Service BS…”
McCarthy aims to emphasize low-impact camping with a greater emphasis on the unique properties of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, he said…
Cody read the rest of the article but found it boring: Jed McCarthy extolling the virtues of his trip and the excellent and professional methodology of the National Park Service.
He smiled and jotted down the name “Frank ‘Bull’ Mitchell.”
Then it hit him and he called Jenny again as panic rose inside.
She sounded groggy. “When I said call again, I didn’t mean midnight.”
“I’m sorry, but I just thought of something. It’s nuts, but I have to make sure I’m wrong.”
“About what?”
“Justin and His Richness. Where did you say they went?”
“Wyoming. I told you-”
“I know. But where specifically did they go? And did they go on their own? Is His Richness driving them around, or what?”
“Well, he drove them there. But they’re going on some kind of long wilderness trip in Yellowstone Park. With some outfitter on horses-”
“Jesus,” Cody said.
“What? You’re scaring me, Cody.”
“Don’t be scared,” he said to her as well as to himself. “Just find the name of the outfit they’re using.”
“I think I have a brochure,” she said. “But I can’t call them. Justin said they’d be out of cell phone range…”
“Jenny,” he said, “we might have a big problem.”
Cody had the Ford backed up to his open garage door and was throwing gear into it- sleeping bag, tent, pad, cooking set, Uncle Jeter’s old saddle-when Larry pulled his SUV into the driveway and blocked him.
Larry kept his motor running and his headlights on and swung out. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I was out here,” Cody said.
“You can’t leave. You know that. You’ll give the sheriff a damned good reason to fire you.”
Cody said, “Let him.”
Larry spun Cody around so they were face to face. “Have you been drinking?” Larry asked.
“Not yet.”
Larry leaned forward on the balls of his feet and stared into Cody’s eyes. Cody didn’t flinch, and said, “Get any closer and I’ll clock you.”
Larry relaxed a little, apparently content that Cody was sober. “You need to slow down. It’s two thirty in the morning. You can’t just run away in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not running,” Cody said. “I’m pursuing a lead.”
“You’re not a cop right now.”
Cody shrugged. “I’m
“I was afraid you were going to do this,” Larry said. “All I can say is it’s stupid, and useless, and you’re doing more harm than good.”
“Sounds like me,” Cody said. “Hey, why don’t you give me a hand. I was looking for an old pack saddle of my uncle’s in that mess of a garage. Maybe you can find it.”
“To hell with that,” Larry said, squinting past Cody toward the garage. It was piled with junk Cody had never bothered to unpack or organize. His disabled pickup truck took up most of the space.
“Look,” Larry said. “I left messages at RMIN and ViCAP, but nobody is working tonight. We should hear back from them first thing in the morning. There’s no reason for you to leave tonight and risk your job. And risk
Said Cody, “Tell them the truth, Larry. Tell them you tried to talk me out of it but you couldn’t.”
Larry shook his head, and his eyes flashed with anger. “Cody, damn you, I can’t risk this job. I’ve got child support payments and no one is hiring. I have to stay in this town to be near my kids. You can’t put me in this position. You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cody said, flicking a cigarette butt into the street where it exploded in a shower of little sparks. He lit another. “I know,” he said, drawing deep, “but-”
“I found something,” Larry cut in. “On the ViCAP Web site.”
Cody went silent, squinting at Larry’s face through the smoke.
“We won’t know for sure if we’ve got anything until I can talk to an analyst or profiler tomorrow. But since they’re on eastern time, I should hear back from them early tomorrow.”
“What did you find?” Cody asked.
“I used the national crime database they’ve got,” Larry said, dragging it out like he always did. “I used the keywords
Cody felt something red and hot pop behind his eyes and reached out as if he were going to grab Larry’s throat. Larry anticipated the move and ducked to the side.
“Four of ’em,” Larry said.
Cody’s mouth dropped. “Four?”
“One in Virginia a month ago. One in Minnesota two weeks ago. Hank Winters. And another one in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, two nights ago. Three men, one woman. All professional, middle-aged. Alone at the time. No suspects in any of them, and as far as I could tell no one has linked them up yet. They’re all classified as still under investigation, although they read like accidents. Just like ours.”
“Four?”
Larry nodded. “Of course, we won’t know until-”
Cody said, “Justin is on that trip.”
Larry rubbed his eyes. “Oh no, man.”
“You need to move your rig,” Cody said. “I need to get the hell out of here to Bozeman.”
Larry sighed and his shoulders slumped.
“Larry, move your truck.”
Cody roared down down U.S. 287 toward Townsend, the flat south end of Canyon Ferry Lake shimmering with moonlight. The night was warm and he kept his windows open so the rush of air would keep him awake. Synapses in his brain seemed to be firing with the crackling machine-gun rhythm of a spark plug. He shot by the sleeping ranch houses and barns, past the faded wooden archway to the ranch his friend Jack McGuane’s parents still ran.
The sight of the ranch brought back a flood of memories both painful and euphoric. A year and a half before, he’d laid it all out there for his friends Jack and Melissa McGuane. In the end he’d lost his boyhood friend Brian Eastman, gutted his own reputation, and lost his stripes in the Denver PD, but it all still felt right to him. Even with the high body count of scumbags, he’d gleefully do it all over again.
That was the thing, he thought. Throughout his life his friends, lovers, and colleagues wondered aloud what made him tick. As if he were like Churchill’s description of Russia, a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,”
