“I have,” Wolf said. “There’s a big scar. Interlocking rings, or something.”
“Interlocking O’s,” Domino said. “The Triple-O Ranch.”
"Are you saying that’s the cattle brand burned into his arm?”
"Yes.”
"How?”
“McBeth's father. The guy was rich. Connected with the community. A tough cowboy with an American dream story, coming from a family who had nothing, somewhere in Missouri I think, who became a millionaire cattle driver. Owned a ton of land. He got into gold mining, too. Made a small fortune hitting it big at a claim in central Wyoming. Unbeknownst to most of us around town, he apparently drank heavily. He was a driven man, and when we looked into him…afterward…we found he ingested alcohol with as much fervor as any of his other endeavors.”
“Afterward?” Wolf asked.
“One night he got real drunk. Or, normal-drunk is probably more like it. Anyway, apparently Eagle did something up there at the ranch that pissed him off, something about crashing a tractor or something. Costed his old man some money in repairs. So he took Eagle into the barn and taught him a lesson by putting that branding iron on his arm.”
Wolf shook his head.
“You there?” Domino asked.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking. How does that happen? I mean, wouldn’t he fight back? He was in high school, right?”
“Eagle McBeth’s father was huge. Six foot seven inches. Over two hundred fifty pounds of muscle, had to have been. You’ve seen Eagle. The kid never had a chance, as he’s not the most impressively sized guy. He takes more after his mother. He was really messed up after it as you can imagine. You ask how he didn’t fight back? I’m sure he fought with all his might.”
“Messed up how? Mentally or physically?”
“Both. His arm was burned horribly. He was in pain. Bloodied up on his face. Bruised all over. I was actually the first responder there. Back in my green days.” Domino took his time continuing. “I’m no psychologist, but he had to be pretty messed up mentally, too. They have a pretty big property there, lots of out-buildings, lots of acreage. I went out searching for his father and eventually found him dead in one of the barns.”
“Cause of death?”
“Self-inflicted gunshot. I’ll remember that scene until I’m dead and buried myself. That probably won’t be enough to scrub that memory.”
Wolf stood up. “How exactly did he shoot himself?"
"Put the barrel up under his chin. Pulled the trigger. Exit wound right clean up the top of his head. Left a neat hole in the roof of the barn.”
Thick rain drops streaked Wolf’s window now, but he saw none of it.
“Hello?” Domino said. “You there?”
“Did you find GSR on McBeth’s father’s hands?”
“Well, that I’m not sure about. Like I said, I was a rookie. It was a couple years before my time as detective. But it was my understanding this was cut and dried. Why are you asking that?”
Wolf told him exactly how Chris Oakley had been killed.
The line crackled with silence. “You there?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah,” Domino said. “Holy shit. You might have just created a case for us up here.”
Wolf sat down and stared at the N/A next to Eagle McBeth’s name in the email from Domino.
He went down the line to James Sexton and clicked the link there. A scanned document loaded on screen with a letterhead reading Driggs Foster Families Facilities, and a logo with the letters DFFF.
Wolf stood up and paced the room. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Anything you need.”
“Can you get somebody to look into James Sexton? His file is pretty sparse.”
“You think he’s the guy?”
Wolf thought of the way Sexton had been silent under that tarp. He’d huddled down into a protective place. When the blame had been shifted toward him, though, that protection had been blown away by defensiveness.
“Wolf?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Wolf said. “I was just thinking. I have his papers here listing his adoptive home in Driggs, Idaho. His age at the time was seventeen.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m just wondering, what about his natural parents? Who are they? What’s his history?”
“Gotcha. That’s something I don’t know off hand. Like I said, McBeth and Sexton were off the radar, unlike Koling and Oakley. We’ll look into him and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks for your help,” Wolf said, ending the call.
Chapter 28
Lonnie’s Market sat two blocks east of Main Street. A modern building in the otherwise museum-like town of Dredge, the supermarket parking lot was still dirt.
Piper parked her Jeep along the side of the brick building, away from the other cars. Not that it was the most bustling place at…what time was it?
Her dash clock on the old piece of a vehicle the county had given her was broken, so she pulled out her cell phone and took a look. It was 3:11 p.m.
How had it gotten so late? She’d been wrapped up in real work for once, that’s how. She had time, at least thirty minutes, before having to head back home and relieve Stacy by four o’clock.
She got out into cool air. Large oak trees loomed above, swishing heavily in the wind as a new wave of rain pelted down on Dredge for the thousandth day in a row.
Entering through the store’s automatic doors, she went to the first checker she saw, a teenage boy with thick glasses and a mouth of huge teeth.
“Excuse me.” She read his name tag. “Charlie?”
“What?” He stopped what he was doing, holding up a bag of potato chips.
“I’m looking for a manager.”
“Sally or Cherise?”
“Which one of them is the manager?”
“Both of them.”
“I don’t care which one.”
“Sally is here.”
Piper smiled, but wanted to punch something. “I’d like to see Sally.”
He pointed. “Down aisle seven. Back of the building.”
She followed Charlie’s directions down aisle seven. Ahead was an open passageway that led up some stairs. Angled mirrors were mounted on the long edge of the ceiling and back wall reflecting her image back to her from above.
When she reached the rear of the store she paused, looking both ways. There was another set of
