Joe sat up, blinking, momentarily confused. He hadn’t heard Speer walk down the hall and didn’t know how long he’d been half-sleeping, suffering through the nightmares. Joe could smell himself: dried sweat and mud, with flowery bloodstains on his Wranglers and the sleeves of his red uniform shirt, half-moons of black blood under his fingernails that wouldn’t wash out. “Maybe so,” Joe said, nodding toward the ICU entrance, “but I think I’ll wait until I hear about Robey.”
Speer nodded. That he didn’t volunteer words of encouragement was not lost on either of them.
“Does Nancy know?” Speer asked.
“She was in Casper at a meeting,” Joe said. “She’s on her way here.”
“I bet that wasn’t an easy conversation.”
Joe shook his head. “Nope.”
“Let’s hope things calm down out there,” Speer said, gesturing vaguely with his chin in the direction of the mountains. “I only have three drawers down in the morgue and they’re all full. I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”
It took Joe a moment to figure out what Speer meant. “Frank Urman, Lothar, and Wally Conway,” Joe said. Meaning if Robey didn’t pull through, Speer wouldn’t know where to put his body.
“At least we were able to reunite Mr. Urman’s head with his body,” Speer said with bitter humor.
Joe winced. He’d forgotten about the hysterical cell phone call he’d received from Randy Pope as he, Kiner, and Reed drove down the mountain with all the victims. At the time, Joe cradled Robey in his arms, hoping the makeshift compresses they’d fashioned would stanch the flow of blood from the entrance and exit wounds in Robey’s chest and back. Pope had screamed about finding the head mounted in his room, saying, “Now this is
It was clear now to Joe what the killer had been doing between the time he shot Frank Urman and when he returned to the crime scene—mounting Urman’s head on a plaque in Pope’s hotel room. The savagery of the act was incomprehensible, and Joe did his best to shove it aside for later when he could better process the information.
“I suppose you heard,” Speer said, “the governor closed all hunting and access to state lands and he’s asking the Feds to do the same.”
Joe hadn’t heard, but he wasn’t surprised. Pope and the governor’s worst-case scenario had materialized. Joe was numb and completely unmoved by the news, although he knew what kind of uproar was likely to erupt statewide. All he cared about now was what was happening on the other side of the ICU doors. He had several messages on his cell phone from the governor, but hadn’t the will nor the energy to return them. He had four from Randy Pope. They’d been left while he was giving his statement to Deputy Reed earlier. Sheriff McLanahan had stood off to the side, a disdainful look on his face. Disdainful but triumphant, a look that said,
Chris Urman was in custody in the sheriff’s department, but Joe expected him to be released quickly. Joe told Deputy Reed that Urman had simply defended himself, firing only after being surprised by Lothar and being fired upon. Joe knew Urman felt horrible about what had happened, and had dismissed any suspicion he may have had of him on their trek back to the pickup to find Robey and Conway. Joe’s pickup was still on the mountain, shot up and bloodstained. He’d need to send a tow truck for it. Another year, another damaged truck.
Speer leaned over and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Go home, Joe. Get cleaned up. Get some rest. There’s nothing you can do here.”
Joe shook his head. “I need to be here when Nancy comes. I need to apologize to her for putting Robey in that situation.”
Speer shook his head sadly, gave Joe’s shoulder a squeeze, and went back in the direction of his little morgue.
NANCY HERSIG looked frantic when she pushed through the hallway doors. Nancy had always been meticulous in her look and dress, always composed and calm, comfortable with herself. Given to jeans, sweaters, blazers, and pearls, Nancy Hersig was the queen of volunteer causes in Twelve Sleep County, heading up the United Way, the hospital foundation, the homeless shelter. But Joe saw a different Nancy coming down the hall. Her eyes were red-rimmed and looked like angry red headlights. Her makeup was smeared and the right side of her hair was wild, the result of raking it back with her fingers on the drive from Casper to Saddlestring.
Joe stood up and she came to him, letting him hold her. She began to weep in hard, racking sobs that had to hurt, he thought.
“I thought I was cried out,” she said, her teeth chattering as she took a breath, “but I guess I’m not.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“What have you heard, Joe?”
“He’s in surgery,” he said, hoping a doctor would burst through the doors at exactly that moment with good news.
“What did the doctors say?”
Joe sighed. “That he’s hurt real bad, Nancy.”
“He’s tough,” she said, “he’s always been tough. He used to rodeo, you know.”
“I know.”
“I wish I could see him and talk him through this.”
Joe didn’t know what to say, and simply held her. She regained her composure and gently pushed herself away, dabbing at her face with her sleeve. “God, I’m a mess,” she said, her eyes sweeping across his face and lingering on the splotches of dried blood on his Wranglers.
“Is that Robey’s?” she asked, pointing.
“We did all we could to stop the bleeding,” Joe said, “but . . .”
