Trophy Hunt jp-4, page 19
part #4 of Joe Pickett Series
“She’s white!” she howled.
“What happened to her? Did she fall into some paint?” Lucy asked.
Joe said, “No. I think she got really scared. I’ve heard of it happening sometimes to animals. They get so scared that their hair turns white.”
“Is she okay?” Sheridan asked, bending over the dog and patting her white fur.
“I think so,” Joe said. “She’s probably just tired from running to catch me.” He watched as both girls nuzzled the sleeping dog, telling Maxine that everything would be okay. Marybeth gave it a few moments before scoot-ing the girls along.
When the girls were in bed, Marybeth turned to Joe. “I can’t believe how white she is.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Joe said, slumping into his office chair. “I’ve never seen a lot of things before, that have happened around here.”
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
He sighed. “I need to check my messages, see if anything is happening. Then I’ll be up.”
“Don’t be long.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
He called to her before she went upstairs. “Try not to go to sleep right away, I’ve got some things I want to talk with you about.”
“Oh, sure,” she said, smiling at him. Her smile took him off guard, and he welcomed it. With her schedule, it had been a while since they had gone to bed together with both of them not too tired.
“Really,” he said, grinning back. “It was quite a day. I investigated a crop circle that wasn’t a crop circle, met with Nate, then lost our dog.”
“Hmmmm,” she purred, obviously thinking of what to say next. “I had an interesting day as well. Don’t be long.”
Nothing from Robey, nothing from Trey Crump, nothing from anyone. Except another email from deenadoomed666@aol.com.
“Oh, no,” he whispered aloud.
There were no photos this time, only text.
Dear Joe:
I hope you got my last e-mail—didn’t hear from you so I wasn’t sure :) I hope you liked the pictures O¨¢ . things are getting a little crazy here now so this has to be short. i’ve got some very important things to tell you that you will want to know. don’t know how much longer i’ll be able to tell you these things. please come by as soon as you can or at least reply to me. i know a lot more now. i’ve got to go. He’ll be back any minute. Just when you think that things can’t get any weirder they get weirder.
Love O¨¢ , Deena Joe replied:
Deena:
I’ll be by in the morning. I hope you’re okay. If you need to talk to me away from him let me know and we can go somewhere. It’s important that you stay safe. If you need help now, call 911 or my direct line.
Joe Pickett As he prepared to go to bed, his head swimming once again with the unwanted images she had previously sent him, he saw a glow of light from beneath the closed bathroom door. He stopped and knocked.
“Come in.” It was Lucy.
He opened the door wide enough to stick his head in. Lucy was standing at the sink, looking carefully at herself in the bathroom mirror.
“What are you doing, darling?”
Lucy’s cheeks flushed red. “I was really scared today, Dad, when that man came out. Sherry said I looked funny. So I was just checking myself.” Joe smiled. “You were checking to see if your hair was turning white?”
“I guess so. That’s what Sherry said.” “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s still blond.”
To Sheridan, as he passed their dark bedroom: “Quit scaring your sister, Sheridan.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Sheridan said from beneath her covers, where she had no doubt been hiding to muffle her giggles. “She deserved it, is all.”
“Good night.”
Marybeth was in bed and she looked as beautiful as he could ever remember. Her blond hair was loose and brushed to the side, fanning across a pillow. Her knees tented the covers, but the quilt was turned down enough that he could see she was wearing the dark-blue silk chemise that drove him crazy. One of the thin straps had fallen over a shoulder.
“Get in here now,” she said. “We can talk later.”
24
Joe was in a foul mood at breakfast when he heard the sound of an engine and the crunching of gravel outside. He’d been stewing about what Marybeth had just told him about Cam Logue. Although she had handled it well—Marybeth always handled these things well, he thought—the very idea of it infuriated him. She had made Joe promise that he wouldn’t do anything; wouldn’t go to the office and confront Cam, or urge her to find another job. Chances of finding another job with this kind of promise in Saddlestring, as they both knew, were remote.
