Free Fire (31 page)

The driver turned and reached for his door handle, but the passenger didn’t. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Demming’s backup, behind her and to her left. Demming fought the urge to look over her shoulder, but she did when the passenger seemed to signal something to her backup with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

They knew each other
.

Demming snapped a glance over her left shoulder, saw the ranger she recognized with a gun leveled on her—not his serviceweapon but a cheap throw-down—heard the sharp
pop
, and felt as if she’d been hit in the ribs with a sledgehammer. She didn’t feel her legs give out but knew they had when all she could see were the dull black glints of obsidian chips in the pavement inches from her face. A flash of white—her hand— on the cold asphalt, scuttling across her vision like a crab for the weapon she’d dropped when she was hit. Where was it?

“Again,” the passenger said. His voice was clear.

Demming turned her head to see the black hole of the muzzleof the weapon two feet from her face and the coldly determinedlook on the face of the shooter. She wanted to ask, “Why you?” Closing her eyes tightly, she clearly saw Jake and Erin at home, watching the clock, waiting for dinner.

National parks are the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst.

23

Thirty-five minutes later, a caravan of law enforcement vehicles and the EMT van coursed through Mammothwith lights flashing, sirens on, turning the quiet night into a riot of outrage, angry colors, and grating sound. Joe stepped outside his cabin into darkness to see what was going on. The few other visitors in the cabins were doing the same, either parting curtains or opening their doors.

The caravan blasted through the village and down the hill towardGardiner, leaving a vacuum in its wake. It took five minutesbefore he could no longer see the lights flashing on the sagebrush hillside of the canyon or hear the scream of sirens.

Given the inordinate number of emergency vehicles and their display of lights and sound and the dearth of visitors remainingin the park, Joe immediately thought something bad had happened to a ranger—maybe
his
ranger—and a chill shot through him.

He jogged to a pay phone near the utility building, called Demming’s home. Erin answered crying.

“My mom’s been shot!” she sobbed. “Somebody called for Dad and said my mom’s been shot.”

“Is she still alive?” Joe asked, his head swimming.

“I don’t know, I don’t know . . .”

“Erin, stay calm,” he said, not feeling very calm himself. “Let’s not get upset until we know how badly she’s hurt. Don’t assume the worst. People get shot all the time and live through it.”

His words seemed to help, even though he felt like he was lying.

The tiny clinic in Gardiner was popping with activity when Joe arrived. NPS cruisers and SUVs filled the parking lot, and the EMT van that had delivered Demming was parked underthe EMERGENCY entrance overhang, doors still open.

Ashby, Layborn, and a half-dozen rangers Joe didn’t recognizecrowded the small lobby. Layborn was in full dress, Ashby in sweats and running shoes, his hair wild, as if he’d just been called from a run or a workout.

“Is it true?” Joe asked.

“Damn right,” Ashby said. “They found her on the road next to her car. At least two gunshot wounds, maybe more. We don’t know yet.”

“Is she alive?”

Ashby nodded. “Slight pulse, I guess. But her breathing was so shallow the first on the scene thought she was dead.”

“Who was the first on the scene?”

Ashby nodded toward Layborn, who had been watching Ashby and Joe with obvious interest.

“Who did it?” Joe asked Layborn.

The ranger shrugged, said, “Last we know, she called for backup to pull over a black SUV matching the description of the vehicle you saw yesterday. I was on my way but by the time I got there she was already down. I never saw the other vehicle. We found a weapon, though, a thirty-eight tossed on the pavement.We’ve sent it to ballistics and should get some prints.”

Joe shook his head. “If you found it that easily it’s probably a throw-down. My guess is it’ll turn out clean and untraceable.”

Layborn and Ashby exchanged looks. Ashby said, “That’s what I’d guess too.”

“Man oh man,” Joe said, running his fingers through his hair, then angrily rubbing his face. To Ashby, “Have you alerted everyone at the exit gates so the son of a bitch can’t get out?”

