Blood trail

24

JOE SAT alone at a scarred table in Witness Room Number Two in the Twelve Sleep County Building at one in the morning, waiting for Sheriff McLanahan and Deputy Reed to return. They'd been gone over an hour. On the table was a mug of weak coffee that had gone cold.

The amoral eye of a camera mounted in a high corner of the room watched him. The mirrored plate of one-way glass in the wall reflected the image of a man who very much wished he was home in bed. Anywhere but where he was.

He groaned and sat back, staring at the blazing light fixture inset in the ceiling. He thought, I've really done it this time. AFTER HE found Gordon's body and confirmed he was dead, Joe called county dispatch and asked Wendy, the dispatcher, to locate the sheriff and send him to Winchester right away. He told Wendy he'd stay at the crime scene until the sheriff and the coroner's team arrived.

"And please put out an APB for a light-colored SUV heading toward Saddlestring from Winchester on the highway. The subject inside I believe is Klamath Moore, and he may have information on the death of the victim here on the park bench."

"That Klamath Moore?" Wendy asked.

"That Klamath Moore," Joe said, punching off.

"Jesus, is that guy dead?" said Officer Byron. Joe hadn't heard Byron walk up to him.

"Yes."

"This is my first dead body," Byron said. "I mean, other than a car wreck or some old lady dying of a heart attack. It sure looks like he ate his own gun, don't it?"

"That's what it looks like." But Joe had his doubts.

"I want my gun back now."

"No," Joe said. "Go sit down until the sheriff gets here. Don't get any closer to the crime scene."

Byron turned from Gordon's body to Joe. "You are in so much trouble."

"I know."

Joe made two more calls before the sheriff's department arrived, the first to Marybeth advising her not to wait up for him because he'd discovered a dead body and assaulted a police officer. She was speechless.

"Don't worry," he said.

"You assaulted a cop?"

"Sort of, yes."

"And you say not to worry?"

"I'll be home soon," he said, wishing it were true.

The other call was to Special Agent Tony Portenson, telling him his confidential informant had just been found dead.

Portenson had predictably exploded, and Joe told him he'd get back to him with more details and closed his phone. ANOTHER HOUR. Joe paced the witness room, tried to see if anyone was looking at him through the one-way mirror into the hallway. The repercussions of what he'd done, what had happened, crushed in on him from all sides. At one point, he had to hold himself up with one hand on the wall and breathe deeply, get his wits back. His heart raced and slowed, raced and slowed.

When the door opened he jumped.

It was Deputy Reed, looking furtive. "I really shouldn't be in here," he said.

"What's going on?"

Reed pulled out a hard-backed chair from the other side of the table, the legs scraping across the linoleum like fingernails on a blackboard. He sat down heavily.

"Klamath Moore is in the other witness room," Reed said. "We found him where he was staying here in town. At Shelly Cedron's place. You know Shelly? She runs the animal shelter and I guess she's a sympathizer to his cause. Who would have guessed that? Man, you think you know people but you don't know what's in their hearts, I guess."

Joe nodded, urging him on.

"There was a light-colored SUV outside her home that sort of matches your description. Shelly herself is out of town at a conference, so she wasn't even there. But do you know how many vehicles match that description? I mean, this ain't LA. It would be unusual if you'd seen a sedan, or a coupe. Everybody's got an SUV. Hell, I've got two, and a pickup. Anyway, we woke him up-"

"He was sleeping?"

Reed nodded. "Says he was, anyway. And claims he was there all night doing IM conversations with his followers and talking with his wife. She vouches for him."

"Do you believe her?"

Reed shrugged. "Without anything more than your 'It looked kind of like Klamath Moore' story, we have nothing else to go on. One thing, though, his hair was wet. I asked him about that and he said he took a shower before he went to bed."

"That would clean off any gunpowder residue on his skin," Joe said. "Did you find the clothes he was wearing?"

"He pointed at a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the bedroom," Reed said. "I bagged it up. But Shelly Cedron has a wood-stove, just like everybody else. It's one of those really good airtight ones that burns hot inside."

"Will your crime-scene guys search the SUV?"

Reed shrugged. "You mean search for hair and fiber from Gordon? Sure. But we both know Gordon has been in the car before. That wouldn't give us anything."

"What about Bill Gordon?" Joe asked. "Have the crime-scene people looked at him?"

"Doc Speer says-preliminarily, at least-it looks like a suicide. The gun was fired so close to his head it's a contact wound consistent with suicide. No short-range or mid-range powder burns or anything indicating it wasn't self-inflicted. The weapon was a.45ACP Sig Sauer P220. Nice gun. And the suicide theory looks completely clean except for one thing: there were two bullet wounds in his head."

"What?"

Reed pointed at his own head to show Joe. "One in his temple; that was the wound you could see. But there was another one a couple of inches up from that covered by hair."

"Who shoots himself twice in the side of the head?" Joe asked.

