Back of Beyond ch-1

by C. J. Box

  Which led to a new possibility in the murder scenario Cody had put together earlier.

  Maybe it wasn’t Hank who was going on the trip, he thought. Maybe it was his guest. Maybe the guest was showing Hank where he was headed next after leaving Helena. And as Hank read the screen, the visitor slipped behind him and hit him in the head with something.…

  “Shit,” Cody said, his mind swimming. Thinking, which trip? There were so many of them.…

  He flashed through them. Snake River. Geysers and Explorers. Slough Creek. Hoodoo Basin Progressive Pack Trip. Lower Falls Adventure. Lamar River. Electric Peak and Beyond.

  Then he brought up the calendar again.

  “Ah,” he said, and it all became clear. Cody had assumed Jed McCarthy had an army of guides and employees and trips going everywhere at once. But the calendar showed only June, July, August, and September. Within those months, three-, four-, five-, and seven-day blocks were marked out and color-coded by which trip was scheduled then. The trips didn’t overlap. So what appeared to be the deal was McCarthy and his people took a group out for three or four days and returned to the base camp. A few days later, he led another trip. One after the other from the last week of May through mid-September, the trips bookended by melting snow on one end and flying snow on the other.

  He clicked on the link that said “Meet Our Guides.” There were two of them. Jed McCarthy wore a big cowboy hat and a silk scarf and in the photo he was striking a manly pose. There was also a nice-looking woman named Dakota Hill, who was pictured with a horse. She looked young enough to be Jed McCarthy’s daughter.

  * * *

  His phone rang and he snatched it up. Larry.

  “I’m looking at that Web site…”

  “So am I,” Cody said. “I’ve got a question-did the IT folks fax you the specific page he was looking at? I mean, was it a specific trip?”

  “It was the home page,” Larry said. “But Hank had been looking at a bunch of the pages previous to that in the last ten minutes before. ‘What to Bring,’ ‘Menus,’ ‘Interactive Maps.’ He was really scoping out this Web site. Which makes me think Hank was either doing some research or planning to go on a trip.”

  “That doesn’t sound right to me,” Cody said. “It could be a side of Hank I never saw, but it doesn’t ring true. If this was the kind of thing he was into we should have found camping gear, saddles, a sleeping bag, that sort of thing. I don’t remember any outdoor gear at all, do you?”

  “It could have burned up in the fire,” Larry said, but not with much conviction. “And besides, how do we know he wasn’t just checking out the site? Maybe thinking about it for some other year? There’s nothing we’ve got that suggests he was planning a trip this summer.”

  Cody shook his head. “I’m not buying. Think about it. He buys dinner to cook, rushes home to greet his guest. He’s been gone for days. But instead of unpacking completely or getting dinner ready, he sits in his den and bounces around on the Internet? Does that make sense to you?”

  “No.”

  “But what if it was his guest?” Cody said. “What if the killer was showing Hank where he was going next?”

  Silence. “I hadn’t thought about that,” Larry said.

  “Just a second,” Cody said, clicking again on the calendar. “What is it, the thirtieth of June today?”

  Larry chuckled. “Yes.”

  “Well, according to the calendar, the biggest and longest trip of the year is this one called ‘Back of Beyond: The Ultimate Yellowstone Backcountry Adventure.’ A whole bunch of nights in the middle of nowhere.” Cody paused. “It leaves tomorrow, July 1.”

  Said Larry, “So if our man was headed south to Yellowstone to go on a trip with Jed McCarthy, even five nights ago, this would be the only one he could go on now.”

  “Yeah,” Cody said, “because according to this calendar, Jed was finishing up the Hoodoo Basin Trip then. He couldn’t have been on that.”

  “Boy,” Larry said, “we’re taking a mighty leap here. Just because Hank was looking at a Web site on the night he died, we’re saying the killer was headed to Yellowstone. I’m not sure I can buy that one without some kind of corroboration.”

