Free Fire Part 25

Joe sat on the couch. Demming and Lars settled in well-wornoverstuffed chairs.

"Too bad about Mark Cutler," Lars said. "He was a real nice guy. I met him a few times at Old Faithful."

It seemed oddly uncomfortable, Joe thought. No doubt both Lars and Demming felt the same. Demming did, he was sure, by the way she lowered her eyes while Lars told story after story about every time he had met Mark Cutler. Most of the tales had to do with Lars's road crew fixing the potholes around Old Faithful. Demming didn't interrupt when the stories got too long, deferring to her husband.

When Lars went to get Joe another beer, Demming said, "Ashby called. I've got a meeting with him and James Langston tomorrow. I won't be with you anymore either, providing they even let you stay. I've been rea.s.signed to traffic if they don't decideto suspend me."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It gives me an excuse to quit. I wish I could. Maybe I can really try to get into interpretation now."

Lars came back and resumed telling stories about each of the elk on the wall, the circ.u.mstances in which he'd killed them.

Joe wanted to ask her how she was doing, but it seemed like the wrong time and place. Instead, he finished the beer because he thought Lars would want him to.

"I better get back," Joe said, standing. "I need to call my wife."

"Yeah," Lars said, grinning. "Don't forget that that or there'll be h.e.l.l to pay." or there'll be h.e.l.l to pay."

Joe said, "Marybeth's not like that."

Lars gave him a man-to-man wink, as if to say, They're all like that. They're all like that.

"Do you need a ride?" Demming asked.

"I don't mind walking."

"I'll drive you back."

"Jeez," Lars said, "haven't you two spent enough time together?"

He was joking, Joe thought, but he wasn't.

In the car, Demming said, "You wanted to ask me something."

"I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Besides that. What was it? I could tell."

She was Demming again, the ranger.

"Last night, after I left you the message about the meeting with Cutler, who did you call?"

"Ashby. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out who knew about the meeting ahead of time."

"Do you realize what you're asking? What you're saying?"

"Yes."

She drove in silence the rest of the way.

When he got out, he said, "Be careful."

"You too," she said. "Maybe you ought to go home."

"What?"

She looked over, concern in her eyes. "You seem to have a nice family, Joe, and obviously you care very much about them. This isn't your fight."

"It's my job," he said. "Same thing."

Joe missed his family, missed them more than he thought possible, more than he should have given that it had been only four days since he left. When he really thought about them, reallydug deep, he wondered if, in his heart, he felt out of his depth and therefore wanted them near him for comfort. Two more days, he thought. Two more days. But should he welcome them to a place where just that morning he'd seen a man boiled alive, had his state car destroyed, and come to a nagging realizationthat it was very likely that someone on the inside murdered Mark Cutler and could just as easily come after him him?

Maybe that's what it was, Joe thought. The thought that Cutler had no one to mourn him. No wife, no kids, and a sort-of fiancee he'd made a fleeting mention of. If whoever got Cutler came afterJoe . . . he tried to imagine how Marybeth, Sheridan, and Lucy would mourn him. Would it demolish them, change them forever? He hoped so as much as he hoped not. Or would they figure out a way to go on? They were tough, he knew. He wished he were that tough. And now, he thought, sitting in his room at the Mammoth Hotel at midnight on a vacant floor with the half-emptyJim Beam traveler on his tiny desk, he was crossing over a line into a kind of morbid depression he hadn't felt since, well, since his brother died and his father left them.

And he realized what the root of his dark meditation was- the reunion with his father. It had brought everything back, most of all feelings of inadequacy, of not being properly rooted. He had forgotten that those feelings dwelled within him.

That, and the inevitable replaying of what he'd seen that morning as Cutler's flesh came off his body and floated away.

Oh, and Clay McCann. The lawyer who had upped his body count to six. The man who would very likely get away with his latest double homicide as easily as he had the first four.

What, was he losing it?

He needed Marybeth to tell him he wasn't.

And another drink. That would be okay too.

He broached the subject of her not coming when he called home. "Marybeth, there's so much going on that I can't figure out," he said. "The last thing I want to do is put you and the girls . . . into this mess." He almost said, "in danger" but re-phrasedit clumsily.

She paused a long time before saying, "Joe, I'm a little disappointedin you."

"Why?" He was puzzled.

"How much have we been through together?"

"A h.e.l.l of a lot," he said. "Too much. That's why-"

"That's right," she said. "We're good together. Maybe I can help you out. Besides, I'm just about done with that research you asked me to do. I'll print everything out and bring it along."

"Anything interesting?"

"Not that I can tell. I still have a couple of companies to go. I should have it all done by the time we get there."

