“The state medical examiner just finished his preliminary.”
“Let me guess. Lead poisoning?”
“Yeah, the rig/liv says it was about six-thirty when he got it. Gives some credibility to the hunting accident scenario, changing light and all, but…”
This must be good. “But?”
“Massive cavitations with a lot of radiopague snowstorm.”
My mind immediately summoned up a visual X-ray with the usual fragments of civilian hunting ammunition. Obviously, this was not the case. “Nonmilitary?”
“Maybe semijacketed, maybe not. It’s a really strange caliber, and it’s big.”
“What?”
“We don’t know yet.”
This was something. With Vic’s specialty in ballistics back in Philadelphia, I had assumed her initial assessment that it was a. 30–06 was gospel. “What do you think?” There was silence for a moment.
“I don’t think it’s a deer gun.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I know what a fucking high-powered slug looks like, all right?” I let it set for a moment, and so did she.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” It was fun saying it to someone else. Silence.
“He had a cheeseburger with jalapeno peppers.”
“I’ll go by the Busy Bee and talk to Dorothy. Anything else?” Silence.
“Go talk to Omar. He’s a crazy motherfucker, but he knows his shit.” Silence. “So, do you miss me?”
I laughed. When I hung up the phone, Vonnie was holding a plate where a steaming stack of pancakes lay waiting. “I figured this was the only way you were going to get to eat.” She relaxed and leaned her back against the wall. With the apron on and her hair up she looked like an Amish centerfold. “You have a lot of women in your life.”
“You think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?” I said between bites.
She peered over her coffee cup. Her eyes were enormous. “Depends on the women.” I nodded and chewed. “It’s just got to be difficult. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Well, it’s not my usual routine, running ten miles at dawn, three hundred sit-ups…” She let go with this snorty laugh and apologized, holding her hand to her face.
“How are your pancakes?”
I took a breath. “They’re great, thank you.”
“I heard you used to make animal shapes with pancakes.” She smiled mischievously.
“You’ve been talking to one of the women in my life.”
“I have, it’s true. I learned all kinds of little secrets about you when she was working for me.”
I nodded, thought about little secrets, and took my last bite. “The deal was this, if she went to church on Sunday mornings with her mother, she didn’t have to eat her heathen father’s breakfast. It’s a wonder she didn’t turn into a devout Methodist.”
“That’s not what she told me. She said she liked having you all to herself.”
“And now she does.” It was out before I knew I had said it. I had gotten so used to joking about Martha’s death, but here it just seemed wrong. “Sorry.”
“Do you ever get lonely, Walter?”
“Oh, sure.” I tried to think of something else to say, but nothing seemed honest enough. All I could think of was how soft and inviting she looked. I had this unfocused image of her, my bed back at the ranch, and all my worldly needs being gratified at once. This didn’t seem appropriate either.
“Maybe we should get together sometime.”
Maybe it was appropriate. “Why, Ms. Hayes, are you making a pass at me?” I emphasized the Ms.
Her eyes sparked. “Maybe, Mr. Longmire, though I must admit your indifference and the gauntlet of women I may have to face seem daunting.”
“Well, they’re a pretty tough bunch, so I can understand.”
“The term a pride comes to mind.” She took a sip of coffee. “Maybe we should start with lunch?”
It was a short drive back to the office where I parked behind the jukebox Turk called his car. It was some kind of Trans Am, at least that’s what it said all over it. That wasn’t all it said, since it looked as if every available surface was covered with some sort of sticker. It had stickers on the bumper to proclaim every ill-considered political opinion that had ever crossed Turk’s apolitical mind. Advice on the ex-president, his family, gun control, ProRodeo, state nativism, and honking if you were horny. On the back window, it had little cartoon characters peeing on each other and on the emblems of other vehicles. It seemed to me that there wasn’t anyone that could look at this car and not be offended. It was a lot like Turk.
When I pushed open the door, no one was in the reception area. I stood there with the doorknob in my hand and listened. There was a shuffling noise in my office, and I heard one of my file cabinets shut. A moment later he turned through the doorway in full saunter. His eyes stayed steady as I shut the door behind me.
“Man, it’s about time. I been sittin’ around here for hours.” I wasn’t sure if he considered being offensive to be the best defense or if it was just his natural state. “Running Horse called. She said they had some hunters that asked about the BLM land out on the Powder River near 137, section 23. They’re still here, stayin’ at the Log Cabin Motel. Wanna go talk to ’em?”
I let it set for a few seconds. “What are you doing in my office?” He was a handsome kid with what the romance novels would call smoldering good looks. Dark coloring with wavy black hair and a Van Dyke goatee accenting the Basque on his mother’s side. Just shy of six and a half feet, most of it shoulder, he was a handy thing to have crossing his arms and looking menacing behind me in a domestic disturbance but, other than that, I had found little use for him. I had taken him on as a favor to Lucian. He didn’t like him either, but Turk was his nephew, and I felt obliged.
“I was just checkin’ things out.”
“In my office?” His face darkened a little past smoldering.
“Hey, might be my office some day.” He looked toward Vic’s windowless little room across the hall from mine. There were no pictures on her walls. There were just books, shelves and shelves of books. You had to reach through the blue binders of Wyoming Criminal Procedure on the third shelf next to the door to turn the light on and off.
“Turk, I’ve been up for two days and I’m getting a little edgy. You get my meaning?”
He straightened. “Yes, sir.”
I was liking him better. “Now there are a few things you can do to endear yourself to me in the next few days. Starting with doing what I tell you to do, keeping your mouth shut as much as possible, and staying out of my office. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what I want you to do is run over to the Busy Bee and ask Dorothy Caldwell when she saw Cody last.”
“You want me to get a statement from her?”
I lowered my head. “She’s not a suspect, so don’t treat her like one or she’s liable to kick your ass. Just go over and ask her when she last saw Cody Pritchard, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”
“Hell, I’ll call you anything you want, ’long as it gets me on your good side for once.” I tried not to, but the smile played on my face for an instant. “You sure you don’t want me to go with you to talk to the hunters?” I sighed as he pulled out a small, black vinyl notebook and a section map of the state. “I went by earlier and got the plate numbers, Michigan, with no wants or warrants. Willis at the office said there were four of ’em.” He paused for a moment. “They’re going to be armed.”
“Well, I’ll put on an orange vest before I go over.” I reached out and tore the page from his notebook and took the map. He didn’t like me taking his evidence but followed me out the door anyway. I pointed over to Vic’s unit. “Take that one.”
“That’s all right, mine’s warmed up.”
We paused beside his car. “I am proud to say that this vehicle does not accurately represent the Absaroka