Long Range

by Box, C. J.

  “It’s good you’ve got an appetite,” Marybeth said to her.

  Liv gestured with the point of her slice toward Joe. “I’m finally optimistic. I may be getting angrier by the minute at the sheriff’s department and this entire stupid situation, but I’m optimistic.”

  Joe turned to Beran for an explanation, and the lawyer told him about the witness who had contacted them. Joe fixed a light bourbon over ice and listened to Beran. Marybeth prepared plates for the three of them.

  When Beran took a breath, Joe said, “Orlando Panfile? I’ve never heard of him. Where did he come from?”

  “Don’t know,” Beran said. “My impression is he’s an illegal who was trespassing on the Romanowski property when he saw the county vehicle. Like he was just passing through.”

  “And why would he come to Nate’s defense?” Joe asked.

  Beran shrugged. “He came forward like a good citizen even though he isn’t, technically at least. Look, let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. As we speak, Governor Rulon is meeting with Panfile south of town at a rest area near Kaycee. The plan is to get the man’s statement and the best description we can get of the county vehicle he saw. We forwarded photos of Sheriff Kapelow and Deputies Woods and Steck. If Panfile can identify the man who planted the rifle, well, the shit will really hit the fan, but my client will be free. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

  “My money’s on Kapelow,” Liv said from the table. “He’s the only one who benefits from making this big case against my husband.”

  Joe didn’t respond. Kapelow had shocked him with his recent behavior and grandstanding, but planting evidence? Joe wasn’t sure he could go that far.

  “Can you keep Panfile on ice?” Joe asked Beran.

  “That’s the question,” Beran replied. “It’s up to Rulon’s persuasive powers to convince the man to stick around and testify at the preliminary hearing. You know how good Rulon is. He’s very persuasive. He can sell cheeseburgers to vegans. But we’ll see after they’ve met. If nothing else, the statement will help. It might even result in the dirty cop confessing to what he did before the hearing and the judge may vacate all the charges against Nate.”

  “Lots of ifs, ands, or buts,” Joe said.

  “You know how the system works,” Beran said. “All in all, I like our chances of a quick acquittal.”

  They discussed where Beran could find a judge to hear the case. Joe winced when he mentioned Judge Hartsook-Carver.

  “I’ve worked with her,” Joe said. “My experience with her wasn’t very good.”

  “How so?” Beran asked.

  “She’s a little like Kapelow. She’s a politico with her eyes on higher office. In my estimation, she’d only hear the case if she saw how it would advance her career.”

  “Then leave that up to me.” Beran beamed. “I’ll frame it so she can shine when she takes down a corrupt cop.”

  Joe nodded. “That might work,” he said.

  He ate pizza and continued to listen while Beran discussed strategies and possibilities with Liv at the table. The lawyer was confident as well as thorough. It was obvious to Joe that Beran knew his way around a courtroom, but even more important he knew his way around a Wyoming courtroom, where long-standing relationships and connections often undergirded the outcome.

  While Beran spoke to Liv, Marybeth sat next to Joe and pressed her lips against his ear.

  “Beran showed up just as I was getting somewhere with the courthouse logs,” she said. “I’ll finish it when he’s gone.”

  “So he doesn’t know what we’re working on?” Joe asked back.

  “Not yet. One thing at a time.”

  Joe nodded. Marybeth was always better with strategy than he was, so he didn’t argue with her.

  *

  ON HIS WAY to the bathroom, Joe paused and eased open the hall door to Lucy’s old bedroom. Kestrel was asleep in the middle of the bed and she was hemmed in by walls of pillows so she couldn’t roll off. Her eyes were closed and gentle ocean sounds played from a speaker Liv must have brought with her. The camera for the monitor was placed on Lucy’s dresser.

  Joe felt a pang. He missed a house full of girls.

  *

  AFTER HE RETURNED to the dining room, Joe didn’t bring up the hole in his pickup door. Instead, he pretended to himself that the incident was just a strange coincidence, a random occurrence.

