Free Fire jp-7

by C. J. Box

  The case had been all over the state, regional, and national news the past summer-a multiple homicide in Yellowstone National Park. The murderer confessed, but a technicality in the law had set him free.

  “It’s making me crazy and pissing me off,” Rulon said. “Not just the murders or that gasbag Clay McCann. But this.”

  Rulon reached across the table and threw open the file. On top was a copy of a short, handwritten letter addressed to the governor.

  “Read it,” Rulon said.

  Dear Gov Spence:

  I live and work in Yellowstone, or, as we in the Gopher State Five call it, “the ’Stone.” I’ve come to really like the ’Stone, and Wyoming. I may even become a resident so I can vote for you.

  In my work I get around the park a lot. I see things, and my friends do too. There are some things going on here that could be of great significance to you, and they bother us a lot. And there is something going on here with the resources that may deeply impact the State of Wyoming, especially your cash flow situation. Please contact me so I can tell you what is happening.

  I want to tell you and show you in person, not by letter. This correspondence must be held in complete confidence.There are people up here who don’t want this story to be told. My e-mail address is yellowdick@yahoo.com. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.

  It was signed Yellowstone Dick.

  Joe frowned. He noted the date stamp: July 15.

  “I don’t understand,” Joe said.

  “I didn’t either,” Rulon said, raising his eyebrows and leaning forward again. “I try to answer all of my mail, but I put that one aside when I got it. I wasn’t sure what to do, since it seems like a crank letter. I get ’em all the time, believe me. Finally, I sent a copy over to DCI and asked them to check up on it. It took ’em a month, damn them, but they traced it with the Internet people and got back to me and said Yellowstone Dick was the nickname of an employee in Yellowstone named Rick Hoening. That name ring a bell?”

  “No.”

  “He was one of the victims murdered by Clay McCann. The e-mail was sent to me a week before Hoening met his untimely demise.”

  Joe let that sink in.

  “Ever hear of the Gopher State Five?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “Me neither. And I’ll never know what he was talking about, especially that bit about deeply impacting my cash flow. You know how serious that could be, don’t you?”

  Joe nodded. The State of Wyoming was booming. Mineral severance taxes from coal, gas, and petroleum extraction were making state coffers flush. So much money was coming in that legislators couldn’t spend it fast enough and were squirreling it away into massive trust funds and only spending the interest. The excess billions allowed the governor to feed the beast like it had never been fed before.

  Joe felt overwhelmed. “What are you asking me?”

  Rulon beamed and swung his head toward Chuck Ward. Ward stared coolly back.

  “I want you to go up there and see if you can figure out what the hell Yellowstone Dick was writing to me about.”

  Joe started to object but Rulon waved him off. “I know what you’re about to say. I’ve got DCI and troopers and lawyers up the wazoo. But the problem is I don’t have jurisdiction. It’s NationalPark Service, and I can’t just send all my guys up there to kick ass and take names. We have to make requests, and the responsestake months to get back. We have to be invited in,” he said, screwing up his face on the word invited as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “It’s in my state, look at the map. But I can’t go in unless they invite me. The Feds don’t care about what YellowstoneDick said about my cash flow, they’re so angry about McCanngetting off. Not that I blame them, of course. But I want you to go up there and see what you can find out. Clay McCann got away with these murders and created a free-fire zone in the northern part of my state, and I won’t stand for it.”

  Joe’s mind swirled.

  “You’re unofficial,” Rulon said, his eyes gleaming. “Without portfolio. You’re not my official representative, although you are. You’ll be put back into the state system, you’ll get back pay, you’ll get your pension and benefits back, you’ll get a state paycheck with a nice raise. But you’re on your own. You’re nobody,just a dumb-ass game warden poking around by yourself.”

  Joe almost said, That I can do with no problem, but held his tongue. Instead, he looked to Ward for clarification. “We’ll tell Randy Pope to reinstate you as a game warden,” Ward said wearily, wanting no part of this. “But the administration will borrow you.”

  “Borrow me?” Joe said. “Pope won’t do it.”

