Winterkill

When he opened his eyes, Elle Broxton-Howard was standing in front of him.

“Did you get my fax?” she asked.

Not now, he thought.

“We don’t have any brown rice.”

She smiled. “I can bring some. Or better yet, we don’t do the interview at your house. I just need some quotes on how you trapped that bad guy. And I want to know more about what Mr. Munker was saying about the steering wheel. Is that true?”

Joe fought back an urge to shove her. “It’s true.”

She was joined by Melinda Strickland. Strickland was obviously concerned, which, to Joe, looked as patently false as all of her public emotions. It looked like she’d said to herself, “Now put on your frowny face.”

“Joe, we really have to talk.”

Joe looked up. Elle Broxton-Howard stepped to the side. Munker and Barnum were still at the podium, but they were both looking toward Joe and Melinda Strickland, awaiting the outcome of what no doubt had been previously discussed among the three of them.

“Joe, we all really appreciate what you did when you arrested Rope Latham, but there are some issues.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Broxton-Howard scribbling the sentence in her pad. So this was for her benefit, Joe realized.

“What issues?” he asked. He hated words like “issues.”

“It’s interesting that you didn’t get one of the liens or subpoenas like all of the rest of us did,” she said. “Or did you?”

He shook his head no.

“Joe, don’t you feel that maybe you’ve got too many personal issues in this situation? Like with that little girl and all? Like maybe, you know, maybe you’re a little too close to the Sovereigns up there, and that it would be best not to participate in the search and all?”

He stared at her. Broxton-Howard wrote.

“This whole sad affair started when, unfortunately, Lamar Gardiner escaped from you. The arrest of Rope Latham was good and all, but maybe you should sort of take a break and get some rest and leave it up to the professionals.”

A hot surge began to crawl up Joe’s neck as he looked at Melinda Strickland, and beyond her at Munker. The flush spread through his chest, ran down his arms, and settled behind his eyes. He stared at them both with blinders on, his rage coursing through him.

“I can see what’s happening here,” he said. His voice sounded strained, even to him. “It’s a case of target fixation, just like when Lamar Gardiner saw more elk than he had ever seen in one place before. Like when he was reloading with cigarettes so he could shoot and kill some more.”

“Joe . . .”

“You see a chance to crush people like you’ve always wanted to do. You’ve found a situation where you think you’re justified in doing it. You people hate so much you forget to think. There are big problems here. The first is that you’ve brought in a psychopath to run things.” He nodded toward Munker. “The second is that I have a child up there in that compound. As you know.”

From the front of the room, Dick Munker scoffed. He had been listening all along. “From what I understand she’s not even yours.”

Rage all but consumed him. He despised the fact that Munker and Strickland had discussed Joe and Marybeth’s situation with April as freely as they had. Although the matter was not private, given the circumstances, he thought it should be treated that way. When he closed his eyes, spangles of red cascaded like fireworks down the insides of his eyelids. He felt someone grip his arm—Hersig—and he ripped his arm away.

It’s not about children as property, he shouted to himself, or who belongs to whom. It’s not about that. It’s about bringing up kids who become good human beings, so they won’t turn out like the people standing in front of me.

“Joe?” Hersig asked. Joe hadn’t realized Robey was so close to him.

Joe opened his eyes. Melinda Strickland had stepped back, as had Elle Broxton-Howard. They had inadvertently cleared a path across the room to Dick Munker, who lit a cigarette behind the podium.

“Munker.” His voice was hoarse.

Munker raised an eyebrow in response.

“If you do anything that hurts April even further, I’m going to paint the trees with your blood.”

“My God!” Melinda Strickland said, looking to Broxton-Howard with alarm so her reaction would be noted.

“That goes for you, too,” Joe said, shooting his eyes to Melinda Strickland. “You wanted a war and now you’re going to get your wish.”

“Joe, goddammit, go home,” Hersig hissed into his ear. “Go home before Munker swears out a warrant on you for that threat that we all heard.”

The silence in the room was conspicuous.

Joe let himself be led toward the door by Robey Hersig, who stepped outside with him.

“You were way out of line in there,” Hersig said, shaking his head. “What are you doing, Joe?”

Joe set his jaw to argue, but the red shroud of rage began to pull back from his eyes. “Maybe I don’t know