JOE ARRIVED AT the crime scene at the golf course at 6:35 a.m. to find a scrum of vehicles already parked on the eighth fairway halfway up the long green slope. There were three Twelve Sleep County Sheriff’s Department SUVs, a Park County Sheriff’s Office pickup, two Saddlestring PD cruisers, a dark Chevy Suburban with the logo of the club on the driver’s-side door, and a white panel van that was driven by the area forensics technician, Gary Norwood. Several of the law enforcement vehicles had their wigwag lights on and their blue and red beams flashed across the walls of trees on both sides of the fairway and made the location look oddly psychedelic.
Rather than drive up the golf cart path, Joe used the tire tracks already pressed into the grass by the first responders on the side of it. As he ascended the rise, he could make out Elaine Beveridge, the interim sheriff, standing and gesticulating with Jackson Bishop, the candidate for sheriff from Park County; Ruthanne Hubbard, the dispatcher and candidate for sheriff herself; and Judy, the longtime administrative director of the club. Norwood stood apart from the group, looking down at his shoes and acting as if he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. The remaining law enforcement personnel milled around between the vehicles and near the dense stand of trees.
It was a familiar sight, he thought. Whenever there was a serious incident, the location was flooded by LEOs, who largely stood around bullshitting with each other with not much else to do.
It was Norwood who noticed Joe’s arrival first, and the tech quickly broke away and approached him as Joe turned off his truck and climbed out.
“This is a clusterfuck of the worst kind,” Norwood said. “Judge Hewitt got attacked and now I’ve got three different people telling me what to do.”
It was obvious where the attack had taken place. The path to the right of the trees and brush was painted with blood, and a lot of it. Fingers of dark crimson ran down the length of the path and pooled in a slight depression about four feet from where the body had been.
“Is he dead?” Joe asked Norwood.
“He was breathing, but really torn up. The bear got him right here,” Norwood said, placing his left hand on top of his right clavicle. “I saw holes in his chest as big as any large-caliber bullet I’ve ever observed.”
“But not his face and head?” Joe asked, surprised.
“Not that I saw.”
“That’s a little unusual.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Norwood said. “Anyway, the EMTs bundled him up and transported him to the hospital. I think they’ve already called Billings MedFlight to take him to a real hospital.”
Joe nodded. The county facility was fine for routine injuries, but severe trauma cases were flown to Montana. He’d made the flight himself several times over the years.
“Did you happen to take any photos?” Joe asked Norwood.
“Of course, but they’re pretty grisly. No pun intended.”
He handed Joe his cell phone after activating the photo app. The shots weren’t as clear and crisp as the evidence photos Norwood usually presented with his professional camera.
Joe scrolled through them with a grimace. It was bad enough to see the results of a bear attack on unfamiliar victims, much less a man he’d known and worked with for years.
In the photos, Judge Hewitt lay on his side on the cart path. His left arm was flung out and his head rested on it. His knees were bent and parallel as if he were sleeping. Hewitt’s face was pure white and his eyes were closed. A large-caliber handgun lay on the pavement next to him. There was a lot of blood on the path, but the damage itself seemed isolated to Hewitt’s right shoulder, breast, and neck.
“Who found the victim?” Joe asked.
Norwood chinned toward the LEOs. “The new guy,” he said. “Deputy Carroll. Everybody calls him ‘Fearless Frank.’”
“Then I think I need to talk with Fearless Frank.”
“Stay away from those wannabe sheriffs,” Norwood cautioned.
“I intend to,” Joe said.
“You might want to suggest that all those people stay the hell off the path and out of the trees,” Norwood said with a pained wince. “I have a job to do here.”
*
JOE KEPT HIS head down as best he could and gave a wide berth to the candidates for sheriff, Elaine Beveridge, and Judy. They appeared to be in a heated discussion about what steps should be taken next and who was in charge of them.
He heard Beveridge, who had a helmet of dark hair that never blew out of place, say, “I’m just not sure. This is my first grizzly bear attack … ,” and Ruthanne Hubbard say, “When this gets out, there’s going to be panic in the streets. In the streets! And wait until they find out it was Judge Hewitt …”
“I’ll need to notify our membership,” Judy said while shaking her head. “Nothing like this has ever happened here before. We’ve had golf balls go through windows and an older member got run over by a golf cart, but this is just insane.”