“I knew I never really liked him,” he told her, buttering his toast. “Joe,” she cautioned him, imploring him with her eyes to let it go. As she did, Sheridan came to the table. She was always first, before Lucy. Lucy took much more time to color-coordinate her outfit and determine what her hair would look like for the day.
“I had that dream again,” Sheridan announced. “I’m starting to think I know where it’s headed. It’s a showdown of some kind.”
Joe dropped his knife on the tabletop, looking at her. “A showdown between whom?”
“Good and evil,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Who wins?” he asked.
She shrugged. “The dream hasn’t gotten that far along yet.” “Well, let me know,” he said cautiously.
“I will,” she said, reaching for the jam. “Oh, somebody’s outside. They parked next to your truck.”
“Did you see who it was?” Joe asked.
“A four-wheel drive with a light-bar on top,” she said, filling a bowl with cereal. “Probably Sheriff Barnum.”
“Great,” he said, pushing away.
“Joe,” Marybeth cautioned again.
Joe strode outside feeling as if he were about to enter a boxing ring. He clamped his hat on his head while he walked, and pushed through the front gate harder than he had intended to, making it slam open.
It was Barnum, all right, as well as Agent Portenson. They both sat in a cloud of smoke inside the vehicle. They squinted at him as he approached. Simultaneously, the driver and passenger doors opened, and both men swung out. What a good morning for them to show up, Joe thought sardonically. If only they had Cam Logue with them, he could deal with two problems at once.
“Sorry to disturb your breakfast,” Barnum said, his voice more gravelly than usual and his face more gray.
“No, you aren’t,” Joe said, taking a position on the other side of his truck and leaning his forearms on the hood. He did not trust Barnum, and the early-morning surprise meeting had a confrontational feel about it. If something was going to happen, he wanted his truck between him and Barnum and Portenson. At least until he bridged the gap.
“What do you want?” Joe asked. “Why don’t you get right to it? I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”
“You could at least invite us in for a cup of coffee,” Barnum said, pretending he was offended.
Portenson snorted, and lit another cigarette.
Joe said to Barnum, “You are not welcome in my house, Sheriff. This is where my family lives. If you need to talk with me all you have to do is call, and I’ll meet you anywhere.”
“It’s also your office, right?” Barnum said, squinting. “Working among all of those girls, it must be tough to get anything done.”
“Right,” Joe said, looking squarely at Barnum. “Unlike the Sheriff ’s Department, where things get done but they’re usually wrong.”
Barnum stood still, but Joe saw the sheriff ’s jaw muscles twitch. Barnum’s flat, blue eyes didn’t look away.
“Boys,” Portenson said, waving his cigarette in the air. “We are getting nowhere.”
“What do you want?” Joe asked again. Barnum finally broke the staredown. “I mean, that can’t be discussed at a task-force meeting?”
“Sheriff,” Portenson said, “you want to start?”
“Keep the fuck away from our investigation,” Barnum growled. “Just stay the fuck away. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”
Joe smiled bitterly. “I suspected that was what this was about.”
“Just worry about your furry animals, and the alien hunter you were assigned by Robey,” Barnum said. “Don’t second-guess us and don’t reinterview all of our leads. There’s nothing you can find that we haven’t already.”
Joe looked to Portenson. The FBI agent seemed to be concentrating on his cigarette, and watching the morning sun hit Battle Mountain. He looked so out of place here, Joe thought. Portenson’s coat was too heavy for the fall, and too outdoor-gear trendy. His slacks and black slip-on shoes belonged beneath a desk in a temperature-controlled office.
“I talked with Robey,” Joe said to both of them. “I told him what I wanted to do. I’m not second-guessing anyone, but I thought that maybe I could find an angle on this whole mess that had been overlooked. You’re welcome to go talk to Cleve Garrett, if you want to. Go ahead and check up on me. I don’t care. Maybe you’ll turn up something I missed. We’ve got nothing so far. Not a damned thing. If I can look at the murders with a fresh eye . . .”