  “The hell he won’t,” Rulon said, smacking his palm against the tabletop. “I’m the governor. He will do what I tell him, or he’ll have his resume out in five states.”

  Joe knew how state government worked. This wasn’t how.

  “Without portfolio,” Joe said, repeating the phrases. “Not your official representative. But I am.”

  “Now you’re getting it,” the governor said, encouraging Joe. “And that means if you screw up and get yourself in trouble, as you are fully capable of doing based on your history, I’ll deny to my grave this meeting took place.”

  Chuck Ward broke in. “Governor, I feel it’s my responsibility,once again, to advise against this.”

  “Your opinion, Chuck, would be noted in the minutes if we had any, but we don’t,” Rulon said in a tone that suggested to Joe that the two of them had similar disagreements as a matter of routine.

  The governor turned back to Joe. “You’re going to ask me why, and why you, when I have a whole government full of bodies to choose from.”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  “All I can say is that it’s a hunch. But I’m known for my good hunches. I’ve followed your career, Joe, even before I got elected. You seem to have a natural inclination to get yourself square into the middle of situations a normal thinking person would avoid. I’d say it’s a gift if it wasn’t so damned dangerous at times. Your wife would probably concur.”

  Joe nodded in silent agreement.

  “I think you’ve got integrity. You showed me that when you said you’d arrest me. You seem to be able to think for yourself-a rare trait, and one that I share-no matter what the policy is or conventional wisdom dictates. As I know, that’s eithera good quality or a fatal flaw. It got me elected governor of this great state, and it got you fired.

  “But you have a way of getting to the bottom of things, is what I see. Just ask the Scarlett brothers.” He raised his eyebrowsand said, “No, don’t. They’re all dead.”

  Joe felt like he’d been slapped. He’d been there when the brothers turned against each other and went to war. And he’d performed an act that was the source of such black shame in him he still couldn’t think about it. In his mind, the months of feeding cattle, fixing fences, and overseeing Bud Jr. weren’t even close to penance for what he’d done. And it had nothing to do with why he’d been fired.

  “When I think of crime committed out-of-doors, I think of Joe Pickett,” Rulon said. “Simple as that.”

  Joe’s face felt hot. Everything the governor said seemed to have dual meanings. He couldn’t be sure if he was being praised or accused, or both.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Rulon smiled knowingly. “Yes you do. You want to say YES! You want to shout it out!” He leaned back in his chair and dropped his voice an octave. “But you need to talk to Marybeth. And Bud Longbrake needs to hire a new ranch foreman.”

  “I do need to talk to Marybeth,” Joe said lamely.

  “Of course. But let me know by tonight so we can notify Mr. Pope and get this show on the road. Take the file, read it. Then call with your acceptance.”

  Ward tapped his wrist. “Governor. .”

  “I know,” Rulon said, standing and shoving papers into his briefcase. “I know.”

  Joe used the arms of his chair to push himself to his feet. His legs were s
haky.

  “Tell the pilot we’re ready,” Rulon said to Ward. “We need to get going.”

  Ward hustled out of the room, followed by Governor Rulon.

  “Governor,” Joe called after him. Rulon hesitated at the doorway.

  “I may need some help in the park,” Joe said, thinking of Nate Romanowski.

  “Do what you need to do,” Rulon said sharply. “Don’t ask me for permission. You’re not working for me. I can’t even rememberwho you are. You’re fading from my mind even as we speak. How can I possibly keep track of every state employee?”

  Outside, the engines of the plane began to wind up.

  “Call me,” the governor said.

  Joe’s head was still spinning from the meeting as he wheeled the Ford into the turn-in at Saddlestring Elementary. Lucy was standing outside with her books clutched to her chest in the midst of a gaggle of fourth-grade girls who were talking to one another with great arm-waving exuberance. When all the girls turned their faces to him and watched him pull up to the curb, he knew something was up. Lucy waved good-bye to her friends-Lucy was a popular girl-and climbed in. As always, Lucy looked as fresh and attractive as she had at breakfast.

