Marie smiled. “That’s because I know she’s in good hands.”
They left Marie in the interview room. Joe and Portenson stood in the hall, shaking their heads at each other.
“Couple of things,” Joe said. “If Marie called Eric to come and get Stuart Tanner, then Eric could not have done the cattle mutilations.” Portenson moaned. “Why don’t we forget about the dead cows for now.” “Because I can’t.” Joe didn’t bring up the moose.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It means that somebody or something else mutilated the animals,” Joe said. “It had nothing to do with Eric, or Marie. She used the mutilations for cover to do in Tanner. But she didn’t have anything to do with them in the first place.”
Portenson sounded almost physically pained. “Joe . . .” “Don’t tell me it was birds, Portenson.”
After a long silence, Portenson said, “Okay, I won’t. But I don’t see where it matters anymore. The mutilations have gone away. We’ll never find out who did it, and frankly, since we’ve got Marie, I really don’t care anymore. We’ll find Eric. It’s just a matter of time.”
“One more thing,” Joe said. “Jessica Logue.” “Oh, man . . .”
“Are her grandparents okay? The ones in Denver? Can they take her?” “This isn’t my department.”
“I know. But you talked to them. Do they seem like normal human beings? Not like Clancy and Helen? Or Marie?”
“They seem normal.” “Are you sure?”
“I didn’t give them a psychological test, or anything. Come on, Joe . . .” “I’m serious.” Joe said, raising his voice. “It’s important. We’ve seen too many people screwed up by bad parents. I can’t let Jessica go there unless I’m sure she’ll be okay. If it’s not, we’ve got to find a normal uncle and aunt. There’s got to be somebody.”
Portenson sighed, “Okay, okay. I’ll make your case. We’ll send some people over there, and do some checking. But please understand that this isn’t what the FBI does . . .”
Joe thanked him before he could recant.
n the plane back, Joe sat in his seat and furiously rubbed his face with his hands. He hadn’t seen it, hadn’t suspected. And even though one part of the investigation was concluded, there was still more. The whole sordid case left a bad taste in his mouth. It always came down to the family, he thought.
Marybeth listened as Joe recounted the interview, watching him. She shook her head sadly.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “She fooled everyone.”
Marybeth came over and sat on Joe’s lap. Her eyes were moist. “We talked about everything, Joe. She told me about her dreams. I told her about mine. Now I find out that her dreams were things she made up for my sake. I feel horribly duped, and angry.”
He held her. “Sometimes, darling, we see what we want to see. Remember Wacey Hedeman?”
Wacey had been Joe’s closest friend until he betrayed Joe. Four years before, Wacey had shot Marybeth and threatened Sheridan. It still hurt when Joe thought about it. Wacey had twenty more years to go at the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Rawlins.
“Thank you for trying to find the best family for Jessica,” Marybeth said softly. “I wish we could keep her, I really do. But after what happened to April, I just can’t make the commitment.”
Joe nodded. “I knew that. It’s okay.”
They sat like that for a half an hour, each with their own rumination, holding each other.
Eric Logue is still out there, he thought, and so is whatever mutilated the cattle.
She thought, We’re back to where we started.
39
Winter storm clouds were nosing over the top of the Bighorn Mountains and the air was cold and lifeless when Nate Romanowski pulled on his jacket to check his falcons in the mews. Joe Pickett was bringing Sheridan out later that morning, for her first falconry apprenticeship lesson in a while. Nate’s special project had concluded, more or less successfully, and it was time to fly his birds again. It had been too long, nearly two months.
On mornings like this, in the quiet of an impending storm, sounds carried farther. It would be a good morning to submerge himself in the river and listen, Nate thought. But the water was getting too cold for that. He needed a winter wet suit.
From inside the mews, he heard his peregrine squeal and flap his wings wildly, and Nate stopped before opening the door. He had put a leather hood on the bird the night before, specifically to keep the falcon calm. Something had alarmed the bird. There was something wrong. . . .
The blow to his head came from above, from the roof of the mews. He hadn’t thought to look up.
Nate knew what was happening, he knew why it was happening, but there was nothing he could do about it. His limbs wouldn’t respond and he couldn’t even open his eyes. The heavy blow had temporarily paralyzed him, disconnected his brain from his body. He lay on his back in the dirt near the door of the mews.
Even worse, someone was on top of him, pinning him down.
He felt the deep slice of a blade behind his ear, felt it draw down across his jaw, the sound like a liquid swish, then a jarring scrape of metal on bone that sent a shock throughout his nervous system. It reminded him of how amplified things sounded when he was underwater. He felt the air on exposed tissue as the flesh on his face was pulled aside, and it felt cold.
Eric Logue.
Sheridan had been searching the sky for falcons and lazily eating a banana for breakfast as they drove to Nate
