“You’re okay as long as you get the killer,” she answered.
“I will, but the state may lose a game and fish director in the process. I’m going to use him as bait. Can the governor live with that?”
In his peripheral vision, Joe saw Nate turn his head and smile at him.
Rulon, who had been on the line all along, said, “Officially, you never made this call and I never got it. Unofficially, the answer is
Joe said, “What, is she on your lap?”
Rulon said, “Hell yes.”
Joe snapped the phone shut.
Nate said, “I like this plan so far, whatever it is.”
Joe thought,
“WHO ARE you calling now?” Nate asked, as Joe scrolled though the list of numbers on his cell phone while driving.
“The FBI in Cheyenne. I’m going to brief them on what’s going on.”
“Are you crazy? Klamath’s got an informer in that office.”
Joe said, “Exactly.”
“Ooooh,” Nate said.
JOE SLOWED and swerved the pickup into a designated scenic pull-out that overlooked a sweep of ranchland meadows rising up the foothills of the Bighorns.
Joe jumped out of the truck and took several deep breaths with his hands on his hips, trying to fight off nausea. When the turmoil in his stomach and soul were under control, he wiped moisture from his eyes and looked up. White shafts of afternoon sunlight poked through the cloud cover in a dozen places, making the vista look as if it were behind jail bars.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked from the pickup.
“Fine,” Joe said. “Something I ate.” Thinking,
29
RANDY POPE’S state Escalade was parked in the driveway of Joe’s house and Joe pulled in behind it.
“Rude bastard,” Nate said, “using your driveway like that.”
Joe grunted, angry that Pope had the temerity to come to his home to wait. Joe hated to involve his family any more than they were already involved, and hoped Sheridan and Lucy had after-school activities that had kept them away.
“Back in a minute,” Joe said, swinging out.
Randy Pope was sitting on the couch with a half-drunk cup of coffee and a plate of cookies in front of him. Marybeth was in the overstuffed chair in her work clothes, her knees tightly pressed together and her fingers interlaced on her lap. She was uncomfortable, and she turned to Joe as he entered with an expression on her face that seemed to say, “Help me!”
“I stopped home to grab some files and guess who was here waiting?” she said to Joe.
Pope stood up, brushing crumbs off his jeans. He looked pale, distressed, angry. But even Pope wouldn’t start yelling at Joe in front of his wife.
“Gee, Joe,” Pope said, “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever show up.”
“Here I am.”
“I’ve been very concerned. Mary said you called from the road, but my understanding was that you had to stay in town until they got that assault charge straightened out.” He spoke evenly, without intonation.
“It’s Mary
Pope’s face froze into a wax mask.
“Can we step outside?” Joe said calmly. To Marybeth, “I hope you don’t mind.”
She shook her head, but her eyes stayed on him, cautioning Joe to stay cool.
“Are the girls here?” Joe asked.
“Sheridan’s at practice, Lucy’s at the Andersons’ practicing a play.”
Joe nodded. “Good.”
Pope hadn’t moved. The only thing that had changed about him were his pupils, which had dilated and looked like bullet holes.
“Randy?” Joe said, stepping aside.
Woodenly, Pope shuffled toward the front door with Joe following.
Over his shoulder, Joe said to Marybeth, “I’ll call. Don’t worry.”
“Joe . . .”
The moment Pope opened the front door he broke to the left and slammed the door in Joe’s face behind him. Joe threw the door open and fumbled for his weapon, shouted, “Randy!”
