“Thanks,” Cork said. “But I want to track down Jim Kosmo.”
“That won’t be hard. He’s fond of blackjack.”
“So we’ll find him at the casino?”
“Most likely.”
“Thanks, Jon.”
“I’ll see you guys here tomorrow morning. Let’s say seven.”
“It’s a deal.”
They shook hands. Cork and Stephen climbed into their rented Wrangler and headed toward town. They went directly to the Blue Sky Casino, and, just as Rude had predicted, they found Sheriff Kosmo at a twenty-dollar-limit blackjack table with three small stacks of chips in front of him and no other players besides himself and the dealer. Kosmo was intent on his cards. He signaled for a hit, received the seven of hearts, and stood. The dealer showed a seven of clubs. He flipped his hole card, an eight of diamonds, and dealt himself a four. The six and five that the sheriff had in the hole gave him only eighteen. The dealer swept up the two blue chips Kosmo had placed as a bet.
“Sheriff,” Cork said before the next hand was dealt.
Kosmo looked at him. “It’s O’Connor, right?”
“That’s right. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Kosmo said to the dealer, “Roy, hold my place. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing, Jim.”
They stepped away from the table and stood at the end of a line of slots. The casino wasn’t busy, but you couldn’t tell that from the noise the machines kept up.
“Okay, you’ve got me,” Kosmo said. “Talk.”
“Baby’s Cradle,” Cork said.
Kosmo’s face was a broad stretch of flesh as unwelcoming as the Wyoming desert. “Dewey told me you were heading out to see Will Pope.”
“Is there any way you can divert some of the search effort to that area?”
“Dewey’s in charge of the operation. He makes the decisions.”
“You’re the sheriff.”
“You were a county sheriff back in Minnesota, right? You know how it works. You put your best person in charge and then you stay out of their way. Have you talked to Dewey?”
“Not yet.”
“He’s working with the FAA, CAP, and our own S and R. He knows better than anyone what’s reasonable. Talk to him. He says it’s okay, it’ll happen. Is that all?” He eyed the blackjack table, where the dealer stood looking bored.
“Any idea where I can find Dewey this time of night?”
“Last I spoke with him, he was still at the department.”
“Come on, Stephen. The sheriff has more important things to do.” Cork put his arm around his son, and they turned to leave.
“Look, O’Connor, if there’s something you think we’re not doing, I’d sure as hell like to know what that is.”
“Forget it.” Cork kept walking.
In the Wrangler on the way back to town, Stephen said, “Ms. Grant told us he was in charge. He says it’s Deputy Quinn. What’s going on, Dad?”
“I don’t know, Stephen. Let’s find Dewey and ask him. You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“After we talk to Dewey, we’ll grab a burger somewhere, okay?”
Quinn was no longer at the sheriff’s department. The deputy on the contact desk told them he’d left half an hour earlier. He didn’t know where he’d gone. And no, he couldn’t give them his phone number.
They grabbed cheeseburgers and shakes at a place called the Dairy Barn, then drove back to their hotel to eat. As they passed through the lobby, the woman at the front desk smiled at them, wished them a good evening, and picked up the phone. Two minutes after they’d stepped into their room, someone knocked at their door. Cork opened up to find the television reporter they’d seen the day before outside the sheriff’s office.
“Mr. O’Connor, my name is Felicia Gray. I’m a reporter from Casper. Could I talk to you for a moment?”
“It’s been a long day, Ms. Gray. We’re tired and we’re just about to eat.”
“I understand you spoke with Will Pope today. What do you think?”
“I think the sheriff’s people are doing everything they can to find that missing plane.”
“Do you think there’s anything to Mr. Pope’s vision, or to Ellyn Grant’s assertion that the vision indicates the plane went down in the Baby’s Cradle area?”
“Pope didn’t say that he thought his vision necessarily meant Baby’s Cradle.”
“If not Baby’s Cradle, then where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, I talked with Will Pope myself. I was the one who broke the story. And I’ve got to tell you, it seems pretty clear to me that he’s talking about Baby’s Cradle. And that blanket over the eagle? That’s got to be a blanket of snow, don’t you think?”
“Even credible visions shouldn’t be taken at face value, Ms. Gray.”
“Meaning what?”
“They often require interpretation. Or that’s my understanding.”
“You’re Native American, is that correct?”
“I have some Ojibwe blood in me.”
“Then you’d know about visions and their interpretation.”
“You want an interpretation, talk to Will Pope. Good night.” He started to close the door, but she put out a hand to hold it open.
“Mr. O’Connor, I’m truly sorry for your situation. And I’m sorry if I seem aggressive. I’m just trying to put the story together. If you’d like to talk to me, I’m staying here. Room 217. I’m available anytime. Call my room or call me on my cell.”
She handed him her business card, and after she’d stepped back, he closed the door.
While they ate, they watched television, CNN’s continuing coverage of what had become known as the Hargrove standoff. The compound was surrounded, and Hargrove was threatening to blow everything sky-high if anyone tried to rush the place. The authorities weren’t certain how many people were inside, but they did know a significant number of them were children. They were attempting to negotiate.
Halfway through their meal, another knock disturbed them.
“Damn it,” Cork said and stomped to the door. “What?” he snapped as he opened up. Dewey Quinn stood there, looking startled. “Sorry,” Cork said. “I thought you were that reporter.”
“Felicia Gray? She was here?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
“What did she want?” He waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. I got a call from the office. You dropped by looking for me?”
“Yeah. Come on in. Gray might still be out there.”
When Dewey was inside, Stephen said, “Hello, Deputy Quinn.”
“It’s okay if you call me Dewey, Stephen. I understand you’ve been looking for me, Cork. Sorry to make this short, but my wife’s waiting in the car.”
“We talked to Will Pope this afternoon,” Cork told him.
“And he has you believing in Baby’s Cradle?”
“I think it’s worth sending some search planes that way.”
“Cork, when the question of Baby’s Cradle first came up, I talked to Commander Nickleson. She was absolutely convinced that there was no merit in searching that area. Apparently it’s a tough airspace to fly, and none of her pilots were particularly eager to try. Honestly, I agree with her assessment. There’s no value in