  There was too much happening to add another item.

  *

  BERAN CONTINUED to check his phone for texts from Rulon while he consulted with Liv about Nate’s defense. After an hour and two scotch and waters, Beran announced that he was tired and needed to get some rest.

  “I’ve got a reservation at the Holiday Inn downtown,” he said with a grimace. “Is there a better place to stay around here?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Marybeth replied.

  “Maybe I should invest in a luxury hotel in Saddlestring,” Beran said. “It looks like you could use one.”

  “Please do,” Marybeth said.

  “Any word from Governor Rulon?” Liv asked Beran.

  The lawyer nodded and scrolled through his texts. “They’re still meeting right now,” he said. “Rulon has Panfile’s signed affadavit, although he doesn’t yet have a commitment that the man will stay around for the preliminary hearing. Rulon thinks the best we can do is get the man’s contact details and hope we can call him back when he’s needed. We’ll pay all his expenses, of course.”

  Beran grinned and gestured to Liv. “Actually, you’ll pay for them.”

  “I can see why Nate loves lawyers the way he does,” Liv said to Marybeth.

  “What about the identification of the guy who planted the rifle?” Joe asked Beran.

  The lawyer shook his head. He said, “Panfile says he doesn’t recognize the culprit in any of the photos we sent. He told Rulon he was far away and he can’t say for sure who he saw. He claims he might be able to identify the guy who planted the rifle if he saw his photo, but that these photos don’t float his boat.”

  “What does that mean?” Joe asked, confused.

  “I’m not sure,” Beran said. “Right now, Rulon is texting me whenever they take a break. He’s leaving out a lot of information and the man needs to learn how to text properly. He needs to go to a class, or sit down with any twelve-year-old out there. Rulon writes long sentences with proper punctuation and it takes him forever to get his point across.”

  Joe smiled at that. He couldn’t actually visualize the ex-governor standing in a rest stop parking lot hunched over his cell phone.

  “Anyway,” Beran said, “I’ll talk to Rulon after his meeting with Panfile and get clarification on everything. I’ll try to convince him to drive all the way up here so we can talk.”

  “I’d like to see him,” Joe said.

  “So would Nate,” Beran said with a sigh. “You people make me feel like sloppy seconds compared to Rulon.”

  “We go back,” Joe said.

  “So it’s off to the Holiday Inn,” Beran said with a frown.

  “Keep me posted with any updates,” Liv called after him.

  “Absolutely,” the lawyer said.

  “Watch out for the moose in the road,” Joe cautioned him.

  “Moose in the road,” Beran repeated as he went outside, shaking his head as if he’d never heard anything so insane. “You people live in a different world up here. Moose in the road . . .”

  “City slicker,” Liv observed after Beran had left. “But a good lawyer, I suppose.”

  *

  AFTER A QUICK shower, Joe slipped into bed. His brain was foggy and overburdened with all that had gone on and he was too exhausted to put anything together in a logical sequence. His entire body ached with fatigue.

  Marybeth was in her home office down the hall working on the courthouse logs. Liv had joined Kestrel in Lucy’s old bedroom. If Beran or Rulon called with further news, they’d be the first to be briefed. That was okay with Joe,
but he hoped Marybeth would finish up soon. He longed to pull her to him beneath the sheets. He never slept well without her, but tonight, he thought, might be an exception.

  *

  JOE DIDN’T KNOW how long he’d been asleep when he was awakened by Marybeth jostling his shoulder.

  He focused to find her standing over him with wide eyes. She seemed distressed and excited at the same time.

  “I’ve found something that will blow your mind,” she said rapidly. “You are not going to believe this . . .”

  *

  NOW WIDE AWAKE fifteen minutes later, Joe sat on the end of the bed in his underwear and scrolled though his cell phone until he found the home number for Dennis Sun.

