Sheriff Bud Barnum sat behind a desk stacked with mountains of paper and mail. He was sipping from a large white foam cup that he appeared never to put down. Although Barnum's office was good sized, there were stacks of magazines and documents everywhere, and the untidiness of it gave Joe a claustrophobic feeling. There was a single, brown Naugahyde chair across from Barnum's desk, and Joe moved a few pieces of unopened mail from it and sat down.
Barnum sipped loudly from his cup. Joe could smell the strong coffee.
'You ever been to that new coffee place down the block?' Barnum asked. Joe nodded that he had. Marybeth liked to meet him there for coffee and oversized muffins when he took a morning break.
'It's a pretty good place,' Barnum said quietly. 'The people who own it are a little goofy, though. It's kind of a hippie establishment. They moved here from California, and she doesn't wear makeup or shave her legs, which I don't understand the significance of. He was some kind of computer engineer before he sold his stock and moved out here. All their food is vegetarian.'
To Joe, Barnum looked very tired. His pallor was grayish, and there were bags under his eyes.
'They've got all these different kinds of coffee these days,' Barnum said, looking at the big foam cup. 'This is Ethiopian JabaJava. All my life I thought there was only one kind of coffee and that it came out of a big red can with a little Mexican or Colombian farmer on it. Then all of the sudden there are a hundred kinds of coffee. They feature a new kind of special coffee every day in that place. I've been trying a different one every day to try and make up for all of those years I was sheltered. I don't know why it is that alcohol and tobacco are now bad, but jolts of caffeine are suddenly good. It is beyond me, and it makes me feel old.'
He handed Joe the cup for Joe to try it. To be polite, Joe had a sip. Barnum had a disarming and likable way about him. Joe nodded.
'Pretty good, eh?' Barnum said. 'Who'd a thought there could be coffee from Africa? Plain old American coffee just isn't good enough for us anymore, I guess.'
Joe felt awkward. Then he came right out with it: 'Can I ask you a question about the outfitter murders?'
'Pertaining to what?' Barnum asked, sitting a little straighter in his chair, his heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Joe. Joe started to answer, but Barnum spoke again. 'First I need to know whose camp you're in,' Barnum said.
'Whose camp?'
'Wacey Hedeman's or mine,' Barnum said. 'The guy who is running against me. Your pal.'
'I'm neutral,' Joe said truthfully. 'I don't have a position on that.'
Barnum's expression never changed. Joe had no idea what Barnum was thinking. It was unnerving.
'Stay that way,' Barnum warned.
'I intend to,' Joe replied.
'I'm going to lose the election,' Barnum said flatly. 'I've been around long enough to know this is the last one, even if no one else realizes it.'
Joe had no idea how to answer that. He couldn't imagine Bud Barnum not being the sheriff of Twelve Sleep County. Clearly, Barnum couldn't either.
'I don't know what the hell I'm going to do after that,' Barnum said. 'Maybe the governor will give me a job, but then I'd have to move to Cheyenne. Probably I'll just stay here and drink a lot of coffee.'
Joe lamely suggested that there was still a month and a half until the election and that anything could happen in that time. Barnum nodded wearily.
'You had a question.'
'I'm wondering what the status of the investigation is.'
'The status of the investigation,' Barnum mimicked, his expression theatrically perplexed, 'is obvious. The state crime-lab ballistics has proven that all three Mississippi yahoos were shot with the same nine millimeter semiautomatic pistol at close range, and that pistol was found on Mr. Clyde Lidgard by Deputy McLanahan and yourself and Mr. Hedeman. Lidgard is in critical condition in the Billings hospital, having never regained consciousness, and the doctors up there say every day that he won't live through the night but he has so far. Unless Mr. Lidgard regains consciousness and tells us a story that is different from what we already know, the case is all but closed.'
Joe waited for more. No more was coming. 'So when Clyde Lidgard dies, the investigation ends,' Joe said.
'Unless there is some kind of new evidence to open it back up,' Barnum said. 'Simple as that.'
Joe nodded. 'His trailer was searched?'
Barnum's tone was mildly sarcastic, 'It was searched both by the sheriff's office and by the state boys. Nothing could be found that either implicated or exonerated Lidgard. The report is in the file if you want to read it over. Lidgard was a strange bird, and his trailer was a strange place. He liked to take a lot of pictures with his Kodak Instamatic. There are thousands of photos out there. He also liked to collect pictures of Marilyn Monroe, including that first-ever Playboy magazine with her in it. That magazine's probably the only thing Clyde owned that was worth anything. If that magazine is still out there, it will amaze me because more than likely it ended up in the briefcase of one of the state investigators. But aside from the magazine, everything that was in the trailer is still in the trailer, and the unit has been sealed and locked.'
Joe took it all in and waited for Barnum to finish. 'Do you mind if I take a look on my own?' Joe asked.
Barnum again resumed the perplexed look. Then he smiled slightly as if Joe amused him.
'You going to do some investigating?'
'Just curious.'
'Can I ask why?' Barnum said, his eyebrows arching.
Joe shrugged. 'I guess I'm taking this whole thing a little personal because Ote Keeley died in my yard. This whole thing has affected my family.'
