by C. J. Box
Corey said to Stenko, “Leo just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do this, you know? I mean, he never said a bad thing about you until the end. He was the most loyal guy I ever seen all those years, you know?”
Stenko grunted, “That’s the kind you need to keep an eye on.”
“That son of a bitch Leo,” Nathanial said, echoing what Chase had said. “Son of a bitch Leo.”
Stenko turned his head as he walked, said, “April, I don’t want you here right now. I want you to go back with Robert.”
“Robert is hiding,” she said.
“Then go hide with him.”
“I’m staying with you.”
Nathanial kept talking, his words sounding like a mantra. “Son of a bitch Leo. A month out of my life, playing cowboy for no good reason. Son of a bitch Leo.”
They were nearly to the porch when the screen door opened. A small man clomped onto the wood in high-heeled cowboy boots. He was looking off in the distance toward the road, away from the Talich Brothers and Stenko, who approached him from the side. He was slight and bald with a large nose, and he held a cowboy hat in his hands.
“Leo,” Stenko said.
She could see Leo stiffen, his hands at his side. The cowboy hat dropped to the porch. Leo’s threw his shoulders back and raised his face to the sky in a reaction that was not unlike someone who’d just had an ice cube dropped down the back of his pants. Leo slowly looked over his shoulder at the four men who were now just ten feet away from him.
“Stenko, it’s good to see you,” Leo lied.
Stenko said, “Let’s go inside, Hoss.”
21
Hole in the Wall
“I KNOW THAT NAME, ROBERT STENSON,” NATE ROMANOWSKI said as the three of them hiked up out of the canyon. “If it’s the same guy you’re talking about, then he’s familiar to me.”
Sheridan had listened to her dad as he led the way up the trail, which was so narrow they had to climb single file. He’d been filling Nate in on the events that had taken place and what they’d learned since they’d last met. Her dad had ended his briefing with “and now we’re stumped. All we can do is hope that Stenko, Robert, and April slip up and get caught somewhere and whoever catches them has the presence of mind to hold them in place. Either that, or April decides to start texting Sheridan again from a new phone.
“The wild card,” her dad continued, “is whether or not Agent Coon will be available quickly and back on the case. He should be cleared—along with Portenson—but I don’t know how long FBI shooting inquiries take before the agents under investigation are cut loose. Even if it’s quick and Coon’s back on the job, he’ll have to start all over with April’s new cell phone number—going to the judge again, getting cooperation from the cell phone companies. There might be complications this time if the judge or phone company lawyers think the FBI will swoop down and smoke innocent citizens who just happen to pick up the wrong cell phone and use it like Bo Skelton and Cyndi Rae Mote did . . .”
But that’s when Nate interjected and said he knew Robert Stenson, which made her dad stop, turn, and glare at his friend. He asked Nate incredulously, “How do you know him?”
“It’s not like I know him personally,” Nate said, “I know of him.”
“And how do you know of him?” her dad asked, his irritation showing.
“I know of his work. He’s the owner of ClimateSavior.net, one of the flashier carbon-offset companies. Based in Madison, Wisconsin, just like you said your Robert Stenson came from, so it’s probably one and the same guy. We’ve exchanged e-mails.”
“What?”
Nate looked over his shoulder and winked at her. They both knew Nate was tweaking Joe by slowly doling out information her dad was desperate to hear.
“I sent him some money once,” Nate said. “It was Alicia’s idea. She’s trying to save the planet. Me, I just want to hedge my bets.”
Her dad briefly closed his eyes and breathed deeply to keep his impatience in check.
Sheridan looked from her dad to Nate and back.
“I have a different angle on him than you do,” Nate said. “To you, he’s just Stenko’s crazy son along for the ride. I know of him in a different way.”
“Not just that,” her dad said. “He’s a murderer. He shot and killed a pharmacist in Rawlins. It’s on tape.”