“Ladies,” Bishop said with a raised voice, “just forget it was a bear and forget it was a member and forget it was your judge. We need to treat this like any crime scene and start by sealing off the scene and starting the forensics.”
“Hear! Hear!” Norwood chimed in.
“Do not ‘ladies’ us, Jackson,” Hubbard hissed at Bishop while jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. “We don’t need to have things mansplained to us—especially by a cop outside his jurisdiction.”
“Hey, game warden—what are you doing here?” Beveridge called out. Joe cringed.
“My job,” he responded.
“Maybe if you’d done your job in the first place and killed this grizzly bear, we could have avoided all of this,” she said. Joe got the impression she was simply taking out her frustration on the nearest target, which was him. He thought that he wouldn’t mind it when Elaine stepped back into her role as county commissioner.
*
“WHICH ONE OF you is Fearless Frank Carroll?” Joe asked a group of two deputies and one patrolman who were leaning shoulder to shoulder on the grille of an SUV.
“That would be me,” said a light-haired, fresh-faced officer as he pushed himself to his feet, uncrossed his arms, and held out his hand. When he did, Joe noticed that the deputy’s beige uniform was stained with blood.
Joe shook Carroll’s hand. “I understand you found the victim.”
“Affirmative,” Carroll said. “I was patrolling the grounds and I looked up on the cart path and saw him lying there.”
“Did you see the bear?”
Carroll shook his head. “Nope. He must have taken off when I showed up. At least I hope I scared him off.”
“Did you see anything at all?”
Carroll reached up and rubbed his chin. “There was a vehicle driving away at the top of the hill near the tee box. I saw taillights for a second and then it was gone.”
“A vehicle?” Joe said, puzzled. “Did you recognize the make or model?”
“Negative. It was still pretty dark out and I didn’t get a good look at it. I thought about giving chase, but I couldn’t leave the injured party. I didn’t realize he’s the judge around here.”
“He is,” Joe said.
“I rolled him over from his back to his belly, which is something I probably shouldn’t have done,” Carroll said. “But when I saw that he was still breathing, I was afraid he’d choke to death on his own blood. He had a wound right here”—the deputy indicated the right side of his own neck—“and it was pouring out blood.”
“You probably did the right thing,” Joe said.
Carroll nodded, but he was obviously unsure that he had.
“I hope he makes it,” Carroll said. “If I’d been two minutes earlier, I might have been able to take a shot at that damned grizzly and saved the guy’s life.”
“I’m more interested in the taillights you saw,” Joe said. “Tell me, do you patrol the club every morning?”
Carroll looked away and Joe noted the tell.
“Not every day,” he said.
“When you do, are there any vehicles about? Especially now, when the place is closed?”
“I never see anyone,” Carroll said. “It’s too early, I think.”
“Have you ever seen Judge Hewitt out on his walk before?”
Carroll hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I wasn’t really patrolling. I was going to sneak out here and catch a couple of big trout out of Lake Joseph. I was hoping to get in and get out in time for the end of my shift.”
That brought a snigger from the town cop and a smile from the other deputy.
Joe said, “I assume you have a fishing license.”
Carroll’s face went pale, which Joe took as his answer.
“We can worry about that later,” Joe said. “Let’s retrace your steps when you found the judge.”
Carroll led the way. Joe followed him.
*
GARY NORWOOD AND Jackson Bishop joined them as they crossed the cart path above the bloodstains and approached the stand of trees and brush adjacent to it.
“Please don’t charge in there,” Norwood said while taking the lens cap off his camera. “I haven’t processed the area yet.”
“Let’s get it taped off first,” Bishop said.
As if already taking orders from the inevitable new sheriff-to-be, Carroll and another deputy responded. They tied off one end of the yellow crime scene tape to the trunk of a tree on the side of the opening and extended it out and around the bloody path.
Joe stepped back to let them secure the tape to plastic posts that had been driven into the ground.
“I’d bet he never saw it coming,” Joe said to Bishop while studying the shadowed opening in the trees.
The stand was hollowed out in the middle and the floor was a carpet of crushed twigs and pine needles. Foliage surrounded it on three sides and over the top. It was a perfect place for a bear to hide and wait for prey, Joe thought. It looked like a cave opening.
“This is really bad,” Bishop said, standing next to Joe. “Judge Hewitt was showing me the ropes around here during my run for sheriff. He’s my main man here in Twelve Sleep County. My sponsor, so to speak. Plus, he’s my father-in-law.”
