Ten Times Guilty (16 page)

Reese also wanted to know why she had lied.

Chapter Twenty

A half hour later, Reese pounded on Karlton Wolfe’s door.

“Open up!” he shouted. “Denver Police Department! I want to talk to you. Open up!”

Neighbors peeked around pulled drapes. Others cracked open their doors, careful to stand inside their apartments. Babies wailed. Two little boys about three and four, stopped on the cracked sidewalk below and stared up at the officers, thumbs in their mouths, mucus running from their noses. A woman in a halter and low-cut jeans ran out and shooed them into an apartment.

Finally the door cracked open and a Latino woman in her thirties stood peering at them. She wore a long nightgown and her eyes were red and swollen.

“Mrs. Wolfe?” Reese flipped open his shield. “I’d like to speak to your husband. Is he home?” 

When he shouldered in, she backed up, making no effort to stop him. He quickly searched the apartment, checking closets, bathroom and windows.

Wolfe was not on the premises.

“Please sit down,” Reese told Mrs. Wolfe. She sank onto the sofa and watched the detectives with big eyes. Tears formed, but she sat still, eyes watching everything.

“What’s he done?” Her accent was as soft as her voice.

Reese had the gut feeling that no matter what her husband might be guilty of, she knew nothing.

“I just want to question him for now. Do you know where he is?”

She slowly shook her head.

“Do you know he left his place of employment during the night, well before his shift ended?”

Again the headshake.

“Has your husband walked off the job before?”

“No,” Mrs. Wolfe whispered, her gaze on the floor. “He loves the uniform.”

Reese thought she could have been attractive if her eyes didn’t have that hopeless look and guessed that her husband, even if innocent of rape, might be abusive; she had that appearance, a worn, desperate gaze that told of countless beatings.

“Did...did he hurt someone?”

“I don’t know yet, but he may have. I just need to talk to him.”

“When I, when I got up, he was gone. Everything was gone, his clothes, books.” Her eyes filled. “I didn’t even hear him leave,” she said. “He took all our money. What am I going to do?”

Reese thought she was a lot better off without him.

***

Fang Security’s office sat on the west end of town, just off I-70 in a commercial area near the Union 76 truck stop. Reese found the street number and pulled into the parking lot in front of a small brick one-story duplex. The security office, on the right side, was dark except for a small inner light.

The head of a black wolf was etched on the glass door, its mouth open in a snarl, fangs dripping saliva. Reese  knocked sharply on the glass and waited. Nothing. He tried the door and found that it was locked.

Through the glass he heard the sound of rock music, so someone must be there. Besides, a security outfit had someone minding the store after hours, didn’t they? He pounded harder, until the glass rattled.

“Open up!” he shouted. “Denver police department! Open the door right now!”

Finally, a uniformed guy in his late teens or early twenties opened the door. Tall and skinny almost to the point of emaciation, he gaped at Reese, eyes wide.

“What’s the trouble?” the kid asked, as Reese flipped open his shield and pushed past him to the office.

Beyond an oak desk and several padded chrome chairs, a doorway opened to a lighted inner room.

“I need some information on one of your guards,” Reese told him. “Karlton Wolfe. As much as you’ve got for, say, the past year.”

“Gee,” the Adam’s apple bobbed, “the office is closed and I don’t have the authority to give that stuff to you. You better come back in the morning. Mr. Webster will be here then.”

“I need it now, kid. Better get the authority. Either that, or with one call I can have the entire police force out here tearing the place up. Don’t know as how that’d be good publicity for your Mr. Webster.”

“Okay,” the kid said, dashing through the open doorway. “I’ll call him.” Reese followed him. And stopped in astonishment.

The small room held every kind of electronic gadget he’d ever seen or heard of. Three police scanners, their red lights running in sequence from left to right, stood on shelves, along with what appeared to be a short wave radio, and some sort of box with a beeping screen. Walkie-talkies were scattered around haphazardly and there were computers on the two black metal desks. The kid sat at one and spoke into the phone. Music continued to blare until Reese switched it off.

“Mr. Webster will be right down,” the kid told Reese. “I’m supposed to get you everything we have. If you’ll check in those files in those cabinets, I’ll pull up what we got in the computer. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Other than the obvious, address, number, relatives in the area, I want a record of every place he has worked in the last two years.”

The kid nodded. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.” He clicked the mouse a few more times. “Here we are...”

Reese stood over his shoulder, looking at the screen. The museum was last in a long series of job orders.

“Can you print that out for me?”

“Sure, no problem.” With a few more clicks, the printer on the right lit up and beeped, printing out sheets with a noisy clatter.

“You got a photo?”

“Should be one in the files. Maybe here, too.” The kid scrolled through some pages onscreen, found a black and white. “I’ll print it out.”

A man dressed in gray sweats entered the room almost at a run. Short and pudgy with thinning red hair and a full walrus mustache, he offered his hand to Reese. 

“I’m Steve Webster.”

“Sergeant Sanders, Denver PD.”

“What can we do for you?” When Webster dropped in one of the swivel chairs, it groaned in protest.

“Everything’s being taken care of by this young man here,” Reese told him, “but you could give me some information. How well do you know Karlton Wolfe?”

Webster shrugged. “Not somebody I’d pick as a friend, but he did the job, no matter the location or what hour, was always reliable. Until last night.”

“What happened?”