"I'm thinking of Sheridan and Lucy," Joe said. "I still feel so d.a.m.ned guilty about what they went through last spring. I don't want any more of that happening."

"Joe, what happened happened. It's not your fault."

"If my job puts them into situations like that, it's my fault," he said.

She didn't argue, although he wished she would.

"Sheridan can't stop talking about going to Yellowstone," Marybeth said. "Lucy has already packed so she'll be the best dressed tourist in the park. You want me to tell them we're not going?"

Joe thought about it. "No."

"Good."

"I miss you," he said.

"It's only been a few days," she said. "But I miss you too."

"Besides," she said, laughing, "my mother is driving me insane."

Idly, joe reread Hoening's e-mails, hoping that something new would come to him now that he'd spent some time in the park. The exchange between Yellowd.i.c.k and Samantha Ellerby drew him, and he studied the e-mails and tried to figure out why.

It was 8 P.M. in California, an hour behind mountain time. Joe used directory a.s.sistance to find her number. He caught Samantha in her apartment. She had a flat, bored tone to her voice he found slightly irritating.

"Who did you say you were?" she asked.

"My name is Joe Pickett. I'm investigating the murder of your friend Rick Hoening on behalf of the governor of Wyoming," he said, hoping that would impress her enough to keep her on the line.

"He wasn't really my friend, more like just a guy I knew back in Minnesota. I'm surprised Wyoming is big enough to have a governor."

Joe thought, Airhead. Airhead.

"Still, I'm sure you'd like to help us clear up a few questions."

"I guess so. But I don't have a lot of time to talk. I'm going out."

"It won't take long," he said.

"Better not."

"Okay, I'll get to it. I take it you visited Yellowstone last summer."

"Yeah." Her voice was cold. "Geysers, like, big whoop."

"Didn't have a good time, then?"

"It was cold. There were bugs and way too many animals that can eat you. Not at all my idea of a good time. Plus, Rick's idea of a great party is, you know, outside outside. I'm sorry he's dead and all but, G.o.d, like, what a loser."

"I wanted to ask you specifically about what you did with him."

"I'm hanging up."

"No, please," he said, wanting to smack himself in the forehead."Let me rephrase that. Sorry. I want to know what places he showed you around the park. He knew the area really well, from what we understand. We think if we know where he went it might help us in our investigation." He hoped that last bit made more sense to her than it did to him.

She seemed to be debating whether or not to terminate the call.

"Look," he lied, "if it would be easier, we can send somebodyover to your place to talk about this. It might be more comfortable for you." Hoping she wouldn't call his bluff.

"I said I was going out. No, okay. It's okay, I thought you were asking-"

"No."

"We saw all the sights, I guess. Some big canyons, some trees, a bunch of geysers. Old Faithful. Way too many fat peoplein shorts. I think Yellowstone ought to have some kind of fitnesstest you have to pa.s.s to get in. I mean, gross."

"Did you go to a place called Sunburst Hot Springs?" Joe asked casually.

"Hmmm, I'm trying to remember the name."

"Did you go hot-potting there?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sunburst. That was actually kind of a cool place. Except it's illegal, you know. They keep you from going to the really cool places."

"Okay," Joe said, "I'm going to ask you a question but beforeyou answer I want you to know that however you answer it, you will not be incriminated in any way."

"Huh?"

"Was Hoening involved with drugs? I'm not asking about you, I'm asking about him."

She seemed relieved and said, "Alcohol only. But lots of it. He was really backward in his thinking. I couldn't get him to . . . never mind."

"So he never used drugs in your presence?"

"Alcohol. It's a drug, you know."

"Then can you tell me what he meant when he wrote to you"-Joe fished out the e-mail-"'We'll have some c.o.c.ktails and laughs, watch the sun set over Yellowstone Lake, go hot-pottingand light a couple of flamers.' "

"Ooooh," she said, enthusiasm gushing for the first time, "those things were the coolest of all! Flamers, yeah. They were, like, great great."

21.

TWO POINT TWO MILLION ACRES, JOE THOUGHT. YELLOWSTONEwas that that big. And while he now had a plan, he didn't have a car. big. And while he now had a plan, he didn't have a car.

There was a layer of light snow suspended on the gra.s.s and melting on the pavement in front of the Mammoth Hotel. He could see his breath as he walked to the restaurant for breakfast. The morning was achingly silent. Rising columns of steam from the hot spring terraces on the hill muted the sun, making it seem overcast despite the cloudless blue sky. Although it could, and did, snow any month of the year in the park, it definitely felt like summer was spent and had stepped aside in utter exhaustionto yield to fall and winter.

His mind was on something else, though.

Flamers, they called them.