Joe rubbed his chin, asked, “What was it that happened at a hunting camp that sent her reeling for two years?”
Alisha shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve said too much already. I promised her I would keep that between us.”
Joe looked at Nate for help. He didn’t give it.
“Come on, Alisha,” Joe said, “it might be relevant. Something might have happened that completely turned her off hunting and hunters. Maybe that’s why she and Klamath Moore hit it off so well.”
“I’m not saying any more, I told you,” Alisha said. “Besides, this isn’t about Shenandoah. It’s about Klamath.”
“Granted,” Joe said, “but if you could give me some insight into their relationship—”
“No,” Alisha said firmly.
“Joe,” Marybeth said, reaching across the table and putting her hand on his arm again, “I think that’s enough for now.”
“Yup,” Nate said.
“Okay,” Joe said, raising his hands to her and smiling. “I’ll stop.”
She nodded her appreciation to him.
“One more question,” Joe said.
Marybeth sighed. Alisha arched her eyebrows, as if saying,
“Would she protect him, no matter what he’d done?”
Alisha didn’t hesitate. “For the sake of her daughter, yes.”
JOE EXCUSED himself while Marybeth and Alisha cleaned up the glassware and dishes. He was tired, but he was also charged up, thinking at last he was on the verge of something. In the bathroom he shut the door and drew his old notebook out of his back pocket, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
JOE AND MARYBETH saw Nate and Alisha to the door. It was 4 A.M. and cold and still outside. Joe thanked Alisha and apologized for asking so many questions. Nate held out his hand to say good-bye, and Joe shook it.
“Nate,” Joe said, “are you available in three hours for a trip to Rawlins and back?”
“Rawlins? Three hours?”
“I’m not supposed to go anywhere, but I think we can get there and back by midafternoon before Randy Pope gets here and McLanahan even knows I’m gone.”
Nate looked at Alisha. She shrugged.
“Why Rawlins?” Marybeth asked.
“Because that’s where the state penitentiary is,” Joe said. “Home of Vern Dunnegan.”
27
IT TOOK three and a half hours—pushing the speed limit—to get to Rawlins from Saddlestring via I-25 south to Casper, then paralleling the North Platte River to Alcova, past Independence Rock and Martin’s Cove on the Oregon Trail, then taking US 287 south at Muddy Gap. Nate slept for most of it. Joe listened to Brian Scott on KTWO out of Casper taking calls about the hunting moratorium but he had trouble concentrating on either the radio or his driving because he was testing and discarding scenarios that had opened up since the night before and thinking Nate was right when he said the investigation had been too narrowly focused.
Nate awoke and stretched as Green Mountain loomed to the east. The landscape was vast and still, sagebrush dotted with herds of pronghorn antelope, hawks flying low, puffy cumulus clouds looking like cartoon thought balloons.
With Rawlins itself nearly in view, Joe spoke for the first time since they’d left.
“Nate, do you have any idea what we’re about to find out?”
“Do you mean did Alisha tell me?”
“Yes.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“One more question.”
“Shoot.”
“When I dropped you off, did you know you’d be picked up by Klamath and Shannon Moore as well as Alisha?”
“Yup. Alisha told me when I called her from Large Merle’s.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“Nope. I knew if I told you, you’d get all hot and bothered and you wouldn’t let me do my work on my own schedule.”
“You’re probably right,” Joe said sourly.
“Plus, you’d probably mention it to somebody—the governor or Randy Pope—and it could have gotten back to Klamath. He’s got sympathizers everywhere who keep him informed. He’s even got someone at the FBI who told him about your meeting Bill Gordon.”