"Someone who wants to be dead," Reed said. "Hey-that was the first thing I thought too. But Doc Speer says it isn't inconceivable that a suicide victim shoots himself deliberately and that his death reflex makes him pull the trigger again before he's even dead. There's only a four-point-five-pound trigger pull on that gun. I could see it happening. The second shot would be fired as the first one kicked the gun up, so you've got that second hole higher up in his skull."

Joe shook his head. "But it makes no sense. Why agree to meet me at that park and take every precaution in the world and then kill yourself?"

"I don't know. Guilt? Maybe there was something else going on in his life. Maybe he saw you drive up with a bleeding cop in your car and thought the jig was up."

"I didn't hear a shot, much less two shots," Joe said. "It was quiet in Winchester. I would have heard a shot. He was sitting on that bench like that when I got there. He got shot before I ever showed up."

"Or shot himself. We bagged his hands. They're checking for residue on his hands to confirm he fired the gun himself."

Joe shook his head, not believing it. "Or Klamath Moore shot Gordon in the head at close range, then put the gun in Gordon's hand and shot again so there would be plenty of residue on the dead man's skin. Klamath left the weapon in Gordon's hand so it would look like a suicide. Then Klamath went home and burned his clothes and took a shower and waited for you guys to find him. Reed, you've got to question his wife again, see if you can catch her in an inconsistency."

"We can try."

"Maybe if you sweated her," Joe said.

Reed shook his head. "No chance without more to go on."

Joe looked up at the light fixture again, trying to think of a way to snare Klamath Moore, trying to come up with a way to show the man was involved. Nothing.

"There's another theory," Reed said.

"What?"

"That maybe our governor's got such a hard-on for Klamath Moore and wants him out of the state so bad that you're seeing him everywhere, even in the dark on a two-lane with no highway lights."

Joe was surprised by the theory and hadn't seen it coming. It was then he felt the presence of someone outside in the hall, watching him through the one-way mirror, assessing his reaction. He looked hard at Reed, who broke off his gaze. Reed had been sent in to see if Joe would admit something.

Joe took a step back, his chin in his hand, as if mulling things over. Suddenly, he lashed backward and hit the mirror with the flat of his hand.

"Christ!" McLanahan yelled from the hallway, his voice muffled by the glass.

"Reed…" Joe said. "I thought you were better than that."

Reed looked down, mumbling so low it couldn't be picked up outside. "He sent me in here to see how you'd react. No offense, Joe."

"None taken," Joe whispered back. Then, loud enough so the sheriff could hear him again: "I'm not accusing Klamath Moore of pulling the trigger, although it could have been him. Or one of his sympathizers. And I'm damned sorry Bill Gordon is dead, because I think he was one of the good guys. But I want it known that while I do work for the governor, I'm not a hack. I'm doing this job for Robey, and Nancy Hersig. Not for the governor."

Joe turned to the mirror, addressing McLanahan. "You might as well come in, Sheriff." Reed looked up from the table. "Just so you can be prepared, Randy Pope is on his way here. McLanahan called him at home tonight and told him what happened. He's not happy, from what the sheriff said."

"Great," Joe said. McLanahan opened the door and came into the witness room and sat on a corner of the table. "You like to scared me to death with that stunt," he drawled, nodding toward the mirror.

Joe shrugged.

"Do you know what night it is? What night it was?" he said, looking at his wristwatch.

Joe was confused.

"It's American Idol night. My daughter and my wife and I pop some popcorn every week and sit down and watch it. But not tonight, because I get a call right after the first singer saying we've got a body in Winchester Park and a busted-up town cop. Now here it is, one in the morning, and I haven't been home and didn't get a chance to vote. You may have ruined the whole season for me."

"Sorry," Joe said, feeling for perhaps the first time in his life some sympathy for McLanahan. Not because he'd prevented the sheriff from voting, but because McLanahan was denied a night with his family.

"He's likely to press charges," McLanahan said, meaning Byron. "You may be facing some time."

"It was a speed trap but it was personal on his part," Joe said, not even convincing himself.

"You busted his nose and kidnapped a cop. Think about it."

"I have."

"I don't know who is going to get you out of this one. I don't think even the governor's gonna try."

Joe sighed. McLanahan was right.

"Plus, I went against my better judgment and listened to my deputy here," he said, putting a hand on Reed's shoulder. "He said if you saw Klamath Moore leaving the scene, you saw Klamath Moore leaving the scene. So we rousted an innocent man who turns out to have an alibi, and we look like idiots and could face a civil suit. Klamath Moore's claiming he's a political prisoner, that the only reason we rousted him is because of his anti-hunting agenda. He says he's got a shitload of high-powered attorneys working probono and he'll unleash 'em on us. And I don't doubt that he does."

Reed looked away from both Joe and the sheriff. He looked like he could shoot himself, Joe thought.

"I saw what I saw," Joe said.

"I've got a question," McLanahan said. "Randy Pope asked me and I couldn't answer."

"Yes?"