“Yup,” Joe said.
“I hope he makes it.”
“We all do,” Joe said.
Bishop turned to Carroll and said, “Good work, Deputy.”
“Thank you,” Carroll responded, and glanced over at Joe to see if Joe would add to the exchange and possibly reveal the real reason he’d been at the club. Joe kept quiet.
“We’re sure the bear’s gone, right?” Norwood said as he faced the opening.
“We think so,” Bishop said with a wink.
At that moment, cell phones erupted in the pockets of all the law enforcement officers on the scene at the same time, and the local police officer nearest to Joe responded to his shoulder mic. Joe had no idea what was going on, although he heard the urgent voice of the dispatcher from the county building. The phrase he overheard several times was “drive-by.” It sent a chill through him.
Elaine Beveridge held her cell phone to her face and threw her free hand into the air. “At the middle school playground?” she shouted. “Do we know who did it?”
Joe’s immediate reaction was horror, followed by gratitude that he no longer had children in local schools.
“On my way,” Carroll said into his phone before disconnecting. “There was a drive-by shooting at the middle school,” he told Joe. “A thirteen-year-old girl was playing basketball outside before school started when she got hit. I’ve got to go.”
“Of course you do,” Joe said.
“Everybody,” Bishop called out. “All of you need to respond right now.” Then: “Norwood, follow me.”
The forensics tech jogged to his van as the officers dashed toward their vehicles. Within thirty seconds, the only people remaining at the scene were Joe and Judy. Sirens wailed in the distance as the caravan of cop cars roared through the club en route to Saddlestring.
“How can this all be happening?” Judy asked. She looked genuinely distressed.
“No idea,” Joe said. “It’s a really bad day.”
“I’ve never heard of a drive-by shooting in Saddlestring.”
“There’s never been one.”
“That poor girl.”
“Yup.”
“I hope they find out who did it.”
Joe was grateful that Jackson Bishop seemed to be taking charge, even though the man had no official brief to do so—yet. Maybe, Joe hoped, Bishop would turn out to be a good sheriff after all. It would be a welcome change in Twelve Sleep County.
He realized that Judy had asked him a question that he hadn’t heard.
“What’s that?”
She pointed toward the crime scene perimeter. “I said, what am I supposed to do with all of this?”
“Leave it,” Joe said. “Norwood still needs to process it.”
“Am I supposed to leave all the blood on the cart path?”
“Yes, for now. And please tell your maintenance folks to stay away from here for the time being. I realize they might be curious, but they need to stay away. Same thing for any locals who may want to come out and look. Please keep them away for now.”
“What if that bear is still here somewhere?” she asked. “There are plenty of places to hide.”
“Do you and your people have bear spray? I’d suggest that you advise them to carry it with them for the next few days.”
“They’d rather carry guns,” she said.
“Those will work, too.”
She placed her hands on her hips and looked straight down. Joe assumed she was trying to wrap her mind around all that had happened in the last hour.
“Judy, are you doing okay? Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
“I don’t know what that would be.”
“Are you in good enough shape to check on something for me?”
She looked up. “I wouldn’t mind a distraction.”
“Who accessed the club this morning? Do you have the video from the gates?”
“I do, in my office,” she said.
“Could you please go there right now and call me with what you find?”
She agreed and climbed into the Suburban she’d parked on the fairway. “I’ll call you in a few minutes,” she said.
“Thank you. And if you have a vehicle on tape, please send that to me, Elaine, and Jackson Bishop.”
“Where are you going?” she asked. “To the school?”
He shook his head. “No, I think they’ve got enough bodies on the scene and they probably don’t need another one. I’m going to go to the hospital to check on Judge Hewitt’s condition.”
“I’ll pray for him,” Judy said. “And I’ll pray for that thirteen-year-old girl.”
“Me too,” Joe said as he strode toward his pickup.
*
MARYBETH CALLED AS Joe exited the Eagle Mountain Club through the main gate. She was driving to work.
“Did you hear about the shooting at the school?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Have they found who did it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I saw on Facebook that a couple of the kids said they saw a white SUV with California plates on the street outside the playground. I think that’s what they’re looking for.”
“That should be fairly easy to find,” Joe said. “But I’d caution against putting too much stock in that information this early.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll find out more when I get to the library.”
He had no doubt that she would.
