by C. J. Box
Cotton was contemplating whether to tell Joe the truth or make up a story.
Finally, he said, “We’re lookin’ for Fark, right? We just care about finding him right now. We’re not hunting elk and you aren’t on patrol, right?”
Joe stifled a smile. “I’m not on patrol, but I’m always on duty. Are you asking me if I’d write you up for a violation right now if you confessed to one?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“It depends how bad it is.”
“Didn’t you arrest the governor once for fishing without a license?”
“Yup.”
“So that story is true.”
“It is.”
Cotton thought that over. Finally, he said, “You know where our camp is, right? Back there on the bank of the South Fork?”
Joe said, “I think so. Just a clearing next to a big granite rock with a fire pit and a game pole nailed to a couple of trees?”
Joe didn’t mention the empty beer cans strewn about or the broken glass tromped into the mud. He hated a dirty camp. Farkus was famous for always doing the absolute minimum required in any situation.
Cotton said, “That’s it. Not much to write home about. Fark used to use it when he was a guide. But the great thing is, we could drive our vehicles within fifty yards of it, drag the tents and coolers over, and nobody ever bothered us.”
Coolers in a camp attracted bears and other predators. Food was supposed to be hung at least ten feet up in a tree that was at least a hundred yards from the camp itself. But Farkus wasn’t only lazy, he was old-school. He’d rather shoot at a visiting bear than prevent it from showing up in the first place.
Joe bit his tongue and said, “Go on.”
“You sure you ain’t gonna write me up?”
“It depends on what you did.”
“That’s not real sporting, you know.”
“It’s as far as I’ll go.”
Cotton rolled his eyes and blew a disgusted breath through his nose. Joe thought Cotton and Farkus made good hunting partners. The two of them belonged together.
Cotton said, “Okay, well, when we pulled into where our camp was, I looked up, and damned if there wasn’t a cow elk and calf standing right there in the trees. Right there! You know how unusual that is. I knew they’d run off if I climbed out of the truck and stood there loading my rifle, so I grabbed this”—he patted the holster of a handgun on his belt—“and shot her right there.”
Joe shook his head. It was a violation to hunt elk with a Colt M1911 .45 and to fire it from inside a vehicle.
“I know, I know,” Cotton said before Joe could speak. “I shoulda got out and used my rifle, because that cow just run off on me after I popped her. It wasn’t enough gun to put her down.”
Joe said nothing, which made Cotton nervous enough that he talked faster.
“I knew I had a wounded elk out there. I didn’t know how far she’d go before she laid down.
“So instead of helping Fark set up the camp like I normally would have, I grabbed my rifle and took off after that cow. There was a blood trail, not much of one, but I followed it for eight hours, and I never did find that elk.”
Joe looked over and Cotton wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I hate to tell you that story,” Cotton said. “Not because you might give me a ticket, but because I was so fucking stupid. I hate to wound an animal and not find it. I hated to give up on her trail that night, but I was starting to run out of light, so I headed back. When I finally got back to our camp, Fark wasn’t there, just like I told the sheriff. I thought he’d show up any minute, because he left the steaks out and everything, but he never came back.”
“What time did you get back to find him gone?” Joe asked.
Cotton tipped his head back and looked at the sky. “It was about an hour before it got dark. So maybe around five-thirty.”
“Did you look for Farkus the next morning?” Joe asked.
Cotton shrugged. “I circled around the camp for hours, but didn’t get too far away from it. Remember, I didn’t know which direction he’d gone. I didn’t want to get lost myself, and I didn’t want to be gone from the camp if he came back. So finally I called it in.”
“Did you ever locate the dead elk?”
Cotton looked down at his hands as he rode. “No.”
“Did you see or hear anything that suggested there were others up here?”
“I thought I heard another truck in the late afternoon. That was about seven hours after I left to find that cow elk—so maybe around four or four-thirty. But I couldn’t tell if it was coming toward the camp or driving away. I never saw it.”
Joe said, “Did Farkus mention anything to you about hearing something in the bar the night before?”
Cotton said, “You gotta understand, we barely got a chance to talk to each other. He came by my place at six in the morning and we drove separate vehicles up here. We barely exchanged three words in the morning. When we got to our camp, I shot at that cow and took off after her. And I haven’t seen or talked to him since.
“You know what his last words to me were?” Cotton asked.
“What?”
“Well, first he cussed at me for making him set up the camp by himself. Then he said, ‘Cotton, you dumb-ass, you shot that elk in the butt. Joe Pickett will jump down your throat if he finds out.’”
Joe said, “He was right. But I’ll wait until this is over.”
Cotton moaned. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“No,” Joe said. “You should have killed that cow elk and not let her run away to suffer and die and leave her calf out here alone.”
“Do you think I feel good about that?” Cotton said. Joe was surprised that the man’s eyes were moist when he looked over. “Do you think I’m proud of the fact that I left my hunting buddy?”
Joe didn’t respond.
“Fark was right,” Cotton said. “You can be a real hard-ass.”
