Trophy Hunt (25 page)

“Keep him the hell out of it,” Joe said.

“Joe . . .”

“It’s not just about this thing between Barnum and me,” Joe said. “Barnum seems more hostile than usual. He called me at my house and all but warned me off of this thing. I think he’s involved in some way, Robey.”

Hersig slapped his desktop angrily. “Joe, do you realize what you’re saying?”

Joe nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think Barnum had anything to do with the mutilations or the murders. I think he’s playing another angle, but I don’t know what it is yet. Somehow, I think he’s taking advantage of the situation.”

Hersig stared at Joe, still upset. “I can’t lie to him, Joe. He’s the sheriff.”

“But you can just sort of withhold information, can’t you? Not return his calls? Just for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow?”

Hersig shook his head. “Do you think we’re that close?”

“I think we’re close to something,” Joe said, standing and clamping on his hat. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

Hersig gave a low moan.

As Joe opened the door, Hersig called out to him.

“Give Cam my regards,” Hersig said. “And call me the minute you know something.”

I
T FELT ODD
, Joe thought, entering the front office of Logue Country Realty. In a few hours, Marybeth would be there.

Marie wasn’t at the front desk, as she usually was. In her place was a thin, blond woman who pursed her lips, whom Joe caught reading a supermarket tabloid. She was the only person in Saddlestring, he thought with some relief, who wasn’t aware that there was NO PROGRESS IN MUTILATION DEATHS.

“Is Marie still sick?” Joe asked.

“I guess so,” the woman said. “All I know is that the temp agency called and asked me to come in again.”

“Is Cam here?”

“May I ask your name?”

“Joe Pickett.”

The temp hesitated and looked puzzled for a moment, as if she had heard the name but couldn’t place it.

“My wife, Marybeth, works here,” Joe said.

“Ah,” the temp said. “She seems nice.”

“She
is
nice,” Joe said, impatience creeping in. “But I’m here to see Cam.”

The temp looked at her wristwatch. “He usually comes in around nine, I think.”

Joe glanced at his own watch. Ten to nine. “I’ll wait in his office.”

The temp wasn’t sure if this was appropriate, but Joe strode by her as if he waited for Cam every day, and she said nothing.

J
oe sat in a chair across from Cam’s desk, and put his hat on the chair next to him. This would be interesting, he thought. He planned to watch Cam carefully as he asked him questions, and listen even more carefully. Joe dug his microrecorder out of his front shirt pocket, checked the cassette, and pushed the record button, then buttoned his pocket. By Wyoming law, the tape would be admissible in court, even if Cam wasn’t aware he was being recorded.

Joe surveyed the office. Neat stacks of paper lined the credenza in columns. A large-scale map of Twelve Sleep County covered an entire wall in the room. Cam’s realtor and insurance licenses were framed behind his desk, as were large portraits of Marie and Jessica, and several family photos of them all. There was a Twelve Sleep County Chamber of Commerce “Businessperson of the Year” plaque, as well as a photo of a boys’ soccer team Cam obviously coached, signed by all of the players. On Cam’s desk was a coffee cup that read “World’s Greatest Dad.” There was a “Volunteer of the Year” award from the United Way.
Jeez,
Joe thought.
What am I doing here?

Cam entered his office a few moments later, without a hint of trepidation. He asked how Joe was with concerned sincerity, and if he wanted a cup of coffee.

Joe passed on the coffee, but stood and shook Cam’s extended hand and returned a half-smile. Joe thought he detected a flash of discomfort in Cam’s eyes as he shook Joe’s hand, but wouldn’t swear to it. Then Joe
thought,
If I made a pass at a man’s wife and the husband showed up in my office unannounced, I might be more than a little jittery too.

Cam asked, “What can I do you for, Joe?” in a forced, too-cheerful way, and sat in his big, leather chair across the desk from Joe. “I do have a meeting in twenty minutes, so I hope . . .”

“Shouldn’t take that long,” Joe said. “How’s Marie?”

Again, the flash of discomfort, or maybe fear. Then it was gone. “Marie?” Cam said almost absently. Then: “I’m sorry, I guess Marybeth must have told you. Marie’s had some kind of a bug for over a week that just won’t go away. She has
not
been a happy camper.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Joe asked.

