Joe leaned forward on Ike’s desk. “As I mentioned, I think that the murders have something to do with either the potential sale of the Timberline Ranch or the mineral rights. I think if we know who holds the rights, we might know who ordered—or did—the killings.”
Ike swallowed. “Even the cows?” he asked.
“Maybe not the cows, but Tuff Montegue and Stuart Tanner.” “And you feel pretty confident about this?”
Joe sat back and rubbed his face. “Kind of,” he confessed.
oe found Robey Hersig in his office reading the Roundup and looking very sour.
“Tell me something good, Joe.”
Joe sat down and recapped what he knew and suspected. Hersig grew increasingly interested, and began to take notes. When Joe was through, Hersig steepled his fingers and pressed them against the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have enough to arrest anyone yet, or even bring them in for questioning,” Hersig said. “I know.”
“So what’s your next step?”
“I’m going to go see Cam Logue.” Hersig winced. “It might be too soon.”
“Maybe so. But it might break something loose. Or,” Joe said, “Cam may blow my whole theory out of the water.”
Robey sat for several moments, thinking things through. “What can I do to help?”
“A few things,” Joe said. “Intensify the search for Cleve Garrett. We’ve got to find him and make sure the girl’s okay. I can’t see him just blowing out of town like he did, after wanting to get so involved with the task force. Then follow up with Sheriff Harvey and Deputy Cook. They’ve already involved Portenson, so maybe we can find out more about this Eckhardt guy. I don’t know how or if Fort Bragg figures in, but Cook said he thought the army was stonewalling him when he called. Maybe if they heard from you, or the governor, we’d get some answers. Oh, and check up with Ike to see if they’ve located that Timberline Ranch file.”
“I can do all of that,” Hersig said, writing it down on the pad. “But you’re forgetting somebody. What about Barnum?”
“Keep him the hell out of it,” Joe said. “Joe .. .”
“It’s not just about this thing between Barnum and me,” Joe said. “Barnum seems more hostile than usual. He called me at my house and all but warned me off of this thing. I think he’s involved in some way, Robey.”
Hersig slapped his desktop angrily. “Joe, do you realize what you’re saying?”
Joe nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think Barnum had anything to do with the mutilations or the murders. I think he’s playing another angle, but I don’t know what it is yet. Somehow, I think he’s taking advantage of the situation.”
Hersig stared at Joe, still upset. “I can’t lie to him, Joe. He’s the sheriff.” “But you can just sort of withhold information, can’t you? Not return his calls? Just for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow?” Hersig shook his head. “Do you think we’re that close?”
“I think we’re close to something,” Joe said, standing and clamping on his hat. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Hersig gave a low moan.
As Joe opened the door, Hersig called out to him.
“Give Cam my regards,” Hersig said. “And call me the minute you know something.”
29
It felt odd , Joe thought, entering the front office of Logue Country Realty. In a few hours, Marybeth would be there.
Marie wasn’t at the front desk, as she usually was. In her place was a thin, blond woman who pursed her lips, whom Joe caught reading a supermarket tabloid. She was the only person in Saddlestring, he thought with some relief, who wasn’t aware that there was NO PROGRESS IN MUTILATION DEATHS.
“Is Marie still sick?” Joe asked.
“I guess so,” the woman said. “All I know is that the temp agency called and asked me to come in again.”
“Is Cam here?”
“May I ask your name?” “Joe Pickett.”
The temp hesitated and looked puzzled for a moment, as if she had heard the name but couldn’t place it.
“My wife, Marybeth, works here,” Joe said.
“Ah,” the temp said. “She seems nice.”
“She is nice,” Joe said, impatience creeping in. “But I’m here to see Cam.”
The temp looked at her wristwatch. “He usually comes in around nine, I think.”
Joe glanced at his own watch. Ten to nine. “I’ll wait in his office.”
The temp wasn’t sure if this was appropriate, but Joe strode by her as if he waited for Cam every day, and she said nothing.
Joe sat in a chair across from Cam’s desk, and put his hat on the chair next to him. This would be interesting, he thought. He planned to watch Cam carefully as he asked him questions, and listen even more carefully. Joe dug his microrecorder out of his front shirt pocket, checked the cassette, and pushed the record button, then buttoned his pocket. By Wyoming law, the tape would be admissible in court, even if Cam wasn’t aware he was being recorded.