“You’re a goddamned game warden!” Barnum thundered, stepping around the nose of Joe’s truck toward him. “You’re no investigator. You’re only on the task force because the governor needed somebody from your agency.” Joe watched as Barnum’s face reddened. He had stopped just before he fully came around the truck.
“You should be out finding that bear, or counting fish, or whatever the hell it is you do. Leave the professional work to the professionals!”
“And who would that be?” Joe asked calmly.
“You son of a bitch!” Barnum spat, and Joe squared himself, ready. This had been brewing for years. He noted that Barnum wore his gun.
Joe was unarmed. Fine, Joe thought. He couldn’t imagine Barnum actually shooting him, not in front of an FBI agent, anyway. And it would be against Barnum’s nature to hurt him directly. Barnum was more of a corrupt, behind-the-scenes man.
Nevertheless . . .
Because of the rush in Joe’s ears, he didn’t hear the school bus on Bighorn Road until the brakes squealed to a stop and the accordion doors wheezed opened.
“Hello, Sheriff !” the bus driver called out cheerfully. “Hey, Joe!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Portenson roll his eyes heavenward. The front door of the house opened and Sheridan and Lucy came out. Both girls were pulling on jackets and fumbling with their backpacks and lunch boxes. Marybeth stood in the doorway, watching them skip up the walk. But she was really watching Joe, Barnum, and Agent Portenson, Joe knew.
Sheridan made a point of walking between Joe and Barnum, and stopped long enough in front of Joe to tilt her chin up for a good-bye kiss. Lucy was right behind her.
The men watched as the girls boarded the bus and the doors closed. Both girls took seats near the window and waved as the bus pulled away.
Joe waved back. A thin roll of dust bloomed from the tires of the school bus as it labored away.
It was uncomfortably silent. Barnum still stood near Joe’s fender, but his hand had dropped away from the butt of his weapon. Marybeth still stood in the open doorway, watching the bus. Portenson leaned back against the sheriff ’s Blazer, and laughed silently.
“This is over,” Portenson said.
“No, it isn’t,” Barnum said, his voice low. “It’s just postponed.” “Anytime, Sheriff,” Joe said.
Barnum turned his back on Joe, nodded his head to Marybeth, and walked back to his GMC. He threw himself into the driver’s seat with more dexterity than Joe would have guessed, given Barnum’s age and health, and slammed his door shut.
“Agent Portenson,” Joe said. “How come you’re mixed up with him?” Portenson stared at Joe, smiling coldly. “I’ve got to go.”
“It isn’t birds, Portenson.”
Portenson waved his hand in front of his face, as if shooing away a fly. “Then what is it?”
“It’s two things, I think,” Joe said, keeping his voice low enough that Barnum wouldn’t hear. “I think we’ve got one set of killers responsible for most of the animals and Stuart Tanner. I think we’ve got another entirely separate killer who did Tuff Montegue.”
Portenson looked pained.
“Whether they’re connected or not I don’t know,” Joe said. “But if nothing else, we’ve got to figure out one or the other. We can’t look at the mutilations as one thing any longer, or we’ll never get anywhere.”
“We aren’t anywhere now,” Portenson said.
“No, we aren’t. But if we change the focus of the investigation, we might find something out.”
Portenson shook his head as if dispelling a bad thought.
“Look, Portenson, I know you’re not a bad guy,” Joe said. “I know what you did last winter, how you tried to stop the massacre. You blame me for putting you in that position, but you did the right thing. You can do it again.”
“Oh, just shut up,” Portenson said.
Joe grinned. “I can count on you, can’t I?” “Why do you even care?”
Joe shrugged. “I don’t want this kind of thing happening in my mountains, or my district. Not around my family. They’ve gone through enough in the last few years without worrying about something like this.”
Portenson looked genuinely sympathetic. Then something changed in his face.
“I still think you and that Nate Romanowski maniac are guilty of something. I’ll find that out one of these days, and I’ll bust you both. Then I’ll get out of this hellhole I’m in.”
