Nate rubbed his chin, said, “That’s an interesting take. Very Joe-like.”
Her dad shrugged, as if to say,
“Anyway,” Nate said, “that’s how I got to know of Robert Stenson and ClimateSavior. He’s got one of those carbon-offset companies where you can pay to reduce your carbon footprint. In my research his name kept popping up. He’s controversial because he’s so outspoken and he’s made a whole shitload of enemies. There was at least one website called PlanetStupido.com devoted strictly to attacking him and his company . . .”
Her dad shot her a look over his shoulder. She wasn’t sure why. Something Nate just said had jarred him.
Nate went on, “I sort of like the idea of being able to offset my energy consumption and I wanted to hedge my bets, so I sent his company some money and he sent me back an e-mail with photos of some eucalyptus trees they’d planted on my behalf in Nicaragua and Thailand.”
“How nice,” Joe said.
Nate said, “That pissed me off, those photos.”
They were nearing the rim of the canyon. Sheridan was breathing hard from the climb.
Her dad said, “Why did eucalyptus trees you paid for make you mad? Isn’t that the point?”
Nate slapped his thigh with his free hand. “No! See, what I found out was planting certain kinds of trees in the Third World does more harm than good, both morally and scientifically. See, some of these companies like Stenson’s outfit plant trees like eucalyptus and pine—which are considered monocultures. Sure, those non-native trees suck up their share of carbon dioxide that comes from our fossil fuels. But I’m not sure I like the trade-off. Many of these companies not only take the land out of agricultural production for the locals, but they plant trees that gobble carbon dioxide but aren’t even native to the area. So my dollars are helping to introduce alien plant life to unique ecosystems. Not only that, but those kinds of trees deplete the water table, increase acid in the soil, and put locals out of work. Just so I’ll feel good about myself.”
They cleared the canyon. Her dad’s green pickup was parked a hundred yards away.
Said Nate, “I hate polluters. I do. But you know who I hate even worse?”
Before Joe could respond Nate answered his own question. “I hate people who prey on the sincere goodwill of others. I hate false religious prophets who milk the savings from people who want to be healed or saved and I hate false environmental prophets who do the same damned thing.”
Nate said, “I read where some of the tribes in the Amazon call these new plantings Devil’s Orchards. So I sent an e-mail to Stenson’s company and asked him what the hell he was doing with my money and raised all these issues. I expected some kind of reasoned response. But you know what I got back?”
Her dad said, “What?”
Nate said, “I quote:
Her dad laughed. Nate continued, “You should see some of these websites, Joe. You can pay off your guilt for flying in a plane or taking a vacation. You can even offset the entire carbon footprint for your wedding!”
Sheridan felt
JOE STOPPED, fixed his eyes on Nate, and said, “What did you just say about a wedding?”
Said Nate, “You can calculate how much of a carbon footprint a wedding will make due to the number of guests, the miles they travel, and so forth. Then using one of these companies like ClimateSavior, you can write a check to offset the damage, and they’ll go plant trees or buy up rain forest or something to offset the damage.”
Joe said to Sheridan, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
His daughter’s eyes were wide, and she nodded without speaking.
To Nate, Joe said, “You’ve said some things that made bells go off in my head. The first was Robert’s company. The second was the PlanetStupido website because the owner of it was murdered two weeks ago in Madison. The third was the wedding because April said they were at a wedding in Aspen where the bride and groom were murdered. This can’t all be coincidence. It might just be a way to connect the murders.”
Nate said, “So why would Robert’s dad get involved? What’s in it for him? And what’s the deal with April? Are you sure it’s even her?”
Joe kicked the dirt. “I don’t know. But until now I thought Stenko was instigating this whole cross-country trip. I assumed he was running from the feds. Now I’m wondering if it isn’t being driven by Robert.”
WHILE NATE RELEASED his prairie falcon to the sky and Sheridan observed, Joe climbed into his pickup and tried to raise Special Agent Chuck Coon. When he didn’t answer on the mutual aid channel, Joe called his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.
Joe said, “We need to look closer at Robert Stenson. Forget about Stenko for a few minutes. Robert may be the key. What you learn may help us determine where they’re going next.”
He closed the phone and sat back. The late-summer sun was intense through the windshield, and it warmed him. There was a dull ache at the back of his eyes from lack of sleep. He could use rest, and he knew Sheridan could, too. As he watched the prairie falcon climb slowly into the cloudless blue sky in wider and wider arcs, he heard a call come in on the radio from a local dispatcher based in Hulett, two hours to the northeast in the heart of the Wyoming Black Hills.
Someone had called 911, claiming he was dying of gunshot wounds. The alleged victim was a ranch owner named Leo Dyekman, who requested three ambulances to be sent to his ranch.
Joe sat up and increased the volume.
A scratchy response, probably from a Crook County sheriff’s deputy: “Come again? Did you say three ambulances?”
“Affirmative. He requested three.”
