Long Range

by Box, C. J.

  Candy thought about the stack of checks she’d found on Tom’s desk. She sat down on the couch. Another secret exposed.

  “Don’t worry,” Missy said, misreading her reaction. “I won’t try to administer the chemo cocktail myself. If you get the dosages wrong, it’s toxic. Lucky for me, I met a doctor in France who is willing to come here and assist. He’s smitten with me, I’m afraid.”

  Candy looked up at Missy and didn’t know how to respond.

  “Let’s make a nice dinner together and wait for Tom to get back,” Missy said. “I assume you have some food around here.”

  Candy shrugged. She watched as Missy rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry.

  “I take it you don’t cook,” Missy said.

  “Not well, although I used to cook for my husband. Both husbands, actually.”

  Missy paused and her assessment of Candy was clinical.

  “So you’ve been married?” she asked.

  “Twice.”

  “Did they leave you or did you leave them?”

  “I left.”

  “I see,” Missy said with approval. “At least you got that part right. But it’s easy for me to see that you’ve got trouble brewing with Tom.”

  Candy nodded.

  “Come on over here,” Missy said while slicing through the plastic on a package of angel hair pasta. “We’ll make a nice dinner together and drink more good wine and wait for Tom to get back with my package.”

  “Make dinner together?” Candy asked.

  “Sure. Since we’re both stuck here for a while, let’s make the best of it,” Missy said. Then: “I know about men like Tom. I know about men. They’re amazingly simple creatures and I fear you think they’re more complicated than they are. I could tell that when you asked him about his secrets, as if it were his duty to tell them to you.”

  “You don’t understand,” Candy said.

  “Oh, I understand,” Missy said, gesturing around the house with the point of her knife. “This is a wonderful house. Tom has built a lucrative practice with his legitimate work and his special job on the side taking care of people like me. And you’re just shuffling around here hoping he’ll take pity on you and include you in all that he has. This is what you don’t understand.”

  Candy drained her wine. Her head was fuzzy. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Come on over,” Missy said. “Maybe you’ll learn something. God knows my daughter never did.”

  NINETEEN

  JOE AND MARYBETH DID SOMETHING THEY RARELY DID: they sat together in a bar, namely the Stockman’s, with its knotty-pine interior, black-and-white rodeo photos, and private high-backed booths. They were there for two reasons. The first was that it was the place defense attorney Kink Beran had said he’d meet them after his initial consultation with his new client, Nate Romanowski. The second was that with all of their daughters out of the house, it was something they could do again.

  Joe ordered a draft beer and Marybeth a glass of red wine.

  Joe had spent the afternoon after the press conference in the field, checking hunters for valid licenses and habitat stamps. It had been a good day for big mule deer bucks, and he inspected the camps of several groups of out-of-state hunters to make sure the carcasses were properly hung and cooled. He’d been offered beers and whiskey at a couple of the camps—hunters generally wanted to be on the good side of local game wardens—but he’d declined, as he always did. Joe did allow Daisy to gobble up some dog treats a Michigan hunter offered her, though.

  He’d performed his duties by rote because he was distracted the entire time by the events of the morning. Joe didn’t like checking hunters and camps while distracted because he wanted to observe them in minute detail and pay close attention to what hunters did and said to him. If they were a little too accommodating, it might mean they were hiding something. If the hunters were surly, it might mean there was trouble in the camp that might result in later violence or they had an animus toward law enforcement in general.

  After visiting the too-accommodating camps, Joe often left but parked somewhere where he could remain in visual range. On a few occasions, he’d observed the friendly sportsmen walk from their camp to where they had poached game animals hidden away in the trees. Or, in one instance, the summoning of a prostitute they’d picked up in Denver along the way.

  With the surly camps, Joe noted the license plates on the vehicles and called them in to dispatch. This procedure sometimes revealed men who had outstanding warrants or were wanted in different states for nongame crimes.

  But he’d detected neither circumstance on his afternoon patrol. The hunters he’d met were friendly but not too friendly, and they all seemed to be serious and ethical sportsmen.

  Joe was grateful for that because he could barely concentrate on what he was doing.

  Meanwhile, Marybeth had returned to work after the press conference to complete the last of her staff evaluations. She kept in communication with Liv and the defense attorney, and monitored social media to find out that Sheriff Brendan Kapelow and his statement to the press was trending everywhere.

  *

  JOE SAID TO Marybeth, “I figured out something today about our new sheriff.”

  Marybeth raised her eyebrows to urge him on.

  “He’s very ambitious,” Joe said. “He’s using Nate’s arrest to raise his profile in the state. I hadn’t seen that in him before and I hadn’t seen it coming. I knew there was something behind his odd demeanor and his need to control everything around him, but now I think I get it. Kapelow is using the Twelve Sleep County Sheriff’s office as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things.”

  “That’s a very interesting observation,” Marybeth said.

  “Think about it and tell me if you think I’m off base,” Joe said. “But I noticed how Kapelow orchestrated that perp walk of Nate and how he organized the press conference in record time. Those aren’t things that just come naturally to a new sheriff. That leads me to believe he’s been preparing for both of those events for quite a while and he was finally able to pull the trigger. None of this is about finding Sue’s killer—or about Nate. It’s about finally having a case sexy enough to get attention. It’s all about being seen as a crusading sheriff in the media.”