  Cody groaned his assent. Then: “I wish that damned trip didn’t leave tomorrow morning. I wonder if it’s possible to get ahold of Jed and find out who’s on it? See if Hank’s name is on his guest list? Jed probably has a pretty complete manifest or whatever you call it. We can run all the names and see if any of them came from this direction, or if anyone has a record, or if we can link him up with Hank in any way.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Larry asked.

  “Police work,” Cody said.

  “Ha ha.”

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Cody said, “I’ll call you right back.”

  * * *

  He punched in the telephone number for Wilderness Adventures. They were based in Bozeman, meaning their headquarters was well outside the northern border of the park. If Jed was leading the trip the next morning, it was unlikely he’d be in Bozeman, but …

  Cody got a voice mail. An erudite man’s voice with a touch of country twang: “You’ve reached the voice mail of Jed McCarthy’s Wilderness Adventures, the home of the only licensed multinight outfitter in Yellowstone National Park. We’re on a pack trip right now so we’re unable to take your call. And because of the nature of the trip, I won’t be able to check messages for a week. Please go to our Web site and-”

  He hung up and called Larry back.

  “No one is there,” Cody said.

  “It’s ten at night, Cody. What did you expect? I’m sure there’ll be an office manager or somebody there tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Cody said. “These outfitter types are generally mom-and-pop operations. Believe me, I know. I grew up with them. My uncle Jeter used to manage his whole outfitting operation from scraps of paper he carried around in his shirt pocket. Jed is probably more sophisticated than that, but what if there isn’t anyone to check the files tomorrow and see who is on the trip? We can’t wait a week to find out who went. What if our killer is on this backcountry trip?”

  “Then he’ll still be there when they come back,” Larry said. “If any of this pans out we can be waiting for them wherever Jed’s base camp is located. That’ll give us time to run this all down, see if any of it makes sense. Then we’ll need to bring in the state boys and the Park Service rangers. We can’t just go charging down there.”

  “Hmmpf.”

  “You know we need more time and a hell of a lot more corroboration,” Larry said. “We start in Bozeman, at his office. He’s got to have someone there answering phones and keeping the business running while he’s out on a trip. Probably a receptionist or bookkeeper. We can call down and ask the sheriff or PD in Bozeman to be there when they open tomorrow morning.”

  Cody moaned. Tomorrow morning …

  Larry said, “This is quite a leap, Cody. Just because that page was on his computer doesn’t mean the killer is on the trip.”

  “I know that,” Cody said. “But it’s the only thing we’ve got that might indicate where he’s going. We have to rule it out first.”

  Larry said, “If somebody, say Dougherty, brought to you what we’ve got so far I can hear you laughing your head off.”

  Cody snorted. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I know.”

  Cody suddenly wanted a tall triple bourbon and water. He said, “If this killer is on the trip, though, how do we know he won’t be a danger to everyone else on it? This Web site says the trip is full. So we’re talking maybe a dozen people. It would be horrible if this guy is some kind of psycho-like the kind of person who would kill the most gentle man in the world and burn his place down around him. If we don’t go at this angle hard we may be putting innocent people in harm’s way.”

  “There’s that,” Larry said. “But still … I mean, I can’t spend all night on this and you got yourself suspended.�
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  “I know,” Cody said gruffly. “Jeez, I hate being in my house now. Can I ask you a favor?”

  Larry sighed. “Man, I’m doing overtime now. Bodean put out that memo about no more overtime without his authorization. I mean-”

  “We need to play catch-up,” Cody said, ignoring him. “Call RMIN and ViCAP, see if there are any other crimes similar to the Winters murder.”

  RMIN (pronounced “Rimin”) was the Rocky Mountain Information Network, a regional clearinghouse of incidents recorded in Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and New Mexico. ViCAP was the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program of the FBI. Both organizations had analysts on staff who could research similar crimes. ViCAP had profilers available as well as a password-protected Web site that could be accessed by law enforcement agencies after hours.

  “You’re grasping at straws,” Larry said. “We can’t do much more until tomorrow, Cody. Once we talk to the receptionist and hear back from RMIN and ViCAP, then maybe we’ll have something to go on.”