  “Sheridan’s in big trouble,” Lucy said. “She got a detention, so we’ll have to wait for her.”

  “What do you mean, big trouble?” Joe asked sharply. He wished Lucy hadn’t told him her news with such obvious glee. He continued to drive the four blocks to the high school, where Sheridan had just started the month before.

  “Some boy said something at lunch and Sherry decked him,” Lucy said. “Knocked him right down to the floor, is what I heard.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Sheridan,” Joe said.

  “It would if you knew her better.” Lucy smiled. “She’s a hot-headwhen it comes to her family.”

  Joe pulled over to the curb and turned to Lucy, realizing he had misread his youngest daughter. She was proud of her sister, not happy with the fact that she was in trouble. “What exactly are you telling me?”

  “Everybody’s talking about it,” Lucy said. “Some boy made a crack about you in the lunchroom, and Sheridan decked him.”

  “About me?”

  Lucy nodded. “He said something about you not being the game warden anymore, that you got fired.”

  “Who was the boy?”

  “Jason Kiner.”

  That stung. Jason was Phil Kiner’s son. Kiner was the game warden who had been assigned Joe’s district by Randy Pope. Joe had always liked Phil, but was disturbed that Kiner never called him for background or advice since assuming the post and moving his family into Joe’s old house near Wolf Mountain.Joe assumed Pope had told Phil to steer clear of the former inhabitant.

  “And Sheridan hit him?”

  Lucy nodded eagerly, watching him closely for his reaction.

  Joe took a deep breath and shook his head sadly, thinking it was what he should do as a father when he really wanted to say, Good for Sheridan.

  Joe and lucy waited a half-hour in front of the high school for Sheridan to be released. Lucy worked on homework assignedby her teacher, Mrs. Hanson, and Joe thought about how he would present the opportunity the governor had given him to Marybeth. He had mixed feelings about it, even though Rulon had been right that Joe’s first reaction had been to yell Yes! The “Yellowstone Zone of Death” file was facedown on the bench seat between them.

  “Mrs. Hanson says Americans use up most of the world’s energy,” Lucy said. “She says we’re selfish and we need to learn how to conserve so we can help save our planet.”

  “Oh?” Joe said. Lucy loved her teacher, a bright-eyed young woman just two years out of college. Joe and Marybeth had met Mrs. Hanson during back-to-school night and had been duly impressed and practically bowled over by her obvious enthusiasmfor her job and her passion for teaching. Since Lucy’s third-grade teacher had been a weary, bitter twenty-four-year warhorse in the system who was counting the days until her retirement,Mrs. Hanson was a breath of fresh mountain air. Over the past month, Lucy had participated in a canned-food drive for the disadvantaged in the county and on the reservation, and a candy sale with profits dedicated to Amazon rain forest restoration. Lucy couldn’t wait to go to school in the morning, and seemed to start most sentences with, “Mrs. Hanson says. .”

  “Mrs. Hanson says we should stop driving gas-guzzling cars and turn the heat down in our houses.”

  “Gas-guzzling cars like this?” Joe asked, patting the dashboard.

  “Yes. Mrs. Hanson drives one of those good cars.”

  “Do you mean a hybrid?”

  “Yes. And Mr. and Mrs. Hanson recycle everything. They have boxes for glass, paper, and metal. Mrs. Hanson says they take the boxes to the recycling center every weekend.”

  “We have a recycling center?” Joe asked.

  “It’s in Bozeman or Billings.”

  Joe frowned. “Billings is a hundred and twenty miles away.”

  “So?”

  “Driving a hundred and twenty miles to put garbage in a recyclingbin doesn’t exactly save energy,” Joe said.

  “Mrs. Hanson says the only way we can save the planet is for all of us to pitch in and work together to make a better world.”

  Joe had no answer to that, since he didn’t want to appear to Lucy to be in favor of actively contributing to a worse world.

  “Mrs. Hanson wanted me to ask you a question.”

  “Really?”

