by C. J. Box
Joe nodded toward the wolf, whom he respected for tenacity, and said, “See you later.”
As he broke over a rise, the hay meadow was spread out before him as far as he could see. Cut hay, smelling even sharper now, lay thick in long straight channels. After days of mountain randomness, he was impressed by the symmetry of the rows.
A half mile away, a green John Deere hay baler crawled across the field, its motor humming and grunting as it turned rows of cut hay into fifty-pound bales that it left behind like tractor scat. It was dark enough the rancher had his headlights on, and the twin pools of yellow made the hay look golden and the cut field an electric green carpet.
As Joe walked toward the baler with the antler in his hand, something in his brain released and his wounds exploded in sudden pain. It was as if now that his rescue was at hand, the mental dam holding everything back for three days suddenly burst from the strain.
His legs gave way and he fell to his knees and pitched forward into the cut hay.
The mantra slowed to a dirge. “Marybeth-Sheridan-Lucy-April, Marybeth-Sheridan-Lucy-April, Marybeth-Sheridan-Lucy-April. ”
In the dark, what seemed like hours later, he heard a boy say, “Hey, Dad, look over here. It’s that damned game warden everyone’s looking for.”
PART TWO
RELOADING WITHOUT BULLETS
He is mad past recovery, but yet he has luci intervals.
— MIGUEL DE CERVANTES, Don Quixote
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
11
On the third day of his stay in the Billings hospital, after he’d been moved out of the intensive care unit, Joe awoke to find a tall, thin man in ill-fitting clothes-white dress shirt, open collar, loose tie, overlarge sports jacket-hovering near the foot of his bed. The man had world-weary brown eyes and a thin neck rising like a cornstalk out of the gaping collar of his shirt. His hair was light brown, peppered with silver. A pair of smudged reading glasses hung from a cord around his neck. Joe got the immediate impression the man was or had been in law enforcement. His aura of legal bureaucracy was palpable. He said, “Joe Pickett? I’m Bobby McCue, DCI.”
Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigation.
McCue reached into his jacket with long spidery fingers and came out with a shiny black wallet, which he flipped open to reveal a badge. Just as quickly, and before Joe could focus on the shield or credential card, he snapped it shut and slid it back inside his coat.
“I read the statement you gave the sheriff down in Carbon County,” McCue said. “I was hoping I could ask you a few more questions just to clarify some things. We’re trying to fill in some of the gaps.”
“What gaps?” Joe raised his eyebrows, which elicited a sharp pain where they’d removed the shotgun pellet behind his ear and stitched it closed. The skin on his face seemed pulled tight from scalp to chin and ear to ear, and it hurt to do much more than blink his eyes.
“Nothing major,” McCue said. “You know how this works.”
“I should by now, yes.”
Joe had already given statements to Carbon County Sheriff Ron Baird, Baggs Police Department Chief Brian Lally, his departmental supervisor, and the Game and Fish Department investigator assigned to the case. Although Joe had absolutely no reason to lie about anything, he was concerned there could be contradictions or problems if all the statements were compared. Each investigator had asked basically the same questions but in different ways, and Joe had no control or approval over what they wrote down when he answered. Even though what had happened in the mountains was clear in his mind, it was possible that his statements, when laid side-by-side, might not completely jibe. It was the nature of the game, and one played-sometimes unfairly-by investigators, prosecutors, and defense attorneys. Joe had played it himself. So he knew to be alert and careful each time he was questioned. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy or offhand. He wished he could recall more of the interrogation by Baird immediately after he’d been rescued, when his head was still cloudy with exhaustion and his wounds were fresh. He hoped he hadn’t said something he’d come to regret.
“Mind if I borrow this?” McCue said, gesturing toward Joe’s tray table.
“Fine.”
McCue nodded man-to-man to Joe, slid the tray table toward himself, and opened a manila folder on top of it. He fitted the glasses to his eyes, then slid them as far down his nose as they would go before they fell off. Joe was distracted by how cloudy the lenses were.
“Just a couple of questions,” McCue said, peeling back single pages within the file. Joe recognized them as copies of the original sheriff’s department statement given to Ron Baird.
“About the Brothers Grim. ”
“They prefer ‘the Grim Brothers,’ ” Joe said.
McCue looked over his lenses at Joe appraisingly. “They do, do they?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, then. Caleb, the first one you encountered at that lake. It says here he gave you permission to look through his possessions.”
Said Joe, “Yes, and when I think back on it, I don’t know why he did. He must have known he didn’t have a fishing license, which is all I wanted to check on. But, yes, he let me look through his bag.”
McCue placed a bony finger on a dense paragraph of text. “It says here he had a variety of items in the pack.”
“Yes.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I thought I had.”
McCue nodded and read from the statement, “‘The subject’s daypack contained several items, including a water container, a knife, a diary, half of a Bible, and an iPod and holder.” He looked up e xpectantly.
“I think that was pretty much it,” Joe said, trying to recall all the contents. “There were some matches and some string I think, also. Oh, and there wasn’t the iPod itself, just the holder. I’m pretty sure I made that clear to the sheriff, but he must have misunderstood me.”