  Joe continued. “It was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing when he was leading the investigation. I thought for a while maybe he had a unique approach to law enforcement or something. But now I see he was just marking time looking busy until something hit him right in the face. In this case, it was an anonymous tip he could jump on. Nate’s just collateral damage.”

  “And the real killer is still out there somewhere,” Marybeth said.

  “Correct. I think Kapelow probably measured the conference room to figure out where the folding chairs should be, and he’s practiced walking into that room like he owned the place.

  “No,” Joe said, “this isn’t about solving the crime. This is about higher office. I know this sounds cynical, but Kapelow is more a politician than a cop.”

  She thought it over and nodded. “Military vet, tough-as-nails, law-and-order sheriff. He’s got it all if you don’t dig into it too much. That’s a pretty fine résumé.”

  Joe nodded. “He’s probably looking at the political landscape just like he measured that conference room. He might be going for state senator, head of DCI, or even governor someday.”

  “What happens when it all blows up in his face?” Marybeth asked. “Assuming, of course, that Nate is cleared.”

  Joe shrugged. He said, “I’ve worked with enough politicians over the years to know that some of them survive no matter what, especially if they don’t hold themselves accountable for anything and they have no shame.”

  “It sounds like you’re talking about Governor Allen,” she said.

  “He’s one of ’em,” Joe said. “But now we’ve got one closer to home. And I’m guessing that since his name and face are going to be broadcast all over the st
ate, he won’t be trying particularly hard to find out if there’s really another shooter. I think his mind is closed to that possibility.”

  “So it’s up to us,” Marybeth said.

  “It might be.”

  “We’ve done it before,” she said, lifting her glass for a toast. Joe clinked his mug against it.

  “So where do we start?” she asked.

  “That’s the second thing that came to me today at the end of that press conference,” Joe said. He recounted Judge Hewitt’s monologue to him at Sue’s bedside, how the judge had committed to spending more time with his wife if she survived. That he was always either working or gone on exotic hunting or fishing trips.

  “I believe he was sincere,” Joe said. “I can’t imagine how much pain he’s in right now.”

  Marybeth wiped a tear away. The story had touched her.

  “But here’s the thing,” Joe said. “The day after her shooting, I went to the courthouse for the meeting with the other cops in Judge Hewitt’s office. Stovepipe was shocked by what had happened to her. He called her ‘Miz Hewitt.’ Stovepipe said Sue had been coming to the courthouse regularly the last few months and bringing him treats when she did. He said he really liked her.”

  Marybeth frowned. “That doesn’t really square with what the judge told you. Do you think he was misleading you about how they’d drifted apart?”

  Joe shook his head. “No, I think he was telling the truth.”

  “Then why was Sue visiting him so often at the courthouse?” Marybeth asked. “Why didn’t she just call if she needed to talk to him?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” Joe said. “But who says she was there to see the judge?”

  “What?” Marybeth asked. Then she realized what Joe was driving at. She stood up and surveyed the bar to make sure there were no customers in adjoining booths who could overhear them. Satisfied, she sat back down and leaned across the table toward Joe.

  She spoke in a low voice. “Are you suggesting she was seeing someone else in the building?”

  “I’m just speculating,” he said.

  “Who could it be and could that person be connected to what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It could be someone in the sheriff’s office, or anyone. A lot of lawyers come through those doors. And it might even be someone in the jail where Nate is now.”

  Joe could see her mind working. She said, “I can see a scenario where after years of neglect Sue fell for someone who actually paid attention to her. She was an attractive and interesting woman, after all. What if she had something going on right under her husband’s nose?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering.”

  Marybeth quickly jumped ahead. “Then we’ve got a motive that hasn’t been considered in this case. And maybe we’ve been looking at what happened all wrong. Is Sue the type of woman who would plot with her lover to get rid of her husband?”

  “Not likely,” Joe said. “Not from what I’ve heard about her.”

  “Love makes some women do crazy things,” Marybeth said. “The Wyoming Women’s Center is full of them.”

  “True,” Joe said. In his visits there, nearly all of the women were incarcerated because of drugs or relationships gone wrong, or both. “But if it was that kind of plot, would Sue want to be standing right behind her husband when he got shot? I don’t see it.”

  “You’re right,” Marybeth said. “But what if she’d broken up with her lover and he wanted revenge? Or he wanted Judge Hewitt out of the picture so he could take another run at her? Or what if Sue was the target all along?”

  Joe thought about it and shook his head. “I don’t see how that works. She would never have been hit if the judge hadn’t ducked at exactly the right second. There’s no shooter alive who could have anticipated that happening. The bullet was literally already in the air when Judge Hewitt leaned away.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Marybeth said. “But now you’ve got me thinking of everything that happened in a different way.”

  “Me too,” Joe said.

  “So how do we find out who she was meeting at the county building?” she asked. “It doesn’t have to be for romantic reasons, I guess.”

