Stone Cold

16

Joe finished his conversation with Marybeth and dug in his back Wrangler pocket for the key to cabin number eight.

As he reached for the knob, he paused as a thought came to him about what Anna B. had said. Daisy must have heard him outside, because she was snuffling up against the inside of the door, dying to say hello. But he didn’t slide the key into the lock.

Instead, he backed away and speed-dialed Chuck Coon’s private cell phone.

Coon picked up in two rings.

“Great job getting me that intel on those three names I gave you,” Joe said, as a greeting.

“Look,” Coon said with quiet irritation, “I’m in the middle of something. We all are. The state highway patrol stopped a van last night on I-80 going east filled with nine illegals who came over the border. That in itself isn’t a big deal, but only four of them are from Mexico or South America. Three are from Yemen, and two are from Chechnya. As you can imagine, we’ve got all hands on deck trying to figure out what’s what. I’m sorry I had to pull my agent off your inquiries, but—”

“Never mind,” Joe said. “Marybeth got it all. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“I’ve got maybe a minute,” Coon said, lowering his voice. Joe imagined the agent-in-charge excusing himself from a room full of men in suits and stepping out into the hallway.

“That’s enough time,” Joe said. “I’m going to call you back on your office landline number in twenty minutes.”

“But I won’t be at my desk.”

“Just as well,” Joe said. “I don’t need you to be there. I assume the incoming call will be recorded on your server, right?”

Coon hesitated, then: “Yes. But that’s not supposed to be public knowledge.”

“Come on,” Joe said. “Everybody knows you Feds record everything. Anyway, just make sure you get a copy of the call and get it transcribed in case you need to send it over to the governor’s office. You might need to refer to it later when you need to build a case.”

“Joe, what have you learned? It sounds explosive.”

Joe smiled to himself at that. He said, “Nothing has exploded yet, but I might be lighting the match.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s time to jump-start things.”

“Uh-oh…” Coon cautioned.

“You’ve got to get back to your meeting,” Joe said. “I’ll explain later. I’ll give you a call on your cell.”

“Remember our deal—”

“Thanks again for the timely intel. You guys have been really helpful so far,” Joe said, and terminated the call.

He let Daisy out to allow her to blow off some steam and relieve herself in the copse of trees behind the unit. While she loped around and through the tree trunks, he inspected the back of cabin number eight where the power and phone lines entered the exterior walls and compared the wiring with other cabins in the row. He tried to do it without looking obvious, in case Anna had found another place in her office to spy on him.

While he ran his dog he heard the sound of a vehicle enter the parking lot. He stayed back in the trees but peered around cabin number eight to see a Chevy Silverado with Michigan plates pulling a trailer with two ATVs strapped on behind it. The bed of the pickup was filled with hunting and camping gear, and two large bearded men in camo climbed out, stretched, and went inside the office. Obviously hunters checking in, Joe thought. So there would be some company besides Anna at the motel after all.

After a few more minutes of tossing a plastic dummy for Daisy to retrieve, he thought it was time to go in. He was surprised to see the Michigan truck swinging around in the lot and heading back out. He wondered if the hunters didn’t like the motel or the rate — or if they’d been turned away — and why.

Inside, he again sat at the makeshift desk and scribbled notes to himself in his spiral. After he’d gone over his script a third time, he punched Coon’s office phone number into his cell.

As Coon had warned, it went straight to voicemail.

Joe said, “Is this the Division of Criminal Investigation? Yes, well this is Wyoming game warden Joe Pickett. I need to talk to Director Don White. Sure, I’ll wait.”

Joe sat up straight in the hard-backed chair and counted to ten, then: “Don? This is Joe Pickett. As you know, I’m up in Medicine Wheel County, and I’ve spent a couple of days poking around like you asked.”

He paused as if being asked a question, and said, “Yeah. I wanted to alert you that I’ll be sending along a report soon that you’ll probably want to hand-walk over to the attorney general’s office. It’s as dirty up here as you said it might be and maybe even worse. That grand jury idea you had might be the ticket for something this big and this wide-ranging. The whole county seems to be rotten to the core.”

He checked his notes and did another count before proceeding.

“Right,” he said. “Anyway, I’m no lawyer or prosecutor, but by tomorrow afternoon I think I’ll have enough hard evidence of a criminal conspiracy for you to get some subpoenas and indictments going. I’m meeting with a confidential informant later this afternoon, so I can get the statement on tape, and another CI tomorrow morning who is on the inside. Both have given me enough to go on, but I need to do this formally for the report. Are we okay proceeding without me putting their actual names into the document?”

