“It didn’t seem like it.” He hadn’t been dressed like a janitor. Plus, he hadn’t had any cleaning supplies with him. It could have been someone there to see the judge, like them. Maybe.
Or it could have even been the person Perry had seen on the mountain.
At the bottom of the stairs, a man said, “Halt. State your name and your business here.”
Perry gasped. Was it the man from the stairs? Had he come back to hurt them? But the man standing between them and the door wasn’t the one he’d seen a few minutes before. This one was in uniform, like an officer.
Patrick stopped. He sounded confident and cheerful. “Good evening, Deputy. I’m Dr. Patrick Flint and this is my son Perry. We’re Judge Renkin’s next door neighbors, and we were just upstairs visiting him.”
The deputy frowned, like he was thinking hard. “All right, then. Have a nice evening.”
Patrick strode toward the door, nodding at the man. He exited then walked so fast toward their truck that Perry was soon left behind. He ran to catch up, his heart in his throat. No way, no how did he want to run into the man he’d seen in the stairwell again, alone out here in the dark.
Chapter Sixteen: Determine
Buffalo, Wyoming
Saturday, March 12, 1977, 10:00 p.m.
Patrick
Once they were back inside the Suburban, Perry had locked the passenger door and pressed his nose against the window. Patrick felt bad that he hadn’t taken the boy’s concerns seriously. He’d been too wrapped up in his anger at Judge Renkin. Overhearing him admitting to judicial wrongdoing to a blackmailer wasn’t even the worst of it. He’d been no help at all, not even offering empathy, when Patrick had tried to talk to him about Kemecke’s trial.
“Dad, that light was red,” Perry said. “No one was coming at least. You probably didn’t see it since you were talking to yourself.”
Patrick shrugged. “Sorry. I’ll pay better attention.”
He wasn’t sure his lips would stop moving, though. Renkin’s sarcasm and rudeness toward him, a concerned father and husband, was way out of line. He knew the man was under stress, and possibly grieving, too, although he showed no signs of it. But the behavior was inexcusable. And to have Perry there to witness it—what a horrible influence on his son. What respect could he possibly have for authority figures after this? Plus, the things they’d heard the judge saying on the phone made their predicament worse, not better. He wasn’t sure the judge had believed his lie.
He turned into the parking lot at the sheriff’s office, then parked. “You heard what the judge said?”
“Before, when he was on the phone, or when you were in there with him?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Yeah, I heard him.”
“You can’t repeat it. Not any of it.”
“Why?”
“For starters, because I lied to him and said we didn’t hear his call.”
Perry nodded, his eyes grave.
“And the other stuff. I don’t want the Kemeckes to hear that the judge won’t do anything to help your mom and sister. It might make them bolder.”
Perry nodded again.
“So, you promise not to say anything?”
“Promise.”
“Good. Let’s go see Ronnie.”
The two of them walked to the sheriff’s office, rock salt crunching under their feet. Bright, cheery lights were on in the lobby and in a few other places in the building. The door was unlocked, and Patrick led Perry in. He’d never been in the offices before. He would have expected an old west feel, but this was more like a school principal’s office, with particle board bookshelves, low nap industrial carpet, and cheap furniture. There was no one manning the front desk, but he wouldn’t have expected it this time of night on a Saturday. It was a small town and less than populous county.
He rapped his knuckles on the surface of a metal-sided desk. “Ronnie? You back there? It’s Patrick.”
A faint voice replied, “On my way.”
Perry sat on a tall wooden bench and swung his legs. Patrick exhaled, trying to offload some of the stress that had been building inside him. Man, it had been some kind of day, and it was far from over. He wished he was on the couch in front of the fire drinking a Coors, hip to hip with Susanne and her thimble-sized glass of white zinfandel, her foot over his ankle, the lights out, and no kids at home. Nothing on the television. Just silence and snow falling outside, with The Road to Gadolfo within reach on the side table to read after Susanne fell asleep. Because she always fell asleep when they snuggled in front of a fire.
“Hi, guys.” Ronnie strode in and shook both their hands. She stood eyeball to eyeball with Patrick, her hair in one long braid down her back. While he outweighed her by a good bit, she had grown up as a ranch kid, and she was muscular and capable.
“Hi, Ronnie.” Perry’s voice cracked, and he sounded like a hungry donkey. Puberty wasn’t something Patrick wished on anyone.
“Thanks for meeting us.” Patrick put his hand in the center of Perry’s back.
“Of course. Come on in.” Ronnie led them to a small, windowless room not far from the entry area. She set a pen and pad of paper on the table at one end. “I’d call this a conference room, but that would be giving it too much credit.” She sat and waited until they’d each grabbed a chair. “Perry, your dad told me you saw someone suspicious up at Meadowlark.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am.”
Ronnie smiled at him. “Manners. I like it. Okay, can you start from the beginning for me—where you were and when, why you were there, and what you saw. That kind of thing. I’m sure I’ll have some more questions, too, but, for now, just tell me the story. Okay?”
