“You’ll find out who did it and punish them?”
Joe said, “I think Nate’s on the hunt right now. If I can catch up with him, I’ll do what I can.”
She nodded approvingly. “I hope you don’t mind if I close this door on you right now. I need some time for myself.” And she closed the door.
Joe stood on the porch for a moment, then turned and walked back to his pickup.
For a woman like Alice Thunder, who had seen so much tragedy over the years due to the crime rate on the reservation and so many young people taken away, Joe thought, death was a part of life.
For the next two days while Joe patrolled, the scene in the cave—and especially Alisha’s body on the scaffold—stayed burned into his mind and was there when he closed his eyes at night. His theory, based on the layout of the canyon and Nate’s security system, leaned toward an explosive fired from a distance. Maybe so far away Nate never knew someone had found him.
Which led Joe to wonder who, besides Large Merle and Joe himself, knew where his friend could be found. Sheridan knew because she’d once been there. Marybeth was vaguely aware of Nate’s hideout, but had never been there and couldn’t find it on a map. Joe, of course, had no idea who Nate was in contact with who might have be aware of his location. There was so much about Nate that Joe didn’t know and didn’t want to know that he now wished he did.
While Joe was out on patrol, Marybeth used the long holiday weekend at the library to do research. As she learned specifics about the wind energy industry, she called Joe on his cell. The more she learned, the more agitated she became.
She said, “I always thought all these windmills were going up because the energy they produced was clean and cost-effective. But that’s not the case at all. The reason they’re going up is political, and the demand for the power they generate is because of mandates by states and cities that a certain percentage of their electricity come from renewables like wind or solar.”
“Down, girl,” Joe said. “One thing this state has is wind.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m all worked up. Too much coffee and too much information I never knew before. And, yes, there are places where the wind blows hard enough where some of those turbines actually do make enough electricity to be profitable. Nearly all of the older turbines were put in places where they could actually do some good. But there isn’t anywhere in the state or the country where the wind blows all the time. According to what I found, a good wind project produces at forty-five percent of capacity. That’s all. And there’s nowhere to store the energy if the power grid doesn’t need it when the wind
“Okay,” Joe said, “but what does this have to do with Earl Alden’s project?”
“I’m not exactly sure yet,” she said, “but this whole thing might fall right into what Marcus Hand said about him, that he’s a skimmer and not a ‘maker-of-things.’ ”
“That’s what I don’t get,” Joe said. “How much does a wind turbine cost to put up?”
She said she’d found the figures, and read them off. The installed cost of a turbine was roughly three million to six million dollars per including the equipment, roadwork, and overhead. The disparity in cost depended on whether the turbine was a 1.5-megawatt machine or one of the newer, bigger 3-megawatt generators.
“Wow,” Joe said. “So a hundred turbines at Earl’s farm . . .”
“I figured it out,” she said, reading, “and came up with an investment of four hundred million dollars.”
Joe whistled.
“For a farm the size of Earl’s,” she said, “Bob Lee would have received at minimum one point five million dollars per year. With all the considerations, he could have generated forty-five million dollars over the first thirty- year lease.”
“Oh, man,” Joe said.
“Lots of people would kill for that,” she said. “Or kill if they were swindled out of it.”
“He doesn’t seem like the killing type,” Joe said. “So tell me about Rope the Wind,” Joe said.
“I’m still researching,” she said. “What I’ve found is pretty interesting. Give me a little more time to dig.”
As if he’d somehow been pulled there, Joe wound up on the two-track public easement that led to the windy ridge and the wind farm on the Thunderhead Ranch. He retraced his route from two weeks before when he’d seen the antelope hunters and later found The Earl’s body. The blades of the turbines cut through the cloudless sky like scythes, whistling, and he drove to the edge of the Lee Ranch and pulled off the road onto a promontory.
He was surprised to find another vehicle on top, a red Subaru wagon. County Attorney Dulcie Schalk’s car.
She apparently didn’t hear him coming, because she didn’t turn around as he drove up behind her. She was out of her car, leaning back against the hood, looking out at the wind farm with her arms crossed below her breasts. She wore a red tank top, snug white shorts, and a ponytail cascaded from the back opening of a King Ropes ball cap.
Joe had never seen her on her day off before. Her long tan legs were crossed one over the other. She looked young, athletic, and undeniably attractive.
So that he wouldn’t scare her by suddenly appearing by her side, he tapped his horn as he pulled his truck in behind her car. The sound startled her and she wheeled around, fear and anger in her eyes until she recognized him. She acted as if she’d been caught doing something she was ashamed of, and he wondered what it was.
Joe told Tube to stay inside and climbed out.
“I didn’t expect to find you out here,” he said, fitting his Stetson on his head and ambling up to her. “I’m sorry I surprised you.”
“I was focused on the windmills,” she said, “and that high-pitched sound they make. It’s like you can’t hear anything else except that
“You should hear ’em when the wind is really blowing,” Joe said. “You’ll think there’s a truck coming at