McCue nodded quickly, and Joe noticed the agent seemed to be tamping down his reaction to avoid revealing anything.
“Is there a problem?” Joe asked.
McCue ignored the question. “Can you describe the iPod holder to me?”
Joe searched his memory. “It was one of those things that strap to the upper part of your arm. My wife Marybeth has one for workouts at the gym.”
“What color was it, can you recall?”
“Pink.”
“You’re sure?”
Joe nodded.
“You’re positive?”
“Why is that important?” Joe asked.
“It may not be at all. I’m just covering all the bases. You know how this works,” McCue said, then quickly flipped over the page to another. Joe saw something in ink written in the margin, and McCue stabbed his fingertip on the passage.
“You say Caleb claimed he was from the UP.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought, being from the Rocky Mountain West, that UP meant ‘Union Pacific.’ ”
Joe didn’t say anything.
“Did you know it could have meant Upper Peninsula, as in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan? That’s what they call it there, the ‘UP.’”
“I know that now,” Joe said. “One of the sheriff’s deputies down in Baggs was from Michigan and told me. I feel kind of stupid, now, not knowing it.”
McCue nodded, apparently agreeing with Joe’s assessment of himself.
“Hey. ” Joe said, but McCue flipped another page and stabbed another note.
“You say there were four people besides you at the cabin that burned down. Caleb and Camish Grim, Terri Wade, and one other. You suggest that when you saw the profile of the fourth person you thought of Diane Shober. Is that correct?”
Joe felt his face get hot. He realized how ridiculous it sounded when McCue said it.
“She came to mind,” Joe said. “But nowhere in that report did I claim it was her. As I said to the sheriff down there, and my own people in Cheyenne, her name came to mind probably because I’d s
een her photo on so many fliers in that part of the state. Plus, I knew that’s where she went missing because I was part of the search team. So when I caught a glimpse of a youngish female in the dark down there, I think I naturally thought of her. I’ve never said it was her.”
McCue bored in. “Do you stand by your impression, though?”
Joe shook his head. “I stand by the fact that I thought of her at the time. I don’t know how I can stand by an impression. And the more I think about it now, the more I think my mind might have jumped to conclusions.” Joe smiled, which pulled at his scalp. “I’ve been accused of that before. Sometimes I’m right. Usually, I’m not.”
“So I hear,” McCue said without irony. “Can you describe her?”
“I already did,” Joe said. “I didn’t get a clear look at all. In my mind, I can recall I thought she was blond, female, and younger than Caleb and Camish and Terri Wade.”
“How tall was she?”
Joe shrugged, which hurt. “I don’t know. She stood away from the others, so I’ve got no perspective.”
“How old?”
“Like I said, my impression was she was younger. But I’m not sure why I say that.”
“What was she wearing?”
“I have no idea.”
“Her build?”
“Thin,” Joe said. “Like you.”
McCue nodded to himself, as if Joe had confirmed something.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Joe asked.
McCue looked up. “Eventually.”
“I’m done answering questions until you let me know why you’re asking them.”
“Fine,” McCue said, closing the folder. “I’ve got what I need for now.”
“That’s it?”
McCue unhooked his reading glasses from his ears and let them drop on the cord. “That’s it.”
“Where can I contact you?” Joe asked, “Cheyenne? One of the other offices? Where are you out of? I’ve never seen you around.”
McCue simply nodded.
“Was that a yes or a no?”
“Thanks for your time,” McCue said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Leave me your card,” Joe said. “I may think of something later.”
McCue said over his shoulder, “I’ll leave one for you at the nurses’ station.”
And he was gone.
Ten minutes later, Joe pressed his nurse call button and asked for Agent McCue’s DCI business card.
“What?” she said. Then: “There’s no card here I can see. I’ll check with the other nurses, but I didn’t see him stop by on his way out.”
“Is there another nurse station?”
“There are several on each floor.”
“Would you mind checking with them?”
The pause was no doubt accompanied by rolling eyes, Joe thought. She said, “I’ll ask around and let you know.”
Later that afternoon, Joe opened his eyes and saw something he didn’t want to see, so he closed them again, hoping it would go away.
“I know you’re awake,” his mother-in-law, Missy, said from the foot of his bed.
“I’m sleeping,” Joe said.
“You most certainly are not.”
“I’m sleeping and having a real bad dream.”
“Open your eyes. I need to talk to you.”
Joe sighed and cracked his right eye. He knew he was wincing because it hurt when he winced. “Where’s Marybeth?”
“She’s getting some lunch down in the cafeteria with the girls. She should be back in a half hour or so.”
“I wish she’d hurry,” Joe said.
Missy narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, her small manicured hands gripping the footrest. “You could be a little more grateful,” she said. “Earl and I sent one of his jets to bring you up here from that little Podunk clinic near Baggs so you could have the finest medical care available in the region. Where was it?” she asked, then answered her own question. “Craig, Colorado, or someplace vile like that.”