Nate whistled. “Then he’s really stepping out. I never would have guessed he’d cross the line. I mean, he’s very passionate and strident, but murder? Nah—that doesn’t fit.”
Her dad looked to Sheridan with exasperation, as if hoping she could translate Nate’s language into something a game warden could understand. Sheridan shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Let’s say they’re the same Robert Stenson,” her dad said to Nate. “How does that shed any light on what’s going on? How does that get us closer to finding April?”
Said Nate, “I’m not sure it does.”
“And if Robert’s company has something to do with Stenko and the murders, why hasn’t the FBI been working that angle?”
Nate said, “You give them too much credit.”
“How do you always seem to have an angle I don’t have?”
“Because,” Nate said patiently as if explaining it to a child, “you think in a linear way and I don’t. You’ve got that law enforcement thing going. I never have. But give yourself some credit, Joe. You’re smart enough to reach out when you need help. That’s an unusual trait and a rare one with men of your ilk. Now if you’ll turn around and start climbing, we can eventually get out of this canyon and maybe we can put our heads together and find April Keeley.”
Her dad sighed and turned and began striding up the trail. Nate started talking.
SHERIDAN WAS THRILLED but tried not to show it. In the last hour while Nate packed a daypack with clothes and equipment, she admired not only the recovering eagle but also Nate’s other hunting birds—a male and female peregrine falcon and a red-tailed hawk. She was fascinated by the cave where Nate now lived and awed that her dad had brought her there. She wanted to believe she was being thought of as part of the team, and she knew that as long as she had her cell phone she was integral in the search for her foster sister.
Nate had been a shadowy part of their family for six years. He’d arrived the same time April had. She didn’t quite understand the partnership Nate and her dad had, but she found it exciting and reassuring. Nate had always been friendly to her, and she’d accepted his offer to be his apprentice in falconry. Her mom had told her several times over the years not to put too much stock in Nate’s presence, that she shouldn’t be surprised if he simply vanished from their lives some day. For the past year, she assumed he had gone away. Now, to her astonishment, she’d learned not only that Nate was still in the picture, but also that her dad kept in contact with him. No doubt her mom knew about Nate’s new home as well. That her parents had maintained the secret and kept it from Lucy and her surprised, angered, and impressed her.
Nate had a hooded prairie falcon in his gloved hand as he climbed and talked. He wore the shoulder holster for his .454 Casull revolver.
And as he talked, he made the case that it was the same Robert Stenson.
“I TRY TO LIVE LOW-IMPACT,” Nate explained to her dad, “as much out of necessity as a sense of duty. Naturally, I’m concerned about the environment and my planet. The whole world is in a tizzy about global warming, but I never take these crises for face value. If I did, I’d never get any sleep. Remember bird flu, swine flu, and mad cow disease? We were all gonna die from those, if you’ll recall.”
“What’s bird flu?” Sheridan asked.
“Exactly my point,” Nate said. “Sheridan doesn’t even know that it was supposed to be a big-time pandemic and that no one would be safe. One great crisis steps forward and replaces the last one and we don’t give it a second thought. Don’t forget the millennium bug! Ha! And I distinctly remember when I was growing up that we were headed for a new ice age. Remember that? I remembe
r reading about it at grade school. Seems like people always want to think they’re doomed. It brings them some kind of black comfort, I guess. Anyway, since I’ve got that satellite Internet dish and plenty of time on my hands these days, I’ve been doing lots of research on climate change. I’m not sure what I believe yet. There’s no doubt there’s been an increase in temperature. Not much, but definitely real. The rub is whether it’s our fault or a natural cycle. There are some pretty convincing arguments on both sides. The problem is the issue has moved from science into religion, with true believers on both sides. There isn’t even debate anymore—both sides believe what they believe and their positions have hardened.”
Sheridan observed her dad. She could tell he was getting antsy waiting for Nate to get to the point. The muscles in his jaw balled up and released, as if he were chewing gum. He always did that when he was annoyed.