—
“COTTON SAID he heard another vehicle up here around four or four-thirty that afternoon,” Joe said to Spivak after he’d slowed Toby so the undersheriff could catch up to him. Cotton had ridden ahead, grumbling under his breath.
“I don’t think he told the sheriff that,” Spivak said. “That’s kind of important information for us to know, wouldn’t you think?”
“Yup.”
The two rode side by side, and Spivak leaned over and spoke quietly.
“Do you think Cotton had anything to do with it?”
Joe shook his head. “I think if anything, he’s dumber than Farkus. Lazier, too. I think Cotton was trying to track down a wounded elk like he said he was. That, and avoiding the work of setting up the camp.”
“Four-thirty,” Spivak repeated. “So we can assume that’s when Dallas Cates showed up to confront Farkus. We can also assume Cates parked where Farkus and Cotton left their vehicles, which would cut off any escape down the road. So maybe Cates confronted Farkus on foot at the elk camp and Farkus took off running.”
“Maybe,” Joe said. “Cotton said Farkus was gone when he got back around five-thirty.”
“And it’s dark at, what? Six-thirty?” Spivak asked.
“Yup. Six forty-one, to be exact.”
When Spivak eyed him, Joe said, “I keep track, because it’s illegal to shoot a big-game animal beyond thirty minutes after sundown.”
Spivak said, “Ah, good. So now we have the basis of a timeline. It means that poor son of a bitch Farkus was likely being hunted that night and all the next day. They didn’t find him until last night, which tells me a couple of things.
“First, Cates was determined to find Farkus, even if it took that long. That’s a real commitment. Second, Cates knew these mountains well enough to stay up here and track down a man who’d hunted around here for year
s and knew this country well.”
Joe nodded, waiting for more.
Spivak was square-jawed and clean-shaven, and his uniform, even after riding for hours, looked crisp and neat. Joe thought he would look like a cop even if he wasn’t one. He’d become involved in his church and the community. The undersheriff had a twelve-year-old daughter named Caitlin who was a prodigy as a gymnast. Lester and his wife spent their weekends taking her to gymnastics competitions, where she usually won. He’d tell anyone who was around him that she had the potential to be an Olympian, if only they could find a way to send her to an elite camp—which they couldn’t do on his salary. Joe, like many others in Twelve Sleep County, thought Spivak would likely succeed Sheriff Reed when the sheriff retired.
“You know, I partly blame myself for this,” Spivak said.
“For what?”
“I saw Farkus outside the Stockman’s Bar the night before he went hunting. I cruised by and saw him out there with two other men. I know now the one in the hat was Dallas Cates. I don’t know who the other one was.”
Joe was interested.
Spivak sighed and said, “You know how it is when you do this job long enough and sometimes you just get a feeling about something. When I first saw the three of them, they were standing close together on the sidewalk—which meant to me they were either really close friends or they were about to get into a fight. I was thinking fight by the way Farkus was standing. He was back on his heels like he was ready to take a punch.
“But when I drove closer, Cates and the other big guy kind of separated from Farkus, and Farkus turned and waved at me like everything was fine. Like we were big buddies. I should have stopped and questioned them, but they didn’t give me any reason to do that, and Sheriff Reed doesn’t like to hear that his guys are out rousting innocent civilians with no probable cause. But if I had, I could have positively ID’d Dallas Cates and we’d know for sure he was back in the county. It might have scared him off coming after Farkus the next day.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Joe offered.
“I know. But I had a gut feeling when I first saw them that something was going on. I should have followed up.”
Joe wished Spivak had, too, but he didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did.
“I talked to Wanda Stacy this morning,” Spivak said. “She’s the one Buck Timberman picked to take over day-to-day operations at the Stockman’s. She’s the wrong choice, but that’s between those two. Anyway, Wanda said she could positively identify Cates if she saw him again. She described two other guys with him in the bar that night pretty well. One was a big guy with a busted nose, and the other one she said looked like a weasel. Plus some gal they were with, but she didn’t get a good look at her.”
“Is that the best description she could come up with for the two males with Cates?” Joe asked. “A broken nose and a weasel?”
Spivak snorted. He said, “I don’t think Wanda really paid any attention to anyone other than Dallas Cates.”
“Ah,” Joe said. “I’ve seen what kind of effect he has on some women.”
“I bet you have,” Spivak said.
“It sounds like Cates was the only local, or Wanda would have said otherwise. That’s interesting.”
“Maybe Dallas recruited some help,” Spivak said. “He’s always attracted people to him, even when he was in high school. He’s kind of a charismatic son of a bitch.”
Joe grunted.
“So we know we can place Cates and his pals in the Stockman’s that night with Farkus, where Farkus overheard them plotting something, according to that message he left you. That might be motive right there.”
Spivak’s horse was getting ahead. Joe clucked his tongue, signaling to Toby to speed it up a little.
He asked, “When Wanda says there were two men and one woman with Dallas Cates, does that mean they all came in together or they met up inside?”
“I got the impression from her they all came in together and left together after Farkus went home, but I’ll follow up with her on that.”
Joe nodded but didn’t say anything.