  Joe explained that, in addition to a closed-circuit camera mounted above Stovepipe’s metal detector, every person entering and exiting the building had to register their name and reason for being there in a logbook. Stovepipe kept his logs in three-ring binders.

  “I’ve signed in dozens of times,” Joe said.

  “But we know she went there,” Marybeth said. “How does knowing the exact days help us?”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking about all afternoon, and this is where you come in,” Joe said. “You’re a county employee. You have access to the county-wide Google calendar for everybody and everything, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So if we check Sue’s visits against the calendar for, what, the last six months? Maybe you can find a pattern to what was going on and who was in the building at the times she showed up. Maybe something will jump out at you.”

  She sat back and a slow grin took over her face. “I see what you’re thinking,” she said. “So how do we get the logbooks?”

  “I’ll figure that out,” Joe said.

  She shook her head and whistled. “This is getting interesting,” she said. “Do you think it’ll help Nate?”

  “Maybe,” Joe said. “I hope so. But what I really hope is that it helps us get closer to the shooter. I know if we learn something, the sheriff won’t even listen, but I’ll go over his head to Duane or even the judge if we’ve got a new suspect.”

  “The judge may not want to hear who his wife was visiting,” Marybeth warned.

  “You’re right,” Joe said. “I’ll loop Duane in, though. But not until we’ve got something solid.”

  “Oh,” Marybeth said, raising a finger in the air. “I did some research and found out where Sue got her fortune before Judge Hewitt married her.”

  “Where?”

  “Her grandfather founded Castle Arms in Connecticut. He was a gunmaker. He later sold the company to Remington and now they make long-range rifles.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And ironic if the rifle that eventually killed her was a Remington,” Marybeth said. “And another thing: I figured out the connection between the judge and Governor Allen.”

  “Let me guess . . .”

  “The judge was a major contributor to Allen’s campaign,” she said. “There’s also some speculation that our judge has been advising the gov through many of his legal issues.”

  “Ah,” Joe said.

  The waitress appeared and she asked if they wanted a second drink.

  “I don’t,” Joe said. “I’ve got things to do.”

  Marybeth ordered a club soda. She said she’d wait until Kink Beran arrived.

  *

  WHEN JOE ENTERED the lobby of the courthouse, Stovepipe was kicked back in his chair with his cowboy boots up on his desk and his hat brim pulled down over his eyes. His mouth was agape and he was napping. It was five minutes before six by the ancient clock on the wall. The public parts of the county building were locked up at six, although the sheriff’s department had a 24/7 entrance in the back of the building.

  Joe’s boots clopped along the stone floor, but apparently not loud enough to wake Stovepipe.

  “Hey, buddy,” Joe said gently as he took in the security camera mounted over the doorway that led to the courtroom.

  Stovepipe awoke with a start and he made an “Unnngh” sound. The old rodeo cowboy swung his feet down and peered at Joe though sleepy eyes.

  “Didn’t hear you come in,” he said. “Nobody ever comes in this late.”

  “Sorry,” Joe said.

  “Did you hear about Sue?”

  “I did.”

  “Bless her heart,” Stovepipe said sadly. “I thought she was going to make it.”

  “We all did.”
r />   “My heart hurts for her,” Stovepipe said.

  Joe nodded in agreement.

  Stovepipe reached over and hit a button that activated the metal detector. “Coming through?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Joe said. “I was just wondering about the camera up there. Do you know how long they keep the digital files of who comes and goes through the lobby?”

  Stovepipe cocked his head, puzzled. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “It’s for an ongoing investigation,” Joe said. “It might not mean anything at all.”

  “Well, I just don’t know what to tell you,” Stovepipe said. “Manning this security checkpoint is about as much modern technology as I can absorb.”

  “Even though it doesn’t work?”

  “Shhhhh,” Stovepipe said, raising a finger to his lips. “Somebody will hear you.”

  “About the files,” Joe said.

  “Right. Well, I can go back and ask. I think Norm the IT guy would know that answer. But, you know, some of these county guys start leaking out of the building early.”

  “Would you mind finding out if he’s still in?”

  Stovepipe glanced at the wall clock. “Sure, I’ll check. Otherwise you’ll need to come back tomorrow. Or I guess I can call him at home.”

  “Thank you,” Joe said.

  He felt guilty for making the man get up and walk into the back of the building in search of Norm. Stovepipe had a bad hip and knee from an old bull-riding injury. His progress to the administration section in the back was painfully slow.

  When he was gone, Joe stepped behind the metal detector into Stovepipe’s area where the current logbook of visitors was in plain view near Stovepipe’s chair. Each page was lined and included the name, time of entry, time of exit, and purpose of visit for everyone who came through the lobby.

  Joe didn’t think he had time to review the pages in the three-ring binder. Instead, he photographed the top sheet with his cell phone and turned the page back and shot the next one. He repeated it until he’d covered eight months of records. Joe was grateful the traffic in the courthouse was sparse enough that he could document that much time and that there had been no major trials with lots of people coming and going. He noted Sue Hewitt’s name several times as he raced through the pages, but he knew he’d likely missed other times she’d signed in.