Nate continued, “It makes sense to me that the temperature of the planet isn’t stagnant. How could it be? How could it possibly remain at a single perfect temperature that never varies? That doesn’t wash with what I know about nature. All you have to do is look around to know that’s not right.”
Nate stopped and kicked at the dirt on the side of the trail. “I could dig a few feet down from where we stand and find fossils of ferns and fish when this canyon was a tropical swamp. Or I could dig a few feet further and find mammoth bones when it was covered with ice. So there’s no doubt the climate has changed and that logically it will change again.
“But at the same time,” he said, hiking again, “I have to believe that all the greenhouse gases we put into the air have to have some kind of overall effect. Again, it only makes sense that when you introduce all kinds of unnatural crap—including billions more people—into the ecosystem that you impact what’s there. If nothing else, maybe we’re accelerating a slow natural warming trend into something more serious, and if we can slow the trend, we should do it. Plus, it just goes against my grain to waste resources or use more energy than I have to. Like I said, I believe in living low-impact just because I want to. I don’t want or need too much stuff. So I’m conflicted and I’m trying to figure out the best way to live.”
Her dad grunted.
She didn’t know if he was agreeing with Nate or simply grunting for Nate to get on with it.
“What’s your take on man-made global warming, Joe?” Nate asked.
Joe said, “My take is I want to find April Keeley and bring her home safely.”
Nate rubbed his chin, said, “That’s an interesting take. Very Joe-like.”
Her dad shrugged, as if to say, Get on with it . . .
“Anyway,” Nate said, “that’s how I got to know of Robert Stenson and ClimateSavior. He’s got one of those carbon-offset companies where you can pay to reduce your carbon footprint. In my research his name kept popping up. He’s controversial because he’s so outspoken and he’s made a whole shitload of enemies. There was at least one website called PlanetStupido.com devoted strictly to attacking him and his company . . .”
Her dad shot her a look over his shoulder. She wasn’t sure why. Something Nate just said had jarred him.
Nate went on, “I sort of like the idea of being able to offset my energy consumption and I wanted to hedge my bets, so I sent his company some money and he sent me back an e-mail with photos of some eucalyptus trees they’d planted on my behalf in Nicaragua and Thailand.”
“How nice,” Joe said.
“Dad . . .” Sheridan admonished him.
Nate said, “That pissed me off, those photos.”
They were nearing the rim of the canyon. Sheridan was breathing hard from the climb.
Her dad said, “Why did eucalyptus trees you paid for make you mad? Isn’t that the point?”
Nate slapped his thigh with his free hand. “No! See, what I found out was planting certain kinds of trees in the Third World does more harm than good, both morally and scientifically. See, some of these companies like Stenson’s outfit plant trees like eucalyptus and pine—which are considered monocultures. Sure, those non-native trees suck up their share of carbon dioxide that comes from our fossil fuels. But I’m not sure I like the trade-off. Many of these companies not only take the land out of agricultural production for the locals, but they plant trees that gobble carbon dioxide but aren’t even native to the area. So my dollars are helping to introduce alien plant life to unique ecosystems. Not only that, but those kinds of trees deplete the water table, increase acid in the soil, and put locals out of work. Just so I’ll feel good about myself.”
They cleared the canyon. Her dad’s green pickup was parked a hundred yards away.
Said Nate, “I hate polluters. I do. But you know who I hate even worse?”
Before Joe could respond Nate answered his own question. “I hate people who prey on the sincere goodwill of others. I hate false religious prophets who milk the savings from people who want to be healed or saved and I hate false environmental prophets who do the same damned thing.”
Nate said, “I read where some of the tribes in the Amazon call these new plantings Devil’s Orchards. So I sent an e-mail to Stenson’s company and asked him what the hell he was doing with my money and raised all these issues. I expected some kind of reasoned response. But you know what I got back?”
Her dad said, “What?”
Nate said, “I quote: ‘You either believe or you don’t.’ Then he accused me of being a shill for the energy companies. Me!”