Cam seemed to be thinking about it, then he shook his head. “That’s a really nice offer, Joe. But she seems to be just about back to normal, now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came back to work this afternoon. Tomorrow for sure, I’ll bet.”

“Well, good,” Joe said. “But don’t hesitate to ask. Marybeth thinks the world of Marie.”

“Yes, Marie and Marybeth have a great relationship, which is wonderful. Really wonderful,” Cam said, agreeing enthusiastically.
Too enthusiastically,
Joe thought. But was Cam’s nervousness because of what he had said to Marybeth, or something else?

“Cam, you know about the task force I’m on,” Joe said, watching Cam’s face carefully. “The investigation isn’t going quite as badly as what you might have read in the paper this morning. We’re pursuing some new leads.”

Cam’s eyebrows arced. He was interested.

“One of them involves you.”

Cam seemed to freeze in place. Even his breathing stopped. His tanned face drained of color.

“Say again?” Cam asked, his voice a whisper.

“We’re pursuing everything, even if it turns out to be a dead end,” Joe said. “I’m here to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

Cam was clearly shaken. Joe tried to interpret it, but couldn’t decide if Cam was displaying guilt, or shock.

“I guess I don’t mind,” Cam said. “Jesus. I can’t believe you’re even
here.
I can’t believe you could even think . . .”

“Why did you think I was here?” Joe asked innocently, but the implication was clear.
Now you’ve done it,
Joe said to himself.
Whatever the Logues and the Picketts had together is now over. Marybeth and Marie. Lucy and Jessica. Maybe even Marybeth’s future career. You’ve done it now, Joe, and there’s no going back.

“Gee, I guess I thought maybe it was because Marybeth and I had a misunderstanding a while back,” Cam said, looking at his hands and not at Joe. “But I think she thought I meant something I didn’t. That was bad enough. But to have you here saying I’m being investigated . . .” he trailed off.

Joe sat in silence, letting Cam talk.

“Should I call a lawyer?” Cam asked. “Is it that bad?”

“Only you can answer that,” Joe said. Man, he felt cruel.

Cam still didn’t meet Joe’s eye, but reached for his telephone. Joe noticed that the man’s hand was shaking.

“Please cancel my 9:30,” Cam told the temp, then listened for a moment. “No, I don’t want to reschedule it right now.” When he replaced the receiver, it rattled in the cradle.

“What do you want to ask me, Joe?”

Joe thought that Cam looked just about as pathetic—or guilty—as anyone he had ever seen. He was either about to nail a killer, or make a horrible, unforgivable mistake.

“Cam, we have a theory that the murders of Tuff Montegue and Stuart Tanner were connected. We think there is a possibility that they were killed because of something they—or one of them—knew about the sale of the Timberline Ranch.”

“You’re kidding me,” Cam said. The flash in his eyes this time was of anger.

Joe plowed on: “I think Stuart Tanner was going to nix the drilling of all of the CBM wells because there was too much salinity in the water. Or maybe he found something else, like silica or something. His report would cost some people a hell of a lot of money. The company that holds the
mineral rights would be out millions, and the realtor who didn’t get his commission would be out thousands. I think somebody wanted him dead, and saw the opportunity to kill him in the same method as the cattle and the moose.”

Joe tried to make his face and eyes go dead. “So who is the secret buyer, Cam?”

Slowly, the color returned to Cam Logue’s face, and kept going. Now his face was turning red.

“Joe, I can’t believe you just said that to me. You’re so goddamned off base.” Cam said it with enough passion that Joe nearly flinched.

“You knew Stuart Tanner,” Joe said. “You hired him. He delivered the water report to you personally, right in this office. But when the news came out that he died, you said nothing. You didn’t report it to the sheriff, or even mention it to me.”

“You’re right about that,” Cam said, his voice back to normal. “You’re absolutely right. I got the report, and I knew the guy. I paid Tanner Engineering for his work. And damn it, I didn’t say anything because given the current market, the less said about any of this shit the better. Hell, Joe, I can’t even sell a ranch with a willing buyer and a willing seller. Everybody’s waiting for your stupid task force to make a conclusion, or arrest somebody. But I can see why you’re getting nowhere, if this is the best you can do. If all you can come up with is to target a guy who’s made a huge commitment to this community.”

