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Chapter Fourteen

Joe said, “I’ll call you right back,” and slipped his cell phone into his uniform dress pocket.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Sheriff Regan Haswell, who sat behind his desk with a bemused expression on his face. “That was my wife.”

“Gotcha,” Haswell said. “I used to have one of those.”

Susan Kany bristled at the remark and squirmed a bit in her chair.

The Warm Springs branch of the Carbon County Sheriff’s Department was located on East Springs Street with its back facing a public parking lot and the rear of the Hotel Wolf. Haswell apparently rotated between his county office in Rawlins and the branch in Warm Springs, according to the receptionist out front. It was fortuitous that they’d caught him at the right time.

Haswell was thin and dark and had a trim mustache and probing brown eyes. He wore jeans, boots, and a beige and brown uniform shirt with a bolo tie festooned with ivory elk teeth. He was younger than Joe had imagined him to be, maybe midforties. These days, Joe thought, most people he dealt with were younger than he was. He still wasn’t used to it.

The sheriff had nodded a greeting to Kany when the two of them entered his office, and Kany had acknowledged him back. Kany had told Joe on the way down from Rankin’s camp that she didn’t think the sheriff respected her authority yet, and he didn’t seem to place a high priority on the cases she brought forward to his office. She attributed that to the fact that Haswell was tight with a group of similarly aged men, longtime locals who treated Game and Fish regulations as recommendations instead of statutes. They camped together while elk-hunting and drank together at the Rustic Bar and the Wet Fly Saloon at the outskirts of town.

“So, Joe Pickett,” Haswell said, “what can I do you for?”

The man pointedly ignored Kany’s presence in the room, which substantiated her theory, Joe thought.

“We’re trying to locate an outfitter and his employee,” Joe said. “The outfitter is named Spike Rankin.”

“I know Rankin,” Haswell said. “He’s a hard case, but a good guy. He has a fine reputation around here. He seems pretty by the book to me, but you might know otherwise. What do you think he’s done wrong?”

“Nothing that we know of,” Joe said. “But he’s missing from his camp, along with his apprentice.”

Joe gave a quick briefing of their visit to Rankin’s camp, as well as the arrival of the North Carolina hunters.

When he was through, Haswell cocked his head and eyed Joe suspiciously.

Haswell said, “It was good of you two to suggest that those out-of-state hunters spend some time and money in our fair county. We appreciate that, and I appreciate the tax dollars.”

“You can thank Susan,” Joe said.

Haswell narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. “So are you telling me that two game wardens are spending their time looking for a licensed outfitter in my county who hasn’t done anything wrong? Is he a witness in an investigation or something?”

“Not really,” Joe said. He knew that his manner wasn’t placating Haswell, an experienced local cop who had obviously sniffed out Joe’s obfuscation.

Kany tried to save Joe by clearing her throat and saying, “We were wondering if your office has run across his vehicle anywhere. It’s a local gray 2018 Ram Power Wagon. It has extra clearance and knobby tires, and a platform for an ATV on top of the bed in back. Here, I’ve got the plate number…” She fished a notebook out of her pocket.

“I know the vehicle,” Haswell said. “And we know where it is. It was called in this morning.”

Both Joe and Kany looked up expectantly.

But instead of answering, Haswell looked hard at Joe. “I’m compadres with your sheriff in Twelve Sleep County, Jackson Bishop. He’s a good man. We went through the academy together, and we’re on the same page when it comes to law enforcement.”

Joe had no idea where this was going.

“Suppose I call my buddy Jackson,” Haswell said, “and tell him what you told me? Do you think he might be a little more forthcoming with what is going on here? Like why the local game warden from the Bighorns comes all the way down here out of his district to Warm Springs to visit an elk-hunting guide? Because something about that just doesn’t make sense to me.”

Joe sat back, caught. He said, “Spike Rankin’s employee happens to be Governor Rulon’s son-in-law. They’re both missing. Governor Rulon asked me to look into it because we go way back.”

Joe felt Kany’s eyes bore into the side of his head, and Haswell grinned.

“So now we know the rest of the story,” Haswell said. “Our governor doesn’t want folks to know that his son-in-law is a doofus who might be in trouble. Is that it?”

“Pretty much,” Joe said.

“Were you aware of this?” Haswell asked Kany.

“Not at all,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Haswell said, chinning toward Joe. “The governor doesn’t alert state troopers, or the local sheriff, or the local game warden. Instead he sends you like some kind of secret agent man. That kind of says to me that our highest elected official doesn’t have much confidence in us here in Carbon County. That almost seems like an insult.”

Joe didn’t respond.

“Don’t you think that sounds like an insult to us both, Susan?” Haswell said.

After a beat, Kany said, “Yes.”

“And Joe here didn’t tell you about all of this?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“My, my,” Haswell said, shaking his head and making a tsk-tsk gesture.

Joe said, “About Rankin’s pickup. Where was it located?”

“Somewhere up on North French Creek Road on the way to Battle Mountain,” Haswell said. “It was parked on the shoulder and nobody was around. I’d need to contact dispatch to get the exact location for you.”

“Thank you,” Joe said. When he finally turned his head to look at Kany, he saw that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead at the sheriff. She was angry.

“I’ll get that info and we’ll put out a county-wide BOLO on your Spike Rankin and the doofus son-in-law,” Haswell said. “What did you say his name was?”

“I didn’t,” Joe said. “But it’s Mark Eisele.”

“Mark Eisele,” Haswell repeated as he jotted down the name. “Within a couple of hours, every LEO in Carbon County will be alerted. And I suppose the press will find out pretty quickly as well. Then we’ll have a full-blown kerfuffle on our hands, won’t we?”