  “I know. But that trip leaves tomorrow morning. Call those guys, Larry. Get things going.”

  “You owe me so many dinners,” Larry said, and slammed down his phone.

  * * *

  While he waited, he did another Google search on the outfitting company, hoping he could find another contact, maybe an after-hours number. He assumed Jed and his people and horses were already in Yellowstone at their base camp, likely out of cell phone range. But surely he would have a way to communicate with his office, Cody thought. Like to check on clients who were late or didn’t show up? Although he couldn’t find any way to make contact other than the office number, e-mail address, and Web site, he did find an old online article from the Bozeman Chronicle: SALE OF PARK OUTFITTING BUSINESS PENDING NPS APPROVAL.

  Even though he couldn’t see how it would be of much help, Cody read it. It was from February, five years before.

  Bozeman newcomer Jedediah McCarthy announced on Wednesday that he was awaiting National Park Service approval to acquire the assets of Wilderness Adventures, the longtime outfitting operation specializing in Yellowstone Park pack trips. McCarthy said he intended to continue the legacy established by Frank “Bull” Mitchell, who ran the company for the past 32 years.

  McCarthy stated he planned to maintain the quality of the company and perhaps-with NPS approval-expand the available multiday excursions into the most remote reaches of Yellowstone Park.

  “It’s time,” Mitchell told the Chronicle, “Somebody else can put up with all that Park Service BS…”

  McCarthy aims to emphasize low-impact camping with a greater emphasis on the unique properties of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, he said.…

  Cody read the rest of the article but found it boring: Jed McCarthy extolling the virtues of his trip and the excellent and professional methodology of the National Park Service. Stroking bureaucrats in the paper while they considered your application, Cody thought. No wonder he got the concession.

  He smiled and jotted down the name “Frank ‘Bull’ Mitchell.”

  * * *

  Then it hit him and he called Jenny again as panic rose inside.

  She sounded groggy. “When I said call again, I didn’t mean midnight.”

  “I’m sorry, but I just thought of something. It’s nuts, but I have to make sure I’m wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Justin and His Richness. Where did you say they went?”

  “Wyoming. I told you-”

  “I know. But where specifically did they go? And did they go on their own? Is His Richness driving them around, or what?”

  “Well, he drove them there. But they’re going on some kind of long wilderness trip in Yellowstone Park. With some outfitter on horses-”

  “Jesus,” Cody said.

  “What? You’re scaring me, Cody.”

  “Don’t be scared,” he said to her as well as to himself. “Just find the name of the outfit they’re using.”

  “I think I have a brochure,” she said. “But I can’t call them. Justin said they’d be out of cell phone range…”

  “Jenny,” he said, “we might have a big problem.”

  * * *

  Cody had the Ford backed up to his open garage door and was throwing gear into it-sleeping bag, tent, pad, cooking set, Uncle Jeter’s old saddle-when Larry pulled his SUV into the driveway and blocked him.

  Larry kept his motor running and his headlights on and swung out. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I was out here,” Cody said.

  “You can’t leave. You know that. You’ll give the sheriff a damned good reason to fire you.”

  Cody said, “Let him.”

  Larry spun Cody around so they were face to face. “Have you been drinking?” Larry asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Larry leaned forward on the balls of his feet and stared into Cody’s eyes. Cody didn’t flinch, and said, “Get any closer and I’ll clock you.”

  Larry relaxed a little, apparently content that Cody was sober. “You need to slow down. It’s two thirty in the morning. You can’t just run away in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m not running,” Cody said. “I’m pursuing a lead.”

  “You’re not a cop right now.”

  Cody shrugged. “I’m always a fucking cop.”

  “I was afraid you were going to do this,” Larry said. “All I can say is it’s stupid, and useless, and you’re doing more harm than good.”

  “Sounds like me,” Cody said. “Hey, why don’t you give me a hand. I was looking for an old pack saddle of my uncle’s in that mess of a garage. Maybe you can find it.”

