That left only two ends to tie up before heading back to San Diego. The first was his car, which had almost certainly been impounded. Given the size of the town and the building he now sat in, his best guess was that it was sitting less than fifty yards away from him, keys inside, ready to take him home. There would be the issue of the gun inside, and despite it being registered in California, that could pose a problem.
The other was the guide, Hawk. He’d yet to so much as see a picture of the man, since the article in the paper hadn’t mentioned him at all. It didn’t appear he had been by his office in a few days, either, so the number of places he could be by now were infinite.
The sound of a door opening at the end of the hall drew Pavel from his thoughts, and he rotated his head toward it. He waited in silence until two men appeared before raising his head and sitting up straighter.
The man on the right was the West Yellowstone sheriff, the man who had booked Pavel earlier in the day. He had sandy-brown hair and a matching moustache. The legs of his tan uniform were rumpled from his sitting for most of the day. He kept his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his trousers as he walked, his attention aimed at the cell.
Beside him was a man in his late thirties to early forties whom Pavel had never seen before. He had blue-black hair parted severely to the side and a heavy five o’clock shadow. His tie was loosened away from his neck. In his hand he carried a thin green folder.
Both men stood in front of the cell for a long time before either spoke, the sheriff deferring to the man by his side.
“Good evening. I’m Special Agent Andrew Cofey, FBI, assigned to Yellowstone Park. I apologize for the delay in getting here, but I had business on the south end of the park today that kept me away.
“Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Pavel stared back at them without making a sound. His first impression when seeing the pair walk up was that they would try to play good cop/bad cop on him. It was now apparent they were eschewing the bad-cop portion and going straight for the kindness approach. Offering condolences up front, not dragging him into an interrogation room, asking if they could talk to him, as if he had a choice in the matter.
Their manner was clear enough. It was their motive he wasn’t so certain about.
“FBI?” Pavel said, his voice thick and gruff from a day of going unused. He was more surprised than he let himself show, not expecting a federal presence over a simple break-in.
Cofey glanced over at the sheriff and said, “Because Yellowstone Park is federal land, the FBI keeps a special agent on hand for all investigations within its boundaries. I understand you have a connection to one such investigation.”
Pavel furled his brow tight and said, “A connection? You mean my sister?”
Cofey opened the folder in his hand and extracted a single glossy photo from it, holding it up to the bars. “You mean this woman? A—” he paused a moment, consulting the file “—Lita Haney?”
For the first time, Pavel stood, pushing himself up from the cot with great effort. He slowly put one foot at a time out in front of him, measuring his steps, keeping his gaze on the image. How he handled the next few minutes would determine the outcome of his plan, dictate if his ruse had any chance of succeeding.
He walked to the bars and wrapped his massive hands around them, staring at the photo. He did his best to wear a morose look before glancing back to Cofey and nodding. “Yes. That is Lita. Was Lita.”
Cofey stared at Pavel a moment before lowering the photo and putting it back in the folder.
Where he stood was close enough Pavel could have reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, jerking his body forward into the bars, dropping him unconscious to the floor. For just a moment he entertained the idea, thinking of the sickening crack his skull would make, of the sight of his blood on the concrete floor, but he quickly let the notion go. The sheriff was beyond reach, and despite any obvious physical advantages Pavel had on him, the bars separating them and the gun on the man’s hip more than compensated for them.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cofey said, backing up a few inches and clasping his hands in front of him, the folder cradled in his right palm.
Pavel noticed that they hadn’t asked any follow-up about his being related to Lita, meaning they had already run his license against hers and found the identities solid.
“How did she die?” he asked, sure to keep his voice low.
Cofey shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, but right now that is an ongoing investigation. I really can’t share any details.”
Pavel nodded and lowered his gaze to the floor. “I understand. When can I take her home?”
Again Cofey shook his head. “Same answer, I’m afraid. We’ll take good care of her until the investigation is over, and then see to it she is returned for a proper funeral.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you tell me what she was doing up here?” Cofey asked, shifting gears.
“I don’t know a lot,” Pavel said, head still aimed at the floor. “My mother called and said she had come up to bring home our friend Matthew. He worked for us in the family business, running the finances.”
Cofey went back into the file and produced a second photo. “Is this your friend Matthew?”
Pavel raised his gaze and stared at the image of Mateo Perez a moment before nodding his head. His reason for being in Montana was now confirmed. “Matthew was an excellent accountant, but he was troubled. Sometimes he would take off by himself, and my sister would have to go find him, bring him home.”
Cofey put the photo back and again glanced at the sheriff. “So this wasn’t the first time?”
“No,” Pavel said. “But this was the first time we’d lost contact with her, too. After a day or two, we started to worry. After a week, my mother asked me to come check on her.”
“I see,” Cofey said, stepping back once more and nodding. “And that’s how you came to be breaking into the Hawk’s Eye Tours office this morning when Sheriff Latham’s deputies found you?”