“The assistant manager at his current job, a museum, called this morning and said he’d abandoned his post sometime during the night. That’s unheard of and not to be tolerated. We called his home repeatedly and received no answer. I’d hate to lose him. Say, you don’t think anything’s happened—”

“I doubt anything has happened to him, but I think you’ve lost him,” Reese replied. “One way or the other.”

Chapter Twenty-One

When Sharon arrived that evening, Tracy was sitting up in bed.

“I heard what happened with the janitor,” Sharon said, “and wanted to see how you’re doing.” She smelled the flowers. “How pretty! Sure brightens it up in here.”

“They came from work,” Tracy said, her voice as expressionless as her face.

“I hear you’re not eating. That’s not good, you know. I’d like for you to consider attending a meeting.”

“I don’t want to be around people,” Tracy told her. “I don’t want anyone to see...” She touched her swollen cheek, then turned to stare out the window.

Sharon pulled up a chair beside the bed. “At least hear me out. The Rape Crisis Center is holding their monthly meeting day after tomorrow, here at the hospital. I want you to think about attending. It would be good for you.”

“Monthly meeting? You mean women get together and talk about being raped? In front of people?”

“Actually,” Sharon said, smiling, “yes. Similar to Alcoholics Anonymous. Only here, it’s victims of sexual assault. Of any form.”

“But why? Why would anyone get up in front of anyone else and talk about that?”

“From what I understand, being able to talk in the open and not be judged, has helped quite a few women over the rough spots,” Sharon told her. “In turn, they try to help others. Sometimes, instead of open meetings, they have guest speakers and it’s more of a question and answer segment. Just depends. How about it? Will you think about going?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I won’t press you, just give it some thought.” Sharon checked her watch. “In the meantime, one of the counselors already stopped by to see you, but you were sleeping. It might be easier for you with just one person, at least for now. Her name is Susan Banning, and she’s very easy to talk to.”

“Why would I want to see someone else? Don’t you think I’ve had enough?”

“Yes,” Sharon said carefully, “I do think that you’ve been through more than most people should have to endure. But you have a long way to go, and there are still some rough times ahead. You might need a little help.”

“But you’re helping me. Why are you trying to push me off on someone else?”

“I can’t continue with you, that’s what I’m trying to get you to understand.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to?”

“That’s not the issue. Look, my help is temporary. I’m employed by the hospital, so I’m constantly being assigned to different people with different needs. But at the crisis center, they’re specialists who only deal with sexual assaults. And they won’t judge you, or be shocked. There’s nothing you could tell them they haven’t heard before. Many times. And, as I said before, most of them have been through it themselves.” Sharon paused, the added, “How about this. Why don’t you at least see Susan once. If you don’t want to talk to her after that, well, that’s your decision.”

“I suppose you’ll hound me until I agree,” Tracy grumbled. “Okay, I give in. I’ll talk to her.”

“Tomorrow?”

“All right, yes. Tomorrow.”

Sharon smiled and stood. “Good. I’ll let her know.” She headed for the door.

“You’re in an awfully big hurry.” 

“I want to get her in here before you change your mind.”

“Great,” Tracy muttered.

***

Reese stopped at the closest Denny’s. Since it was after the dinner hour the place was nearly empty so he took a back booth where there was room to spread several files. He was so damned eager to compare the data he almost ran. 

He slid his leather briefcase onto the table and starting unzipping before he even sat down. A waitress appeared and started reciting the specials.

“Coffee,” he told her, “with cream and sugar. He took out the data from Fang Security, then his copied files. “I might be here awhile if that’s okay,” he said. “Maybe I’ll have a BLT on white toast. With fries.”

Taking a city map from the briefcase pocket, he spread the files, and compared Wolfe’s assignments with the dates and locations of the attacks on his sister, Anna Mae Foster, Cindy Harris, and Tracy.

Holy Christ, not only were they in a reasonable distance, but Wolfe had even been briefly assigned to County General shortly before his stint at the museum. Just to make certain, Reese double-checked the dates. Cindy Harris had been attacked two nights after Wolfe left the hospital, right before Wolfe had started work at the museum. It was a total match! He wanted to shout. There was the probable cause.

But finding him was a different matter. Wolfe could be long gone by now. The man would have to be insane to hang around Denver.

Reese picked up his cell and issued in a BOLO, a be on the lookout, before calling Cooper as a courtesy. With her laryngitis, she croaked out that he was in charge. Reese thought she sounded like an old man.

He was the one who should sound like an old man. Lord knew his body felt like one. He was suddenly so damned tired that every inch of his body ached. He was getting too old for this shit.

But he wanted a warrant for Wolfe’s arrest, wanted him in the system so that every law enforcement officer in the country would be aware there was a serial rapist at large. To do that, he needed a positive identification.

He had to talk to Tracy.

***

The fifth floor of the hospital was quiet, the lights dim. Reese heard canned laughter from someone’s TV.

Tracy was lying in bed staring at some old black and white movie, with the mute on.

She saw him and he heard her quick intake of breath.

“What are you doing here?” she asked

Reese eyed the chair. “Do you mind if I sit down?” With a groan, he slid onto the soft brown leather. “Mrs. Michaels, Tracy, I’d appreciate if you would give me a moment of your time. It’s very important.” His eyes searched hers. He saw wariness and something else. Fear?

She tucked the sheet around her.

Reese leaned back and loosened his tie. When he glanced at Tracy, she was watching him closely, her eyes taking in every detail. Jesus, he wished she wouldn’t look at him that way. It made him feel like a fox closing in on a soft, baby rabbit. She had an air of innocence about her, a vulnerability, that made him want to wrap her in his arms and make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again.