by C. J. Box
Joe nodded.
“I think you know that all Agent Portenson really wants is to get out of Wyoming. What happened earlier doesn’t help. Neither one of us is out of the woods yet. Hell, I don’t mind whatever happens. I like it here and so does my family. But Tony . . .”
“. . . wants out,” Joe said. “I know. He wants to run with the big dogs.”
Coon nodded. “The only way he can make amends is to nail Stenko.”
Joe gave it a beat. “So what’s it look like inside?”
Coon finally got his right glove pulled off with a sharp snap. “As I said, two victims. One under the broken kitchen window. Male, thirties, dressed in tennis togs, if you can believe that. His ID said he was Nathanial Talich from Chicago. He was the youngest of the three brothers and considered to be the craziest . . .”
“The psycho,” Joe said, repeating the term from the call.
Coon nodded. “Multiple gunshot wounds. I could see one right below his eye, but my guess is he took at least a few more in the belly the way he was curled up.”
“The other guy?”
“The sheriff said he’s the owner of the ranch. A guy named Leo Dyekman. Also of Chicago,” he said, raising a single eyebrow. “We think he’s a known associate of Stenko. His money man, we think. Portenson is in communication with Washington now to confirm that.”
“Can you tell what happened?”
Coon shrugged. “It looks like a gunfight. They were both armed and I’m guessing they shot each other.”
Joe shook his head. “I doubt that. Can Dyekman talk?”
Coon narrowed his eye, not pleased by the Joe’s casual disregard of their theory. “Why? What do you think?”
“I’ll show you in a minute. Can Dyekman talk?”
“I’d be surprised if Dyekman ever talks, judging by the amount of blood he lost. I don’t think his wound was fatal—it looks like he got hit on the side of the neck—but he might have bled out after he made the call. There is a lot of blood in that house.”
Joe hoped none of it was April’s.
Coon said, “That’s the problem with living out here in the middle of nowhere. The EMTs can’t get to you in time.”
“So why do you think the two guys shot each other up?” Joe asked.
“Because that’s what it looks like, Joe. But that’s why we called in forensics. They might be able to figure out what the hell happened in there.”
“So why did Dyekman refer to more bodies?”
Coon shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Was there any other blood anywhere?”
“I told you, Joe, there’s blood all over the place. It looks like a slaughterhouse.”
“So why is the kitchen window broken?”
Coon gave Joe a big-eyed exasperated expression. “I don’t know, Joe,” he said with annoyance. “That’s why we called in our team.”
“I can’t wait for your team,” Joe said. “Look, there’s brass on the side of the house outside the kitchen window. I tried not to disturb it much. But what it looks like is that somebody stood outside and started blasting.”
Coon stared at Joe skeptically.
Joe said, “April’s not here. Every minute we wait for your team she gets farther away.”
Coon threw up his hands, said, “We don’t even know that she was ever here, Joe. Come on . . .”
Joe held up his hand and extended a finger for every point: “One, she said she was going to a ranch in the Black Hills. Two, these guys are associated with Stenko. Three, the caller said there were people who might be injured. Four, someone who is not on the floor in there stood outside the house and fired inside. Which says to me they got away from here and they probably took April, who might be hurt.”
“Is there a five?” Coon asked sarcastically.
“Five, where else could she be?”
“Go home, Joe,” Coon said. “For once, I agree with Portenson. We’ve got this handled. There’s nothing you can do. Plus—”
Joe waited. Coon didn’t finish. Instead, he stepped out of the way of the EMTs who came crashing through the door with a body on a gurney. Joe stepped aside as well and walked alongside the gurney, hoping the slight middle-aged man beneath the sheet would open his eyes. The man—Leo Dyekman—was ghostly white. Swinging plastic units of blood coursed into both arms as they wheeled him toward the open ambulance. Joe recognized the stitched brown cowboy shirt Dyekman was wearing as one he’d seen on a Western wear store clearance rack.
