Long Range

by Box, C. J.

  Nate sat back, a little stunned. “Like a sheriff’s department unit?” he asked.

  “That’s what it sounds like,” Beran said.

  “When did this happen?”

  “The witness said he saw it happen yesterday afternoon.”

  “That’s when Liv, Kestrel, and I went to town,” Nate said. “Somehow, the sheriff knew when to plant the gun. But how could he? And how is it this witness saw what happened? We live in an isolated location. Where was this guy, anyway?”

  “First things first,” Beran said. “We don’t need to know that now. But what a development! If our witness is credible, there’s no way the charges will stand.”

  Nate shook his head, trying to make sense of what he’d just been told.

  He asked, “Does the witness have a name?”

  Beran looked at his pad. “Orlando Panfile,” he said. “Odd name, I know.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Nate said. “Where did he come from?”

  “Apparently he’s an undocumented migrant,” Beran said. “He was camping up in the forest somewhere where he could see your property.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve told you all I know,” Beran said. “Rulon is coaxing Panfile to appear and swear out an affidavit. If anyone can convince the guy to show up, it’s Rulon. But don’t worry. We’ll get the charges dropped as soon as we can get a hearing. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Which is what I don’t have,” Nate said.

  TWENTY-ONE

  AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, JOE SAT IN HIS BORROWED vehicle in the parking lot of the DOT building outside of town, waiting for Mike Martin to show up to deliver his pickup. Martin had texted from Winchester to report his ETA. Joe was grateful to Martin for driving it over. He’d parked under one of the overhead pole lights so the Jackson game warden could see him.

  “We’re getting our truck back, girl,” he told Daisy. “Are you excited?”

  Daisy sighed.

  “I am,” he said. “I’ll feel whole again.”

  Because his pickup was also his mobile office on wheels and all of his outdoor clothing, equipment, paperwork, communications gear, and weapons had been taken away, it felt to Joe that he’d been unbalanced since the Hewitt case commenced. His pickup was his suit of armor, and without it he felt vulnerable to outside forces.

  He kept his eyes on the dark two-lane highway. He expected to see two pairs of headlights any minute, one set from his own pickup with Martin at the wheel and the second set from biologist Eddie Smith’s rig. After dropping off Joe’s truck, Martin would climb in with Smith and continue on to Gillette, where another biologist had a box of tranquilizer darts for them he could spare.

  It was taking Martin longer than it should have, Joe thought. He checked his phone to see if there were any additional messages. There weren’t. He texted Marybeth to tell her he’d be later than he thought he’d be.

  She responded with:

  That’s fine. I’m learning some VERY interesting things from the logs you sent. Bring a pizza.

  *

  AFTER TWELVE MORE minutes of listening to the local AM station play faux country song after faux country song, Joe lifted his phone to call Martin to check on his progress. As he did, two vehicles appeared, slowed, and made the turn from the highway to the DOT facility. He recognized their profiles as they passed under the first pole light as Game and Fish units with light bars, gearboxes, and the familiar pronghorn antelope insignia on the front door.

  Joe placed the keys to his borrowed truck in the ashtray, confident that no one in their right mind would want to steal it. He climbed out and was instantly bathed in headlights. Joe squinted and waved hello.

  Martin was indeed driving Joe’s pickup and he slowed to a stop. Eddie Smith parked behind him.

  “Did you decide to stop along the way for a beer?” Joe asked Martin when the other game warden opened his door and climbed out.

  “I wish,” Martin said. “But the reason we’re late is way weirder than that. Come over here so I can show you something.”

  Joe frowned and approached his own vehicle. Martin held back on the side of the open driver’s-side door.

  “I stopped at the rest area just out of Winchester so I could take a leak and Eddie could catch up with me,” Martin said. “Do you know it?”

  “Sure,” Joe said. The rest area was a DOT facility built into a saddle slope from the Bighorns and it was about a quarter of a mile from the highway. High wooded mountains surrounded it on three sides. Joe used to stop there until he discovered . . .