Joe looked over at Daisy, who was sitting on her haunches, watching the phantom conversation take place with great interest. He waggled his eyebrows at her, and in response her tail swept back and forth across the floor.

“Okay, good,” he said, turning back to his notebook. “They don’t want their names out there for fear of reprisals. And up here, that’s something that I wouldn’t put past them. Everybody up here seems to be in communication.

“So as long as I have your word the CIs will be protected for now, I can assure them they can talk. But from what I’m getting so far, at the very least you’ll have a RICO case to start that will probably include a bunch of other charges once you force them to testify in front of the grand jury.

“Okay, you said you wanted some names so you could get the paperwork started. I’ll spell them when we’re done. Ready?”

Joe gave it half a minute. “The first is William ‘Bill’ Critchfield. He’s a local thug with a long rap sheet that ended five years ago.

“Eugene ‘Gene’ Smith is an associate of Critchfield’s. Same deal with him. Both of them, I believe, are employed by Sand Creek Ranch to keep the locals quiet and pacified. They do it through intimidation. In addition to my two CIs, I think we’ll find plenty of people around here who will testify to what Critchfield and Smith have been up to the last five years. Once you’ve got them in custody where they can’t hurt or threaten anyone, I’m guessing we’ll have some more folks come forward.

“Okay, next there’s County Sheriff R. C. Mead. He seems to know everything that’s going on around here, except he shows a blind eye when it comes to Critchfield and Smith. I’d suggest getting a subpoena going so you can look at his bank records. I wouldn’t be surprised to find some payments coming in other than his salary. He’s a slick old coot and he knows how the game is played, so he’ll be slippery. But I think he’ll wise up if he’s actually facing jail time. No former sheriff wants to wind up in Rawlins with inmates they may have put there.

“Judge Ethan Bartholomew is next. Oh, you already know how to spell his name? Good. The judge is in cahoots with Mead. They work together to make sure connected guys like Critchfield and Smith are allowed to operate without any interference from other law enforcement who might not be in on the take. Yes, a judge. That’s how deep it goes. Check his bank records also, as well as his court docket. It will be interesting to find out what cases weren’t brought before him, or were brought and dismissed outright.

“Sheriff Mead may turn on Bartholomew, or the other way around, in exchange for some kind of deal. But that’s up to you.”

Joe took a sip of water — too much talking — before continuing.

“Two more,” he said, rolling his eyes to himself but cognizant of the importance to continue to play it straight. He only had one take, and it had to be credible. “James ‘Jim’ Latta. He’s the local game warden, it pains me to say. I don’t know about payments, but there is definitely some quid pro quo going on that may raise to the level of bribery.

“There’s another guy,” Joe said, letting his voice rise with speculation, “a guest of the Sand Creek Ranch. He’s a southern gentleman who comes across as snooty and out of place. I don’t know what his role is, but he’s obviously close to the big guy. He fishes with a cane rod, and you know how expensive those things are. He goes by the name Whip, which might be short for something. I don’t have his full name yet, but I’ll have it by tonight or tomorrow. It’s just my gut saying this, but I think once we look into him we might find some surprising things. You should run that aka through your databases and see if he turns up. Can’t be that many guys named Whip.

“Yeah, that’s a lot,” Joe said. “And it’s possible I might add to that list or need to revise it. I think we both know how high it might go.

“In fact,” Joe said, “I met the man himself today. You couldn’t meet a nicer guy. But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that when the indictments start coming down on their heads, one or more of these guys will crack when you start squeezing them individually. They’ll deal and point the finger higher up.

“So that’s it for now,” Joe said.

Then, after a beat: “Thank you, Don. I appreciate that. Just keep an eye on your email inbox, and happy reading.”

Joe discontinued the call. He realized he was covered with a thin film of sweat, even though the room was cool. He closed his eyes and replayed his words, hoping he hadn’t tripped himself up, but realized — and feared — there wasn’t much he could do if he had.

After changing out of his uniform into a worn snap-button cowboy shirt and black fleece vest, he threw all of his clothes and possessions into the duffel bag on the bed. He left his shaving kit in the bathroom, though, so it would look like he was staying the night. All he’d have to do was snatch it and toss it into the duffel if he had to make a quick exit. While he glanced around to make sure he’d gotten everything, he found it hard not to look up at the ceiling.

Joe called Daisy and went outside to his pickup and let her bound into the cab. As he left the Whispering Pines for the afternoon, he noted Anna watching him from the office window.