Perry took a shaky breath. His pupils were dilated. Patrick was taken aback somewhat that his son seemed so nervous. He hadn’t been when he told Susanne and Patrick about it earlier. “Dad took us to Meadowlark to ski because it was free. I was by myself and decided to follow a trail through the trees, down near the lodge. It was nearly lunchtime. I was hungry.” His voice was tight.
“What day was this?”
“Last Saturday.”
She nodded. “Thanks. Go on.”
“I didn’t think I’d gone very far, but I must have because it took me half an hour to walk back out of there.”
Ronnie chuckled. “That tends to happen when you go off trail.”
Perry’s face relaxed, and his voice loosened up. Patrick’s heart swelled. He was so proud of this kid. “I was sorry I did it. So maybe I’d been skiing a couple of minutes when I heard this really loud noise, like CRACK Crack crack crack crack, you know, with an echo at the end, but softer?”
“It reverberated.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you know what it was?”
“I thought maybe it was a tree cracking, you know, like, because of ice?”
“That was a good thought.”
He smiled. “I stopped and looked around in case it was falling on me. That’s when I saw a person and a snowmobile.”
“Man or woman?”
“I don’t know. In my mind, it was a man, since why would a woman be out there all alone?”
“You never know.”
Perry’s brow furrowed. “He had on goggles and a snow cap, and a big snow suit.”
“How tall?”
“Like you or dad, maybe? But I was kind of far away.”
She leaned toward him. “How far?”
“About a hundred feet, I think.”
“Did you see the skin color, like on the face?”
He frowned. “No, because the cap went over his face, too.”
“Okay. What color was the suit?”
“White. White camouflage.”
“Mittens? Hat? Boots?”
“White, too. Everything was white, I think.”
“What else do you remember? Anything in the person’s hands?”
“No. But there was a big, long bag.”
“Co
lor?”
“Green.” His eyebrows peaked. “I just remembered that.”
Patrick smiled at him.
Ronnie tapped her pen. “That happens when you talk through it. You’ll remember things you didn’t even notice at the time. You’re doing great. Now, what was the bag made of?”
“Canvas, maybe? He was strapping it on the snowmobile with bungee cords.”
“Did you see a gun or a rifle?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Could one have been in that bag?”
Perry squinted, like he was looking back through his mind’s eye. “Maybe.”
“What else do you remember?”
“Um, the snowmobile was yellow.”
“What kind?”
“Fancy. Kinda new. It looked like a big, fat bumblebee.”
“Any stickers on the back, or anything unusual about it?”
“I don’t remember. But the backend was all black.”
“What about the skis?”
Perry chewed his bottom lip. “Black, I think?”
Ronnie scribbled some notes. “Did the person see you?”
“Yes. I waved. He was looking right at me, but he didn’t wave back.”
“Did either of you say anything?”
“No. It was kind of creepy. I decided I should get out of there.”
“Then what?”
“I figured out how hard it was to go uphill on skis without poles. A little bit later, I heard the engine start.”
“How much later?”
“A minute or two. Not long.”
“Did you ever see the person or the snowmobile again?”
“No.”
“What did you do next?”
“I tried to eat my sandwich, but I’d lost it. Along with my pocketknife.” He snuck a look at Patrick. “Sorry, Dad.” Patrick shrugged, but he couldn’t help thinking about the cost of the knife. It hadn’t been cheap. If Perry wanted another, he was going to have to earn the responsibility. “Then I skied to the lodge, but everybody was leaving. I rode home with the Sibleys.”
“Did you tell them about the snowmobiler?”
Perry looked at his lap for a second. “No. They said my mom and dad left to take someone who was hurt to the hospital and that the ski mountain was closed.” He looked sheepish. “I forgot about everything else, until I saw someone in white camo in Laramie. That’s when I told my mom and dad about it.”
“Tell me about the person in Laramie. Was it the same kind of snowsuit?”
“No, it was just a coat. I barely even saw it. There were too many people.”
“Do you think it was the same person?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying very close attention at first. And then it took a second for it to hit me. Like a delayed reaction, you know?”
“I do. So, now that you’ve had a week to think about it, what do you think about this person at Meadowlark?”
He rolled his bottom lip out and shrugged. “Nothing, other than what I told you.” He turned to Patrick. “What if the shooter saw me, Dad? I wasn’t wearing a mask. And I had my goggles on my head. If he recognized me, he could come after me.”
Patrick put his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I think that’s unlikely, buddy.”
“Then why are you making me come straight home after school and not go anywhere without you?”
“To be extra careful.”
“That’s always good,” Ronnie said.
Patrick turned to her. “What else would you recommend we do now, Ronnie?”
“Let’s not tell anyone else what Perry saw, for starters. Did you tell anyone, Perry?”
“No.”
“Who else besides the two of you know?” she asked Patrick.
“Trish and Susanne.”
Perry’s face flushed.
“What is it, son?”
“Nothing.”
“Is there something you want to tell us?” Ronnie asked.
Perry shook his head, and Patrick let the subject drop.
