each other. Joe had happily become a thorn in Coon’s side more than once, and Coon used Joe for background and as a sounding board for all things Wyoming. Since both were family men with young daughters, they had a common bond. Coon had asked Joe never to call him at home on his private number unless it was an emergency.
Coon’s phone rang four times. Joe imagined the special agent plucking it from a nightstand, reading the caller ID, and groggily making a decision whether to take it or not.
Then: “Joe, what do you want?”
“Sorry to wake you up,” Joe said.
“What makes you think I was sleeping in the middle of the night?”
“You don’t sound very excited to talk to me.”
“It’s”-Coon was likely fumbling around for his glasses before he said-“ twelve thirty-five in the morning.”
Before Joe could speak, Coon said, “Hold on a minute.”
Joe waited, assuming the special agent was padding out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him so his wife could go back to sleep.
“Okay, what?” he asked.
“I’m sure you’re tracking all the troubles up here,” Joe said. “The triple homicide, the missing residents, all that.”
“Of course,” Coon said, instantly irritated. “Your sheriff asked for some technical help, but he won’t let me send in the cavalry.”
“I know,” Joe said. “He’s funny that way. Anyway, I’m starting to believe everything is connected to one man. And I’m narrowing down his motives and location. I wish I could say he’s lying low, but I think he’s just taking a breather until the next shoe drops.”
Coon didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, “You think one bad guy is responsible for all that?”
“One guy and his team. He has others,” Joe said. “I don’t think I have enough time to lay it all out right now. But the bad guy I’m talking about has federal connections. He’s one of you — only on the special-operations side instead of the Homeland Security side.”
“One of us?” Coon asked, doubt in his voice. “What’s his name? No, let me guess: Nate Romanowski.”
Joe snorted. “Not this time.”
“Then who?”
Joe told him, and spelled out N-E-M-E-C-E-K so Coon could jot it down.
“Never heard of him,” Coon said.
“I’m not surprised. And you likely won’t find much on him, is my guess. But if you dig deep enough into the Defense Department or talk to some secret spooks, you might find out more.”
“This is crazy,” Coon said. “This is too much for the middle of the night. Why are you calling me with this now?”
“So you can start the process,” Joe said. “And I know you’ve got no reason to believe me yet. But just start the process, get things going in the morning with your guys. It’s Friday and you wouldn’t want to wait over the weekend to get started because it may be too late. I’m thinking if official inquiries are made it might get back to the bad guy that he’s got trouble. It might make him back off and we can save some lives up here.”
Coon moaned the moan of a frustrated federal bureaucrat. Joe had heard it before.
“I know,” Joe said. “But some of those lives might belong to my family.”
“What?”
Joe told him about the visit to Marybeth in the library.
Coon was flummoxed. “But why would he do that? Was he trying to intimidate her?”
“I guess,” Joe said. “Of course, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. But it did put the fear of God in her when she considered our daughters. We’re leaving for a few days in the morning.”
Coon sounded genuinely concerned when he said, “You’re taking your family out of the state? Jesus-this is serious.”
“I wouldn’t have called you otherwise,” Joe said. “But I need something else.”
Coon’s concern turned quickly back to agitation. “What?”
“It’s a personal request,” Joe said, “but it may connect with everything else. Do you remember I have a daughter going to school in Laramie? Named Sheridan?”
“Yes,” Coon said. “I remember her.”
“I’m asking you to drive over the summit tomorrow and wake her up in her dorm room. I’ll give you the hall and the room.”
“Wake her up? Why? ”
“Ask her about a new friend of hers from Maryland. A female. I’m sure Sheridan will give you her name and location. When you find this Maryland girl, check her out. Look into her background, then go see her. It should be you in your official capacity. You in your suit and tie and that FBI ID. If this girl from Maryland is who I think she is, you’ll get a whole different response than I would. And be careful-she might surprise you. And find out if she’s acquainted with a boy who just graduated named Luke Brueggemann. I’ll spell that…”
“You can’t just throw this crap out there and expect me to jump,” Coon said. “Did you forget who I work for?”
“Look,” Joe said, “trust me on this. Chuck, I wouldn’t call if I didn’t think it was important. This is my family and my daughter I’m talking about, plus who knows how many other innocent people will go down before this is over. I can’t prove a darned thing, but we can sort it all out later. I’m not asking you to do anything unethical or illegal. I’m just asking you to rearrange your morning and get your guys in the office to start an investigation of John Nemecek. If it all pans out, you and your office will be heroes. If it doesn’t, I’ll be the jackass.”
“Won’t be the first time,” Coon chuckled.
“Or the last. And as soon as I know more from my end, I’ll call you. I think the pieces will start to fall into place if we force it.”
Another sigh.
“I’d do it for you,” Joe said. “If you ask me a favor to help your family, you know I’d do it.”
“I was waiting for you to play that card,” Coon said, defeated.
“I would,” Joe said.
“I know you would,” Coon said. “Now what was the name of this Luke kid?”
After Joe closed his phone and dropped it into his pocket, he looked up and the road was suddenly filled with mule deer. He weaved around a doe and two fawns-barely missing them-and stomped on his brakes inches away from hitting a five-point buck.
Then something hit him.
Over the last week, Brueggemann had made several references Joe found discordant, but he hadn’t placed any significance to them at the time. But now, in retrospect, they were odd things to hear from a Wyoming boy who claimed to have grown up in Sundance.
First, Brueggemann had asked Marybeth for another soda, instead of a soft drink or pop. More significantly, now that Joe thought about it, was when Luke said he’d done a full head mount of an “eight-point buck” and that he liked his venison bloody. In the west, hunters classified deer by the number of antler points on one side, not both. Hence a buck with a set of four-point antlers was called a “four-point,” not an eight-point, like they said in the east. And no one used the term “venison.” Everybody simply called it “deer meat.”
He sat motionless in his pickup, breathing hard, while dozens of deer flowed around him. They were moving from the mountains toward the valley floor in a thick, shadowy stream.
JOE DROVE down dark and silent Main Street, noting that even the Stockman’s Bar had closed early, and turned left on First. A single set of tire tracks marked the asphalt. Light snow hung like suspended sequins from the streetlights.
As he drove up the hill toward Brueggemann’s motel, he took a side street and turned up an alley toward the building. As if he were approaching potential poachers in the field after dark, he slowed down and turned off his headlights and taillights and clicked on his sneak lights. He crept his pickup up the alley and slowed to a stop at the egress where he could see the front of the TeePee Motel parking lot but remain hidden in the shadows.
It didn’t take long.
There was a sweep of headlights from the street that licked across the windshields of parked guests’ cars
