by C. J. Box
She shrugged. “They just do. The NPS will do anything for cash since we’re so underfunded. Or so we say.”
“Who has the contract for Sunburst, then?”
She shrugged, looked at Cutler. “I can’t remember the name,” he said. “But it’s foreign, I know that.”
Joe stopped abruptly.
“What?” Demming asked.
“This might turn out to be something,” Joe said. “If Hoening was worked up about bio-prospecting, and his complaints were too loud, it might be a reason to silence him.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed as she thought about it. “I’d like to think that, Joe. But as much as I don’t like it, there’s nothing illegal going on here. Nothing worth killing about, for sure. The bio-mining operation is perfectly legitimate, even though I think it’s a stupid idea that goes against park policy.”
Her words deflated him somewhat. He said, “Still, though, this is the only thing we’ve found that might be a motive.”
She shrugged. “So where does Clay McCann fit into this?”
“He was the lawyer who filed the application for the permit.”
“I can’t imagine that kind of legal work would be so lucrative he’d kill to keep the business, can you? He was probably hired because he’s local, and probably didn’t have many bill-able hours.”
“Let me think about it,” he said.
IT WAS ALMOST evening as they approached the turnoff back to Old Faithful. Joe, Demming, and Cutler had batted around the theory Joe had advanced, but nothing new or solid came from the discussion. After a while, each lapsed into their own thoughts.
Joe wished Marybeth and his girls would be waiting for him, but their reunion was still days away. He wondered if Nate had turned up anything talking with Zephyr people. He tried not to think about George Pickett. Instead, he pushed his father’s appearance out of his mind, as far away as he could push it. He was unsuccessful, though. He felt a sense of growing dread the closer they got to the inn.
He thanked Cutler for making the time that day.
Cutler didn’t answer, his eyes on the rearview mirror.
“Damned if I don’t see that red truck behind us again,” Cutler said.
“Pull over after you’ve made the turn,” Demming said. “Let’s see who’s been following us all day.”
“Cool,” Cutler said.
They took the turn to Old Faithful and in the first stand of trees that couldn’t be seen from the highway, Cutler drove off the asphalt and hit the brakes.
Joe and Demming bailed out the passenger door. She drew her weapon, glanced at Joe.
“Where’s your gun?” she asked.
He felt his face flush. “In my daypack in the truck.”
Her eye roll was brief but damning.
“Let me get it,” he said.
“Forget it, Joe,” she said, stepping out onto the road and slipping her pistol back into her holster. “He’s gone. The red truck never made the turn.”
JOE WAS GREETED at the desk by two messages. The first was a flyer reminding all guests that the Old Faithful Inn would close for the winter the following day at noon. The second was from Dr. Keaton and George Pickett, inviting him to dinner at the employee cafeteria.
part four
YELLOWSTONE GAME PROTECTION ACT, 1894
AN ACT TO PROTECT THE BIRDS AND
ANIMALS IN YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL
PARK, AND TO PUNISH CRIMES IN SAID PARK,
AND FOR OTHER PURPOSES,
Approved May 7, 1894 (28 Stat. 73)
SEC. 3. That if any offense shall be committed in said Yellowstone National Park, which offense is not prohibited or the punishment is not specially provided for by any law of the United States or by any regulation of the Secretary of the Interior, the offender shall be subject to the same punishment as the laws of the State of Wyoming in force at the time of the commission of the offense may provide for a like offense in said State; and no subsequent repeal of any such law in the State of Wyoming shall affect any prosecution for said offense committed within said park. (U.S.C., title 16, sec. 25.)
15
“DID THEY SEE YOU?” MCCANN ASKED BUTCH TOOMER after the ex-sheriff had returned from the park in his red Ford pickup and entered the law office. McCann had asked while ushering him into his office past Sheila, who eyed them both with open suspicion. When he closed the door he heard her cry, “Hey!” but ignored it.
Toomer had an annoying habit of wearing his aviator shades while he was working, so no one could see his eyes. He sat heavily in the chair across from McCann and lit a cigarette. “Yup,” he said. “I’m pretty sure they saw me.”
McCann felt a sharp pain in his chest. He placed his hand over his heart and rubbed it as he spoke. “I thought you were going to be inconspicuous.”
Toomer waved his cigarette, dismissing McCann. “It couldn’t be helped. There’s no one in the park—no traffic. Of course they saw my truck, but I don’t think they saw me or were close enough to make the plate. And there’s no way they could be sure I was following them. There’s only the one road system, you know. Any fool would notice the only other car on the road, for Christ sake.”
McCann breathed a little easier. It made sense. “What did they do?”
The ex-sheriff withdrew a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Started the morning at Old Faithful, like we thought. Then they switched vehicles on me and I almost lost them. They got in a Park Service truck with the manager of the area by the name of Mark Cutler.”
“You’re sure it was Mark Cutler?” McCann asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
Toomer seemed to be studying him, but McCann wasn’t sure. He wished he’d take off those damned sunglasses.
