Snow Cat

Chapter 2-2

“What do you mean it’s not there?” Wynn asked, trying to tamp down his anger and his panic as he paced the sheriff’s office.

Mick held up his hands almost defensively. “When I stopped by Paulie’s garage on the way back here, he said someone came by this morning with a tow truck and picked it up. According to him, the man showed ID that said he was Walt Murphy. When I described you, though, he said the man didn’t match your description. Now this makes me wonder who’s lying, that guy or you?”

Wynn dug his wallet out of his pocket, opening it to show the sheriff his driver’s license. “Do I pass?” he asked, somewhat scathingly.

“It fits with the information I have on you.”

“What information?”

“Off your registration and plates. When we couldn’t find you anywhere near the accident site, I figured you might have hitched a ride somewhere to get help. I wanted to get in contact with you about the car and to see if you were all right. The only address I had was off your registration so I checked with the police in Roosevelt, Utah. The officer I spoke with didn’t know who you were. He did say the address belonged to a rooming house and if you showed up there, he’d let me know.”

“My license could be a forgery, you know,” Wynn commented with flash of a smile. “Like the one used by the person who stole my car.”

“I suppose yours could be but, for whatever reason, I believe you are the real Walt Murphy. Instinct maybe or just that you didn’t go straight to Paulie’s garage and try to take off with the car yourself.” Mick chuckled. “Not that you could have. Paulie said it wasn’t drivable.”

“Which whoever took it must have known since they came with the tow truck.”

“Agreed. Now the question becomes—” Mick looked hard at Wynn, “what was in it that was so important someone wanted to get it before you could? And a corollary to that—was your accident really an accident?”

Wynn frowned deeply as he tried to remember exactly what had happened. “It was beginning to snow pretty hard. I was taking it fairly slow because I didn’t know the highway and it had several sharp curves.”

“And?” Mick asked, when Wynn paused.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I came around a curve and the car seemed to slide out from under me, if that makes sense—like it had hit a patch of ice. I tried to brake but…hell, nothing happened!”

Mick had been taking notes. Now he stopped, asking, “Like the brakes were gone out?”

“Yeah, maybe. For damned sure, they didn’t stop me. The tree did that.”

“Are you sure you hit ice?”

“Well I didn’t see it but then the snow was beginning to cover the highway.”

Mick tapped his pen on the desk. “Could it have been a blown tire? Your right front one was. We figured it happened when you hit the tree—but maybe not.”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I just know I’d lost control of the car then I was hitting the tree. Like I said, after that, it’s pretty much a blank till I woke up in the barn.”

“So possibly—” Mick tapped the pen on his notes now, “—whoever took the car wanted to get it before someone—Paulie, in point of fact—discovered what had happened wasn’t really an accident. If that’s the case, and it’s just conjecture at this point, it means someone wanted you dead or at least incapacitated for a while.” He looked hard at Wynn. “Is that possible?”

“Hell no! Who’d want me dead?”

“That’s what I was asking you.”

“No one. I don’t have any enemies or even someone who hates me enough to do that.”

But Wynn knew that wasn’t the truth. There was someone. The problem was, how had that someone found him? And why try to arrange it so his death would look like an accident? That went totally against his enemy’s character. Unless…he frowned deeply.

* * * *

“Why the frown, Mr. Murphy? Did you think of someone who might fit the criteria?”

Wynn shook his head, but Mick didn’t believe him.

“I’m not the kind of man who makes enemies,” Wynn stated.

“You haven’t pissed anyone off? A business rival maybe or someone in your personal life? Someone you recently had a run-in with in a bar that might hold a grudge? Someone who thought you’d stolen their wife or girlfriend?”

Wynn chuckled suddenly. “That last is not an option.”

Well now. That’s not quite the response I expected. Mick smiled to himself, seeing Wynn in a new light. Not that he’d say anything. It wasn’t his place and they had more important things to worry about than their mutual sexuality.

“As for a business rival,” Wynn continued, “I’m an artist. I don’t think someone would want me dead because I painted a picture they didn’t like or made a bit more selling painting at a gallery than they did. As for family, if that’s what you meant by personal life, I don’t live anywhere near them these days. And that’s by choice, in case you’re wondering. I love them but I don’t want to be close enough for my father or older brother to try bossing me around.”

“Know that feeling,” Mick said with a low laugh. “My father pushed long and hard for me to join the family business. My only escape was to move half-way across the country and join a police force. Finally I ended up here.”

“As the sheriff?”

“Not right away. I was a deputy for two years until the sheriff decided to retire. He suggested I take over, the city council agreed, and the rest was history.”

“Not to change the subject, but I don’t suppose you or this Paulie cleaned out my car when it got to the garage. I had two bags with me, clothes and what have you. I could use them right now.”

“We didn’t, but let me call Paulie and see if he did.”

* * * *

Paulie had cleaned out the car, which Wynn found out when he and the sheriff arrived there a few minutes later.

“Here you are, Mr. Murphy. I forgot I’d taken them out when the other man claiming to be you came by—but that’s his fault. He was pushy and in a hurry. Hooked the damned car up to the tow truck before you could say lickety split and was out of here.”

Wynn took the bags gratefully, thanking Paulie as he slung them over his shoulder. He started to leave the garage then paused when Mick put a hand on his arm.

“Paulie,” Mick said, “did you get a chance to look at the car at all?”

“Not really. Why?”