“We need to find those bastards before they hurt anyone else,” Spivak said, his voice getting tense. “Dallas Cates is a cancer on the good people of this county. He comes from a white-trash family that’s poisonous to anyone with whom they come in contact. I don’t want my beautiful girl growing up in a place where they have to deal with scumbags like Dallas Cates running around.”
Joe was surprised at Spivak’s vehemence. He’d never seen him so passionate.
“Let’s not get too out in front of our skis,” Joe said. “Think about what happened last time.”
“What happened was that the Cates family declared war and they lost. You of all people have to agree with me on that, right?”
Spivak leaned forward in his saddle and searched Joe’s face for something. He said, “You’ve been affected more by the Cates clan than just about anybody.”
“I have,” Joe said.
“We all know what he said before he got sent to Rawlins. How he was going to come back here someday to settle scores. And it looks like he’s only getting started.”
“Let’s just make sure we do this right,” Joe said. “What I mean is, I don’t want to get carried away going after him if the evidence doesn’t support it. The reason he spent less than two years in prison and he’s out now is because we bulled ahead in the wrong direction for too long. Dallas is smart. He takes after Brenda, not Eldon. He won’t make it easy, and he would happily lead us down the wrong path so we screw up. I’m just saying we need to go into this with our eyes wide open to the fact that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t behind everything that happens.”
Spivak looked at Joe with pained surprise.
“We don’t know what Dallas and Farkus talked about,” Joe said. “We don’t know if Dallas came up here after him, and we don’t know if Dallas tracked him down and murdered him. We don’t even know if it was Farkus I saw on that screen being gunned down. So I think we should figure those things out before we decide the only thing we can do is put Dallas Cates in the ground.”
“What are you talking about?” Spivak was obviously offended.
“I’m just saying we need to keep an open mind,” Joe said. “We’re assuming it was Cates. But what if it wasn’t? I’ve been chasing a poaching ring for two months and haven’t made a lick of progress. What if Dave saw something go down and the violators realized they’d been seen and decided to go after him?”
Spivak shook his head. He said, “Joe, I’m open to any theory that makes sense if the evidence supports it. I’m not here to target one individual. I’m not a rogue cop. I’m not a vigilante.”
“Good.”
“I’m disappointed that you even suggested it. All I’m doing is coming up with a logical theory that factors in what we know so far.”
“We don’t know all that much, Lester,” Joe said.
“We all need to be on the same page,” Spivak said. “I can’t have guys on my search-and-rescue team who’re questioning everything I do.”
“I understand.”
“Do you, Joe?” Spivak asked.
Before Joe could respond, Spivak’s radio crackled to life. It was Sheriff Reed asking for their location.
Joe used the opportunity to pull up on the reins so Spivak’s horse slipped past him. Then Joe guided Toby back into the string behind Spivak.
They’d talked enough, he thought.
—
IT WAS SNOWING HARD when Joe saw the three ravens circling over the trees several hundred yards ahead. He knew the presence of ravens meant something was dead. That’s how he’d located dozens of game carcasses over the years.
He got Spivak’s attention and leaned forward in his saddle to point out the birds. Spivak did a cross-check of the coordin
ates on his handheld GPS.
“We’re here,” he said to Joe and the others.
Joe felt himself tense up and he checked his weapons. His .40 Glock was beneath his coat, and he undid the bottom two buttons so he could access it if need be. His Remington 870 Wingmaster twelve-gauge shotgun was in the saddle scabbard.
—
THE BODY WAS FACEUP and splayed out in the snow. The metallic smell of blood and the musky odor of viscera hung low in the air. As the horsemen appeared, ravens lifted heavily off the body with strips of flesh in their crimson beaks.
Predators had disemboweled the body and ripped off most of the soft tissue including the face. Joe recognized Farkus’s outfitter boots and .30-06 rifle pinned beneath him though, and Deputy Steck found a wallet with Dave Farkus’s ID, EBT card, and twenty-eight dollars in cash.
“It’s Fark, all right,” Cotton said with a choke in his voice.
—
AS SPIVAK GAVE OUT ORDERS to photograph the scene and tape it off and Norwood bent down by the body to begin his preliminary examination, Joe tied off Toby and walked back into the trees in the direction from which they had come.
Snow sifted down through the pine boughs and created a hush in the forest. The voices of Spivak and the others sounded tinny and discordant. Cotton swore to the sky that he’d get the bastards who did this to his friend.
Joe bent over and threw up his breakfast. His eyes stung.
Farkus had been unique and usually a thorn in his side. But he’d also risked his own well-being by calling Joe and leaving a message about what he’d overheard. It was admirable and selfless, Joe thought, even if Farkus hadn’t left enough information for him to act on.
The night before, Farkus had been hiding behind a tree until the FLIR picked up his thermal aura. Now he was nothing more than cold meat.
As he walked back to the crime scene, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he heard Spivak communicating with Sheriff Reed on the radio.
“Yeah, we’re ninety-nine percent sure it’s him,” Spivak said. “Norwood is doing his thing now . . .