Endangered (17 page)

“I heard the phone ringing inside, and when you didn’t answer it, I got worried about your well-being,” he said.

“That’s nice, I guess,” she said. “Still, you shouldn’t enter someone’s house.”

“You’re right,” Joe said. “I shouldn’t.”

“Did you answer my phone?” she asked, curiosity working its way through her anger.

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She seemed no longer suspicious, just puzzled. She had a sweet soul, Joe thought.

He said, “I got a lead on Lek Sixty-four.”

“You did?” She was genuinely surprised.

“Do you remember meeting the Cates family? They said they remember you.”

She cupped her chin in her hand and searched the clouds, then said, “Are they the people who live just to the south of Lek Sixty-four? Kind of a junky place?”

“That’s them.”

“What do they have to do with this?”

“Eldon, the old man, said he saw a vehicle up on the bench the night the lek was wiped out. He said he heard shooting immediately afterward but he didn’t think much about it at the time.”

Her eyes widened, prompting him for more.

“He said it was a new-model white pickup. He said it looked just like the government truck that you and Wentworth drove out to his place.”

She shook her head. “It couldn’t be ours,” she said. “We didn’t go up there until the next night, if you’ll remember. We went up there after you confirmed there had been a crime. Do you think Mr. Cates got his days wrong?”

“It’s possible,” Joe said. “But is there any chance you two were up there the night before? Like maybe you were lost or something?”

She looked at the underbelly of the clouds again, searching for the answer. Joe thought it must be some kind of yoga thing. He said, “It would have been Thursday, March thirteenth. I found the lek Friday.”

Hatch shook her head. “No, that can’t be right. I was in Casper at an agency meeting that day. I didn’t even get back until Friday morning.”

Joe let that settle, then asked, “Was Wentworth with you?”

“No. He stayed here . . .” And the doubt showed on her face. Everything Annie Hatch thought, it seemed, showed on her face.

“So Wentworth was here alone with his truck?” Joe asked.

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Just asking,” Joe said. “I remember you told me you first learned about Lek Sixty-four through a call to your tip line, right?”

“Right.”

“Who retrieved the information, you or Wentworth?”

“Revis did.”

“Did you ever figure out the identity of the tipster?” Joe asked.

“No, why?”

“Did you ever listen to the recording yourself?”

“No. But Revis heard it.”

“Right. Is it still recorded somewhere?”

She shook her head. “You’d have to ask Revis.”

She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. She shifted her gaze from the clouds to the lawn between her feet. “You’re saying you think Revis had something to do with this?” she asked.

“I’m not blaming anyone yet,” Joe said. “But I’ve got another question for you. Did you send that box of evidence to the lab in Denver?”

“Yes,” she said. Then after a moment, she said, “Well,
we
did. I didn’t personally send it.”

“Were you there when Wentworth took it to the post office, or FedEx or wherever?”

“No. But he told me he sent it in.”

Joe let
that
settle.

She shook her head again, as if ridding her hair of dust. “No,” she said adamantly. “There is no way Revis had anything to do with it. You just want to pin the blame on someone. You just don’t like him.”

“Could be,” Joe said. “I’ve got a request for you.”

She looked up at him.

“Don’t call Wentworth back for fifteen minutes. Will you promise me that?”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’ll take that much time to clear him,” Joe said.

After thinking it over, she said, “Fifteen minutes. But I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I’ve been wrong before,” Joe conceded.

—

A
S HE RACED BACK
to the Holiday Inn, Joe had no confidence Hatch would restrain herself from contacting Wentworth. But it was worth a try.

He pulled his pickup in front of the lobby and went straight to the front desk of the hotel. The young female assistant manager on duty had purple-streaked hair and a nose ring and he recognized her as one of Sheridan’s high school friends. She was texting with someone, but when she looked up she seemed to recognize him as well. Everybody knew the game warden.

He said, “Is Revis Wentworth still in the same room on the third floor? I need to ask him some questions and I’m pretty sure he told me it was room 348.”

The girl looked on the computer and said, “No, he’s in 343.”

“Thank you,” Joe said, tapping his fingers on the counter in thanks. “Good to see you again.”

