by C. J. Box
She knew she had a very short time before they reached the ground floor and the doors opened. He’d made it clear in his way that he was much more willing to talk to her when others couldn’t overhear their conversation, so she cut to the chase.
“Was there anything about the case that led you to believe that he might not be guilty?” she asked.
“I never allow myself to think that way. My only concern is to provide the best defense possible.”
“Well said. But I guess what I’m asking is whether or not you saw flaws in the prosecution’s case at that early stage.”
“It seemed airtight,” Johnson said quickly.
“So is that the reason you stepped away?” she asked.
The car reached ground level. Cassie prepared to lose Johnson and the opportunity to ask any additional questions.
He surprised her by reaching out and pressing the button that prevented the doors from opening.
“Look,” he said, again adopting the sotto voce manner. “I already told you. My only concern is to provide the best defense possible for my client. In this particular case, given the defendant and the unique situation here in this county, I did the only thing I could do.”
Then she got it. “You’re saying that he couldn’t have received a fair trial in Lochsa County?”
He nodded. His face was animated while he did it.
“Is that because of the Kleinsasser name?”
Another quick nod. He didn’t want his words on record.
“So it wasn’t about your health?”
“Actually, it was,” he said. “I’ve been married thirty-one years to the long-suffering Kendra Johnson. We have two daughters and five grandchildren. I’m the patriarch of our little clan.”
He leaned so close to Cassie she could smell his Axe after- shave. “If I stayed on the case I would have had all kinds of problems in regard to my health and well-being. You have no idea what it’s like if you ruffle the wrong feathers around here. Half my cases are as a public defender assigned by the court. That’s done arbitrarily, and those cases can vanish if I’m poorly thought of by certain people. As I said earlier, I need to be able to make a living.”
“You were threatened?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you’re telling me,” she said. “If that’s the situation it was pretty gutsy to go for a change of venue.”
“It was the least I could do,” he whispered as he pressed the button to open the doors. “And believe me, it didn’t go over well in some quarters.”
She wished he wasn’t being so vague but he was a lawyer and for lawyers, she knew from experience, words were a kind of currency. And they were of greater value within the profession than outside the legal world.
The doors wheezed open to reveal two uniformed sheriff’s deputies waiting to go upstairs to testify.
“That will be enough for today,” Johnson said.
“Christ,” one of them said to Johnson. “I thought you were going to take all day. I thought I was going to have to take the damned staircase.”
“It’s all yours,” Johnson said, stepping out and ushering them in. Cassie noted that both men’s eyes stayed on her a beat longer than necessary, and it wasn’t because she was so obviously attractive that they couldn’t help it.
“Have a good day, Ms. Dewell,” Johnson said as he left her. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
He said it for the benefit of the deputies, she thought.
Then, as the elevator doors began to close, he said, “Those are the last words you and I will have together and if you quote me on anything I’ll deny it.”
She nodded that she understood.
*
Cassie stopped by her motel room to grab a jacket and she found that the room had already been cleaned for the day. Glen Steele was on his game.
Rachel answered on the second ring.
Cassie told her about her investigation thus far. She said Franny’s phone wasn’t among the items of evidence in the county jail, and Rachel replied with a curse. When she mentioned the missing underwear, it was like tossing a handful of white bark pine seeds to a grizzly bear. Rachel pounced, as Cassie feared she would.
“Honestly,” Rachel said, “this is literally the first chink in their armor. Good work.”
“They could show up anytime,” Cassie cautioned. “And there’s still the DNA analysis from the lab even if the actual article goes missing.”
“Of course,” Rachel said. “But if our experts can’t analyze that particular item …”
“I know,” Cassie said woodenly.
“It’s not enough to derail the prosecution, but it’s something,” Rachel said.
Cassie sighed. “I thought my purpose here was to give you ammunition to convince Blake to take a plea deal. Now you’re talking like you’re preparing for trial.”
“I have to prepare for every possibility,” Rachel said defensively. “You know that.”
Cassie let it go. She told Rachel about her brief conversation with Johnson in the elevator.
Rachel said, “He didn’t give you names or specifics. Very cagey. But really interesting. I’m amazed that he felt such pressure.
“You’re a bulldog, Cassie,” she continued. “You can make people tell you things.”
Cassie shrugged, but it was true.
She recalled the long looks the deputies had given her and she said, “I’ve been here less than twenty- four hours and it seems like more and more locals know why I’m here. I think I need to accelerate the pace of the investigation before everyone in Lochsa County knows me by name. I feel like I’m under a microscope and the Kleinsassers are watching me through it.”
Rachel told her to be less paranoid, but then said, “There’s another reason why that’s a good idea,” she said. “Blake sent me a message this morning. He’s heard some rumblings and he thinks he’s going to get jumped by some of the other inmates. He even thinks a couple of the guards are in on it.”
“He is a child molester,” Cassie said. “They don’t do well in jail, you know.”
“There’s that,” Rachel conceded, “but he seems to think the order to go after him comes from where you are. The inmates he suspects have Lochsa County connections.”
