• • •
The next morning I called my mom and told her that I needed to go to Missoula for the suspect’s initial appearance. I told her that when I returned, I’d take a few days to finish paperwork and would head back to Denver.
After providing my paperwork and testimony within forty-eight hours of Heather’s arrest in Missoula at the courthouse, I saw Joe outside, sitting on a bench, his head bowed in his hands. I walked over and sat beside him, and he raised his head and looked at me with bloodshot eyes, then glanced away again. He looked exhausted, bone-tired, and I could tell it would be a long time before he would find rest.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
His wiry frame looked even thinner. “Elena’s in shock. As you’d expect. I’m afraid she might go into depression by the way she’s acting already.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s going to take time . . .” I almost said, to understand, then realized that comprehending would be impossible. “To figure out how to cope,” I finished. “The attorney you’ve got, Roy Venery—he’s excellent. And you know I will testify on her behalf. There are many mitigating circumstances when all facets are considered, especially the character of the victim and what he put her through. There’s definitely an element of self-defense.”
He didn’t answer, just placed his elbows on his knees, and fixated on the sidewalk. The blue sky stretched endlessly away from us, living up to the Big Sky name. But the biting north wind whipped through the now half-naked trees, brushed the dead leaves off the gutters, coiling them and letting them settle briefly before the next gust. It seemed to me that winter, which had been nipping at my heels the entire stay, had finally taken over and solidified the surroundings.
“Joe,” I said, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, but, I mean, you guys are close, did you have any sense that—”
“No,” he cut me off. “I had no idea. I was just plodding along in my own world. Thinking about Leslie and how everything she gets involved with turns bad in spite of her best intentions.”
“Do you blame Leslie?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. I thought he had decided not to respond, but then he sighed deeply. “For a lot of things,” he said. “That’s for certain. And she deserves the blame. But no, I can’t”—he looked over his shoulder to the steps of the courthouse—“for this. But I do fault her for bringing that loser into Lewis’s and Heather’s lives. How he threatened Lewis.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’d have taken him out to the woods myself. I wish I had. I’d take her place in a heartbeat.”
“Are you going to talk to Leslie?”
“I can’t think that far ahead right now.”
“But Lewis, you need to be there for him.”
Joe stared at the ground and wrapped his arms around himself.
“Listen,” I said. “I know you’re angry at me, and I would be too, but if it’s any consolation, and I know it’s not, I did think about doing nothing. About just letting the whole thing go unsolved, but you know, she couldn’t have gone on that way. It was eatin’ her up. She would’ve gone crazy. I could tell by the way she confessed. It was an enormous relief for her. She was dying to tell the truth; she would have eventually gone in on her own because that’s the kind of person she is. And that confession will bode well for her in court.”
Joe gave a small nod that he’d heard me but didn’t respond.
I pulled the pearl-handled knife out of my pocket and held it in my palm. It actually looked shiny because I had bought some polish and worked on it. “This here . . .” I held my palm out.
Joe glanced at it.
“My father gave me this when I was about Lewis’s age. I want to give it to you to give to him.”
Joe turned and caught my eyes. His were watery, either from the cold or from tears, I couldn’t tell.
“Please, take it.” I lifted my hand a little higher.
“But your father gave that to you.”
“It’s time to pass it on. Please, I insist, give this to Lewis for me. But there’s one catch.”
Joe stared at me.
“You have to teach him how to use it safely and how to gut fish properly.”
Joe slowly took the knife. He gripped it tightly, and I could see the tendons like a track of a large bird, fanning out to each knuckle. A web of strong veins crossed each tendon.
He simply nodded, and although his eyes showed nothing but ache, I knew he would not give up. Even amid Joe’s family’s tragedy, he would reach out to Lewis, possibly even to Leslie. I could see it in the strength of his grip that Joe understood that being alone, staying an island unto one’s self, was not the answer.
• • •
When I returned to Glacier, Monty and I met at headquarters to clear out the office we had used. We gathered the files and put them in boxes, took down photos, erased drawings and lists we’d had on the whiteboard, and took down Monty’s alibi chart. It wasn’t as cluttered and messy as some cases, and I figured it was Monty’s meticulousness that I could thank for that. I still needed to clean out my cabin, but figured I could do that later.
At the initial appearance in Missoula, bail was set by the federal judge since Heather’s flight risk was low; her danger to the community practically nonexistent since she was a citizen and a productive member of the community; and she had no prior criminal record nor was she suspected of being involved in organized crime, a narcotics ring, or gang-related activity. Her probable-cause hearing wouldn’t be for several months and her arraignment after that.
It was getting darker earlier each day, and as we packed up the office, a dim hue already surrounded us by five thirty. A soft rain pattered the roof, the building quiet. The type of day it was, no wind, a light rain, and gray skies, reminded me of Thanksgiving, and I thought of flying back up from Denver to spend it with Ma and Natalie, Luke, and the kids.
