Free Cold Lake by Jeff Carson

carpet, that his father had all those many years ago. For an instant, he felt like he was with his father, but the warm feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.
    Rachette returned and sat down.
    The video was a less-than-HD recording; Katherine Grey, the mother of Kimber Grey and wife of supposed crazy-man Parker Grey, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her image blurring and then sharpening as she moved.
    Katherine was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, her brown eyes wide and attentive, slightly upturned at the edges. Her skin was pale, or perhaps it was the harsh light of the overhead lamp, and she had a small mole on her cheek, like a beauty mark, a matching genetic anomaly that her daughter, Kimber, had as well.
    She wore a tank top blouse and had thin, wiry arms, the muscles rippling beneath her skin with the slightest of movements. Her jawline was razor-sharp. Zero fat on her body—the physique of someone who lived ruggedly in the mountains. Someone who lived on the remote shore of Cold Lake, Colorado—off the grid and off the land.
    “Can you please state your name?” It was the voice of the late Sheriff Daniel Wolf, Wolf’s father.
    “Oh, he sounds just like you,” Patterson whispered in awe.
    Wolf heard the smack of Rachette back-handing her shoulder.
    “…Grey,” Katherine Grey said.
    “And can you tell me where you live?”
    “I live up on the western shore of Cold Lake, in Cold Lake, Colorado.”
    “And your address?”
    Wolf could see that Katherine Grey’s hands were motionless in her lap as she spoke.
    “…tell me what you were doing on the night of the fourth of July?” Wolf’s father asked.
    “My husband, daughter, and I went over to the marina for the Fourth of July party, and the fireworks display.”
    “And”—a pause, a shuffling of paper—“what time was that at?”
    “They had a barbecue cook out … let’s see, we left at seven, got there like seven-fifteen.”
    “Can you tell me when the fireworks were?”
    “They were supposed to start at 9:30 pm. Whether or not they started on time, I couldn’t say. I didn’t keep track of time.”
    “And your husband, Parker Grey, he was with you?”
    “Yes.”
    “And did he ever leave that night?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can you please explain?”
    “He … got a phone call. Maureen McKenzie came out and told us, told him, that he had a phone call. He left, and then came back—”
    “He left where?”
    “Oh, sorry. He left to the bar, The Tackle Box , right there on the marina.”
    “So someone called the bar for your father?”
    “Yes.”
    A pause. “Who called?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Another pause. “Was this during the fireworks display?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can you estimate how long after the beginning of the fireworks show that Maureen came out and told him he had a call?”
    “Uh … I don’t know, ten minutes?”
    “Okay. Please continue.”
    “So he left for the phone call, and then he came back, probably just a couple minutes later. He was upset, clearly upset about something. I … asked him what was wrong, and he kind of just avoided the question and—”
    “Avoided the question?”
    “Well, he just said, Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. But I could see something was wrong, and then he said he was leaving, and he’d be back. I was confused, because I figured we’d be leaving with him, since we all came together and it was so late. But he just said he’d be back, and if he wasn’t back by midnight to get a ride back over with someone else. Then he got in the boat and drove away.”
    “Did you ask who called him?”
    “Yes. He wouldn’t’ say.”
    There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then a cough. “Would you like a cup of coffee, ma’am?”
    It was Burton, with a lot less gravel in his voice than he had now.
    She nodded, and a remarkably thin arm of Burton’s reached in and placed a cup of coffee in front of her.
    After a brief pause, Wolf’s father cleared his throat. “And