“The Kleinsassers?”
“That’s what he thinks. But who knows,” Rachel said, “he might be as paranoid as you and there’s nothing to it. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past him to try and get transferred to a cushier facility. He’s not exactly used to hardship.
“So, what’s next?” Rachel asked.
Cassie told her.
“Be careful,” Rachel said.
“I thought you just said I was paranoid.”
“You can be both.”
twelve
On her way north to Lolo, back on U.S. Highway 93, Cassie made several stops along the way. The first was at the Corvallis Tavern, then Hayloft Saloon in Darby, and finally the Corvallis Tavern in Hamilton. Blake had drunk at all three of the bars when he went on his bender.
All were dark and desperate and bleak the way saloons were in the daytime. The only customers had the wan and sallow faces of day drinkers. Although they turned on their stools to check her out when she walked in, they turned back once they saw that she was a stranger and not one of their drinking buddies. She felt like she was crashing exclusive club meetings.
Except for the crazy toothless woman at the Rainbow, who swore Cassie was her long-lost sister from Ekalaka.
“I’ve been to Ekalaka,” Cassie told her firmly. “But I’m not your sister.”
“You’re her,” the woman insisted. “I knew Daddy was lying when he said you got kicked in the head by a horse.”
Cassie backed away.
None of the bartenders or servers knew who Hawk was or where to find him, but Cassie got the impression the afternoon staff encountered an entirely different breed of customer than the night crew who came in later.
*
The atmosphere on the highway was otherworldly. Rising afternoon temperatures and a stiff northwestern breeze fed the fires in the mountains and filled the valley with heavy smoke. It hung thick in the timber and tendrils of it flowed down the sharp draws like molten lava. Oncoming cars kept their headlights on. The bare summits of several mountains appeared to be snowcapped, but with white ash instead of snow.
To kill time before getting to the Hayloft Saloon in Lolo where Lindy, Blake’s lover, allegedly worked, Cassie took Highway 12 west toward the Idaho border and Lolo Hot Springs. It was a thirtyone-mile detour each way, but distances were relative in Montana. She’d driven much farther to simply meet someone for lunch.
The highway wound up through a canyon that was torched by fires from several years before. Bright green grass bristled on the blackened meadows, but there were no flames on the mountainsides. There was nothing left to burn.
*
Lolo Hot Springs, a kind of resort within shouting distance of the Idaho border, was nearly unrecognizable to her when she arrived. What she remembered about it from a brief high school basketball trip to the area was how old, steamy, and decadent it was at the time.
Cassie drove into the parking lot and backed into a space in the very last row. She was virtually alone.
She recalled that on the school bus some of the girls had smuggled bottles of cheap white Zinfandel they’d been able to steal in Missoula. The team, most of them anyway, had passed the bottles from girl to girl in the back while the coaches huddled and gossiped unaware in the front.
By the time they reached Lolo Hot Springs for dinner and a “swim,” Cassie was drunk, as were her friends. What she remembered—through fuzz—was that to her Lolo Hot Springs was a torrid combination of hot sulfur-smelling water, alcohol, and leering old cowboys who seemed to occupy every shadowed corner of the pool. She recalled one of them who reached out under the water and jammed his hand between her legs from behind.
When she wheeled on him to slap his face he’d laughed and ducked. She recalled that he was wearing a sweat-stained cowboy hat with a feather. She’d swung with her left hand and connected. The cigarette he’d been smoking fell from his mouth and hissed dead in the water.
The lewd cowboy had rubbed his jaw and he chuckled at the blow and he’d sidled away, leaving a wake.
“Watch out for that one,” he’d laughed to his buddies. “She’s a pistol.”
At the time, the incident wasn’t that unusual—or that shocking. She’d dealt with the unwanted grab by taking a swing at him.
The incident didn’t scar her. In fact, she’d never mentioned it to her coaches and hadn’t even thought about it until the moment she parked in the lot.
Cassie felt very old. Today, she knew, a high school girl being groped like that would result in arrests, outrage, and recriminations. Goofy old ranch hands would go to prison for what they did.
The place was different now. It had been modernized, revamped, and looked more like a family water park than the seedy place it had once been. She watched as tourist families led children in bathing suits toward the entrance. There were no leering cowboys with roaming hands.
How the world had changed.
*
It was important, she’d learned from her previous stops, to arrive at the Hayloft in Lolo when the night crew was working. It was the best chance she had of talking to Lindy.
Cassie didn’t want to arrive early and stick out like a sore thumb while waiting for Lindy to go on duty. She’d been to enough Montana bars in her life to know that a single woman sitting by herself—unless she was crazy and looking for her long-lost Ekalaka sister—was considered either desperate or suspicious. She wanted to arrive when the night was in full swing and she could move around and blend in with the crowd.
Which meant she had at least an hour more to kill before driving back to Lolo.
She thought about her conversation with Rachel, how they’d both agreed that speed was important. She checked her cell phone to make sure it had a good signal.