“Leo, talk to me,” Joe said, prodding Leo’s chest.
“Please don’t touch him,” a bearded EMT warned.
“Leo, where’s April?”
“Man . . .” the EMT said, shaking his head.
“Leo!”
And Leo’s eyes shot open.
“Jesus,” the EMT said, as surprised as Joe.
Joe reached out and stopped the gurney and leaned over the victim. His eyes were open but there was no expression on his face. “Can you hear me?”
Dyekman groaned.
“Leo, who shot you?”
“Fuck. I’m gonna die.”
“No you’re not. You’ll be fine. Now who shot you?”
Dyekman rolled his head to the side. “I think Robert. But it could have been Natty. Lots of shots.”
“Robert Stenson?”
“Who else?” As he said it, his eyes drooped. Joe didn’t think Dyekman would be conscious much longer.
“Was there a girl in the house?”
“Stenko,” Dyekman said. “That damned Stenko got the cash.”
“Clear the way,” the bearded EMT said to Joe. “We need to get going. You can talk to him later in the hospital.” He pushed on the gurney and the lead EMT pulled. Joe walked alongside.
“What about the girl?” Joe asked again.
“What about her?”
He felt a thrill. “So there was a girl. Do you know who she was?”
Dyekman’s face contorted with pain.
Joe slapped him. The bearded EMT said, “Hey!” One of the sheriff’s deputies guarding the front door broke away and started jogging toward them, his hand on his weapon.
“Did you see what he just did?” the EMT said to the deputy.
“Clear the hell away, mister,” the deputy growled.
But the slap had opened Dyekman’s eyes again. Joe cocked his hand as if to do it again.
Dyekman said, “I didn’t get her name!”
“Blond? Fourteen?”
“Could be.”
The deputy bear-hugged Joe while the EMTs rolled Dyekman into the ambulance.
“Man, what’s wrong with you?” the deputy hissed into Joe’s ear.
“Let me down,” Joe said. “I got what I needed.”
When the deputy released him, Joe turned toward his pickup near the Quonset hut. Sheridan had watched the altercation and looked to him with pleading eyes. He knew what she was asking: Was April here? He nodded: “Yes.”
“SHE WAS HERE,” Joe told Marybeth on Sheridan’s cell phone. “I just know it.”
Marybeth was calm, he thought. Calmer than he was. It always amazed him how pragmatic she became when events seemed out of control.
“But Sheridan said she might be hurt,” she said.
“We don’t know. They won’t let me inside the house. But she’s gone—that we know.”
“Did someone identify her?”
“Maybe. I couldn’t get much out of him.”
Marybeth sighed. “This is tough, Joe. It’s tough that you’re gone with Sheridan. And I understand you went and got Nate. I don’t know—is she ready for this? Is she okay?”
Joe assessed his daughter, who leaned against the door of the pickup pretending she wasn’t listening to every word. What he saw was a young woman who was lucid, calm, but worried. She’d never been out in the field on an investigation with him. All she knew were the results. She’d never been in the middle of a chaotic crime scene like this one with uniformed men cursing at each oth
er and running around, the jockeying for status and position, the clash of jurisdictions among personnel from different agencies, the baseless speculation thrown around in regard to what might have happened. He wondered if she was questioning his acumen and clearly seeing his fallibility. Lord knows he was fallible. But he was her dad. He knew she always thought he had special abilities. Now, he thought, she’d know that he didn’t. That he could run around and speculate with the best of them.
“I think so,” he answered Marybeth, trying not to tip off the question.
But Sheridan sensed it and mouthed, “I’m fine, Dad.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then: “Maybe it’s time to bring her home, Joe. There haven’t been any calls from April. I know she’d rather be with you and Nate, but I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
He looked up to see Sheridan glaring at him. He wondered if his face betrayed Marybeth’s question, and he tried to deaden his expression. “You may be right,” he said. And for Sheridan’s benefit: “I’m exhausted. We haven’t gotten any sleep for I don’t know how many nights. We would both probably welcome being in our own beds.” He nodded as he talked and looked to his daughter for agreement. The glare didn’t waver.
