just come upon a clever discovery.
Again, Joe had to hold himself back. Nate had been right.
With his glove, Joe reached into his parka. Cargill’s ear felt like a thin, greasy slice of apple. He flipped it onto Barnum’s lap like a poker chip.
“Here’s his ear.”
“That is absolutely disgusting,” Broxton-Howard said, hiding her face in her hands.
Barnum smiled sardonically, and shook his head in something like admiration.
“Now, where’s Munker?” Joe demanded.
Melinda Strickland looked to Sheriff Barnum for help.
“He’s in a position to fire on the compound,” Barnum said.
“Where?”
Barnum nodded vaguely toward the fence.
“Call him in,” Joe said.
Again, Melinda Strickland looked to Barnum. Joe again saw her confused face. Barnum nodded, and she raised the two-way to her mouth.
“Dick, can you hear me?” she asked. Joe noted that she used no official radio protocol.
Everyone in the Sno-Cat now watched her.
“Dick? Come in, Dick.”
“He said he’d keep his radio on,” Barnum muttered.
After a beat, there was a chirp from Strickland’s radio.
“That means he can hear us but he doesn’t want to talk,” she explained to Joe. “He’s in a position where they can’t see him and he doesn’t want to give himself away.”
Joe nearly reached into the backseat and throttled her.
“Give me the radio,” he said, reaching for it. Reluctantly, she handed it over.
Joe grabbed it and keyed the mike. “Munker, wherever you are, this is Joe Pickett. Your little show is over. Spud Cargill is in custody in Saddlestring with Agent Portenson. I repeat, Spud Cargill is NOT HERE.” Joe spoke as clearly as he could, trying to keep the rage out.
Silence.
Joe withdrew his head from the Sno-Cat and looked over the hood of the next vehicle into the falling snow and distant shadows of the trailers in the compound. He stood behind the open door and felt warmth from the cab radiate out. The silence was remarkable. Even with the Sno-Cat’s engine idling, the heavy snow hushed everything. Joe noticed that two members of the assault team—he couldn’t tell who they were, of course—must have heard him talking to Munker, because they now looked back at him, and at each other.
Joe searched the shadowed trees and the meadow for a sign of Dick Munker. Between the Sno-Cats and the fence was a ditch.
Joe guessed that Munker would hide in that ditch so he could rest his sniper’s rifle on the opposite bank and see into the compound. There was enough snow-covered brush to hide behind, Joe noticed, and Munker would likely be in all-white winter gear.
The two-way crackled to life. “This is Munker. They’ve got a hostage.”
Joe stared at the radio in disbelief. What was
Then he raised it to his mouth, still scanning the silent meadow for Munker. “What are you talking about, Munker?”
“Give me back the radio,” Strickland whined from inside, putting her dog aside so she could reach for it.
Joe turned his back to her.
“What hostage?” Joe asked.
Munker’s voice was a whisper. Joe assumed Munker had it pressed against his lips to muffle his voice even further. “She’s the wife of that crazy minister in Saddlestring. Mrs. Cobb. I can see her in the trailer.”
Instantly, Joe understood, and his blood ran cold. He understood why Eunice Cobb hadn’t been with B.J. in the morning. He understood “My Love.” He understood where the Cobbs’ missing snowmobile had gone. She had come to the compound the night before to warn them in person after Joe’s visit, rather than e-mail. Maybe she had come up to assure the Sovereigns that they shouldn’t harbor Spud. For whatever reason—the increasing storm, or the fact that a convoy of law-enforcement personnel were coming up the road—she’d been forced to stay the night.
“How do you know she’s a hostage?” Joe asked. “How do you know she isn’t just visiting?”
“You’re one stupid motherfucker,” Munker replied in his deep cigarette-coated voice.
“Give me that!” Melinda Strickland said, reaching around Joe and snatching the radio from his hand. She settled back into the rear of the Sno-Cat.