Pavel had to force the corners of his mouth not to curl up into a smile. It was such a basic interrogation technique, such rudimentary questioning by someone who clearly had no idea who stood before him, or of the things he’d been through.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I didn’t take anything, and I will pay to replace the window. It’s just, when I got there and saw the sign that it was closed for the winter . . .”
“What made you go there to begin with?” Cofey asked.
The question stuck in the back of Pavel’s mind. It was an odd thing to ask, something that should have been self-explanatory to them.
“She told us the last time we spoke that was who she had hired as a guide.”
Cofey and the sheriff both traded another look before Cofey drew his mouth into a line and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Haney. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll need to keep you here another day or two on the breaking-and-entering charge, at least until we get this investigation wrapped up.”
Pavel knew the American justice system well enough to know that was not at all how things were usually handled. If they planned to keep him, he was entitled to a lawyer, some more formal explanation of his charges than an off-handed comment about breaking and entering.
Whatever reason they had for keeping him meant they wanted him close, and they wanted him talking. Starting the process formally eliminated both of those things.
“Have a good evening,” Cofey said, motioning Sheriff Latham toward the door. Together they shuffled away, shoes dragging against concrete, until they were just a few feet from the door before Cofey turned, raising a finger at Pavel.
“Oh, one last thing. Your sister wasn’t by chance missing a hand, was she?”
Pavel stared back at Cofey a long moment, his face neutral, before twisting it up into a look of surprise. �
�No, both there the last time I saw her. Why?”
Cofey nodded without responding and turned toward the door, disappearing through it, the sheriff right behind him. Pavel stared after them a long moment before returning to the cot and taking a seat.
The question had been meant to try and get under his skin, to pry free some bit of information that he had yet to give them. In truth, it had told him everything he needed to know.
The guide was still alive, and he was on the hunt.
Chapter Fifteen
The living room of Hutch’s place was outfitted much the same as the kitchen and study. Dark wood lined the floors and walls, the furniture bathed in deep hues of cranberry and brown. A comically large flat screen television filled one entire wall while framed paintings of landscapes covered the others.
The spoils of a bloated government salary.
The oversized leather sofa seemed to swallow me whole as I leaned back into it, the plush cushioned seats enveloping my body. I fought the sensation for a moment, trying to keep myself perched on the edge, before letting go and falling back into the sofa. A puff of air rose up around me as I did, hissing into my ears, as the chair molded itself to my contours.
I propped my elbow on the arm of the sofa, using it to hold my cell phone in place against my head. Kaylan had called five hours earlier while we were in the bowels of the DEA. She’d left a message stating it was important I call her back, but she hadn’t mentioned what had happened or why it was so dire we speak.
She was about the only person in all of Montana I had even the slightest bit of loyalty to, and her calling proved she was okay. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for talking on the phone, but if she claimed it was urgent, I did at least owe her the courtesy of believing it.
Without ringing once, an automated voice told me to enjoy the music as a bad rendition of “Over The Rainbow” played. Bypassing the usual ukulele and bongos for a jazz piano and flute, it sounded like something from a hotel lounge show, bringing a wince to my face and causing me to hold the phone an inch away from my head.
Not until I heard Kaylan’s voice come on the line did I press it back to my ear.
“Hawk! Where the hell have you been?” Kaylan snapped, not bothering with a greeting of any kind.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I said, a tiny bit of sarcasm present, just enough to let her know I didn’t appreciate the tone, but I wasn’t too upset about it.
“Sorry,” she said, backing off an inch or two. “It’s just, I called you like six times this morning, every one of them went straight to voice mail. I started to get worried.”
My body grew a touch rigid as she explained. There were times when I’d been out of contact in the park for days at a time and she hadn’t blinked an eye. For her to be so worried about a few hours' absence meant something had her spooked.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The shop was broken into this morning.” Kaylan shoved the words out in a quick string, bunched so tight it sounded like one unending sound.
My heart rate ticked up a single beat as I processed the information, blowing a long breath out through my nose. “How bad?”
“Not bad at all,” Kaylan said. “The guy broke the rear window and climbed in, setting off the motion sensors. Patrol was right down the street and showed up within five minutes. From what I can tell he didn’t get anything.”
“Local guy?” I asked, rubbing my brow. It wasn’t the first time a business in town had been vandalized, usually by some kids out after a football game, looking to blow off some steam.
“Not at all,” Kaylan said. “I haven’t seen him, but Latham said the guy’s a giant, looks like one of the villains from an old Superman movie. Claims he’s that girl’s brother, just here trying to find her. They’re holding him at the department now.”
The information fed itself into the tangle already bouncing around in my mind, trying to find a niche where it made sense. The likelihood of this random Lita showing up, asking me to take her to Mateo, whom she killed, and then my office being broken into a week later by a man claiming to be related to her was just too much to write off as coincidence.
It had to all fit together, I just had no idea how.
“Damn,” I muttered, my voice low.