He turned away. “How’s Lucy doing?” he asked in a whisper.
“She’s not happy. She wishes she were with you and Sheridan. This morning at breakfast she looked at your empty chairs and said, ‘I’m sick of being the baby in the family.’ ”
“She said that?”
Before she could answer, there was a chirp on the phone that he disregarded. He assumed it was a bad cell connection.
“Yes, Joe. She’s growing up. She’s an interesting child. She observes the rest of us and makes up her own mind. And I’ve found when she says something, I’d better listen.”
“I can’t imagine being out here with the both of them,” Joe mumbled. “Especially with Nate.”
“Yes,” Marybeth said, “I heard about the ear collection.”
Joe cringed. “You know he really doesn’t have one, right? That it’s his way of joking?”
“I knew that. But does Sheridan?”
“I think so.” What was he doing to his daughter?
“Don’t worry,” Marybeth said, as if reading his mind. “Sheridan might just have a better understanding of Nate than either of us. She’s almost grown up with him around.”
He chuckled, despite himself. And the phone chirped again.
“Hold on,” he said to Marybeth. Cupping the mike, he said to Sheridan, “Your phone is making a funny beep. Does that mean you have to charge it or something?”
Her eyes shot open. “No, Dad. That means there’s a call coming in. Or a text.”
It took a moment to realize what she meant. But Joe quickly said to Marybeth, “Look, I’ve got to go.”
“What?”
He snapped the phone closed. He felt bad doing that to Marybeth, but he knew he could always call her back and explain. Quickly, he handed the phone to Sheridan, who took it and looked at the display.
She said, “It’s a number I don’t recognize. There’s no text or message. It says I missed two calls.”
Joe thought, April took a fresh TracFone from the pharmacy in Rawlins. It would have a new number. And if it was April, her situation was desperate enough that she finally decided to call, not text.
“I know,” Sheridan said, again reading his mind, again staring at her phone. Again, willing it to ring.
Although Joe had told her to stay in the truck, she jammed the phone into her pocket and stalked away into the meadow to regroup. Joe didn’t stop her.
“JOE, THIS ROBERT ANGLE you suggested may have legs,” Coon said. Joe hadn’t seen him walk over from the helicopter, and his sudden presence jarred him. “I just talked to our team in Washington. They’re going crazy with the linkages. I can’t believe we weren’t looking in his direction before this. Stenko’s such a big fat target that we didn’t really move the spotlight off him.”
Joe turned away from Sheridan and her cell phone, hoping Coon wouldn’t pick up on what might be happening.
“Sometimes we think in too much of a linear way in law enforcement,” Joe said, echoing Nate.
“What?”
“Never mind.” Joe was preoccupied. If all Portenson wanted was Stenko’s head on a platter, as he said, April could once again end up being collateral damage. Joe refused to open up that possibility. Which meant he couldn’t yet confide in Coon regarding the incoming calls. They were back to square one.
Coon said, “The dead guy in Madison, Reif? Apparently, he was Robert’s nemesis. The two of them used to work together at one point and they founded the carbon-offset company together. But they had a falling out. Reif got disillusioned with either Robert or the cause or both, because he left ClimateSavior and spent all his time ripping our boy and the company on his own blog. He hated Robert and no doubt he damaged the credibility of Robert’s company and his cause. And then he turns up dead and Robert’s nowhere to be found.”
Joe said, “You guys need to run the spent casings on the lawn over there against casings found in Madison.”
“Already on it,” Coon said. “But there’s more. Like a double homicide in South Dakota of a couple with a giant RV. Robert had a thing against those big vehicles and he railed about it on his website. In fact, he tried to urge his fans to sabotage them.”
