“He was down under the bridge until about an hour ago,” Jack said. “He yelled down to me and said he caught three fish.”
Joe smiled.
“He caught a ride somewhere, though,” Jack said. “He hasn’t come back.” “Do you know who picked him up?”
Jack shook his head. “Didn’t recognize him. But he was driving a bigass truck and pulling a trailer behind it. Big silver trailer, with some kind of writing on it.”
Joe froze. “Did it say ‘Dr. Cleve Garrett, Iconoclast Society, Reno, Nevada?’ ”
Looking up from his fly, Jack shrugged. “Could have, I’m not sure. But I’ve never seen it around here before. I saw the guy driving though, and I swear I’ve seen him before.”
Joe took an involuntary step backward. It made no sense—why was Garrett back in Saddlestring? And why would he stop to give Not Ike a ride somewhere? Then something clicked in his head, a sick pit of worry growing in his stomach.
“You okay, Joe?”
But Joe had turned and was running up the riverbank toward his pickup. As he threw open the pickup door, he called down to Jack, “Which direction were they going?”
Jack pointed to the west, toward the mountains.
Joe jumped into the cab, cranked the wheel, and did a screeching U-turn back onto the bridge, nearly taking out the railing with his bumper.
33
Joe accelerated on bighorn road , grabbing his radio as he drove. “Cleve Garrett has kidnapped a man named George Easter, aka Not Ike Easter,” Joe shouted into his radio microphone after switching to the mutual aid channel. “Everyone out there watch for a Suburban towing an Airstream trailer . . .” he described the vehicle, the trailer, and Not Ike as best he could.
It took a few beats before the radio traffic became fevered, with comments, questions, and location reports coming in through the central dispatcher from Saddlestring police, sheriff ’s deputies, and the highway patrol. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, everyone wanted more details. Deputy McLanahan complained that he was just done with his shift and headed for dinner at the Burg-O-Pardner. He asked how to spell “iconoclast.”
Joe’s cell phone rang immediately, as he expected it would.
It was Hersig, and he was distraught. “What in the hell is going on, Joe? What are you doing? Everyone’s in a damned uproar because of something you just broadcast.”
“A man matching the description of Cleve Garrett lured Not Ike out of the river and took him someplace,” Joe said. “He was last seen headed toward the mountains.”
“Cleve Garrett?” Hersig shouted. “CLEVE GARRETT? What about Eric Logue? I got a message from Portenson about him.”
“I don’t know!” Joe yelled back angrily. “Maybe it was Garrett all along!” “Jesus Christ,” Hersig said. “How do we know Not Ike wasn’t just get-ting a lift to another fishing spot upriver?”
“Because,” Joe said, “things are starting to fall into place, and not in a good way. None of us—especially me— took Garrett seriously, because of all his goofy theories. But the fact is that he was in Montana when the first cattle mutilations were reported. When the cattle were mutilated in Saddlestring, he was here too. No one else we know of was around when and where both sets of crimes were committed—except Cleve Garrett. And Garrett pulled up stakes and vanished, so he was obviously trying to get away fast. I couldn’t figure out why, before, and assumed it had to do with Deena. Now I’m thinking he must have thought we were closing in on him, that I was closing in on him.”
“But if that’s all true, why would Garrett come back to Saddlestring and risk getting caught?” Robey said. “Why grab Not Ike, of all people?” “Not Ike told us how he’d seen somebody, a couple of men, in an al-ley behind Logue Realty. He called them ‘creepylike.’ Remember from the report?”
“Now I do. I didn’t put any stock in it.”
“Me either, damn it,” Joe said. “But I’m thinking that Not Ike was the only living person who may have actually seen the bad guys. Maybe he could identify them.”
Hersig paused. “Who would know about what he said besides us?” “Cam Logue would know,” Joe said.
“How in the hell would he know?” “Because I told him about it in his office.” “Oh no . . .”
“That’s right,” Joe said. “There must be a connection between Cam and Garrett. I don’t know what it is yet but it’s the only explanation I can think of.
“Not Ike said he saw two people in the alley by Logue Realty— Garrett was one of them and Cam Logue was probably the other. Cam must have called Garrett after I left his office and told him.” Joe mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. If something happened to Not Ike because of him, he’d never forgive himself.
“Calm down, Joe,” Robey said. “Just stay focused, all right? We don’t even know for sure that Cam’s involved. Not Ike could have told the same thing to others and probably did. This morning you told me Logue wasn’t part of all this, and now suddenly you’re convinced he’s in cahoots with Garrett?”
“Forget what I said, Robey,” Joe said heatedly. “I may be wrong but if I’m not then Not Ike’s life is in danger. You’ve got to send someone out to pick up Cam right away. He may know where Garrett is heading. Hell, for all we know he could be running now, too.”
“Who do you want me to send, Joe? Finding Garrett and Not Ike is everyone’s number-one priority,” Hersig said. “Barnum and his deputies and basically all other law enforcement within twenty miles of Saddlestring are already out looking for Garrett. I’m not going to call one of them and ask that they turn around to go pick up a respected local businessman who may or may not be involved in this whole thing.”