“Sure enough,” Toomer said finally, as if annoyed at being questioned. “He’d changed into a Park Service uniform, though, sort of doing a switcheroo on me. But I’d seen him before and confirmed it was him by calling the hotel and asking if he was in. I guess Cutler volunteers for the Park Service when he’s off-duty from Zephyr. He’s some kind of expert on geysers. They said his shift was over at ten and he was going out on geyser duty, so that confirmed it.”
“You didn’t identify yourself when you called?”
“No,” he said sarcastically, “I told them my name was Clay McCann, the infamous killer lawyer.” Despite the sunglasses, McCann could tell Toomer rolled his eyes as he spoke. Toomer said, “Are you going to question everything I say? What, do you think I’ve never done surveillance before? Do you think I’ve never carried out an investigation?”
“Sorry.”
Toomer grumbled and shook his head, then resumed his report. He outlined the tour Cutler had taken him on—the Upper Geyser Basin, the Firehole River, finally Biscuit Basin and Sunburst Hot Springs.
McCann felt himself go cold.
“What?” Toomer asked.
“They went to Sunburst? Why?”
“Damned if I know.” He shrugged. “They carried some equipment from the truck in there but I didn’t get out and follow them on foot. If I had, my cover would have been blown for sure, because that area is officially off limits. I waited until they got back to their vehicle, then followed them out.”
“How long were they there?”
“An hour, hour and a half.”
“But you didn’t see what they did at the hot springs?”
“I told you that already.”
McCann closed his eyes, felt his heart race.
“You want some water or something? A drink?” Toomer asked. “You look pale all of a sudden.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good, because I need some money for today.”
Trying to recover, McCann opened a desk drawer and pulled out a binder of blank checks.
“I’d prefer cash.”
“I don’t have cash.”
Finally, Toomer removed his sunglasses so he could glare at McCann. “I don’t want to go down to the bank and cash a check from you. The rumors
would start to fly. You’re poison around this town, and I can’t be associated with you. Don’t you get that?”
McCann swallowed. “Yes. But I don’t have five hundred in cash.”
Toomer snorted. “You mean seven fifty. Don’t try to mess with me. We agreed on a hundred an hour.”
“If I don’t have five hundred in cash, I don’t have seven fifty either.”
“Get it by tomorrow. And make it eight hundred for my trouble. Plus the four thousand you owe me for weapons training. I’m tired of working for you for free.”
McCann pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, wondering where he would get the money. What could he sell, fast? He’d hoped he could send Toomer away with a check and have some money in the bank from his partners by the time the ex-sheriff tried to cash it.
“I’ll have it tomorrow,” McCann said.
“Good.”
Toomer just sat there, his eyes narrowing. “What’s the deal with Sunburst Hot Springs? When I said it I thought you were going to jump out of your chair. I thought this had to do with what happened down in Bechler.”
McCann said, “It does. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t hire you to answer your questions, Butch.”
“Why exactly did you hire me?”
“I think we’re through here,” McCann said. “I’ll get you your fee tomorrow.”
Toomer smiled a half-smile, put his sunglasses back on, and stood up and left without shaking McCann’s extended hand.
“Don’t mess with me, Clay,” he said as he shut the door.
MCCANN’S INSIDES WERE burbling. This thing was coming apart. He should have been out of the country by now, on an island, sipping a drink and being petted by a woman he’d yet to meet. Instead, it seemed like the sky itself was crushing down and the walls were tightening in on him like jaws of a vise. He wondered what Cutler had told Pickett and Demming.
He punched the button for the intercom.
“Sheila, get me Layton Barron’s home number in Denver.”
No response.
“Sheila?”
“What do you think I am,” she screeched. “Your fucking secretary?”
BARRON’S WIFE ANSWERED and McCann asked to speak to Layton. She covered the phone while she called to her husband but McCann could hear her through her fingers, which he imagined as bony but finely manicured.
Barron said, “Yes?” He didn’t sound pleased.
“You know who this is.”
“I can’t believe you called me at home.” His tone was angry, astonished. “I’m going to—”
“If you hang up on me, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison,” McCann said flatly. “Your bony-fingered wife will be alone with all of your treasure.”
Pause. Then: “Honey, I need to take this in my office. Will you please hang it up in a second?”
There were no pleasantries once Barron picked up his private phone. “Look, I tried to call you back yesterday,” Barron said, sounding as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. “I tried that number you gave me three times. First it was busy, then it rang and rang. And how do you know about my wife?”
“Forget that,” McCann said.
“Then why are you calling me? How did you get my home number?”
“Forget that too,” McCann said. “I want you to shut up and listen for once.”
He could hear Barron take a breath. “Go ahead.”
“We may have trouble up here. A couple of investigators”—McCann glanced at the business cards and read off the names—“went to Sunburst today with Mark Cutler. They may be too stupid to put things together, but that’s getting too close for me.”
“Jesus,” Barron said softly.
“I want to get out of here,” McCann said. “I want you to live up to your end of the deal. I want my money, now!”