“I know,” Kaylan said, empathy in her tone. “Sheriff Latham said he tried to call you, but when he couldn’t get through he contacted me.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, barely hearing what she was saying, my thoughts far away.
“I went over and did a quick walk-through with Deputy Ferry just to assess the damages, but I haven’t been back since. Felt kind of spooky in there, even with him by my side.”
I blinked twice, forcing myself back into the present, and shook my head hard to clear it. “Yeah, no, that makes sense. If you could, call Henry down the road and ask him to fix the window. Pay him whatever it takes, just put it on the company account.”
“All right,” Kaylan whispered. “You okay, Hawk?”
“I am,” I said, nodding at the painting of a purple sunset over the desert on the wall opposite me.
I hadn’t told Kaylan where I was going when I left. Hadn’t told her when I’d be back, either. The truth was I didn’t know the entire answer to those questions, and I damned sure didn’t want to put her in danger by someone thinking she did.
“Thanks for calling,” I said, a note of finality in my voice. “I’ll be in touch.”
I cut off the call and sat alone in the living room a moment, a fist raised to my mouth. I stared at the painting until my eyes glossed over, my vision going blurry as I tried to force everything together.
Try as I might, I couldn’t. There was just too much I didn’t yet know.
“Everything all right?” Hutch asked, snapping me awake. He strode in stocking feet across the hardwood floor, a tumbler in each hand, and extended one to me.
I accepted the drink with a nod, touching the rim of it to his with a clink. “Shop got broken into,” I said, lifting the glass to my lips. Out of reflex my body bristled as a few drops entered my throat, a conditioned response to years of being forced to share the alcohol Hutch enjoyed for himself, a cross between horse piss and rubbing alcohol.
To my surprise the amber-colored liquid slid down easily, leaving a sweet taste behind, as if laced with honey.
“Damn, that’s excellent,” I said.
“Ha!” Hutch spat, coughing out the laugh. “Johnnie Walker Blue. The good stuff.”
“I’ll say,” I agreed, taking one more sip before sliding it onto the table beside me. “Apparently my shop was broken into this morning by a mammoth claiming to be Lita’s brother.”
“Aw, hell. What’d he take?”
“Nothing, as far as we can tell.”
Hutch swigged down more of the whisky and smacked his lips, a sour expression on his face that I knew wasn’t derived from his drink. “That can’t just be a coincidence.”
“Not at all,” I agreed. “We get a hit back on her prints yet?”
“Not yet,” Hutch said, shaking his head. “She wasn’t in our system, so we had to expand the search. Apparently the NSA has been less than cooperative thus far in granting us access.”
“Dicks,” I muttered, pondering the situation. “Kaylan said they’re holding him now. Any chance they can keep him until we get an ID back on her?”
Hutch stared off a moment, rolling around the idea. “Depending on how long it takes. They can’t hold him indefinitely on what sounds like a simple B&E, especially if he didn’t take anything. That takes it clear down to criminal trespass, a misdemeanor.”
“Right,” I said, nodding in agreement. I pondered everything in silence a moment before beginning to think out loud. “At the moment there are two bodies in the morgue at Yellowstone jail. One I knew from a lifetime before, the other had made a point of bring
ing me in to go find him and letting me see him die.”
“To make a point? Or did she think she was doing you a favor?” Hutch asked.
The question set me back a moment; I hadn’t thought of that possibility yet. “But a favor how? I didn’t, don’t, know the woman. And why would they go to that length to do it anyway? I’ve been out of the game for five years now.”
“Amongst Injuns, a tribe’s greatness is figured on how mighty its enemies be.”
I nodded at the movie line, agreeing with the sentiment, even if I was still unsure how I fit in. I chewed on it another moment before letting it go and reaching for my drink.
“All right,” I said, pushing the words out with a lengthy sigh, “what do we do now?”
Hutch twirled the glass in his hand a moment, its contents spinning around. He kept his focus aimed at it a long moment and said, “The way I see it, we’ve got two things going simultaneously. We’ve got this break-in up north and that whole mess.”
“And we’ve got whatever’s happening in the south that sent Mateo on the run to begin with,” I finished.
“So,” Hutch said, finally taking his gaze from his drink and looking up at me. “I go one way, you go the other?”
Chapter Sixteen
The eleven-hour time difference meant that it was ten a.m. in Russia as Viktor Blok shut the door to his office and stepped inside. He had started checking his watch incessantly two hours before, careful not to get too caught up in the evening’s revelry to miss his appointment.
It was a standing call every Thursday night, first thing Friday morning back in Russia. A weekly check-in to let Sergey know how things were going, get an update on information that needed to be passed down.
Viktor shrugged off his purple velvet smoking jacket and let it drop to the floor behind him, leaving it where it lay as he walked through the room and took up a post behind his desk. He drew in a deep breath and pulled the phone receiver from its cradle, dropping it atop his table. The dial tone buzzed out from the speakers, filling the room.
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