“I suppose,” Joe conceded.

“And the governor isn’t going to like that very much, I’d guess.”

“That would be correct.” Then: “Can I ask you to hold up for a few hours on the BOLO until we confirm that it’s Rankin’s pickup on French Creek Road? There’s no good reason to panic until we know for sure either way.”

Haswell started to argue the point, but he apparently thought better of it.

“You’re right. I’ll hold off until you let me know either way.”

“Thank you.”

“But if it’s his truck up there, this is gonna be fun.”

“Maybe for you,” Joe said with a sigh.

—

In the parking lot, Kany wheeled on Joe. “You embarrassed me in there,” she said. “You embarrassed me in front of a sheriff that doesn’t think much of me in the first place. What else have you withheld from me?”

“That’s about it,” Joe said, looking down at the top of his boots. “I’m sorry. The governor asked me to keep this all on the down-low.”

“Why? So the press wouldn’t find out? That makes no sense.”

“No, so the First Lady and his daughter wouldn’t know,” Joe said. “He’s a lot more scared of them than he is of the press. It’s complicated.”

“Are there tire tracks on my clothes from where you threw me under the bus?”

“Again, I’m sorry,” Joe said. “It wasn’t my intention to bushwhack you.”

She stepped into Joe with her nostrils flared. “I mean, I’ve got other things to do, you know. Do you prefer to be on your own from here on out?”

Joe said, “I usually am,” he said. “I understand how you feel. I’d feel the same way. No hard feelings.”

“All these things I’ve heard about Joe Pickett turn out to be full of crap. I looked up to you, Joe.”

He briefly looked away.

Kany glared at him with her hands on her hips while he retrieved his gear bag from the back of her pickup and turned to walk across the lot to the hotel. He could feel her eyes boring holes into his back, and he couldn’t help but think that Susan Kany was a stand-in for one or all of his daughters and how they would feel in the same circumstances.

It hurt.

Then Kany called after him. “I’ll pick you up at the hotel in an hour with the horses.”

He paused and turned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I might have come on a little strong there. You were doing what the governor asked you to do, after all. I don’t know what I’d do if Rulon asked me to be his personal agent. Besides, I really don’t want you running around blind in my district.”

“This isn’t the first time he’s gotten me into trouble,” Joe said.

With that, Kany climbed into her pickup and eased out of the lot toward her state-owned home and corrals. Her expression as she drove away was a mixture of anger and humiliation. He felt for her.

—

Joe paused on the wooden front porch of the Wolf and placed a call to the governor’s office. He was transferred to Ann Byrnes.

“Joe Pickett here,” he said.

“And…?”

“We haven’t found Rankin or Mark, but we’ve got a lead in the case. We just found out where they were last seen and we’re headed up there tonight to try to track them down.”

Byrnes said, “The governor will be very happy to hear that. I’ll tell him as soon as he gets off the phone with the feds.”

“There’s something he won’t be happy to hear,” Joe said.

“Oh, and what is that?” Her tone was suddenly icy.

“The cat’s out of the bag,” Joe said. “I’ve bought us a few hours, but I thought you should be prepared for the fallout.”

—

As Joe trudged up the stairs of the Hotel Wolf with his overnight duffel slung over his shoulder, he speed-dialed Marybeth. The bartender–slash–hotel clerk had assigned him the same room he’d occupied before, number nine, because it was one of the few in their inventory covered by the notoriously low state employee lodging rate.

“Sorry it took me so long to call you back,” he said as he fitted in the key and pushed the door open. The room was as he remembered it: small, quaint, and clean.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was a little worked up earlier, but now I’m home and Sheridan just showed up.”

“Tell her hello.”

Joe listened as Marybeth covered the mouthpiece and turned her head away and conveyed the message to their oldest daughter. “Same here,” he heard Sheridan say.

“Tell her I met someone who knows her,” Joe said.

Marybeth said, “Hold on—I’ll put us all on speakerphone so I don’t need to be the middleman.”

After Marybeth switched to speaker and lowered the phone to the countertop, Joe said: “You go first.”

He listened with growing concern as Marybeth briefed him on the visit from Special Agent Rick Orr and Sheriff Jackson Bishop.

“Rick Orr?” Joe said. “I’ve never heard of him.”

Joe’s experience with various agents from the FBI varied widely over the years. He’d liked and worked well with Chuck Coon, who had supervised the Wyoming office out of Cheyenne. And he’d clashed, sometimes seriously, with others recently who’d been sent out from Washington, D.C., or who’d showed up on their own with their own personal agendas.

The three of them discussed Orr’s visit and Bishop’s interest in Kestrel’s circumstances. Sheridan said that Bishop “creeped her out” and that her friends thought the sheriff had a God complex. She also said she had a good impression of Susan Kany from college.

As they spoke, Joe moved to the window and pulled the lace curtain back. The room afforded a bird’s-eye view of First Street. As he did, Kany’s pickup appeared below with a two-horse trailer attached. It idled in front of the hotel because there wasn’t enough diagonal parking on the street to accommodate the length of it.

“In fact, she’s here,” Joe said. “I’ll call you later tonight, Marybeth. I hope to have good news and tell you that I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Are you going to Battle Mountain, then?” Marybeth asked.

“That’s where we’ll start. That’s where Rankin’s truck was called in. Sheridan, I’ll give Susan your best regards.”

“Good,” said Sheridan. “And please try not to do or say anything to embarrass me.”

Joe sighed: “You’re too late for that.”