arranged, his mother to comfort, and, yes, either he or Sergeant Derek Connell was going to be appointed to Sheriff within the next twenty four hours — a moment Wolf had thought about each and every waking minute for the last two years of his life.

Wolf narrowed his eyes.

Rachette stared unblinking, shifting his weight side to side. It looked like he knew something. Something troubling.

Wolf turned and walked to the garage as the sky opened in a downpour. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

THE END.

Other Books By Jeff Carson

The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2) - http://amzn.to/160bHtD

About Jeff Carson.

I'm from Colorado, where I grew up spending a lot of my days playing outdoors -- golf, hiking, and skiing being the things I still really enjoy. Not only until recently in my thirties have I begun the indoor sport of writing fiction.

For years I've been a blogger for various sites based in various niches which has afforded me the opportunity to move temporarily to Italy, where I currently reside with my wife and two year old son. But Colorado, where the pine and sage-scented breezes blow, is home, and will always be.

When I'm not writing, I'm often eating pizza, listening to music, drinking Prosecco, or mumbling incoherent sentences in pseudo-Italian to any barista in town who will listen.

Other passions of mine (besides writing) include going on motorcycle camping trips across the western U.S., playing guitar and drums, golf, and reading.

One Last Thing…

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Best Wishes,

Jeff Carson