Joe nodded. “That’s fine. But right now, we’ve got killers out here who are just about as scary as anything I can think of. You know that.”
Portenson lit another cigarette, then tossed it away angrily after one drag. “I’m hoping the whole thing just goes the fuck away,” he said. “There haven’t been any incidents in a few days, not since that stupid horse got his face ripped off. I just hope the whole thing goes away.”
“Maybe it will,” Joe said, thinking again of Cleve Garrett’s theory. “Or maybe just part of it will. If that happens, we’ve still got the other part to figure out.”
Barnum leaned on the horn, even though Portenson was just feet away from his vehicle.
“What an asshole,” Portenson said. “That’s just the half of it,” Joe said back.
25
Lot c17 at the riverside resort and RV Park was empty. “Damn it,” Joe said, thumping the steering wheel of his pickup with the heel of his hand. He looked over to Maxine, remembered that he had left her home to sleep today, then looked back at the vacated lot.
He wondered when they’d left. How long had the Airstream been gone?
A sick feeling welled up in Joe’s stomach. He hoped that Deena was all right. He felt responsible for her, since she had reached out to him even in her pathetic way. If he had acted sooner, had come over to see Deena the morning after the first message, could he have averted something? Had Cleve Garrett discovered their correspondence and hurt her? Or had he simply moved his operation to some other place?
He found Jimbo behind his trailer, raking leaves in his postage-stamp backyard.
“Jimbo, when did Cleve Garrett pull out?” Joe asked the resort manager. Jimbo froze, then slowly looked up. “What do you mean?”
Joe was confused for a moment. “Don’t you know that he’s gone? I just came from there. The lot is empty.”
Jimbo let the rake fall into the pile of leaves he had made. “Well, what do you know,” he said. “He musta’ left during the night. He was all paid up, so he doesn’t owe me anything. But he at least could have said goodbye so I’d have known I have another space to rent.”
“Didn’t you hear him go?” Joe asked, incredulous.
Jimbo pointed at his own head. “I don’t hear nothing without my hearing aids anymore. I take ’em out to sleep, so I guess he left after I went to bed.”
“When was that?”
Jimbo pondered the question. “Let’s see, I watched the news, read a little. You ever read Harry Potter?”
Joe had, but he didn’t want to discuss it.
“I’m hooked,” Jimbo said. “I’m on the third one now. I never thought I’d care a good goddamn about a little Brit orphan, but . . .” “Jimbo, what time?”
Jimbo’s face lost enthusiasm, and he thought for a moment. “Must have been after 11:30 or so. I think that’s when I packed it in.”
Deena’s last e-mail to Joe had been sent at 11:15, Joe remembered. In it, she hadn’t said they were leaving. Maybe she hadn’t known yet, he thought, the sick feeling coming back. Maybe Cleve read Joe’s response over Deena’s shoulder, and decided then that they needed to go immediately.
But what difference did it make what time they left? Joe thought. What was significant was the fact that they were gone, and that they felt a need to leave in the middle of the night.
Why?
As he crossed the Twelve Sleep County line into Park County, Joe called Hersig and told him that Cleve Garrett was gone and mentioned Deena’s e-mail.
“I think we should put out an APB,” Joe said. “Locating their truck and that big Airstream shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Hersig hesitated. “What?” Joe asked.
“We don’t have any grounds to stop him,” Hersig said. “A man has a right to move his trailer from place to place, Joe.”
“What about Deena?”
“What about her? Can you honestly make a case that you think she’s in danger? Or threatened? From what you told me she hasn’t ever indicated that she’s in trouble. It doesn’t sound like we have anything to go on at all here, Joe.”
Joe held the phone away from his ear and looked at it, scowling at Hersig. Then he pulled it back. “They left right after she sent me an e-mail, like I said. She was going to tell me something this morning that she thought was important. I’m telling you, Cleve Garrett is dirty in some way. Why else would he hightail it out of town so quickly when just the other day he was begging me to get him on the task force? I think he’s going to hurt her, if he hasn’t already.”