“No problem,” she replied, and reached for her phone.

He’d had no idea of Wentworth’s room number and he knew she wasn’t authorized to give it out. He felt slightly guilty about the ruse.

—

J
OE KNOCKED LOUDLY
on the door of room 343. He stepped to the side so Wentworth couldn’t see him out of the peephole and pretend he wasn’t in.

Joe watched as the peephole darkened, then lightened again. From inside, Wentworth said, “Who is it?”

“Joe Pickett.”

He heard a long sigh and the lock being thrown.

Wentworth wore sweats and gym shoes. A basketball game blared from the TV. His face was fixed in a snarl and he said, “I saw you out there sneaking around in the parking lot. What the hell was that all about?”

Annie Hatch had kept her word.

Joe said, “I was gathering evidence to prove that you slaughtered all the sage grouse in Lek Sixty-four. Annie is going to be very disappointed in you.”

Wentworth’s face drained of color and his mouth opened slightly. For a few seconds, his eyes went blank.

“You can’t prove a thing,” Wentworth said.

“That’s the first thing guilty men always say. They don’t say they didn’t do it or that I don’t know what I’m talking about. They always say I can’t prove it.” Joe smiled. Then: “I don’t know much about women, but I don’t think this was the most brilliant way for you to spend more time with Annie Hatch. After all, what would your wife think?”

“We’re separated,” Wentworth said. As he spoke, he unconsciously kneaded the naked ring finger of his left hand with his right.

Joe said, “That’s your business.”

Wentworth stepped aside as Joe entered the hotel room. The closet door was open and Joe peered inside. A 12-gauge pump shotgun was propped in the corner of the closet and an open box of Federal shells was on the shelf above the hanging rod. Joe could feel Wentworth tense up when he realized what Joe was looking at. Joe quickly withdrew his phone and snapped a photo of the shotgun and the shells.

“I’ll be confiscating your weapon and the ammo,” Joe said. “Don’t worry—I’ll give you a receipt.”

“You can’t do that,” Wentworth said.

“Sure I can. Weapons suspected of being used in a wildlife crime can be confiscated until it’s proved otherwise. So I’ll be taking your shotgun with me for analysis.”

Wentworth shook his head. He was trying to force a smile. He said, “I know shotgun pellets aren’t like bullets. You can’t match up the markings on pellets to a certain gun, and those Federal shells are a dime a dozen.”

“Yup,” Joe said, gathering the items. “But every shotgun leaves a unique firing-pin indentation on the primer. You can’t see it with your naked eye, but a forensics lab can see it through a microscope. They’ll know if this gun was used to kill those birds when they match it up with the spent shells I found at the scene.”

“Bullshit.”

“This time I’m sending the evidence to
my
lab,” Joe said. “If I were you, I’d start a long conversation with myself about all this.”

“So what are you going to do?” Wentworth talked like his mouth was dry. He looked at Joe with pleading eyes.

“Now?” Joe said. “I’m going to go home and have dinner with my family. But don’t worry—I’ll be in touch.”

Wentworth’s cell phone rang on a lamp table near his bed.

“That’ll be Annie,” Joe said while he backed out with the shotgun. “If I were you, I wouldn’t pick up.”

Joe’s last glimpse of Wentworth as the door shut was of a man with his head in his hands.

—

T
HAT NIGHT
,
while Joe and Marybeth were getting ready for bed, Marybeth said, “I think we should go to church tomorrow. I know it’s been a while, but I want to pray for April and Nate and to make sure they’re on the church’s prayer list. Lucy even said she wants to come along.”

Joe said, “I have to go to Cheyenne and meet with the governor.”

“On a Sunday?” She was distressed by the news.

“You know how he is.”

“You have to go to Cheyenne on a Sunday to talk about wild birds?”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“No, you go,” she said. “The governor’s been good to you and he won’t be in office forever. I’ll take Lucy with me to church and give everyone your regards.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll pray for them as I drive south.”

“You do that.”

—

A
FTER
M
ARYBETH
had turned off her reading lamp, Joe said, “Do you think there is any connection between what happened to April and what happened to Nate?”

She hesitated for a moment, then clicked her light on again and propped herself up on her elbow.