Ashby’s face fell. “We don’t man the gates after dark this late in the season. There’s no one there to stop them.”

Joe turned away in frustration.

A few moments later an emergency room doctor wearing jeans, Teva sandals, and a sweatshirt reading WILDERNESS, SCHMILDERNESS opened the door and addressed the rangers.

“She’s in critical condition,” he said, glancing down at his clipboard. “We’re trying to stabilize her but it doesn’t look good. I called off the Life-Flight chopper to Billings for now because I’m concerned about moving her at all. If we see some progress, I’ll call them back.”

Layborn asked, “Is she going to make it?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“But if you were to guess . . .”

The doctor shook his head, said, “I’ll keep you posted.”

Joe found Ashby staring at him. “What?”

Ashby stepped close to Joe so he could speak in a whisper. “I just keep thinking that Judy would be okay now if you hadn’t showed up,” he said.

“Can we see her?” Jake asked Joe. Erin stood behind her brother in the living room of their house, her face drained, her hair stringy.

“I don’t think so,” Joe said. “The doctor wouldn’t allow anyonein.”

Jake said, “I’d like to get one of my dad’s guns and find whoever did this.” He said it with such controlled fury that Joe reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“We’d all like to do that,” Joe said. “But we don’t know who did it yet. All we know is that he was driving a black SUV.”

“Will they find him?” Jake asked, challenge in his voice.

“Yes,” Joe lied.

He made sure they had food in the house and promised to call them the minute he knew something and to come get them if they would be allowed to see their mother.

“Can you get in touch with your dad?” Joe asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”

“We tried to get him on his cell phone,” Erin said. Her eyes were vacant, wounded. “He didn’t answer.”

“Keep trying,” Joe said. “He needs to get back here.”

Joe wrote down Lars’s cell phone number and put the slip in his pocket, thinking he would try later himself. Maybe it would be best if Lars heard the news from him instead of his children, he thought.

As he left, he looked hard at Jake. “Keep the guns in the closet, okay?”

Jake said, “They’re in a gun safe in my dad’s bedroom.” “That’s good.”

“It would be if I didn’t know the combination,” Jake said.

“But you won’t let him open it, will you, Erin?” Joe said.

“No.”

Jake turned on his heel, punched the air, and strode angrily to his room, where he slammed the door shut.

“You’re in charge,” Joe said to Erin.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just help my mom.”

One by one, the rangers left the clinic throughout the night. Several to go out on patrol, searching for the black SUV, several to simply go home and get some sleep so they could take over the search in the morning. Ashby left around midnight, after sending a message to the doctor through the receptionist that he was to be called at any hour if there was progress or “any kind of news.” He left with Layborn, who lingered at the door longer than necessary. When Joe looked up, he got Layborn’s coldest cop glare.

“You going back to the hotel soon?” Layborn asked.

“In a few minutes,” Joe said.

Layborn nodded, left. Joe wondered why the ranger cared where he spent the night.

Joe sat on a worn faux-leather couch, trying to read a
Field & Stream
magazine but finding himself reading the same page over and over without absorbing it. He called Jake and Erin to tell them there was no news.

“Have you gotten ahold of your dad?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jake said. “But we’ve left about a thousand messages.”

Erin took over the phone. “You’re staying at the hospital, right? So you can come get us when we can see Mom?”

Joe immediately dismissed the idea of going back to his cabin. “I’m staying,” he said.

At two-forty-five in the morning, Joe sat on the couch staring blankly at a washed-out photo on the clinic wall of Old Faithful erupting, copies of
Bugle
,
Fly Fisherman
, and
Field & Stream
at his feet like discarded playing cards. He was miserablewith guilt and lack of sleep, and growing angrier by the half-hour as he thought it through. If he’d told Demming his suspicions about McCann’s request for protective custody and a transfer, maybe, just maybe, she would have approached the black SUV differently. Possibly, instead of pulling it over, she would have shown more caution and followed it to wherever it was going—which just may have been the Pagoda. Joe thought of Ashby and Layborn in the lobby of the clinic, Ashby upset and pinning the blame on Joe, Layborn furtive and suspicious, eyes darting around guiltily. He should have told her, he thought. By “protecting” her, he may have put her in greater danger. And was he protecting her, or himself? That was a tough question. She had shown nothing but loyalty to Joe, even though she wore the uniform of a park ranger. Had he shown her that same loyalty when he withheld information but acceptedher offer to download video from the entrance gates, thereby jeopardizing her job?