  The producer himself answered on the second ring.

  “How did you know I’d be up?” Sun asked.

  “I figured Hollywood types didn’t turn in early,” Joe said.

  “And what can I do to help the local game warden?” Sun asked.

  TWENTY-THREE

  CANDY CROSWELL SAT UP WITH A START AND PLACED both of her hands to the sides of her face and tried to recall where she was and how she had gotten there. Her brain swam with alcohol and the room spun at first and she tried to determine what had awakened her so suddenly.

  She looked around. The table was still set with three place settings, two of which had been used and shunted to the side while the third sat pristine and untouched. Two-and-a-half empty bottles of 2004 Joseph Phelps Insignia Cabernet—the last of Tom’s exclusive stash—sat on the coffee table. Missy was asleep in an overstuffed lounge chair across from her. Even in a wine stupor, the woman looked annoyingly composed, Candy thought.

  Then she recalled why Missy was still there: Tom had not yet come home with Missy’s purchase of drugs.

  Candy glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It was twelve-thirty in the morning. Tom’s shift was supposed to be over at nine, although he was often late. They’d eaten dinner without him, she now recalled. It had been delicious. Baby carrots in butter sauce and chives, glazed poached salmon over angel hair pasta, greens from a can that didn’t taste like they came from a can. Missy was an outstanding cook who could conjure up wonderful things from a poorly stocked pantry. Perhaps the wine had helped as well.

  Then she heard what had awakened her—the automatic garage door was closing. He was back.

  *

  MISSY DIDN’T STIR when Candy struggled to her feet and padded across the room into the kitchen. As she approached the garage door, she heard jostling from the other side and voices. Men’s voices.

  No, she determined, not men. Just Tom. He seemed to be carrying on a conversation with himself.

  Candy cracked the door a quarter of an inch so he wouldn’t know she was there but she could hear him. On one hand, she was ready to confront him. Missy had filled her with righteous confidence. The woman had convinced Candy to be bold, to demand what she wanted from him, and to take it without regrets. He’d roll over, Missy assured him. All men did.

  On the other hand, Candy wanted to know what it was he’d been up to.

  She leaned closer to the doorframe and tried to see him through the crack. He was trying to keep his voice low, but he was emphatic as he spoke. When he passed briefly through her slivered field of vision, she realized he was speaking on a cell phone. It wasn’t his iPhone. It was the burner she’d discovered in his tool bench.

  “I know, I know,” he said. “I should have talked with you first. But when you told me what he was doing, which direction he was going, I thought . . .”

  She couldn’t hear the voice on the other end clearly except to determine it was male as well. Whoever it was, he wasn’t being as restrained as Tom. The man on the other end was shouting.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Tom said in response. “I thought I had a clear shot. I saw him get out; I saw the red uniform shirt. Trying to take that shot without a spotter was insane, I know. But I’m certain it was his truck . . .”

  More shouting. The shouter went on for a long time.

  Tom came back into her field of vision. This time, his voice rose and his free hand waved in the air.

  Tom said, “Look, I’ve had it. I’ve just fucking had it. I told you already this was over as far as I was concerned. I know I acted irrationally tonight, but I couldn’t think of another way of stopping this before it went too far, which would hurt us both, as you know.

  “Do whatever you have to do,” Tom said. “I’m clearing out for good. And if they catch me, I’m telling them everything. That’s right, I’ll throw you right under the fucking bus to get a better deal. You can count on that.”

  She’d never heard him talk with such conviction. She wondered if he’d start to cry next.

  The voice on the other end of the phone was calmer than it had been. And whatever he was saying to Tom went on for a good long time. Tom paced around the garage as he listened, and his only utterances were “Hmmmmm” and “Okay, I get that.”

  While he paced, she shifted her hips so she could try to maintain an angle on him. That’s when she saw that the back door of his pickup was open and the rifle case she’d seen earlier lay across the length of the seat.