“What?”

“It’s something the governor mentioned today. He doesn’t know all the details, but he thought it strange that two big events happened so close together. It’s got me thinking, but I can’t connect them at all.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to connect,” she said sharply.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

She reached over and doused the light again and settled under the covers with a huff.

“Thanks for giving me something to keep me awake all night,” she said.

“Sorry.”

T
hree hours later, Liv Brannan’s eyes snapped open. Something—or somebody—was up there. Maybe it was the coyote or dog from a couple of nights ago. She’d heard it snuffling and padding around the closed doors. This time, though, it seemed heavier.

The Cateses unplugged the hanging trouble light at midnight, although they didn’t unhook the extension cord that powered the space heater. She guessed it was an hour past, but she didn’t know for sure. They’d taken her watch.

This was the first time she’d slept hard since they’d put her in the hole. The reason, she suspected, was that she was physically tired. Either that, or God forbid, she was getting used to being down here.

She was tired because, for the last day and a half, she’d spent every spare minute chipping away at the concrete-like compacted clay of the wall, trying to loosen a rock she’d discovered. The rock was round and smooth like a river rock but she had yet to find out how large it was. When she’d first uncovered the rock, the surface was no bigger around than a quarter. But when she began to dig around it with her fingernails, she found out it was much larger. Her fingernails were now sore and bleeding.

She’d used eating utensils after meals to dig deeper, using the tip of the butter knife and the handle of a spoon. More progress was made with the utensils, but she had to clean and return them so no one would suspect what she was doing. They always counted the silverware after they raised the bucket.

The face of the rock was getting bigger all the time. Her fear was that it was massive—too big to remove and too heavy to do her any good. Her hope was that it was medium-sized, maybe the size of a softball, and could be used as a lethal weapon.

Maybe they’d heard her digging and had come to punish her, she thought. But why after midnight?

The hasp snicked and the doors opened quietly. She looked up to see a large square filled with stars, and she felt a breath of cold air from outside.

Bull whispered, “Hey.”

She closed her eyes and felt her heart race.

He said, “I’m puttin’ the ladder down.”

Not now,
she thought. It was too soon. Not until she got the rock out of the wall.

She whispered back, “Bull, are you sure about this? What if somebody sees you?”

He snorted and said, “We went out tonight. Cora Lee is passed out on her fat ass and snoring like a hippo.” He chuckled at his comparison.

Moonlight glinted off the rails of the aluminum ladder and she could sense it coming down. She shifted her position so the feet wouldn’t hit her on her legs or pin her blankets to the floor. Then she was up, standing, rubbing her eyes. Her face was gritty with dirt and her mouth tasted like metal.

The ladder groaned as Bull descended rung by rung. If only she could yank that rock out of the wall . . .

“I’ve been . . . stoked . . . ever since you . . . told me you was lonely,” he whispered. The exertion of climbing down made him short of breath. Exertion, plus gallons of alcohol. She could smell it on him as he descended. He was less sure-footed on the ladder than usual.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim starlight and she could see that even though he was “stoked,” he hadn’t forgotten the pistol in his waistband or the hot-shot that hung around his neck on a cord.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work, she thought. Her hints were supposed to have gnawed at him over several days until he finally gave in. By then she’d be ready with the rock. She’d wait until he turned his back to her to climb up the ladder and she’d bash in his skull. But here he was, the same day she’d set her plan in motion. And the rock was still in the wall and as stuck as when she’d discovered it.

“Bull, are you sure about this?” she said.

His boots were on the floor now and he turned and held out something to her.

“I brung you this,” he said. It was a long-stemmed rose, the kind they sold for a dollar in bars. He’d probably bought it for Cora Lee and took it back while she was passed out.

She reached out for it and their hands brushed together. She guessed he liked that.

“Thank you,” she lied.

He towered over her. Now that he was close, she could smell the stew of alcohol on his breath and cigarette smoke on his clothing. Then he was placing his huge hands on her shoulders, stroking her.

A moment later, he reached down and grasped her wrist.

“Here, look at what you do to me,” he said as he pressed her palm to his groin. He was hard and huge beneath the rough denim fabric.

“What do you think about that?”