His stomach surged angrily, growled loud enough to hear. He stood and stretched, tried Lars’s cell phone number again and left yet another message, then went outside for some cold air.

He was surprised to see the only NPS cruiser in the parking lot was Demming’s. One of the attending rangers must have driven it down the canyon in the caravan and gone back with someone else. Joe walked up to the car, saw the blood-flecked driver’s door and winced.

It was unlocked. Joe opened the driver’s door and looked inside.Demming’s daypack, jacket, and lunch box were on the front seat and floor. The mike was cradled, the shotgun unbuckledfor quick access.

He shut the door and started back to the clinic when it hit him: Where was her laptop?

He turned and searched again, making sure it wasn’t under her seat, in the trunk, or under the jacket. He clearly rememberedseeing it that morning on the seat between them. It was possible one of the rangers in the caravan had taken it back for evidence, but very unlikely since on the surface a laptop has nothing to do with a roadside bushwhack. And if they took the computer as part of evidence gathering, why would they leave all her belongings in the unlocked car?

No, Joe thought. Somebody involved in the crime—or one of the crimes, there were so many—had taken the laptop. And whoever had it was likely the inside man in all that had happened,the man McCann feared as well.

Joe entered the lobby to find the emergency room doctor bent over the counter, scribbling on his clipboard. He looked up as Joe came in.

“I thought everyone was gone,” he said.

“It’s just me.”

“Are you the husband?”

“No,” Joe said, “just a friend. A colleague.” Joe tried to read something, anything, into the stoic expression the doctor showed.

There was an excruciating silence and Joe felt his fear build to a crescendo.

To his surprise, the doctor said, “It isn’t as bad as I’d thought.”

“Really?”

The doctor nodded. “There are two gunshot wounds, one of them serious. The bullet entered here”—he demonstrated by raisinghis left arm and reaching across his body with his right until his palm rested on the back of his ribs—“and angled up. There’s extensive organ damage and her left lung is collapsed. The slug itself is lodged in her sternum beneath her left breast. She’s lucky as hell it angled to the left instead of to the right, into her heart. But she’s starting to stabilize. Blood pressure is getting better, and her right lung is compensating for the damaged left lung, so she’s breathing almost normally. Based on what I can see, she has a very good chance to pull through.”

Joe almost asked the doctor to repeat himself, to make sure he’d heard right.

“But wasn’t she shot in the head?” Joe asked.

The doctor flashed a grim grin. “That’s what we thought. It sure looked like it when they brought her in, based on the blood in her hair and powder burns on her face. But once we got her cleaned up, we found out that the bullet creased the skull just above her right ear and never broke through the bone. It made a hell of a scratch and it bled a lot because of the location, but all she needed on her scalp were a dozen stitches. It was a fairly small-caliber weapon, thank God. The bullet was diverted by her skull. Up here, most of the gunshot wounds are from heavierweapons, hunting rifles and the like.”

Joe felt a rush of joy, smiled. “Her hard head saved her.”

“I guess you could say that.”

He breathed a long sigh of relief.

“I agree,” the doctor said. “I see no need to send her by chopper to Billings, really. She should go there for observation, of course, since we don’t have the greatest facilities here. We’re more like a MASH unit than a real hospital. I can ask the EMT driver to take her later today. But if I were a betting man, I’d bet on a recovery. Not to say she’ll ever be arresting bad guys again or wrestling bears, whatever park rangers do.”

“I should call her family,” Joe said, but suddenly had second thoughts.

The doctor nodded. “I’ll advise Ranger Ashby.”