Ronnie seemed satisfied, too. She pushed back her chair. “This is important information, given that we don’t have any other witnesses, no weapon, and no suspect or motive. So have your family keep it quiet, which we’ll do here as well. Johnson and Big Horn counties.” Patrick knew it was a multi-jurisdictional effort, since the murder had occurred in Big Horn county, but involved residents of and potentially a trial occurring in Johnson.
Patrick didn’t move from the table. “I know there’s suspicion Jeannie Renkin’s murder might be linked to the Kemecke trial. I’ve heard extra security will be on hand at the courthouse and for Judge Renkin—at least that’s what the sheriff and the governor told the judge a few days ago. I was hoping maybe our family could be included in that, too?”
Ronnie’s eyes flitted to the side, but then she brought them back and held his gaze while she answered. “I can certainly ask.”
“I’d consider it an important personal favor. After Donna Lewis made a threatening comment about Trish and her mother, that they would never get to testify—”
Ronnie’s face darkened. “When?”
“Last Saturday. To Trish.”
“I don’t like hearing that. Did she get any more specific about what she meant? Like what would happen to keep them from testifying or who would do it?”
“No. It was pretty general, according to Trish.”
She shook her head. “Well, even though Donna may be nasty, she’s not stupid. But go on. I interrupted you.”
“I was just saying that with what Perry saw, Donna’s threatening comment, and what happened to Judge Ellis and Mrs. Renkin, we’re all pretty nervous. Plus, Kemecke’s nephew Ben Jones was released from juvie and is living with the Lewises.”
“Damn.” Ronnie eyes clouded with concern. Then she shook her head, stood, and put her notepad under her arm and her pen in her front pocket. “Please take care of yourself and your family. Be extra vigilant. Call if you see anything suspicious.”
“Of course.”
“You’ve given me a lot of information to talk to Sheriff Westbury about. I’ll get back with you ASAP with his answer on the protection issue.”
Patrick nodded grimly. Ronnie’s heart was in the right place, but he already knew how this was going to go—his family’s welfare would be entirely up to him.
Chapter Seventeen: Enlist
Buffalo, Wyoming
Sunday, March 13, 1977, 3:00 p.m.
Patrick
Beside his kitchen table, Patrick stood like a captain at the helm of a ship surveying his crew. Henry and Vangie Sibley. Wes Braten. His boss, Dr. John. The vet, Joe Crumpton. Good people, all of them. They’d come running when he’d put out the call to form a posse. If his family’s security was going to be on his shoulders, Patrick would take all the help he could get. He’d explained everything that was going on to them, except what Perry had seen at Meadowlark, and the reason they needed a home-grown security team. With them here, the pressure in his chest was already easing up. This faceless threat against his family—maybe more than one—had been triggering his worst fears of losing his wife and kids. He knew what a blessed man he was. Contemplating losing them, even for an instant, was more than he could bear. A lump formed in his throat and moisture built in his eyes.
Susanne walked from person to person, pouring fresh coffee in mugs.
“Thanks, Susanne.” Patrick lifted his, a souvenir from Yellowstone National Park with a picture of a big horn ram on it, to hide his struggle.
“Of course.” She put the electric percolator back on the counter and started another pot.
When he’d regained his composure, he blew on his coffee. “So that’s where we are. In a perfect world, I could watch all my family members all the time. And I guess if I cut out from work and took them out of school, I could.”
Dr. John grinned. His curly white hair had missed a few trimmings. Watery blue eyes twinkled through his crooked wire-framed glasses. “Forget ab
out that option.”
Patrick grinned back. He glanced out the window. It was mild and spring-like outside for the first time this season, on the heels of the bitter cold of the previous few days. Green grass was fighting its way toward the sky out of melting snow. Several deer were nibbling it like they were afraid it would disappear if they didn’t hurry. It had been a long winter of pawing through snow to get to sparse, dead stalks. From the garage, Ferdinand let out a mournful howl. He felt bad for the big dog, but with a yard full of hungry deer and a house full of guests, Ferdie was going to have to get used to temporary confinement.
“What are you doing to that animal in there, Doc? Torturing him?” Wes asked.
“Pathetic, isn’t he? But to Dr. John’s point, I already need more time off than my boss would like, for the trial itself.”
“My patients will miss you,” Dr. Crumpton said.
“Ha.” Patrick enjoyed covering for the veterinarian when he was out of town. The things he had learned by trial and error with the veterinary patients had come in handy with his own animals. “As far as you guys go, our biggest concern is the kids’ safety when they’re at school. But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone watching the house, and someone else following us when we are driving them. I know that sounds like a lot. Maybe it’s too much. But I don’t just want to keep them safe. If someone comes after them, I want us to have enough information that the police and sheriff can catch the bad guys and put them away for it.”
“I take it you mean the Kemecke clan?” Wes said.
“It wouldn’t surprise us at all.”
Henry leaned a chair back on two legs. Susanne winced visibly. The dining room set was her pride and joy. He pointed at people and mouthed one, two, three, four. “I count four of us.”
Vangie smacked his shoulder. “Five.”
“Four,” he said firmly, giving her 38-week pregnant belly a pat. “The trial may go on for a few weeks. We need more manpower. Would it be okay for us to recruit a few trusted friends?”
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