Free Fire

Joe could see Layborn thinking about it, wanting to come up with a reason why he couldn’t. Finally, he gestured to the door. “We’ve got cameras in all the cells. The monitors are down the hall. You can look at him there, but nothing else. Then you need to leave, and I mean it.”

As Joe passed him, Layborn said, “I don’t know what you think you’ll see.”

Joe wasn’t sure either. Nevertheless, he went down the hallwayinto a small room with a bank of four black- and-white video monitors on the wall. Two showed empty cells. One revealedtwo disheveled men sleeping on cots. A Post-it note read “Zephyr, DUI.” On the fourth monitor, a pale, pudgy man sat motionless on a cot with his hands on his knees, staring intently at a blank wall. McCann.

There was nothing threatening about him, Joe thought. He looked like an overripe accountant, or the lawyer that he was. He looked lonely, pathetic. Not the murderer or schemer he obviouslywas. He looked almost like. . a victim. Joe had been around several evil men in his life, and had felt a darkness insidehimself when he was near them. Not this time. Strangely, it bothered him more than if McCann exuded menace. Here sat a man who assassinated six people in cold blood, who wanted an apology from the government for being arrested. This man, Joe thought, was beyond understanding. In a way, he was probably the most dangerous man he had ever encountered. Joe wanted desperately to bring him down.

Demming was opening the door of a Crown Victoria when Joe came out of the Pagoda, ruining the taped stand-up for the Billings television station.

“Cut!” the producer growled to the reporter. “Jenny, you’ll need to do it again.”

“Sorry,” Joe said, stepping out of the shot.

“Damn it,” Jenny said, “I was on a roll.”

“I’ve been assigned to traffic,” Demming said, as Joe climbed into the cruiser with her. “Suspension is still pending, though. I’ll know by Monday if I still have a job. I’ve never seen Langston so angry. Ashby actually defended me, though. A little,at least. Enough to keep me employed through the weekend.”

Joe didn’t know what to say.

“It may all be for the best,” she said, looking out the windshieldat Jenny the reporter starting her stand-up again. “Lars will be out of town at a road engineering conference in Billings. I’ll be around for the kids, which is good.”

“I could use your help,” Joe said. “You’re a good partner.”

She smiled. “It makes me happy to hear you say that, Joe.”

“I mean it.”

Joe told her about the flamers. She was interested, and he could see her thinking.

“She says they lit them with a match,” Joe continued. “It sounded like she was describing a propane torch or something. Does this make any sense to you?”

“None. I’ve never heard of anything like that in the park.”

Joe nodded. “There’s no oil or gas here, is there?”

“No. And if there was, nobody could drill for it anyway. Are you sure this connects anything?”

Joe shook his head. “I’m not sure about anything. But when I think about oil and gas, I think of Wyoming. That’s how the whole state is funded. Hoening made a reference to ‘something going on here with the resources that may deeply impact the State of Wyoming, especially your cash flow situation.’ Remember that? This new information could sort of go to that, and it might be what Cutler figured out and never got a chance to tell us.”

Demming nodded. “Let’s not forget, Joe, that we have no evidenceCutler was murdered. We’re assuming it but have nothingto go on. The forensic guys on the scene are describing it as an accident, that Cutler lost his footing checking on the thermal and fell in.”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t believe that. I saw how careful he was out there.”

“I agree. But we’ve got nothing. We’ve asked the FBI to take a look at what’s left of his body and. . the pieces they could find. They’re FedExing it all to Virginia. Maybe we’ll find out he got hit in the head or shot or something. Until then, we can’t jump to conclusions.”

“I’ve already jumped.”

“So have I,” she sighed.

“What about Herve and the message?” Joe asked.

“He checks out,” she said. “The message was left in his in-boxand he simply delivered it. There’s nothing to suggest he told anyone about the meeting, and he claims he never even looked at it. The investigator who interviewed him said he was clean.”

He told her what Layborn had said about the black SUV.

“I’m not surprised.”

“If we could find that car and who was driving it, we might get somewhere.”

“How do we do that now?” she asked.

“The surveillance tapes,” he said. “Doesn’t the Park Service get a shot of every vehicle and plate that enters at the gates? I’ve seen the cameras. We could look at the tapes for yesterday and see where the SUV came from. If we can’t find it, we can go back two days and find out where it came in. We might even get a picture of who was driving it.”

Her eyes widened with excitement. “That’s right.”

“So we need access to the tapes. Are they in the Pagoda?”

She frowned. “It’s not as simple as that, Joe. The tapes are on site at each entrance gate. They’re not compiled and sent to headquarters, and you can’t watch them at any central place. To see them, you’ve literally got to go to each entrance and downloadthe tapes from the day before and watch them there or bring it back. And if I remember correctly, we only keep a three-day record before the cameras record over the old tape.”

“Which means we’ve got to move on this,” Joe said.

Demming hesitated, and Joe felt suddenly guilty.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said. “You’ve been reassigned. You could really lose your job if you’re seen hanging out with the likes of me.”

“I’ll take the North and West entrances,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there as part of my patrol anyway. That gives you the South, Northeast, and East entrances. I think if you flash your badge and sweet-talk them, you’ll be able to download the tapes. But if they call in for permission, you’re sunk. We’re sunk.”

“I’m willing to try if you are.”

“I am,” she said.

What wasn’t said between them was the implication of them working independently, out of view of Layborn, Ashby, or Langston. Because, Joe thought, one or all of them knew more than they were letting on. Then something clicked into place: maybe McCann thought the exact same thing.

Joe wondered which one frightened McCann enough to make him request a transfer. It made sense now, Joe thought. McCann wanted to stay in very public protective custody so no one could silence him. His request for a transfer suggested that someone with access to the jail-someone on the inside-could get to him. He decided not to share this with Demming so as not to implicate her any further with her superiors.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. “All I can say is that I appreciate it very much.”

She nodded but didn’t want to talk about it.

“I’ve been where you are,” Joe said. “You’re doing the right thing. But I have to confess that it usually gets me into trouble.”

She laughed. “Like I could get into any more trouble.”

As he opened the car door, she reached out and gripped his arm.

“Here,” she said, handing him a set of keys.

“What’s this?”

“Keys to Lars’s pickup. You’ll need a vehicle. How do you expect to get around?”

“I can’t take these,” Joe said, remembering Lars’s obvious pride in his tricked-up 4x4.

“Take them,” she insisted. “He likes you.”

“I’m hard on cars,” Joe said.

“Yeah,” she said, dismissing him. “I’m kind of worried about that, I admit.”

It was easier than Joe thought it would be, despite the suspiciouslooks the gate rangers gave him when he pulled up in the jacked-up pickup with the loud glasspack mufflers and got out. He found they were lonely in the last