  “The toilet was broke,” Martin said, as if finishing Joe’s thought. “I decided to just pee right there in the parking lot. You know how that goes. Then I realized if someone drove by, they’d see a Wyoming game warden exposing himself in a rest stop parking lot with my wanger out for all to see. Hell, knowing my luck they’d report me to the governor. So I started to walk over and do my business in the trees on the side of the building.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. He’d used the same trees.

  “That’s when I heard a thump behind me,” Martin continued. “It came from where I’d just stood.”

  “A thump?”

  “Take a look,” Martin said, indicating the door panel just below the window.

  Joe did and saw the neat bullet hole. Then he walked around the open door and touched the interior metal where the round had left a puckered and expanded exit hole.

  “It went clear through the cab and it’s embedded somewhere inside the passenger door,” Martin said. “It didn’t go clean through it. But if I’d been standing there a couple of seconds longer, or I was sitting in that cab at the time, I’d be a dead man.”

  “That’s when I pulled in,” Eddie Smith said. “I found Mike here hunkered down behind the bed of your truck sneaking a peek up over the bed wall. His pants were still open.”

  “I zipped up right then and there,” Martin said irritably to Smith. He obviously didn’t appreciate the extra detail.

  “Whoever it was didn’t take another shot,” Martin said to Joe. “We scoped the mountain to the east where it must have come from, but we didn’t see anyone.”

  Smith said, “It had to come from up there, but where the thick timber is, it’s short of a thousand yards from the rest area. Whoever did it made a hell of a shot.”

  “But you didn’t hear it?” Joe asked, feeling the skin crawl on his chest.

  “Must have used a suppressor,” Martin said. “When I think back on it, I might have heard a crack up in the trees, like a branch breaking. I can’t swear to it and I didn’t associate it with a gunshot at the time. It seemed like a second or two before I heard the thump. At the time, I was busy getting ready to get rid of some coffee.”

  “Then it got dark,” Smith said. “We didn’t want to hike up that mountain in the dark to see if we could find a shooter. We were both kind of confused by everything that happened. Mike thought it might have been a stray round from somewhere, but we just don’t know.”

  Martin said, “Maybe someone over here doesn’t like game wardens.”

  Joe nodded. A cold knot formed in his stomach.

  “Anyway,” Martin said with a clearing sigh, “here’s your truck. Except for a bullet wound, it’s just fine.”

  “I’m glad nobody got hurt,” Joe said.

  Smith chuckled and said, “Even if he’s not driving it at the time, Joe’s truck gets damaged. The streak continues. It’s a hell of a thing.”

  *

  MARTIN, SMITH, AND JOE rested on their elbows on three different sides of the truck bed with their hands dangling inside. Joe leaned on the driver’s side, Martin was directly opposite, and Smith took the tailgate. Joe thought about how many conversations he’d had with other game wardens adopting the same posture over the years. It was as if the open bed of the pickup were a kind of neutral conversation zone.

  Martin caught Joe up on the grizzly bear investigation. He spoke in a world-weary tone Joe asso
ciated with longtime law enforcement officers who thought they’d seen it all but could still be unpleasantly surprised by how screwed up things turned out.

  “I told you we located Jim Trenary’s body right where Julius Talbot said it would be,” Martin said. “The next morning, the sow grizzly and her yearling cub came back and we found them patrolling the site. The sow saw us coming from a long way and came right at us. She didn’t even hesitate. Her very obvious purpose was to run us off.”

  Martin stopped speaking and Joe waited. Martin had trouble telling the story for a moment and Joe caught a glint of moisture in his eyes.

  Martin cleared his throat and composed himself. “It was one of the worst things I’ve been involved in. We took out that sow as she charged us. We must have hit her a dozen times with .308 rounds before she tumbled and dropped hard. I know I hit her at least five times and she reacted like I was shooting blanks. But she was dead before she hit the ground. It was like she was possessed with superhuman, superbear, strength.