"He claimed you're working with Nate Romanowski, that he's in your custody. He asked me if Romanowski was with you tonight. I had to tell him that not only was that son of a bitch not with you, he is nowhere to be found. So I learn from a state bureaucrat that the suspect in the murder of Sheriff Barnum was in my county but nobody bothered to let me know. So tell me where he is."

Joe swallowed. "I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. I don't know where he is."

"And do you see a problem with that?" McLanahan asked, his face flushing. He was really angry.

"Yes I do."

"You are in so much trouble."

"I think I already heard that tonight," Joe said gloomily.

"I've got to go release Klamath Moore now," the sheriff said. "I've got nothing to hold him on and an eyewitness saying he never went to Winchester tonight. Then I've got to go see that little pissant Byron at the clinic and see if he wants to press charges against you. Then I've got to see Doc Speer to see where in the hell we're going to put another body, since the morgue is full."

"I wish you wouldn't release Moore," Joe said. "I'd like to talk to him."

McLanahan laughed angrily. "Not a chance. We already know what happens when you want to talk to people." The sheriff made a pistol of his hand and pressed his index finger to his temple and worked his thumb twice.

Joe winced.

"I should hold you tonight," McLanahan said. "But I'm just too damned tired to file the paperwork. So get out of my building and stay the hell at home where I can find you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I mean it. And make that son of a bitch Romanowski turn himself in."

"That I can't promise."

The sheriff glared, on the verge of going into a rage but too tired to do so.

"Don't go anywhere," he said, and stomped out of the room.

Reed turned before following McLanahan, and showed a "what can I do?" palms-up gesture, and left the door open behind him. JOE WAITED miserably at the front desk for the duty officer to find the keys to his van so he could go home. He didn't know if he'd ever felt so dirty, so gritty, so incompetent.

Finally, after ten minutes, the old deputy returned to the desk and handed Joe the keys.

"I've also got a shotgun and a service weapon, a.40 Glock," Joe said.

"You've got to be kidding," the old man said. "Come back tomorrow and get an okay from the sheriff." JOE WENT out into the night to find that a fine snow had started. It sifted through the cold dead air like powdered sugar, coating windshields with a film. He breathed in the cold air, tried to clear his head. He found the van at the side of the building where one of the deputies had left it.

As he reached for the door handle, a voice behind him, in the dark, said, "Out a little late for a family man, aren't you?"

Joe froze, turned slowly to see Klamath Moore leaning against a light-colored SUV, arms crossed. Inside, in the dark, was the profile of Shannon Moore, looking straight ahead through the windshield as if she didn't want to see what was happening outside.

Joe said, "Is that Shenandoah Yellowcalf in there? Isn't she getting cold? You don't even have your motor running."

"She's fine."

"She's a legend around here," Joe said. "I just found out about her today. She's the greatest athlete the reservation high school ever produced. They love her. How can you make her sit in there like that in the cold?"

"I don't see where that's any business of yours," Moore said, ice in his voice.

"I just think you should appreciate her a little more, is all."

"I appreciate her plenty."

Joe said, "She enhances your image, for sure. It looks good for you to be married to an Indian. Makes you seem authentic. But you need to remember to introduce her to people. That way folks will think you like her."

Moore worked his mouth, as if trying to suck something out from between his teeth. Joe saw it as a way not to say whatever it was he wanted to say in anger.

"That was you on the Winchester highway," Joe said.

"I was home all night. I've got a witness."

"Did you pull the trigger or did you talk Bill Gordon into doing it himself? That's what I don't know yet."

Moore raised his chin, laughed at the sky. Unconvincing, Joe thought. As much an admission of guilt as if he'd signed a confession. But nothing Joe could use.

"You're nuts," Moore said. "You're an embarrassment. Hell, you broke more laws than anyone in this county tonight, from what I understand. Assaulting a cop?"

"What do you want, Harold?"

"Why'd you call me that?"

"Isn't that your real name? And another question: didn't you do the same thing to Bill Gordon that you did to your uncle Everett? Make it look like an accident?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice rising, clearly getting agitated.

"Where is Wolverine?"

Moore got suddenly quiet.

"Where is he?"

"Wolverine? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who is Wolverine?" Joe asked. "Or are you one and the same?"

"You're unhinged."

"It won't be long before I get you," Joe said. "I owe Nancy Hersig this one."

Klamath Moore shifted on the balls of his feet and clenched his hands into fists. Joe wouldn't have been surprised if Klamath had attacked. In fact, he would have welcomed it. Moore had several inches and thirty pounds on him, but Joe thought he could do some damage before being overwhelmed. Plus, it would give Joe a reason to arrest Moore and haul him back inside the county building where he could keep him for the night. But as he watched, Moore seemed to cool down, seemed to channel his anger into calculation. The transformation sent a chill through Joe, made him realize what kind of man he was up against.

"I bet you think I despise all kinds of hunting, don't you?" said Moore.

"That's what I understand."

"Not all kinds."

"What are you talking about?"

"Some animals deserve to die," Moore said, letting his face go dead. "Like rats. I don't like rats."