“Wow—it’s never that quick out in the real world.”
“Who are you trying to find?” Coon asked again.
Before Joe could think of another way to avoid the question, his cell phone burred. He fumbled, found it in his breast pocket. Sheridan.
“Excuse me,” Joe said to Coon, “It’s my daughter.”
“I’m out of here,” Coon said, reaching for his jacket.
Joe held up his hand for Coon to wait, but Coon shook him off.
Sheridan said, “April texted me again.”
Joe grabbed Coon’s wrist. “Please, just a minute.”
Coon conceded with a sigh.
To Sheridan, Joe said: “How long did you text back and forth?”
“Not long. Not more than a minute. She was in a big hurry. I think she’s scared, Dad.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. She asked how I was.”
“Did you get a chance to ask her any of the questions I left you?”
“Only one.”
“Did she answer?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
“Okay. When I asked her ‘Who is Robert?’ she said, ‘Stenko’s son.’ ”
Joe grabbed the notebook sheet with April’s number on it and uncapped his pen. “How is that spelled?”
“S-T-E-N-K-O.”
Joe wrote it down. “Nothing else? No first name or anything?”
“That’s all. Then she texted, ‘Gotta go, later,’ and that was all. I sent her a couple more messages but she didn’t reply. I think she turned her phone off.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “Good job. Keep your phone on and call me if she gets back in contact.”
“I will, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Joe snapped his phone shut. Coon hadn’t left. In fact, Coon stood transfixed, staring at Joe.
“You’re shitting me, right?” Coon said.
“What?”
“Stenko. You wrote down Stenko. Is that a joke?”
“No joke,” Joe said.
“Stenko called your
Joe could see in Coon’s eyes that the name made bells ring. He didn’t know which ones, of course, but it gave him the excuse to do an end-around, to keep April’s name out of it.
“He didn’t call,” Joe said. “He sent a text.”
“Is this Stenko from Chicago?”
Joe nodded.
“Do you have any idea who he is?”
“Nope.”
“We do,” Coon said, sitting back down.
JOE’S HEAD WAS STILL SPINNING when he went to see the governor. He bounded up the capitol steps and opened the heavy door just as the guard on the other side prepared to lock it.
“We close at five,” the guard said.
“I’m here to see the governor,” Joe said.
“Is he expecting you?”
“He told me to drop by any time I was in Cheyenne.”
The guard laughed. “He tells everyone that.”
“Really,” Joe said. “It’s urgent. If you don’t believe me, go into his office and tell his receptionist Joe Pickett is here to see the governor. If he turns me away, I promise to go quietly.”
The guard looked Joe over, noted the Game and Fish shirt, the J. PICKETT badge.
“You’re really him, aren’t you?” the guard said. “Wait here, Mr. Pickett.”