I had placed Monty’s chart on the table for him, not knowing whether he’d want to keep it or not. It seemed odd to toss it, like I was throwing out someone’s school project. I had my back to the table and was fitting a lid over a box of files, when I heard a rip. I turned around to see Monty tearing it down the center. “Won’t need this anymore,” he said.
“Guess not.”
He tore it one more time and fit the pieces into the trash bin. “Well.” He glanced around. “The place practically looks just like we found it.”
I nodded.
“What do you think will happen to Joe and Elena?”
“They’ll be okay,” I offered.
“Yeah?” Monty eyed me. “Why do you think that?”
“They’re strong, in spite of it all. I mean, obviously they’re no cozy little family with what went wrong with Leslie and with Elena and Lou, and now . . .” We both knew I was referring to Heather. “I know it’s tempting to ask where they went wrong. What monsters were swimming just below those surface waters all these years to create this.” I held open my palms. “But it’s just not that easy. Just not that black and white. Sometimes, there’s no direct cause of anything.”
Monty looked at me wide-eyed. After all that he knew about me and my history, I was surprised to see him look at me with an innocent anticipation, still waiting for me to lead the way. Still trusting me.
“I mean,” I continued, unsure of what I wanted to say, “there’s not always an answer, right? Sometimes trouble brews beneath no matter how hard you try, but it doesn’t mean you quit trying.”
Monty nodded, a rawness in his eyes shining through. I could see he was probably thinking of his wife and his situation, not just Joe’s family. “Tell me,” Monty said. “Did you think twice about it?”
“About what?”
“Arresting Heather?”
I looked at him for a long moment before answering. I could have said, Hell no, of course not. The law’s the law and in
this job, you can’t ever blur the line or you make a habit of it. But I didn’t. I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I did. But like I told Joe, she’d be in hell every day of her life if I hadn’t.”
“But she’ll still be in hell, even in prison.”
“I guess, but I’d like to think she’ll at least feel like she’s paying her debt.”
“What debt? To Victor Lance? Away from her nephew, where she could actually do some good?”
“No, not a debt to Victor. To herself. To her conscience. Plus you can’t ignore it, man. What she did . . .” I ran a hand though my hair and bit my lip. “What she did was, well, brutal—leaving someone in the park all night long? I know she was panicked and all, not thinking straight and stressed to the max. That she somehow just got pulled further and further into the craziness of the moment, but somehow, somewhere, something in her should have stopped her from tying him up out there.” I thought again of how she had a strong animal instinct in her—of how, in many ways, she was probably like me. I thought of how nature continued to be predictably implacable. People hurting each other, killing one another, stray, aberrant behavior erupting out of nowhere—that atypical grizzly who normally would avoid people, suddenly lashing out, attacking, snapping. Stray behavior was inherent to the human condition too, and ultimately, I would always be fighting nature because human crime was a function of the natural. That was the job I had chosen.
“But he was never going to leave her family alone.”
“I know, Monty, I know all the reasons. And truly, I feel like shit about it, but what can I say, we don’t get to call the shots here. That’s why we have laws. Kidnapping is kidnapping. We don’t get to play vigilante in our society. You know this. That’s a slippery slope we can’t afford to get on. ”
Monty looked to his feet, nodding that he did. “It’s just such a waste.”
I didn’t say anything. I thought of beautiful, haunting Heather. Of how she made me feel shy, alive. Monty pushed his glasses up and took a long breath, then grabbed his satchel and began looking through it. “Joe’s getting her a great defense attorney.” I sighed. “He’s from Helena and I’ve heard he works wonders. It’s not like there’s no hope.”
He nodded and gave me a half smile. “There’s one more thing.” He looked over his shoulder to the door. He reached over and shut it, then pulled a file out, and handed it out to me.
“What’s this?”
“Just take it. It’s yours to do what you want with.”
“What is it?”
“He keeps everything. Records go back over twenty-five years.”
I opened the file, saw a bunch of old, worn paper with typed text, crossed-out paragraphs, and handwriting in the margins.
“They’re old press releases. I thought you might want to see them. If you look at the bottom, it has the name of the PR gal who submitted them to him.”
I scanned down and saw a Margret Ostrem’s name at the bottom with the title “PR Officer, Glacier National Park, September 24, 1987.” It was obvious that she’d typed up the press release on the Oldman Lake incident and submitted it to Ford for review. And what was also obvious was that he’d crossed out large sections of it and, in his own writing, written the parts about careless camping habits, which were not in the original write-up. I felt every muscle in my body tense up, my fingers clenching the file like they might never open again. I forced myself to take a deep breath. I held it there for a second, then let it go, my body relaxing a little with it. My father’s words came to me: like those rings in the water that those fish make, we make them too and what we do reverberates way beyond what you can ever imagine. “How much trouble,” I asked, “are you going to get in for giving me this?”
“Depends on what you do with it. I don’t think he remembers or knows that it even exists at this point. It was so long ago.”