Joe said, “Keystone. That poor old couple.”
“Yeah.”
“And the Aspen wedding?”
Coon said, “Two trust fund kids with high profiles on the society and gossip pages. Two great big huge carbon footprints.”
Joe shook his head.
Coon said, “I don’t want to believe what it’s looking like. Plus, I believe in global warming and climate change. I don’t want this to screw up the effort. It’s up to all of us, you know. These guys could give it all a bad name.”
Joe grunted.
“There’s something else,” Coon said, stepping in closer and looking over his shoulder.
“What? Are you worried about your boss overhearing you?”
Coon leveled his gaze at Joe until Joe was uncomfortable.
Coon said, “I was watching your truck through my binoculars as we came in earlier. I saw you pull over and let somebody out.”
Joe looked away.
“Some big guy with a blond ponytail got out,” Coon said, taking another step toward Joe until they were inches apart. “That wouldn’t have been Nate Romanowski, would it?”
Joe said, “Who?” But he knew his face was flushed.
“So it was him,” Coon said. “You are a really lousy liar.”
Joe didn’t respond.
“If Portenson knew he was around, you would both be in a world of hurt,” Coon said. “Not that I told him what I saw.”
Joe nodded. He was grateful Coon hadn’t told his boss. And wished he were a better liar.
“What are you going to do if you find her, Joe?” Coon asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think you can save her?”
Joe met his eyes again. “I don’t know.”
Coon asked, “What do you know?”
Joe shook his head. “Not much. But I know she deserves better than what’s happened to her. She needs to know somebody cares.”
Coon started to speak but stopped himself. Instead, he tilted his head back and looked at the big blue autumn sky. Finally, he said, “That’s admirable. It may not be protocol, but it’s admirable.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“If she calls again,” Coon said, “you need to give me the number. I’ll help you track her down.”
Joe made a decision. He said, “It’s a deal.”
Coon walked away.
In the meadow, Sheridan kicked though ankle-deep cheatgrass toward a wall of trees. She had no destination other than to have a few minutes to herself. She didn’t want to simply go home.
Not without April. The grass was dry and stiff and crunched underfoot. She noted she wasn’t the only person to have recently walked through it. There were two parallel tracks heading from the house toward the trees—one heavier than the other. Then she saw the blood flecked across the stalks of grass and yelled, “Dad!”
He came running.
While she waited for him there was another chirp. She pulled out her cell phone and read the message.
As her dad approached and saw the blood on the grass, Sheridan said, “It’s her.”
SHE HANDED THE PHONE to Joe. He looked at the display and his stomach clenched.
It read:
From: AK
im hurt and its getting bad. im in the woods. the car is crashed. i need u 2 come get me now. i think there r some men coming 2 get me. i hear them. idont know what theyll do 2 me. plz come get me sherry. take me home. plz help me.
ak
CB: 307-220-4439
Aug 26, 11:18 am
Erase REPLY Options
25
South of Devils Tower
SHE COULD HEAR THEM COMING.
Far above her, in the trees. They were working their way down the steep slope and occasionally one of them stepped on and snapped a dry branch or dislodged a rock that tumbled down. They were certainly taking their time. A half hour before, while she was texting Sheridan, she’d heard the sound of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel far above her on the road. Then the sound of two car doors slamming.
She had no doubt they’d find her. Although the hillside was extremely steep, the trail leading to her was obvious. Far above, as far as she could see, there was a gap in the brush near the road where the car had torn through. It had rolled to the bottom, snapping off pine trees and churning up the ground. The car now rested upside down on its hood, wheels in the air. The motor had finally stopped ticking. She was grateful it hadn’t burst into flames like cars did on television when they crashed and rolled down a mountain. Instead, it was immensely quiet. The only sounds were the buzz of insects, the watery sound of a breeze in the treetops, and footfalls as they got closer.