Then she placed a call to the headquarters of the Iron Cross Ranch.
*
Her call was answered on the second ring.
“This is John Wayne.” His voice was gruff with a Southern twang.
“John Wayne Kleinsasser?” she asked, surprised that he’d answered the phone himself.
“Yep.”
“My name is Cassie Dewell. I’m in the area verifying evidence in the case against your brother.”
“Yeah, I heard something about that,” he said but didn’t elaborate further. Then added, “He’s not my brother. A brother wouldn’t do what he did.”
“I understand—”
“I’ve got a real brother and his name is Rand,” John Wayne interrupted. “That phony you’re talking about is a bad apple that fell a long way from the tree. Landed in New York City, in fact. I don’t know him any more than I know any cowardly low-life bum, and he don’t know me. Do you get what I’m saying?”
She did. What surprised her was when she realized John Wayne was talking about Blake leaving the ranch and the state. Not about the assault of his niece.
So she brought it back to that.
“I spoke with Sheriff Wagy this morning. He said you and Franny’s mother brought her in to the department the night and the day after she was assaulted.”
“Yep. She was very upset and distraught by what Blake did to her.”
“You were there when Franny gave her statement, correct?”
“Yep.”
“It’s a terrible thing for an uncle to hear,” Cassie said.
“Yep.”
“What I was wondering is if I could come out to your ranch tomorrow. I’d like to see the old building where the alleged assault took place. I’m not one to trespass.”
“Good thing you aren’t,” John Wayne said with a harsh laugh. “Trespassers don’t get far on our place, and some of ’em wind up injured.”
“Will you be around tomorrow? I won’t take too much of your time. You can just point the way to the building and I’ll not bother you further.”
“I’ll be around in the morning,” he said. “Follow the signs to the Iron Cross HQ.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there no later than nine.”
He paused. He said suspiciously, “Are you trying to prove that Blake didn’t do it?”
“Not at all,” Cassie said. “I’ve seen the evidence.”
“Then what are you hoping to accomplish on our place?”
“I just want to get it all clear in my mind where it happened.”
“You said ‘alleged assault,’” John Wayne said. “There was nothing alleged about it. He raped his damn niece.”
“It was just an expression,” she said. “I used to be a cop. That’s how we talk.”
“What are you now?” he asked.
She didn’t like the turn in the conversation. He was getting more and more hostile.
“I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired by Blake’s attorneys to verify the evidence in the case. I’m not here to try to prove his innocence.”
“Have you met the son of a bitch?”
“I have.”
“He’s an arrogant prick, isn’t he? He thinks he’s superior to everyone else. Always been that way, too.”
“I see.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“He couldn’t wait to get out of here,” John Wayne said. “He just couldn’t wait to hit the road and pretend he didn’t like or know any of us. Then he shows back up and expects us all to say, ‘Thank God you’re here to solve all of our problems, Blake!’ But it ain’t like that. He can eat shit as far as I’m concerned. He’s no damned brother to me.”
Back to that, Cassie thought.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said.
“What are you driving so I’ll know it’s you?”
She described her Jeep.
“Come straight to the house,” he said. “Don’t take any joy
rides. Not everyone on this place is as easygoing as me.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her roll her eyes at that.
*
Cassie disconnected the call and dropped the phone on her lap. She was shaken by John Wayne’s strident tone and she didn’t look forward to meeting him.
After checking the time, she placed a call to her mother. Cassie hoped she could talk things out with Isabel on Ben’s behalf. Plus, there could very well be another side of the story.
When Isabel didn’t answer, Cassie left a message. Then she started her car and headed for Lolo. Smoke undulated in the headlights.
thirteen
The parking lot of the Hayloft Saloon was vast and unpaved, and Cassie pulled into a space between two four-wheeldrive pickups on the south side of the building. She slid her Glock into her handbag and slipped the strap over her shoulder so that it hung against her right hip.
She walked past the entrance door to the restaurant and glanced up at the façade before pushing through the saloon door. Floodlights lit up the carved figure of a naked cowgirl sitting in a frothy beer mug kicking up her heels.
The lounge was cavernous and the jukebox was playing Hank Williams, Jr., when she stepped inside. It wasn’t packed with customers but the room had the roughed-up and lived-in feel of a place that was often shoulder to shoulder on busy nights. A group of drunk fishermen whooped at one table, and a knot of baseball cap– wearing locals shook their heads at them. Glass-covered panels displayed old and new guns and even a small cannon. Fox News was on one television and bull riding on the other.
Cassie shouldered through a group of young men watching the rodeo toward the long bar that stretched the entire length of the southern wall. An old neon sign for Schlitz beer painted the battered bar top with pink. Several geriatric bikers sat side by side on stools, their gray ponytails hanging down their backs over black leather vests.
An attractive redheaded woman about Cassie’s age sat alone at the bar. She was looking at her phone and scrolling through the screen with one hand while holding a smoking cigarette aloft with the other. She wore a blue dress and tooled red cowboy boots. One leg was crossed over the other, revealing her slim calves and white skin.