  “She wants to know why, if you’re a cowboy now, you don’t ride a horse? She says horses are much better for the environmentthan trucks and ATVs.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up from school on a horse?” Joe asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

  Lucy started to say yes but thought better of it. “Maybe you can still come get me in a truck, but you can ride a horse around all day on the ranch to help save the planet.”

  “What are you reading?” he asked, looking at her open spiralnotebook.

  “We’re studying the Kyoto Protocol.”

  “In fourth grade? Don’t they teach you math or science at that school?”

  Lucy looked up, exasperated with her father. “Mrs. Hanson says it’s never too early to learn about important issues. She says, ‘Think globally and act locally.’ ”

  On the state highway to the Longbrake Ranch, Sheridan stared out the passenger window as if the familiar landscape held new fascination for her. Lucy continued to do her homeworkwith the notebook spread open on her lap.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Joe asked finally.

  “Not really,” Sheridan said.

  “We’ll need to discuss it, you know.”

  Sheridan sighed an epic sigh, and without seeing it, Joe knew she performed the eye roll that was such a part of her attitude these days.

  Joe glanced over at his oldest daughter, noting again to himselfhow much her profile mirrored Marybeth’s. In the past six months, Sheridan had become a woman physically, and borrowedher mother’s clothing sometimes without asking. Joe had trouble believing she could possibly be fifteen already. How had it happened? When did it happen? How did this little girl he knew so well, his best buddy while she was growing up, suddenlybecome a mysterious creature?

  “Did you really knock him to the floor?” Lucy asked her sister.

  After a long pause, Sheridan said, “Jason Kiner is an ass.”

  Joe wished the reason for the lunchroom argument had been something besides him. He hated thinking that his daughters could be ashamed of him, ashamed of what he did, what he was now. A cowboy. A cowboy who worked for his father-in-law.

  But, he thought, a cowboy with an offer.

  3

  Joe,Marybeth, and their daughters trekked across the hay meadow for dinner in the main ranch house with Bud and Missy Longbrake and two sullen Mexican ranch hands. As they walked across the shorn meadow the dried hay and fallen leaves crunched under their feet, the sounds sharp. The brief but intense light of the dying sun slippe
d behind the mountains and lit up the yellow/gold leaves of the river bottom cottonwoods, igniting the meadow with color. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a high-rise building within two hundredmiles and Sheridan had never been to New York, she referredto this magical moment each evening as “walking down Broadway.”

  The light doused just as they approached the main house. The evening was still and cold, the air thin, the sky close. A milky parenthesis framing the slice of moon signaled that snow could come at any time. Joe had brought a flashlight for the walk back to their house after dinner.

  Because Marybeth had arrived home later than usual, Joe had not yet had a chance to talk to her about his meeting with the governor.

  Lucy told her mother about Sheridan’s detention. Marybeth nodded and squinted at her oldest daughter, who glared at Lucy for telling.

  “No talk about Sheridan or the detention during dinner,” Marybeth told Lucy.

  “You mean not to tell Grandmother Missy?” Lucy said.

  “That’s what I mean.”

  Joe agreed. He preferred internal family discussions to remaininternal, without Missy’s opinion on anything. It pleased him that Marybeth felt the same way. In fact, Joe thought he detecteda growing tension between Marybeth and her mother lately. He stifled the urge to fan the flames. Joe and Marybeth had talked about buying a house of their own in town and had met with a Realtor. In the Realtor’s office, Joe was ashamed to admit he had never owned a home before-they had always lived in state housing-and therefore had no equity. The meetingconcluded quickly after that. He had no idea how expensive it was to buy a house with no track record, and they knew they needed to save more money in order to build up a deposit and get good financing. To relieve his guilt on the drive back to the ranch, Marybeth had pointed out the comfort of the situation they were in-a home, meals, the undeniable beauty of the ranch itself. But Joe found himself too stubborn to concede all her points, although she certainly was practical. Looming over the argument, though, was the specter of Missy, Marybeth’s mother.

  “I wish that stove would get here,” Sheridan said as they approachedthe ranch house. “It would be nice to eat dinner in our own house for once.”