Wolf Pack, page 10
* * *
—
INFANTE KNEW IF the address on the driver’s license panned out, they’d be headed northeast. That was the direction they were already going, so they wouldn’t have to backtrack. They’d be out of Arizona and into New Mexico by the next day, then up into Colorado. Infante had skied at Aspen and Telluride, but both Wyoming and Montana were a mystery to him. They seemed like states that existed in cowboy movies but not in real life. That part of America was foreign to him.
He heard a distant whump when the fire was lit. Soon after, he heard shouting and several gunshots followed by hysterical laughter.
At the sound of the gunshots, he pulled his weapon from his waistband and placed it on the picnic table in front of him with the other items. He checked the road down below them, hoping no one else had heard the shots and decided to investigate.
He was furious with Adelmo and Cesar. Why would those idiots fire a weapon and risk discovery? He cursed them in Spanish and English.
Then it was nearly quiet: only the sound of the distant creek and the muffled crackling of the fire itself. Soon he could smell the burned gasoline and the roast-pork odor of burning flesh. Small bits of clothing from the burning suitcases rose into the dark and danced a slow dance until they extinguished and fell. He hoped none of them started a grass fire.
He took a long pull of the tequila and screwed the cap back on. It was smooth and tart at the same time.
When Adelmo and Cesar emerged from the darkness, they were still giggling.
“What happened?” he asked in a tightly controlled hiss.
“There was a bobcat down there.” Adelmo laughed while doubling over. “That cave was its den! It came out on fire and it scared Cesar so bad he shot it.”
“Fucking cat,” Cesar growled. “I’m glad he didn’t get far.”
“I’ve never seen him so scared,” Adelmo howled.
“Did any grass catch on fire?”
“No, sir,” Adelmo wheezed. “And we stomped on that burning cat until it went out.”
* * *
—
INFANTE STEPPED ASIDE and used the burner to place a call. Although he doubted that the name and address on the Wyoming driver’s license were authentic, he needed research that he couldn’t do on the road himself.
Calling his bosses was always an act of last resort. He hated to do it, and he prided himself on how rare it was necessary. But they had researchers and lawyers to do this kind of follow-through.
When the call was taken on the other end, he said simply, “Tom Kinnison. Winchester, Wyoming.”
He disconnected and slid the phone into his pocket. He’d keep the burner until they called him back. Then he’d destroy it and replace it with another.
Infante walked to the van and slid behind the wheel and started it up. Cesar and Adelmo tumbled in. Adelmo was still laughing and Cesar clutched the bottle of tequila by the neck. They smelled of sweat, smoke, and liquor.
“Son idiotes de mierda,” he said under his breath.
You’re fucking idiots.
Which made Adelmo laugh even harder.
* * *
—
INFANTE WONDERED WHAT Abriella would think of going north into the Rocky Mountains. He figured that since she “didn’t do nature,” she’d probably hate it.
And if Abriella Guzman was in a foul mood, the scene at the Kelleher house would seem restful in retrospect.
MONDAY,
APRIL 30
Middle of the night grey wolf come
Take his wife and family some.
WOODY GUTHRIE, “JIGGY JIGGY BUM”
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, Katelyn Hamm made lunches in her kitchen for her two boys. Eight-year-old Tyler got a salami sandwich and ten-year-old Brody got his usual PB&J. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she was in uniform except for her holster and weapon, which was on the top of the refrigerator where she always placed it when she came home.
She could hear her sons arguing over something in their bedroom down the hall and she yelled at them to cool it and get dressed. An apple, a bag of chips, and two sleeves of string cheese went into each lunch box. Her boys were competitive and she knew they compared their lunches to see if either of them had gotten something the other hadn’t. It was ridiculous.
Her husband, Ryle, had filled his thermos cup with coffee and left for his job at the welding shop just a few minutes before. He’d exited through the door that led to the one-car garage, and she realized she hadn’t yet heard him start his truck outside. Maybe, she thought, he was scraping ice off the windshields of both of their vehicles, which was something he did during the winter while she made lunches and got the boys off to the bus stop.
The Shell game warden station where they lived was one of the oldest in the state. It was made of log construction and the rooms were tiny, but it was charming in its way, and they put up with it because they had no other options. There were mature trees around it, and there was a large shop outside to park her pickup and store gear and equipment. The barn was decent, and there was a corral for her two mules. Katelyn preferred riding mules over horses in the mountains. Mules were bombproof, and they rarely spooked.
She heard the sound of flesh-on-flesh from down the hall, and Tyler called out in pain. “He hit me.”
“He started it,” Brody said.
“Is there blood?” she asked.
“No.”
“Boys, get dressed.”
* * *
—
SHE LOOKED UP as Ryle came back into the house. She could tell immediately that something was wrong because he was pale and he looked shaken.