  Tom had, once again, gone shooting. This time at night.

  In the dark.

  *

  AS TOM TALKED, listened, and paced throughout the garage, Candy waited until he got close to the door to see his reaction when she pushed it open.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked, setting her feet and crossing her arms across her breasts.

  Tom was in mid-stride when he saw her. He looked both surprised and frightened.

  “I asked who you are talking to,” she repeated.

  “Look,” he stammered. “Look . . .”

  She could hear the man Tom was talking to ask, “Who is there?”

  “Nobody,” Tom said into the phone. “Hey, can I call you back?”

  “Nobody?” Candy hissed. “Nobody?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Tom said to her, his eyes imploring her to be quiet.

  “It’s what you said.”

  The tinny voice from the phone asked, “Who in the hell is there? Did they overhear our conversation?”

  “Really,” Tom said into the phone. Then he winced and said, “Just my girlfriend.”

  “How much did she hear?” the man asked. Candy could hear the man clearly. He was agitated.

  “Just my girlfriend the nobody,” Candy said.

  “How much did she hear?” the man shouted.

  Candy found herself being nudged to the side by Missy, who had obviously awakened due to the argument in the garage. Missy stepped in front of her and held out her hand to Tom and said, “Where the hell is my package?”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE, ORLANDO PANFILE HAD walked silently toward the house from his camp in a pale blue wash of starlight and just a slice of moon. He could hear coyotes wailing in the timber behind him and that was the only sound other than the watery music of a breeze through the pine trees.

  He’d carried a sawed-off double-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun and there was a snub-nosed .357 Magnum revolver in a shoulder holster under his jacket. A sheath knife hung from his belt and he wore the cowboy boots with razors hidden in the shafts. His trouser pockets bulged with shotgun shells.

  Panfile was exhausted. The American lawyer had been relentless, peppering him with questions, asking the same thing over and over again, cajoling him to sign a document promising that he’d be available to testify in court. Panfile had refused. He’d given the lawyer—who claimed to be the ex-governor of Wyoming, as outlandish as that seemed to be to Panfile—only what he intended to give him: a statement that would eventually result in the release of Nate Romanowski from jail. That’s why he’d given his real name—a fake name might have been found out, and then his affidavit would have been worthless. He’d debated for quite a while about doing any of this. His whole life had been about avoiding the law.
But this was too important. Romanowski had to pay for what he’d done—and he couldn’t do that from a jail cell.

  Besides, Panfile was going to be gone very, very soon. It was too cold here, too isolated. He missed his children. And he was nearly out of the food Luna had packed for him.

  It was time to go home.

  But first he needed to carry out his plan.

  *

  THERE WAS A LIGHT on in the rear guest bedroom of the Romanowski house. It was always the last one to go out at night. Panfile didn’t know what the woman did alone in her room after everyone else had gone to bed. Maybe she had a television in there, or more likely she was staring at the screen on her phone. That’s what Americans did, he’d observed. They stared at their phones.

  He walked around the back of the house and paused before going around to the front. He knew from his surveillance that, unlike most of the homes up here in the countryside, there were no dogs to raise an alarm. Plenty of falcons and hawks out in the mews, but no dogs.

  Panfile froze when one of the hawks shrieked. The high-pitched sound chilled him to his bones. Would the others join in?

  Panfile didn’t trust the man’s falcons not to know what was about to happen. They had unexplainable and mystical qualities as well as a special connection to Romanowski himself. If the falcons knew something, Panfile surmised, the falconer would know it at the same time.

  But Romanowski wasn’t there, was he?

  Panfile knocked softly on the front door. When nothing happened, he knocked harder.

  A light came on inside. He stepped back on the covered porch so he could be seen when the curtains were eased back from the front window. The porch light came on.

  The young woman who opened the door was wrapped in a bathrobe. Her hair was down and she had bare feet.

  “Loren Jean Hill?” he asked softly.