  “To hell with that,” Larry said, squinting past Cody toward the garage. It was piled with junk Cody had never bothered to unpack or organize. His disabled pickup truck took up most of the space.

  “Look,” Larry said. “I left messages at RMIN and ViCAP, but nobody is working tonight. We should hear back from them first thing in the morning. There’s no reason for you to leave tonight and risk your job. And risk my job, because if you take off now they’ll ask me if I knew you went.”

  Said Cody, “Tell them the truth, Larry. Tell them you tried to talk me out of it but you couldn’t.”

  Larry shook his head, and his eyes flashed with anger. “Cody, damn you, I can’t risk this job. I’ve got child support payments and no one is hiring. I have to stay in this town to be near my kids. You can’t put me in this position. You’re such an asshole.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cody said, flicking a cigarette butt into the street where it exploded in a shower of little sparks. He lit another. “I know,” he said, drawing deep, “but-”

  “I found something,” Larry cut in. “On the ViCAP Web site.”

  Cody went silent, squinting at Larry’s face through the smoke.

  “We won’t know for sure if we’ve got anything until I can talk to an analyst or profiler tomorrow. But since they’re on eastern time, I should hear back from them early tomorrow.”

  “What did you find?” Cody asked.

  “I used the national crime database they’ve got,” Larry said, dragging it out like he always did. “I used the keywords murder, arson, single victim, head injury, I don’t remember what else. Just trying to find out if there were any hits. It isn’t an exact science…”

  Cody felt something red and hot pop behind his eyes and reached out as if he were going to grab Larry’s throat. Larry anticipated the move and ducked to the side.

  “What did you find, goddamn you?” Cody hissed.

  “Four of ’em,” Larry said.

  Cody’s mouth dropped. “Four?”

  “One in Virginia a month ago. One in Minnesota two weeks ago. Hank Winters. And another one in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, two nights ago. Three men, one woman. All professional, middle-aged. Alone at the time. No suspects in any of them, and as far as I could tell no one has linked them up yet. They’re all classified as still under inve
stigation, although they read like accidents. Just like ours.”

  “Four?”

  Larry nodded. “Of course, we won’t know until-”

  Cody said, “Justin is on that trip.”

  Larry rubbed his eyes. “Oh no, man.”

  “You need to move your rig,” Cody said. “I need to get the hell out of here to Bozeman.”

  Larry sighed and his shoulders slumped.

  “Larry, move your truck.”

  * * *

  Cody roared down down U.S. 287 toward Townsend, the flat south end of Canyon Ferry Lake shimmering with moonlight. The night was warm and he kept his windows open so the rush of air would keep him awake. Synapses in his brain seemed to be firing with the crackling machine-gun rhythm of a spark plug. He shot by the sleeping ranch houses and barns, past the faded wooden archway to the ranch his friend Jack McGuane’s parents still ran.

  The sight of the ranch brought back a flood of memories both painful and euphoric. A year and a half before, he’d laid it all out there for his friends Jack and Melissa McGuane. In the end he’d lost his boyhood friend Brian Eastman, gutted his own reputation, and lost his stripes in the Denver PD, but it all still felt right to him. Even with the high body count of scumbags, he’d gleefully do it all over again.

  That was the thing, he thought. Throughout his life his friends, lovers, and colleagues wondered aloud what made him tick. As if he were like Churchill’s description of Russia, a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,” when really it was so damned simple. So damned simple. Cody was born damaged. His Maker had flinched when soldering his hard wires together, and they would always short out or overheat at the wrong time. He could probably blame his white-trash family for his criminal tendencies and penchant for self-delusion and self-medication, but he didn’t believe in justifying bad behavior with that kind of touchy-feely crap. Cody was not good and he was incapable of being good, but that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize and revere goodness, and he’d do anything-anything-to protect those blessed with clean, unimpeded wiring. Like his friends the McGuanes, whom he’d helped. Like Hank Winters, whom he’d failed. Like Justin, his miracle son, whom he had to save.