He said, “There are two men outside who would like to talk to you.”
Ryle was a few years older than Katelyn and he’d had a string of hard luck. They’d lost the feed store he’d opened due to the economy and other difficulties after sinking their savings into it. Since then, he’d gone from job to job in Shell over the past few years. He even filled in as a substitute school bus driver from time to time. He was a competent welder, but it wasn’t the profession he would have chosen. It had beaten him down.
He never discussed how disappointed he was not to be the top breadwinner in the family, but she knew it ate at him. It was her salary, insurance, and access to the game warden station that kept them afloat. It was obvious to both of them that if she had a different career and they lived in a bigger community, he’d have more job options. But they were in Shell because that’s where her district was and she’d been turned down twice after applying for other districts in the state that had gone to game wardens with more seniority.
Often, when she returned to the house from the field, she’d catch him brooding. She appreciated the fact that he never complained and that he didn’t show that side of himself to the boys.
“Who are they?” she asked. It wasn’t unusual for hunters or landowners to simply show up at the station any day of the week or at all hours.
Ryle said, “They look like feds to me.”
“Meaning?”
“Guys in overcoats and ties, black Ford Expedition.”
Katelyn paused to try to think. She wasn’t expecting anyone—especially feds.
She thought, What have I done?
“Tell them I’ll be out in a minute as soon as I get the lunches done for the boys.”
“You don’t want me to invite them in?” Ryle asked.
“No.”
He hesitated, not sure how to proceed.
She looked up and said, “If they’re going to just show up at our house without warning like this, they can wait a few minutes. They should have called ahead.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them.”
She slid each sandwich into a ziplock bag and sealed it.
“Let me know what they want,” Ryle said as he went back outside.
* * *
—
KATELYN TOOK a sidewise glance at the two men as she shooed Tyler and Brody out the front door.
Tyler had green eyes, straw-colored hair, and a wide face. He’d always been pudgy, but he was growing into a tall and strapping boy. Brody was a miniature version of Ryle, with dark features and a furtive nature.
“Who are those guys?” Tyler asked her. It was a good question. She thought that neither of her boys had probably ever seen men wearing anything but jeans and open-collar shirts in their little mountain town of eighty-five people. Except on television.
“Don’t worry about them,” she said. “Probably something to do with my work.”
“Do you want us to stick around?” Tyler asked, narrowing his eyes at them and giving them a glare.
She grinned at her son. She liked it that he was protective of her.
“No, it’ll be fine,” she said. “Now get going or you’ll miss the bus.”
* * *
—
SHE HUGGED HERSELF as she approached the two men because she hadn’t pulled on a coat against the early-morning chill. To their credit, she thought, they’d hung back until the boys were on their way.
The two men were outside their big SUV, leaning against it and waiting. They were both in their midthirties, she thought. The one against the front quarter panel had short-cropped brown hair, rimless glasses, and a thin face. The man with his back to the closed back door was a head shorter. He had ginger hair and mustache and a doughy, expressionless look. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his overcoat.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“You’re Game Warden Katelyn Hamm?” the tall man said.
“Yes.”
He reached inside his knee-length dress coat and withdrew a wallet badge.
“I’m Special Agent Jeremiah Sandburg of the FBI,” he said. “This is Special Agent Don Pollock. We’re here hoping we can take about a half hour of your time on a special matter as it pertains to the Department of Justice.”
She looked them over. “Two special agents with a special matter. That sounds really . . . special.”
They didn’t return her grin.
“Can we come inside and talk?” Sandburg asked.
“I’ve got two boys and the place isn’t really good for meetings,” she said. “What do you want to know? We can talk here.”
Katelyn wasn’t sure why she took that stand other than it just didn’t feel right. The house was a mess like it always was, but it wasn’t that bad. She just didn’t want the two men inside. There was something imperious about them and she didn’t want to be judged.
“Is there someplace private we can talk?” Pollock asked. “It’s cold out here.”
“You should have been here two months ago,” she said. Then she gestured toward the road. “There’s a restaurant in town called the Hitching Post. Vern’s got a private room in the back they use for Lions Club meetings. I’m sure we could use that.”
Sandburg and Pollock looked at each other and apparently agreed.
“We’ll meet you there in five,” Sandburg said. He didn’t ask if she had the time or if she had other duties she had to attend to. She wished she did.
Again, she thought, What have I done?
The two of them climbed into their vehicle with Sandburg at the wheel. They looked straight ahead as they pulled away.
Katelyn watched as the Expedition went down the road, its exhaust burbling out a small cloud of white.
She was trembling, and she knew it was not entirely from the cold.
* * *
—
VERN LOOKED OUT at her from the kitchen over the batwing doors.
“They’re in the back,” he said.