“Clay, it’s not what you think. We’re not trying to screw you, not at all. The SEC’s been camped out in our building for three weeks. It has nothing to do with you at all, but I can’t move any money right now. They’re going over everything for the past four years. It’s a fucking nightmare.”
“You’re right,” McCann said, “this has nothing to do with me. I could care less about the SEC, or your company. I want my money. I did my part, you need to do yours.”
“Look,” Barron said, an edge of panic entering his voice, “I think they’ll be gone by the end of the week. I really do. We’re clean, I swear it. It’s just that some of our accounting looks a little, well, optimistic. I’m sure we’ll get it sorted out and when those assholes leave, I’ll get that transfer to you within the hour.”
“Not good enough,” McCann said. “I need it now. Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“You have no idea what it’s like for me,” McCann said. “If Pickett and Demming start connecting the dots, I’m just sitting here.”
“Can’t you be more reasonable?”
Yes, McCann thought, the panic in Barron’s voice was real. He’d cracked him.
“Listen to me,” McCann said, pressing, deciding to show his hole card, “if I don’t get my money, I’ll go to the FBI and sing in exchange for immunity. They’ll give it to me, I promise you. I’ve worked with them and they’d rather nail somebody high-level—somebody like Layton Barron of EnerDyne—than put me back in jail.”
“My God, you can’t be serious.”
McCann nodded. “I’m serious.”
“But I told you, I can’t move the money. The SEC—”
“Then send me some of your money, you twit,” McCann said. “Sit down at your computer and wire at least a ten-thousand-dollar down payment to my account tonight. I put my career and my life on the line for you. I expect some consideration.”
He could hear Barron swallow. “But you wouldn’t really go to the FBI, would you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” he said in a whisper, “I can do that.”
“And you need to keep it coming,” McCann said. “Ten thousand tonight, ten thousand tomorrow, ten thousand the next day until you can pay the balance from your company, whenever that is. It’s not my problem, it’s yours. I’ll talk with my banker every morning. If you miss a single day, I sing. Got it?”
Silence.
“Got it?”
“Yes.”
McCann felt some of the burden lift from his shoulders. “That’s not all,” he said, liking the way the power had shifted to him.
“What else?”
“It’s time for you to contact your man on the inside,” McCann said. “Tell him what’s going on and see if he can do something about it. He’s the only guy close enough to the situation on the ground to steer it away from us. It’s time he got his hands dirty.”
Barron moaned, as if McCann were torturing him. “He’s not going to like it.”
“I could give a shit,” McCann said, starting to feel, finally, that he was making things happen in his favor. “He’s had a free ride so far. Tell him to act or he’ll be implicated as well. Tell him I’m serious.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Barron said, his tone strangely resigned, as if seeing McCann in an all new light as his enemy. Good, McCann thought. It’s about time.
“All you had to do was your part,” McCann said. “I did mine.”
He hung up the telephone, sat back in his chair, looked at his reflection in the glass doors of his bookcase, and fell righteously back in love with the man who grinned at him.
He’d let the locals get to him. He’d even let one old cow whack him on the head with a telephone receiver. The power he’d built up since his time in jail had been pouring out of him since he’d returned, puddling at his feet. Now it felt like the wounds had healed. He was recharging.
“Jeez,” he said, “I missed you.”
HE WAS STILL smiling when Sheila D’Amato opened his door without knocking and leaned against the jamb with her hand on her hip and a sly smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled.
&nbs
p; “You son of a bitch,” she said with admiration.
“Don’t tell me you listened,” he said, shaking his head.
“Ten thousand a day,” she said. “Damn, you’re a better earner than the crooks I used to hang with.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, maintaining the grin somehow while part of his brain raced, trying to process the magnitude of what she’d done, how he would deal with it.
“I’m still confused,” she said. “I don’t get what it is you guys are trying to hide. I mean, it obviously has something to do with some Sunburst thing, but I don’t get how that has anything to do with those four dead people.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“I’ve got all night.”
“Let’s go have some dinner,” he said. “I’ll fill you in.”
She beamed, and he was surprised how attractive she looked when she was full of joy. He hadn’t known because she’d never been so happy in his presence before.
THEY STEPPED ONTO the sidewalk to go to Rocky’s for dinner. He held the door open for her and smelled her as she came through. A nice scent. He liked the way her heels clicked on the pavement. It was rare to see a woman in the West in a dress and heels, and he found himself lagging behind her a little so he could look at her strong calves through the nylons.
“I’ve got to say,” she said, shooting a come-hither look over her shoulder, “I’m more than a little surprised that you didn’t bite my head off for listening in.”
“I thought about it.”
“But you didn’t,” she said. “I guess that means we really are in this together.”
“I need allies,” he said.
“I’d like to think I’m more than that.”
“You are,” he said.
“This all has to do with that company, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“What company?”
“EnerDyne. I saw the binder on your credenza. You work for them, right?”
He whistled. “Boy, you don’t miss a trick, do you?”