“From what Mr. Murphy told me, the tire blew out on a curve and when he tried to use the brakes, they failed.”

“Can’t speak to the brakes, but I did notice the tire. It was a new one, or so it seemed, so I figured it blew when it hit the tree. Not saying it couldn’t have happened earlier but it seems doubtful, unless someone tampered with it.”

“Which would be possible?” Wynn asked.

“Yeah, I suppose, if you knew what you were doing. Of course it could be you ran over something.”

Wynn frowned. “I didn’t see anything, but then I was more worried about the driving conditions than what was on the road, even if I could have seen it.”

“It wouldn’t have taken much—nails, tacks—hell, even some sharp rocks.”

Mick nodded. “We’re probably too late, Mr. Murphy, but if you’ve got the time, let’s go take a look.”

“At the moment I have nothing but time,” Wynn replied. “Can we stop by the hotel you mentioned first and see if they’ve got a room?”

“Sure, come on.”

“Hang on,” Paulie called out as they were leaving. “I thought of one more thing. If someone slashed the tire, but not all the way through, the air pressure would have done the rest.”

“But I’d have noticed if it was slashed,” Wynn protested.

“Not if they did it on the side facing in. Not unless you were used to crawling under the car to check.”

“Not hardly,” Wynn said with a tight laugh.

“That could be your answer then. If someone did that and messed with your brakes to cause a slow fluid leak, bingo, you have one ready-made accident. Would explain why the guy was in such a hurry to get his hands on the car.”

“Especially,” Mick said thoughtfully, “if he thought you’d crawled off and died. Or he dragged you out and left you to die somewhere. He wouldn’t have wanted us examining the car too closely.”

Wynn nodded slowly. “He thinks he killed me, comes by, impersonates me to get the car, and thinks he’s home scot-free. I suppose that scenario works as well as any.”

“Thanks for the idea, Paulie,” Mick called back, as he hustled Wynn out of the garage. “Let’s get you settled in then we talk about who wants you dead.”

“I told you, no one does.”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

Avoiding Mick’s doubtful look, Wynn quickly walked to the car.

* * * *

Mick dropped Wynn off at the hotel, waiting long enough to be certain they had a room available for him.

“As soon as you’ve unpacked and cleaned up, come down to the sheriff’s department and we can continue our discussion,” Mick said before leaving.

“Will do,” Wynn replied with a brief smile as he headed to the elevator.

The moment he got to his room, he put his bags down on the bed and opened the smaller one. It contained a digital camera, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, and his watercolors. A fast check told him everything was still there. Taking out the camera, he looked at the last two pictures he’d taken. He usually used the camera for shots of animals in the wild for future reference. The last time, however, he’d caught more than that.

“Got you dead to rights,” he murmured. “Which is why you didn’t want me making it back.” He started to put the camera back in the bag and paused, looking around the room. With a shake of his head, he called down to the front desk to ask if they had a hotel safe. They did and were willing to let him leave any valuables in it. With that settled, he put the camera under the mattress for the moment, unpacked his other bag, and went to take a shower.

Twenty minutes later he was dressed again, his hair tied back with a leather band. Grabbing his jacket, he retrieved the camera and left the room, making certain the door was locked behind him. After stopping at the front desk to give the clerk the camera and watching to be certain he put it in the safe, Wynn headed out into the cold and snow, walking briskly down to the sheriff’s office.

* * * *

Mick looked up and nodded when Wynn rapped on his open office door, pointing to the vacant chair beside his desk. “All settled in?” he asked when Wynn was seated.

“Yep.”

“Good. Now we talk. It’s pretty damned obvious, at least in my book, that someone wanted you out of commission or dead. Frankly, I don’t believe you don’t know who.”

“There’s no one who has any reason to do that,” Wynn said adamantly.

A bit too adamantly as far as Mick was concerned. He was good at reading people and Wynn’s denial was too quick and he’d glanced away, just briefly, as he’d replied, before looking back at Mick, but it was enough that Mick was certain he was hiding something.

“You said that before, Mr. Murphy, but people don’t try to kill people without having a reason, and the intended victim usually knows what that is.”

“Maybe he got the wrong car?”

Mick c****d an eyebrow in disbelief. “Do you really believe that? When he came to claim your car using identification that said he was you?”

Before Wynn could reply, Mick’s phone rang. He answered it, listened for a long moment, then said, “You’re certain he ran away?” Mick nodded at whatever he was being told, his frown deepening. “We’ll be there in ten minutes or so. Don’t worry, Mrs. Peters. He can’t have gotten far, not in this weather. We’ll find him.”

He hung up and went out into the squad room. “John, Augie, we have a runaway kid, Ralphie Peters. Seems he and his mom had an argument about him doing chores. According to her, she sent him to his room until suppertime. When she called him down, he didn’t come. She went up and he wasn’t in his room, or anywhere else in the house, and his jacket’s missing.”

“I’ll let the others know,” Mary, the dispatcher, called out from her desk, immediately doing just that.

Mick popped back into his office to grab his coat, realized Wynn was still sitting there, and said, “Sorry, we’ll have to continue this later.”

“I heard. No problem. If you need another pair of eyes…”

“Thanks for the offer but you don’t know the area well enough.” Mick smiled slightly. “I don’t want to have to be searching for you as well.”

“Understood.” Getting up, Wynn zipped his jacket and headed out, closely followed by Mick and his deputies.