I stared at the old large type and the fading ink in the margins until it blurred.
“If it’s just for you and your family for a little peace of mind, that’s one thing,” Monty said. “If you plan on writing up a piece for the local news, that’s another.”
I looked up at him in the dim light. He reached over and flicked on a switch, and in the sudden brightness, I felt something click inside me, like the slide of a lock opening on a car door. Something let go. My muscles relaxed even more. “There, now we can see.” He nodded, pleased with himself, then glanced at my face, which must have had a strange expression. He smiled tentatively. “Look, I wouldn’t give it to you if I wasn’t prepared for either possibility.”
I closed the manila folder and held it in both hands for a long moment. I was tempted to put it in my bag with my other work, take it just in case I needed it to show Sean or something. At the very least, to show Ma.
“Well.” Monty looked around the room, “You up for a beer?”
I held out the file. “Here,” I said. “You can put it back where it came from.”
He didn’t grab it. “You don’t want it?”
I shook my head. “Seeing it once, that’s enough. And you don’t need the trouble.”
“Really, I don’t care about that.”
“But I do. Come on, take it.” I was still holding it out to him.
“But, you’ve got a review coming up. You might need it.”
“It’s not going to go down like that,” I said. “It’s going to be fine.” This coming from a pessimist. I remained holding it out. I would continue this job. I would continue to fight nature. That was the job I had chosen. Ultimately, I would always be fighting Oldman Lake, fighting nature, in one way or another, and maybe that was exactly why I began this job in the first place, to insert some control into a harsh and beautiful world. “What’s in this”—I dipped my chin to the file and held it up higher—“has been bothering me for more years than you can imagine. But now”—I nodded steadily, with certainty—“now it’s time to let it go.”
After a quiet moment, the rain steady and rhythmic on the roof, he reached out and grabbed it.
“And you know what it’s also time for?”
“That beer?”
“An apology.”
Monty furrowed his brow.
“To you.” I lifted my chin to him. “I’m sorry for getting so bent out of shape over you and Ford. You’re a good officer. Very capable, and I’ve appreciated your help.”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head.
“You ready for that beer now?” I said.
“Damn right I am.” Monty smiled.
• • •
When I walked out to my car to go meet him, I saw on old beaten-up Ford Taurus sitting in the lot, which I recognized as Leslie’s. Then I saw the glow of a cigarette and realized she was sitting alone. I went over and tapped on the window, which she had cracked to let the smoke out. When she saw me, she jumped, then opened the door and stepped out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Can I help you?”
“I just came by. I don’t know, thought my dad might be here”—she gestured to the building to the dark windows of Joe’s office—“but I can see that he’s not.” She threw the butt of her cigarette on the ground and toed it. “His car’s not here either,” she added with a wispy voice, like an afterthought.
“You check the house? I don’t think he’s been in at all since . . .”
“No.” She looked down and scuffed the soles of her shoes into the pavement, still grinding the cigarette, then scratched the back of her neck. “I’m not really welcome there. At the house, I mean.”
“Well, things are different now. You might be surprised.” I let that settle and watched her fidget, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s Lewis?” I asked.
“At a friend’s for the night. Good thing.” She shrugged heavily
. “Paul and I got into a fight. He said I’m whacked out, that he couldn’t handle me, so he left. Said we were over.”
I took a deep breath. “I see. Well, I’m sure once he calms down, he’ll come back around.”
She nervously glanced around the parking lot and wrapped her arms around her chest like a straitjacket. I thought of Heather hugging herself in the interrogation room and her father doing the same on the bench in Missoula. “How long have you been sitting here?” I gestured to the parking lot. It was dark now and only illuminated by the outside lights from headquarters. The lot we were in was next to the woods where the bear’s cage was hidden by black trees—maybe a hundred yards away. I couldn’t see it from where we stood.
“I don’t know. A bit. It’s, it’s”—her large, dark eyes had a faraway look in them—“it’s hard to be home right now without anyone there.” She shuffled and began twisting her hair and looking around again, anything to avoid eye contact.
I didn’t respond.
“What’s, what’s going to happen to my sister?”
“I’m not sure. Hopefully she’ll get a mitigated sentence if not completely released.”
“She’ll have to go to jail?”
I nodded. “At least for a little while in the beginning, before her trial.”
“No matter what?”
“Most likely.” I didn’t want to get into the details, that Heather could be bailed out and would end up spending seven or eight nerve-racking months before her sentencing, which probably could be mitigated from twenty, the federal guidelines under the felony murder rule stating that if you commit a felony like kidnapping or robbing a bank and accidentally kill someone in the process, it’s still murder. “Like I said, she has a really good attorney.”
Leslie’s eyes filled with tears. She pulled out her pack of cigarettes, and her hand shook noticeably when she tried to pull one out. When she got it, she instantly dropped it. I leaned down to get it for her and handed it back. She tried to light it, but her hands quivered so badly she couldn’t manage.
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