“Except for one thing,” she said.
“Bud Longbrake,” Joe said.
“And as far as that aspect of the case goes, it’s still solid,” she said. “You can throw all these conspiracies at me and watch the implications of what Alden did fly all over the country, but the fact still remains that we’ve got a man who claims your mother-in-law tried to hire him to kill her husband and he’s willing to testify to that fact. We’ve got phone records to prove that they were talking, even though Missy claims she hadn’t seen Bud or heard from him since she filed a restraining order against him. And, Joe, we have the motive. I’ve got people who will testify to the fact that Earl Alden was seeking a divorce.”
Joe winced. “But still . . .”
“Facts are stubborn things, Joe,” she said. “And I can promise you a jury will be able to understand Missy wanting to kill her husband much easier than a wild-eyed conspiracy involving wind energy, tax credits, the mob, and so on.”
He said, “You’re probably right about that. But is it worth it? Would you do your best to convict a woman who may be innocent because it’s easier than expanding the investigation?”
Her voice had a sharp edge to it when she said, “Don’t you ever question my integrity again. If I didn’t believe she did it, we wouldn’t have brought the charges against her.”
“I apologize,” Joe said, flushing. “I went over the line.”
“Yes, you did.”
No words were spoken for a full minute. Then Joe said, “But you’ve got to be thinking of what Marcus Hand will do with this.”
“I’m thinking about that, Joe,” she said. “No doubt he will use it to muddy up the case and confuse the jury.”
“He’ll find a juror or two—maybe more—to buy his theory,” Joe said. “We both know that. So given what he’ll do with this information, you might want to consider delaying the trial until you can make sure you can counter it.”
She said, “So, when did you get your law degree? When was it you were elected by the voters in Twelve Sleep County to enforce the law?”
Joe said, “I’ve seen Marcus Hand in action. I’ve seen him win with less than this.”
“Besides,” she said, her voice lightening in tone, “who says he needs to know all this ahead of time?”
Joe looked suspiciously at his cell phone before raising it back up. “Dulcie, you didn’t just say that.”
She was silent.
“Dulcie, now I’m questioning your integrity.”
“I was just speculating,” she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.
“He knows,” Joe said. “Marybeth is talking to him.”
“Joe, you’re a son-of-a-bitch.”
He was speechless.
“And the same goes for your wife,” she said.
Joe took a deep breath. He said, “Dulcie, this isn’t you. This is somebody who wants to beat Marcus Hand so badly they’ve lost their judgment. Dulcie, I need to talk to Bud.”
Silence.
“You still don’t know where he is, do you?”
She said, “See you in court, Joe.”
“Dulcie, please—”
She hung up on him.
“You may not know where he is,” he said to the dead phone, “but I think I do.”
As he pulled back on the highway, he tried to call Marybeth, but his call went straight to voice mail. No doubt, she was speaking to Marcus Hand or her mother, or both. Telling them what he’d told the county prosecutor.
He said, “I’m headed back, but I’ll keep my phone on. I’ve got a stop to make on the way.”
Then: “I’m really disappointed in Dulcie. But she’s probably going to put your mother away. The women’s prison is in Lusk, by the way, if you ever want to visit her.”
Glendo Reservoir shimmered in the moonlight to the north and east of the highway. There were a couple of boats out there in the dark, walleye fisherman Joe guessed, and a few lights across the lake from a campground.
After his conversation with Schalk, he got angrier with each mile traveled. He was angry with Dulcie Schalk, Sheriff McLanahan, Bud Sr., Bud Jr., Orin Smith—the whole lot of them. But he traced most of his anger to his own frustration with himself. He couldn’t crack this thing, he might never be able to crack it, and he wasn’t sure, deep down, he wanted to.
What Smith had told him about The Earl and the way business was done in the country these days had instilled a deep and hopeless strain of melancholy. There was no right and no wrong anymore.
After filling his Jeep with gasoline in Jackson, Nate drove north and east toward the dark