Joe stepped around the front of his pickup to meet him. He felt a flutter in his stomach as he did. Portenson obviously had something to say.
“The sheriff and I were just agreeing that it would be best if you took a backseat in this investigation,” Portenson said.
Joe didn’t hide his annoyance. “I don’t know what your problem is,” Joe said. “The FBI was exonerated last year. You guys did an investigation of yourselves and determined that you were a bunch of heroes.”
Portenson grimaced. “Officially, yeah. Unofficially, it’s different on the inside with my fellow agents. I’m a fucking leper. Because I helped you and didn’t support my brethren.”
“You did the right thing.”
“As if that had anything to do with anything. Tell that to my office, okay? I’m going nowhere fast. I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my career. I really don’t.”
“Unless you redeem yourself to get promoted out of here,” Joe said. “Unless you do something big.”
“Like if I figure out how you and your pal Nate Romanowski were in-volved in the suicide of a federal-land manager.” Portenson said the word “suicide” with dripping contempt.
Joe said nothing. He knew this would always hang over him, always weigh him down. And it should, he thought, it should. He tried to think of something to say.
“Birds?” Joe asked. “What?”
“Do you really think birds are the answer to the mutilations?” Portenson got close to Joe, his face inches away. Joe could smell coffee and tobacco on his breath.
“It’s as good as any other theory in that room and better than most of them.”
“It wasn’t birds,” Joe said.
12
On the otherside of town, Marybeth Pickett glanced into her rearview mirror to check on her passengers. Lucy and Jessica Logue were huddled together on the middle bench seat, and Sheridan occupied the rear seat of the van. Sheridan sported an expression that shouted: I AM EXTREMELY BORED!
Lucy and Jessica had once again made plans to play at the Logues’ home after school.
“Why does she have to be so social?” Sheridan asked Marybeth.
“I can hear you, you know,” Lucy said over her shoulder to Sheridan. “Maybe it’s because I have good friends.”
“She’ll probably be a cheerleader, for goodness sake.”
“That’s because I’ll have something to cheer about and won’t be crabby all the time, like some people.”
Which caused Jessica to giggle. “Put a gag in it, Lucy.”
“Girls . . .” Marybeth cautioned.
Driving down Second Street, Marybeth smiled to herself. Although Sheridan participated in plenty of activities at school and church, she had never felt the need to fill her social calendar beyond that. She didn’t get many calls at home, and rarely made any to classmates. Sheridan’s best friend, Marybeth thought with a gulp, was probably Nate Romanowski.
Marybeth turned into the winding, tree-shrouded driveway out of habit and nearly rear-ended a stopped vehicle. She slammed on her brakes, the van did a quick shimmy, and they avoided hitting the pickup with a camper in the back of it by less than a foot.
“Cool,” Sheridan said. “Nice maneuver.”
Marybeth blew out a breath and sat back. That had been too close. It was her fault. She had assumed the driveway would be empty the way it always was.
“Everybody okay?”
They all said they were, and then Lucy and Jessica were scrambling for the door handles.
Because the van was designed to automatically lock all the doors when it was in gear, Marybeth had to hit a toggle switch to open them. She hesitated as she reached for the switch to let the girls out.
The camper pickup she had almost slammed into was old, red, dented, and splashed with mud. It listed a bit to the side, as if one of the shocks was bad. The old truck had dirty South Dakota plates.
“Do you have visitors, Jessica?” Marybeth asked, turning in her seat. Jessica gave up on the door and looked up nodding. “My grandma and my grandpa are here.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s nice for you,” Marybeth said, trying to think if either Cam or Marie had mentioned their company at the office. If they had, she couldn’t remember it. The atmosphere in the office had been tense all week, with lots of closed doors.
“Yeah,” Jessica said without enthusiasm. “They’re from South Dakota?”
“Um-hmmm.”
“Will they be staying with you very long?”
Marybeth saw Sheridan look up at her with an exasperated expression. She wanted to go home, not listen to her mother pry for information.
“I don’t know.”
“How long have they been here?” “A week, maybe more.”