  “Her yearling saw the whole thing and he went kind of crazy. He started bellowing and crying over his dead mother. It was awful because sometimes he sounded just like a human wailing. Then he stopped and looked at us with absolute rage in his eyes. We had to kill him as well, because at the time we didn’t know if Jim’s killer was the sow or the yearling, and that orphaned bear wasn’t running away. He was intent on doing the same suicide charge his mother did.”

  “Man,” Joe said.

  “Trenary’s body was torn up but not fed on,” Martin said. “It was like the bears were hoarding it for later. I’ve never seen anything like it. Who knows what those bears were thinking?”

  “So Talbot told the truth?” Joe asked.

  “He told part of the truth,” Martin said. “Just like we thought. But he’s sticking to his story.

  “Turns out we were able to pretty much establish what really happened by footprints and the evidence we found,” Martin said. “By the time we got it all sorted out, Talbot was being transported back to Jackson so he could make his flight. We couldn’t hold him, although we asked him politely to stick around. He refused.”

  “So what did you determine?” Joe asked.

  Martin shook his head. “What we found was that it looked like the grizzly charged them just like Talbot said. Unprovoked. But we found Talbot’s canister of bear spray underneath Jim’s body. We think Talbot didn’t stand there fumbling with his spray like he told us. Instead, he jumped behind Jim just as the bear charged. Do you know that old joke about bears?”

  Smith said, “Everyone knows it. You and your buddy are hiking and you walk between a sow and her cub. You say to your buddy, ‘We can’t outrun that bear.’ Your buddy looks at you and says, ‘I don’t have to outrun the bear. I just have to outrun you.’ ”

  “That’s what we think Talbot did,” Martin said. “He didn’t try to deter the grizzly like he claimed. What he did was step behind Jim at the last second so Jim took the full force of the attack. Then Talbot ran away while Jim was fighting for his life. We don’t think he even looked back until he was on top of the hill. It might be true that Talbot didn’t shoot because he was afraid he’d hit Jim. But I’d bet Jim would have urged him to take that shot anyway—given the circumstances.”

  Joe moaned and shook his head. “Can you charge Talbot with anything?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “Nope,” Martin said. “We can’t even prove that he lied to us. He can claim he just remembered it differently in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing we can do to the man.”

  Smith said, “The FBI can charge you with lying to them. The Game and Fish Department can’t.”

  “I know all about that,” Joe said, recalling his encounter with Jeremiah Sandburg months before.

  “Tell him about the PR firm,” Smith urged Martin.

  “Yeah,” Martin said to Joe. “So when he got back to Florida, Talbot hired a crisis management firm of some kind to salvage his reputation. Down there, he’s being described as a hero who put his own life in danger to save his rube of a guide. You can find the articles online. This is another first for me.”

  He went on. “Not only that, but the Predator Attack Team is being savaged online for killing those bears. They say we’re a bunch of trigger-happy rednecks. Social media is all over me—by name. We’re talking people from around the world, not just the U.S. I’m now a bloodthirsty killer of endangered species. The social media mob is going after me, our team, and even my kids. They’ve posted wanted posters of me with my face on them. I’ve become one of those what-do-you-call-them?” he asked Smith.

  “A meme,” Smith said. “You’re a meme.”

  “I’m a meme,” Martin said. “Talbot’s even gotten himself quoted as saying he wished the bears no harm and he thinks it’s a tragedy what we did. He claims he begged us not to go after them, which as you know is a damned lie. Of course, the report will dispute his version of things when it ever comes out, but by then it’ll all look really murky.”

  “I didn’t see that one coming,” Joe remarked.

  “Neither did I,” Martin said. “I’m still wrapping my head around it all. My wife won’t even look at Facebook anymore.”

  “That’s a good policy all around,” Smith added.

  Joe said, “Maybe the governor will go to bat for you.”

  All three men laughed at that.

  Martin said, “This has turned out to be a real clusterfuck. But what really bothers me is trying to figure out why those grizzlies charged like that. Was it an anomaly? Will it happen again? Are other bears changing their behavior?”