She purred. She didn’t know what else to do.

“Want to see it out?”

She thought,
I’d like to rip it out by the root
. But she purred again instead.

“Now, don’t try nothin’ stupid,” he said, “’cause you’re in for a treat. First time Cora Lee saw it, she said, ‘So that’s why they call you Bull.’”

He chuckled deeply at this.

His other hand left her shoulder and she heard him unzip and start to fumble with his underwear.

“There,” he said. “Where’s your hand?”

She closed her eyes as he guided her hand to him. It was massive and hot.

He said, “I suppose you’re used to this size.”

Before she could reply, Liv was bathed in harsh white light. She flinched and turned away.

Cora Lee screamed,
“You fuckin’ no-good cheatin’ son of a bitch! I knew I’d find you down here with that whore!”

“Now, Cora Lee,” Bull said, stepping back and quickly stuffing his penis back in his pants and zipping up. “It ain’t what you think.”

“It sure as hell is!” she howled. “I ought to go get the shotgun and kill you both right now.”

“Cora Lee . . .”

“I’ll shoot you so many times, you’ll be nothin’ but a grease spot
,
you cheatin’ bastard
.
”

“Cora Lee, she lured me down here,” Bull said, squinting his eyes against the beam of her flashlight. His voice was whiny.

“Right, and she held a gun to your head and made you show her your dick, you no-good cheatin’ scumbag. I’m comin’ back with that shotgun.”

She started to yank the ladder out, but Bull realized what was happening and reached out and grabbed a rung. Bull and Cora Lee tugged drunkenly back and forth on the ladder for a half minute, Cora Lee screaming more obscenities at him the whole time.

Finally, Bull’s strength won out and the feet of the ladder crashed to the floor of the cellar. Before he climbed up the ladder, he shot his arm toward Liv, threatening her with the hot-shot not to try and follow him. But he mistimed the threat and the hot-shot crackled when it touched her neck and the jolt threw her on her back.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Then he went up much faster than he’d come down.

“I’m gonna kill you, you cheatin’ douche bag
!”
Cora Lee yelled.

When Bull got to the top, he pulled the ladder up so hard it went airborne and clanged on the ground as it landed. Liv trembled and hugged herself.

He leaned down over the opening and said, “Now see what you’ve done,” and closed both doors so hard they sounded like gunshots.

With her eyes clamped shut, Liv heard Cora Lee and Bull go at each other over a mild buzzing in her ears. Cora Lee called him names Liv had never heard strung together before, and Bull kept shouting that he’d been tricked, that he only loved one woman, that he must have drunk too much and let the wrong head do all the “thinkin’.”

After five minutes of shouting, an
actual
gunshot rang out.

Then silence.

Brenda’s voice: “Shut up, the two of you, and go to bed. We’ll sort this all out in the morning.” She spoke calmly but with authority.

Cora Lee said, “I found him down there with his dick in her hand. The ladder was down and they was writhing around—”

“I said, shut up,” Brenda said, barely raising her voice. “Or the next shot won’t be in the air.”

“Okay, Ma,” Bull said. Liv thought he sounded like he was ten years old and had been caught stealing from her purse.

“I ain’t sleepin’ with
him
in the trailer,” Cora Lee spat.

“You can sleep on our couch.”

“C’mon, Cora Lee,” Bull whined.

Cora Lee said, “It’s
over
, you cheater. Over!”

“I bet the two of you woke up Dallas,” Brenda said, sounding sad.

—

L
IV WAITED.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if the cellar doors opened and Brenda, or Cora Lee, or Bull appeared holding the shotgun. There was no place to hide.

But they never came. There was nothing but silence until the coyote came back and sniffed around the opening.

—

F
EELING S
LOWLY RETURNED
to Liv’s body, but there was still a buzz in her ears. Two wounds, like a vampire bite, stung on her neck above her collarbone.

As her heartbeat returned to normal, she realized her hand hurt. She opened it to see that she had gripped the stem of the rose so hard the thorns had pierced her flesh. Her palm was sticky with coagulating blood.

Then, in the dark and with the stiff stem of the rose, she resumed chipping away the clay that held the rock.

Maybe she’d get it out by dawn.