Her dad laughed. Nate continued, “You should see some of these websites, Joe. You can pay off your guilt for flying in a plane or taking a vacation. You can even offset the entire carbon footprint for your wedding!”
Sheridan felt her scalp twitch.
JOE STOPPED, fixed his eyes on Nate, and said, “What did you just say about a wedding?”
Said Nate, “You can calculate how much of a carbon footprint a wedding will make due to the number of guests, the miles they travel, and so forth. Then using one of these companies like ClimateSavior, you can write a check to offset the damage, and they’ll go plant trees or buy up rain forest or something to offset the damage.”
Joe said to Sheridan, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
His daughter’s eyes were wide, and she nodded without speaking.
To Nate, Joe said, “You’ve said some things that made bells go off in my head. The first was Robert’s company. The second was the PlanetStupido website because the owner of it was murdered two weeks ago in Madison. The third was the wedding because April said they were at a wedding in Aspen where the bride and groom were murdered. This can’t all be coincidence. It might just be a way to connect the murders.”
Nate said, “So why would Robert’s dad get involved? What’s in it for him? And what’s the deal with April? Are you sure it’s even her?”
Joe kicked the dirt. “I don’t know. But until now I thought Stenko was instigating this whole cross-country trip. I assumed he was running from the feds. Now I’m wondering if it isn’t being driven by Robert.”
WHILE NATE RELEASED his prairie falcon to the sky and Sheridan observed, Joe climbed into his pickup and tried to raise Special Agent Chuck Coon. When he didn’t answer on the mutual aid channel, Joe called his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.
Joe said, “We need to look closer at Robert Stenson. Forget about Stenko for a few minutes. Robert may be the key. What you learn may help us determine where they’re going next.”
He closed the phone and sat back. The late-summer sun was intense through the windshield, and it warmed him. There was a dull ache at the back of his eyes from lack of sleep. He could use rest, and he knew Sheridan could, too. As he watched the prairie falcon climb slowly into the cloudless blue sky in wider and wider arcs, he heard a call come in on the radio from a local dispatcher based in Hulett, two hours to the northeast in the heart of the Wyoming Black Hills.
Someone had called 911, claiming he was dying of gunshot wounds. The alleged
victim was a ranch owner named Leo Dyekman, who requested three ambulances to be sent to his ranch.
Joe sat up and increased the volume.
A scratchy response, probably from a Crook County sheriff’s deputy: “Come again? Did you say three ambulances?”
“Affirmative. He requested three.”
“We’ve only got one. You know that.”
“Affirmative. I’m simply relaying his request. He said he was injured.”
“Did he say what happened? Why he needed three?”
“Yes,” the dispatcher said. “He said, ‘One for me, one for the dead psycho, and one for more bodies outside.’ ”
“Oh, man. What’s the location of the ranch?”
“We’re trying to determine that now. The line went dead. We’ve been calling him back, but no one answers. Ruth here knows the area, and she says she thinks it’s in the Bear Lodge Mountains by Devils Tower. She says she heard some guy from back east named Leo bought it a few weeks ago.”
Joe started the motor and opened his window, yelled to Nate and Sheridan, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s GO!”
22
South of Devils Tower
BLOOD EVERYWHERE. HERS.
Robert, shirtless, driving erratically. Screaming. Stenko in the front seat, yelling back at Robert.
They were driving too fast down a bad, bumpy road. Pine trees shot by on both sides of the road, the sun strobing through them, reminding her of a bright bulb behind a rotating fan. Every time Robert hit a bump, the pain in her leg sent bolts of electricity piercing through her.
But she didn’t cry. Yet. Not until they got out of this. Not until she got out of this.
Stenko yelling, “Watch where you’re going, Robert! Watch the damned road or you’ll kill us all.”
Robert, panicked: “I’m watching the road! Stay out of my face. You’re the one who got us into this, not me.”