Cam looked up and shook his head. He was upset, and visibly tried to calm himself. “Joe, there’s a couple of things really wrong with your theory, and it pisses me off that you would be going in this direction.”

“What’s that?” Joe asked.

“First, Tanner Engineering cleared the way for the CBM drilling. The water is fine.”

Cam turned quickly in his chair and dug through one of the neat stacks of paper on his credenza. He produced an inch-thick report bound in plastic, and tossed it across the desk. Joe picked it up and thumbed through it until he found the summary page.

“Tanner concluded that there was no excess salinity, or anything else in that water,” Cam said. “The water’s good, Joe. It’s perfect. It’s the best damned water in the Twelve Sleep Valley.”

Joe read enough to see that Cam was right.

“Second,” Cam said, his voice rising, “the secret client is me. And Sheriff Barnum.”

Joe was stunned.
“What?”
So this is where Barnum figured in, he thought.

Cam stood quickly, sending his chair to roll back until it thumped against the credenza. He glared down at Joe.

“Barnum’s a year away from retirement, and he’s got one
hell
of a pension after twenty-five-plus years as sheriff,” Cam said. “He planned to borrow against it for a down payment on 360 acres of the ranch we’d buy together. He wants to retire on it. But with all of this bullshit going on, the bank’s been holding back. It’s only temporary, but they’re dragging it out. I’ve always wanted the family ranch back. I grew up there, Joe. It’s my dream, Marie’s and my dream. We couldn’t say anything, even to Marybeth.”

“You want it even with all of those CBM wells all over it?” Joe asked.

Cam shrugged. “They won’t be there forever. And they’re bound by law to clean up when they’re gone.”

“But that could be thirty years.”

Cam smiled, but not warmly. “I’m willing to wait. Land is always a good investment. Especially the land I grew up on and still love.”

Joe felt as though he had had the rug, the floor, and the joists pulled out from under him.

“How in the hell are you going to buy it?” Joe asked.

Cam’s eyes lit up. “Okay, since you’re asking, since you’ve spent a good deal of the morning trying to fuck up my life, I’ll tell you.”

Joe winced at that.

“Real estate sales is sizzle, Joe. It’s flash and sizzle. If the market is hot, the realtor is hot. Everybody wants to work with a winner, and that’s me. Once I listed the Timberline Ranch, the landowners around here figured that if I could get a couple of old crones like the Overstreet sisters to sign, then I must be hot shit indeed. As you know, we now have exclusive listings
on just about every available ranch in this part of Northern Wyoming. I did it by hard work, Joe, and by creating the sizzle of a winner.”

Joe still felt pole-axed. “You figured a couple of the other ranches would sell first. That you could use the commission money from those other ranches for the down payment on the Timberline Ranch.”

Cam opened his eyes in an exaggerated way, as if he were addressing a simpleton. “
Right,
Joe. There’s not a single thing wrong with that. Not a single thing.”

“But no property is selling, because of the mutilations,” Joe said.

“Right again, Joe. Exactly what I’ve been telling you for a month. Nothing’s selling because buyers think this county is spooked.”

“Man,” Joe said.

But Cam was on a roll. “Do you know who I’m not going to invite to the ranch when I finally own it?”

Joe didn’t guess.

“My parents, Joe. Mom and Dad. The people who sold my birthright out from under me so they could devote more time and attention to sending my big brother, Eric, to medical school. You thought I was going to say you and Marybeth, didn’t you?”

Joe looked up.

“Well, I probably won’t invite you out, either. Not now.” Cam’s eyes had a fiendish intensity.

Despite feeling bad, feeling stupid, Joe caught a whiff of something in the air from Cam. It was the desperation he had recalled earlier, the over-the-top intensity that seemed a notch or two higher than it needed to be.

“Some day, all of you people are going to regret the way you treated Cam Logue,” Cam said, his voice dropping but his face screwed up with rage. “You sit around and come up with some lunatic idea that it must be the new guy in town, it must be the guy who just moved here who’s upsetting the sleepy little village by working his ass off and being aggressive.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Joe said lamely.

Cam leaned across his desk, thrusting his face forward. “I know what it’s like, Joe. I remember what you people are like, and I don’t forget. I remember you all looking down at the ground when we left this place. You
wouldn’t even say good-bye when I stood there with my stupid parents as they drove around this town and canceled their utilities, and their post office box, and got the transcripts from my school.”