Joe vaguely remembered the flight. He nodded his appreciation, but he knew strings would be attached. As far as Joe knew, Missy had yet to perform a stringless act in her adult life.
“So the least you can do is hear me out,” she said.
“I don’t like the doctor,” he said. “He’s arrogant.” Joe based his appraisal on an exchange he’d had with Dr. Nadir two days before, when Nadir had shaken his head at Joe and said, “An arrow and buckshot wounds? What is this, the Wild West again? The OK Corral?”
“All good doctors are arrogant,” she said. “Especially the Indian ones. That’s because they’re good. The only ones better are Japanese or Chinese, you know. Unfortunately, it’s a little too cold for Asians out here. They like warm weather, I understand.”
“I was fine in the clinic,” Joe said, ignoring her comments.
“That clinic is for oilfield workers who get hit on the head with a wrench. It isn’t for the husband of my daughter or the father of my grandchildren.”
Joe shrugged, which hurt his right shoulder where they’d removed the double-ought shot pellet.
“Listen,” Missy said, “I want to know where Nate Romanowski is hiding.”
“Lots of people want to know that,” Joe said.
“I need to ask him for a favor.”
Joe nodded. Marybeth had filled him in on her mother’s plan to hire Nate to intimidate her ex-husband. “So that’s why you’re here?” Joe said. “The reason why you flew me up to Billings? So you could be here if and when Nate shows up?”
Her eyes sparkled, revealing her answer.
“And here I was thinking you cared about my health and welfare,” Joe said.
“Someone has to care about it,” she said. “You certainly don’t. Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this sort of thing? Don’t you think maybe it’s time to grow up and settle down and get a real job that provides for your family? A job where you can come home at night and be there for your wife and daughters?”
Joe said, “Don’t beat around the bush, Missy. Tell me what you really think.”
“It needs to be said.”
“Not all of us can be media moguls. Or married to one.”
Her eyes flashed. “Earl Alden turned a million-dollar inheritance into a seven-hundred-million-dollar empire.”
“That first million probably helped,” Joe said.
“You’re over forty years old,” she said, “and your life consists of running around through the woods like a schoolboy-or a kid playing cowboys and Indians.”
She leaned forward and her eyes became slits. She said, “For the sake of my daughter, maybe it’s time to put away childish things.”
Joe didn’t have a comeback and he couldn’t say what he was thinking, which was, Maybe you’re right.
Talking with the girls was awkward, he thought. He got the feeling they agreed with that sentiment because they seemed to look at everything in the room besides him. They didn’t like seeing him sick or injured in a hospital bed any more than he liked being seen by them in one.
“You look like you’re doing better,” Sheridan said.
“I am.”
“We’re all ready to go home.”
“Me, too,” Joe said.
“Did Mom tell you about basketball? Coach is mad at me already, and he said if I missed practice so I could come see you, I wouldn’t play anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe said.
“I’d rather be here,” she said, and smiled sadly. Joe reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Billings sucks,” April said. “Billings is nearly as boring as Saddlestring.”
“Our little ray of sunshine,” Joe commented. April scowled at him.
Sheridan said to April, “Maybe you should have stayed in Chicago.”
“Maybe I should have,” April shot back.
“Girls, please,” Marybeth said, sadness in her eyes.
Sheridan
huffed and crossed her arms and looked away. April narrowed her eyes and glared at her, reminding Joe of a rattler coiling to strike.
April looked older than she was, he thought, which was perfectly understandable given the life she’d led. Her Wyoming reentry had not gone smoothly. She was sullen, sarcastic, and passive-aggressive toward her foster parents. When Marybeth complained to Joe about her, Joe responded by reminding Marybeth that April was fifteen and her behavior was fairly normal for her age. When Joe complained to Marybeth about April’s sullen attitude, Marybeth defended her foster daughter with the same reasoning. Both wondered if they’d be able to wait her out, all the while hoping she’d become sunny and productive and not wreck the dynamics of the family in the meantime. Meanwhile, the process for adoption had begun but stalled due to the complexity of April’s legal status. According to their lawyer, the problems weren’t insurmountable, but they’d take time to sort through. It would be costly, and Joe and Marybeth had asked him to set the case aside until Joe returned permanently to Saddlestring and could help oversee the progress. Since then, April hadn’t asked about how the adoption was going, and Marybeth hadn’t brought it up. The silent impasse, Joe knew, would have to be broken soon.
“There’s a nice mall,” Lucy said about Billings, ignoring April. “Mom said she’d take us there this afternoon.”
“Good,” Joe said, winking at Marybeth.
“Wow,” April said, rolling her eyes, “A mall. These people in Montana have thought of everything.”
“April,” Sheridan moaned.
April gestured toward the television set mounted on the ceiling that Joe had yet to turn on. “They’ve even got television, but probably, like, one channel.”
Joe searched in vain for the remote control to prove to her Montana had cable, but he couldn’t locate it.
“I just want everyone to be happy,” Lucy said, grinning. “Starting with me.”
“It always starts with you,” April said.