  “And will it be policy now just to let them?” Smith asked rhetorically.

  “The department did a necropsy on both bears,” Martin said. “I was hoping they’d find out there was something wrong with them, like if she had a brain tumor or she was so sick she was acting irrationally. But our people found nothing wrong with either bear. They were fit and healthy. They just decided to turn killer. No other explanation than that.”

  The explanation sent a chill through Joe’s body.

  “I missed all this,” Joe confessed. “I’ve been bogged down over here with that shooting. And without my pickup, I haven’t heard anything over the radio.”

  “Probably for the best,” Smith said.

  “Meanwhile,” Martin said, “Jim Trenary’s funeral is next week. It seems like half the town will be there. Several of the wealthy locals started a college fund for Jim’s kids, and they’re taking care of Jim’s wife. It’s been great to see. Heartwarming, in fact.”

  “Guess who didn’t contribute,” Smith said.

  “Julius Talbot,” Martin spat.

  Joe’s intrinsic faith in his fellow man took another hit.

  *

  MARTIN LEANED BACK from the pickup and held his arm up to the light of the pole lamp so he could read his wristwatch. “Well, I guess we better get going. We’re late already and it’s getting cold.”

  “Thanks again for bringing it over,” Joe said, patting the bed wall of his pickup. “And thanks for catching me up.”

  Martin nodded and started to follow Smith to his vehicle. Before he got there, he stopped and turned around and pointed toward the bullet hole in Joe’s door.

  “That bullet wasn’t meant for me,” Martin said. “Is somebody gunning for you, Joe?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joe said. “But I think I’m getting closer to finding out.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Martin said.

  “You too.”

  *

  JOE CALLED DAISY over from the WYDOT vehicle and opened the pickup door for her as Smith’s truck vanished with receding red taillights.

  He climbed in, adjusted the seat to fit him again, and texted Marybeth to say he was on the way.

  About time, she replied. Don’t forget the pizza.

  As he drove toward Saddlestring, wind whistled through the cab from the new hole in his door. He tried to plug it with a
ball of Kleenex, but it didn’t solve the problem.

  The denouement of the grizzly attack left him depressed and angry.

  The hole in his door meant something else entirely.

  TWENTY-TWO

  JOE HAD TO STOP, ONCE AGAIN, FOR THE COW MOOSE ON his road to inspect his familiar pickup and let him pass. He noted that Nate and Liv’s Yarak, Inc. van was parked on the side of the garage when he arrived home. Next to it was a black Cadillac Escalade with county two Wyoming plates. Cheyenne.

  He paused for a moment after he turned the engine off and simply sat there. It had been a very long day, and he’d yet to put it all in perspective. Sue Hewitt had died of her wounds. Judge Hewitt and Duane Patterson were distraught and on the sidelines. Nate was in the county jail charged with murder and attempted murder. And now there was a bullet hole in the pickup near his elbow.

  The aroma of the pizzas he’d picked up filled the cab and made Daisy drool from the seat to the floor in long strings of saliva.

  “C’mon, girl,” he said. “It’s dog food for you.”

  Daisy bounded out and loped toward the house. It was hours past her dinnertime. Joe wished his life was as simple as his dog’s.

  *

  KINK BERAN ROSE quickly from the couch and thrust out his hand to Joe and introduced himself as Nate’s lawyer. He had an extremely strong grip Joe wasn’t ready for.

  “Ow,” Joe said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Beran said. “Governor Rulon thinks highly of you. He says you’re one of the good guys.”

  “Appreciated,” Joe replied as his cheeks flushed.

  Marybeth took the pizza boxes and placed them on the table. Liv opened them and used a butter knife to rescore the wedges.

  “I’m starving,” she said with a nod to Joe as she pulled a slice from the pie. “I haven’t eaten anything all day.” Liv sat back down and Joe noticed the baby monitor on the tabletop. He could see an image of Kestrel asleep on her back. The baby was obviously in one of the empty bedrooms.