Blood Trail

Pope dropped his head into his hands. Joe was put off and embarrassed by the reaction.

“Okay, then,” Rulon said, gesturing to Stella to open the door.

Joe sat up. “That’s not all.”

Portenson and the governor both looked at him. Stella hesitated, with her manicured hand poised above the door handle.

“No,” Portenson said, his face flushing red. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is: absolutely not. Don’t even ask.”

Joe turned to the governor. “Nate Romanowski knows the area and he has contacts with extremist groups all across the West. I don’t condone it, but he does. He’s got special insight into somebody like Wolverine because, frankly, Wolverine reminds me more than a little bit of Nate. If you want me to continue this investigation, I need his help.”

Portenson continued to shake his head.

“If he was released into your custody,” Rulon said, “do you give me your word you’ll bring him back for his trial when and if this investigation is over?”

Joe swallowed hard. “I’ll do what’s right.”

Portenson hissed, “We can’t release a federal prisoner on Joe Pickett’s word! We can’t release him, period!”

Pope surprised Joe by saying, “I concur. We need all the help we can get.”

Joe said to Portenson, “You charged him with flimsy evidence that hasn’t gotten any better. You’re just hoping something falls into your lap between now and the trial or you know you’re going to lose.”

“We’re building our case!”

“Just like you were building the case against Klamath Moore and Wolverine?” Joe asked.

Rulon stood up. “Stella, tell them I’m coming out with explosive news.”

“No!” Portenson shouted again, his voice cracking. Then: “Okay, okay!” He pointed his finger at Joe. “But if he doesn’t live up to this agreement, I’m going to throw both of them in jail.”

“Agreed,” Rulon said breezily.

Joe wanted to tell the governor he’d perhaps spoken too soon. Although he had some influence over Nate and Nate had promised years before to assist Joe and protect his family, he didn’t own the outlaw falconer. Nate had always gone his own way, used his own methods, lived under his own code.

“Governor . . .” Joe said, as Rulon turned and Stella preceded him out the door. His words were drowned out by Rulon booming, “Men and women of the press, we’ve got a break in the case! Due to an unprecedented partnership between the state of Wyoming and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I can tell you today that we’re closing in on the vicious killer who . . .”

As he went on, Joe slumped back in his chair, as did Portenson.

Joe listened to Rulon assure the media that the end of the investigation was now in sight, that leads were being vigorously pursued, that the forests and high-country plains of Wyoming would once again be reopened for hunting, fishing, and recreation.

“I can’t believe I just agreed to release Nate Romanowski,” Portenson said sourly to Joe.

I can’t believe it either, Joe thought.

“That governor of yours,” Portenson said, jabbing a finger toward the conference room. “He fucked us both.”

“And that’s why we love him,” Stella said, overhearing Portenson and leaning in the door, flashing her biggest smile at Joe.

17

STELLA DROVE the Escalade with Joe in the passenger seat to meet Tony Portenson at the Federal Building before it closed at five. Joe knew the layout of Cheyenne well enough to know she was taking an unnecessarily circuitous route via Lincolnway and Depot Square downtown. When she stopped at a red light under the galloping plywood horse and rider of a massive western wear store, she said, “I’m really sorry for the families of the dead hunters, but I can’t help but think that maybe some good can come of this in the long run. I never knew that’s what hunters did to animals. I guess I never thought about it before. It repulses me. I told the governor that.”

“And what did he say?” Joe asked.

“He just shook his head. He’s a hunter.”

Joe said nothing. She had the radio on a news station, and the reporter was excerpting portions of Rulon’s press conference, saying the authorities were following every lead and closing in on the killer.

“Well spun,” she said, nodding at the radio with professional admiration.

“I wish I agreed with it,” Joe said.

She laughed. “If the governor says we’re closing in on the killer, we’re closing in on the killer. Come on, get with the program.”

“I’ll never get used to this,” Joe grumbled.

“Back to where we were,” she said, turning the radio off. “So you’re a game warden. How can you stand to be around the kind of killing and mutilation that happens out there? You have daughters—how can you stand to see Bambi murdered?”