37
The snow came unexpectedly, as it did in the mountains, but the pale blue behind the storm clouds indicated it wouldn’t sock in, wouldn’t last all day. Large, soft flakes filtered down through the sky, clumping like cotton in the high grass. The snow muted the chirping of the squirrels and threw a hush over the river valley and Camp Five, but Joe didn’t know it. He could barely hear anything.
They sat near the cold fire pit. Nate had carried Haley’s body over to be with them, as if to separate her from the other bodies that littered the campsite. Her head was on his lap, eyes closed, and Nate stroked her hair.
Joe held his left hand by the wrist with his right as if it were a foreign object. It was swelling and looked like he was wearing a heavy glove. He’d drifted in and out of shock and consciousness for the hour since it had ended.
Finally, Nate said, “You should have flown away.”
Joe shrugged. He could not yet wrap his mind around what had happened in the camp. Every time he glanced over at one of the bodies-Hinkle, the two operatives, or Nemecek-he half expected them to come back from the dead and attack. Snow fell on Nemecek’s face and turned pink beneath his head in the pool of black blood.
Nate stroked Haley’s hair and said, “Everybody. Everybody. ”
Joe didn’t ask him to explain.
Nate looked up. “Except you.”
“Dumb luck,” Joe said.
“Why didn’t you just kill him outright?” Joe asked after a few minutes. “It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”
Nate continued to run his fingers through Haley’s hair. He quit and gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand.
“I wanted some answers,” Nate said. “Why he did what he did. I wanted to know if he was operating alone or for somebody else. I wanted to know if he felt any guilt, like I have.”
“Did you expect him to confess?”
“I don’t know what I expected. But now I’ll never know. He’ll be a complete enigma to me forever, just like he’s always been.”
Joe didn’t hear the sound of a motor but noted that Nate had. He looked at Nate expectantly.
“They’re coming,” Nate said.
“Helicopter or convoy?”
“Chopper,” Nate said.
The snow had stopped, and the storm clouds had moved to the west. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun lit up the remaining snow that had gathered in the pine branches.
Joe said, “You’re staying around for them?”
“Are you going to stop me if I go?”
Joe thought about it and shook his head.
Nate rubbed his eyes. He said, “I’m tired, Joe. And I’m hit. I can’t just walk away into the mountains.”
“You could take one of those vehicles,” Joe said, nodding toward Nemecek’s crossover and the two white SUVs. “I can’t drive you out of here in my pickup because it’s stuck on top of the mountain.”
Nate smiled at that.
“So what are you going to do?” Joe asked.
Nate took a long intake of breath and expelled it with his eyes closed.
“You’re in a lot of pain,” Joe said, thinking of the shoulder wound in addition to the gunshot.
“Yes,” Nate said. “She was something, wasn’t she?”
Joe felt a lump in his throat when he said, “She was.”
Nate gently moved her head from his lap and struggled to stand up.
“I think I’m going to take her home,” Nate said. “She’s got a dad who would probably like to see her one last time.”
“Go, then,” Joe said.
As they loaded her body into the back of the white Tahoe they’d arrived in, Nate turned to Joe and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Joe…”
“Just go. Get out of the camp before they see you.”
Nate gestured as if to say One more thing. Then he walked stiffly and slowly to each of the falcon platforms, untied their hoods and jesses, and released them to the sky.
He turned back to Joe. “It might be a while before I come back.”
“Get to a doctor to get that gunshot fixed up.”
Nate waved the advice away. He said, “It’s been a wild ride.”
Joe heard the helicopter now. He said, “Better get out of here.”
AFTERWORD
Three days later, Joe Pickett stood in the lobby of the Twelve Sleep County Municipal Airport, waiting for the passengers of the incoming flight to disembark. In his breast pocket were his ID and boarding pass; Saddlestring to Denver, Denver to LAX, departing at 11:14 a.m.
The surly gate agent had not been as surly this time. Apparently she, like everyone else in the county and the state, had heard and read about what had happened at Camp Five on the South Fork. When she checked him in, she said, “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get out of this place right now.”
He’d grunted a non-response response.
“Going to meet up with your wife and kids?”
“Yup. The hotel is booked for three more days.”
“That doesn’t give you much time at Disneyland.”
“Fine with me.”
“What happened to your hand?” she asked, nodding at the thick white club of a cast on the end of his right arm. The tips of his fingers and thumb poked out, but all the joints were encased and his hand was useless.
“Broke it,” he said.
“Security is going to want a close look at that,” she warned.
Joe sighed.
The interviews, affidavits, and debriefings had begun before he had even been released from the hospital. Marybeth had said she was coming back with the girls, but Joe told her to stay until he got there because there wasn’t anything she could do.
FBI Special Agent Chuck Coon was leading the inquiry, assisted by County Attorney Dulcie Schalk. Joe told his version of the events and the firefight at least four times. He left out nothing. Coon winced when Joe said he’d watched Nate Romanowski drive away, but there was no hint at charges to be filed against Joe.
Speculation was rampant concerning the motivations of John Nemecek and his team. Forensics tied Nemecek to the murders of Pam Kelly, Bad Bob Whiteplume, and Luke Brueggemann. Law enforcement in Colorado and Idaho were in contact with Coon to try and fill in the whole story and clear up the multiple homicides in both states. The Teton County Sheriff’s Department had a liaison on site, and he reported that the tortured man in the hospital refused to talk.
Even Agent Coon was wondering about the reason for the arrival of a three-man team being sent out from the Department of Defense in Washington.
As per Wyoming Game and Fish Department procedure, Joe had been placed on paid administrative leave because he’d discharged his firearm during the course of his duty. Another problem was his pickup, which was still