She passed by two tables of local ranchers who were finishing up their morning coffee, having already had breakfast and gossiped. It was an everyday thing at the restaurant, and they all acknowledged her as she went by.
Katelyn had always been treated well by the locals and she attributed it to the fact that she was professional and did her job. She responded to calls when she could have begged off and she didn’t issue superfluous tickets to flaunt her authority. The locals treated her with respect and she treated them with respect. She didn’t talk down to anyone.
It was a quality the two FBI agents could use, she thought.
It bolstered her confidence that she was now in full uniform and the meeting with the FBI was as public as it could possibly be in Shell. Most federal employees weren’t held in very high regard in the area, and the ranchers would be on her side if things went haywire, she surmised.
Sandburg and Pollock sat at a table beneath a Lions Club banner. Each had a heavy white mug of coffee in front of him.
“You found it,” she said.
“It’s not very hard to find, considering it’s the only restaurant here,” Sandburg said with a chuckle. “This is an interesting part of the world where you are. Neither of us have ever been here before.”
She nodded. She wasn’t surprised. But she was still annoyed at that tone she detected from Sandburg. It was paternalistic and superior. He seemed to be willing himself to speak slowly and deliberately so she would understand.
“First off,” Sandburg said, “I have to ask you if you’d like to have your lawyer present.”
“My lawyer? Why?”
He waved it away. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I make it my practice to say that line every time I talk with someone.”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“I wouldn’t say that at all.”
“Then why would I need a lawyer here?”
“Like I said, it’s just procedure to make sure we ask.”
She flinched. “I don’t need a lawyer. I don’t even have one.”
“Of course not,” he said with a laugh. “Life is simpler out here.”
Sandburg continued. “I really envy you, you know. I get up every morning and sit in traffic for an hour to get to work. You wake up every morning and see mountains and blue sky and send your kids off to school and then spend the rest of the day outside. What a wonderful life you have here.”
“There’s a little more to it than that, but I do like it here,” she said, still a little shaken from the lawyer talk.
“You have a wonderful family and a happy marriage, right?”
“Right.”
“Good clean living in the mountains. What more could anyone ask for? It’s the American dream.”
“I guess,” she said. She wondered where this was leading. “So,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from them, “what are we here to talk about?”
This time, the agents didn’t look at each other. They were still, and she recognized the tactic for what it was: an effort to intimidate her. She resented them for it.
While Pollock got up and closed the door to the main dining room, Sandburg said, “We have a favor to ask of you, but first I need to set the stage a little, if you don’t mind.”
She reluctantly nodded for him to go on.
He said, “I assume you have to deal with the same layers of bureaucracy that we deal with on the federal level, and if possible we’d like to avoid that. So instead of us going through our protocols and having the U.S. Attorney for Wyoming reach out to your governor and wait for him to talk to your director, we’d prefer to do this on a back channel. You know, LEO to LEO.” Law enforcement officer to law enforcement officer.
“Do what?”
“We need you to kill an inquiry,” Pollock said.
She just looked at him.
“My colleague is sometimes a little too blunt,” Sandburg said. “What we need is to make sure that you want to do the right thing.”
“Which is what?”
Sandburg placed both of his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “I’m sure that in your duties you have the discretion to make judgments and that not every minute of your day is by the book. We all make decisions like that if we’re good at our jobs and we think about the greater good.
“If a good cop is chasing a bank robber who shot a teller and ran away, he doesn’t stop his pursuit because he sees a motorist run a red light, right? Technically, the motorist broke the letter of the law, but it’s much more important to catch that bank robber.”
She nodded.
He continued. “So sometimes it’s best to look the other way and concentrate on higher-priority items for the sake of the greater good, right?”
“It depends on the circumstances,” she said.
“Of course it does,” Sandburg said. “But wouldn’t you agree that those of us in law enforcement are at our best when we use our best judgment?”
“Yes,” she said with hesitation.
“So if Agent Pollock and I were to tell you that a case you’re pursuing might actually endanger thousands of lives if it results in a trial and conviction, would you consider dropping that inquiry?”
Katelyn said, “Thousands of lives?”
“Maybe tens of thousands,” Pollock answered. “Maybe millions.”
She said, “You boys must have me confused with someone else. I’m a Wyoming game warden. I enforce our regulations. What could I possibly be involved in that would be such a big deal to the FBI and the Justice Department?”
Sandburg paused long enough to make her squirm before he said, “It’s our understanding that you’re intending to bring charges against a local drone pilot.”
“For taking pretty videos of wild animals,” Pollock added.
Katelyn sat back. “I didn’t see that one coming.” Then heatedly to Pollock: “He wasn’t taking pretty videos. He was harassing weakened big-game herds to the point that they panicked and ran to their death.”