“What’s Judge Hewitt’s condition?” she asked.
“I’m on my way to find out now.”
“Was it the same bear that got Clay Junior? And Dulcie?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Joe said.
Before he could continue, another call came in. It was Judy.
“I’ll call you back,” he said to Marybeth.
“Good, because I have a lot of questions.”
Joe disconnected the call and punched up Judy.
“No vehicles entered the gates of the club until Deputy Carroll came in this morning,” Judy told Joe.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. I’m looking at the footage as we speak. It’s time-stamped.”
“Good. Please don’t delete it for the time being.”
His head was spinning. Then: “Is it possible that any of your maintenance people were out on the course early this morning?”
“I highly doubt it,” Judy said. “I’d have seen their cars on the videotape when they came in to work. And they usually don’t show up until eight or eight-thirty during the months when the club is closed.”
“Deputy Carroll said he saw a vehicle,” Joe said. “Do you have any cameras on the course itself?”
“Our members wouldn’t stand for it,” she responded. “Especially the ones who cheat.”
He asked, “Is there still that old river road access?”
“Yes. We close it in the winter after they’re done moving cows, but we don’t tell the members about it at all because it washes out in the spring and it’s not safe.”
“Are there any cameras on it?”
“No.”
Joe thanked her. The old river road was known only to locals who had intimate knowledge of the layout of the club. Did that suggest that the vehicle Carroll had seen that morning belonged to someone in the area?
He made a mental note to check the road for fresh tire tracks.
*
ON THE WAY into town to the hospital, Joe punched up Jennie Gordon on his cell phone. He had no idea where in the state she would be.
She answered by saying, “I just heard.” She sounded weary and depressed.
“I’m not sure it’s our bear,” Joe said. “It’s something else entirely.”
There was a long pause. Then: “What?”
“This attack is different from the others, not to mention that it’s over two hundred and seventy-five miles from the last one two days ago.”
“How is it different?” she asked.
“From the photos I saw, there was only one big bite on the victim and the wounds were on his breast, clavicle, and neck. The bear didn’t go for his head and face like the others.
“Also, I didn’t see any claw marks or ripped-up fabric. I got the weird impression that the bear attacked and missed, then took off before finishing the job.”
“That’s bizarre,” she said. “Do you think it got scared away before it was done?”
“It’s possible but unlikely,” Joe said. “A deputy sheriff found the victim immediately after the attack, but he didn’t see the bear. He said he saw taillights in the distance, but no bear.”
“Taillights?”
“I said the same thing. And no, we have no idea who was in the vehicle or how they got there. Or if it has anything at all to do with the attack.”
“Let me think for a second,” she said. Then: “Maybe the mystery vehicle drove up on the bear as it charged the victim and spooked it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Joe said. “I suppose it’s possible. But whoever was in the car didn’t stop to render aid or make a call to law enforcement. They just hightailed it out of there.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same if you were trespassing on the Eagle Mountain Club?” she asked rhetorically. “Nevertheless, we need to find that driver, Joe. We need to find out what he saw.”
“I’m working on that,” Joe said. “All I can tell you is that he didn’t use the main gate to get in or out.”
“I’ll assemble the team and get up there as soon as we can,” she said. “But given the distance between our attacks, that bear could be halfway to Utah by the time we arrive.”
“Which is something I still can’t wrap my head around,” Joe said. “The mileage between the attacks is just incredible. This bear seems to have some kind of supernatural powers.
“I’m pulling into the parking lot of the hospital now,” he said. “I’m going to try and talk with Judge Hewitt before they fly him out of here. I’ll fill you in on everything after I do.”
“I’m completely confused, Joe.”
“We all are,” he said. “But this doesn’t look like our bear.”
“I think you’re trying to make my head explode,” she said.
“You and me both,” Joe said as he disconnected the call.
*
JOE COULD SEE the MedFlight chopper arriving in the clear blue sky from the north, looking like a huge black damselfly, as he pushed through the double doors of the hospital into the lobby. There was an attendant out on the helipad to help guide it in.
“Where can I find Judge Hewitt?” he asked the receptionist behind the counter. As he did so, she held up her hand to caution him against proceeding any further.
She was a dark, severe woman, with readers hanging from her neck on a chain.
“He’s being transported to Billings,” she said.
“I know that. I need to see him before they fly him out of here.”
The receptionist frowned and said, “Judge Hewitt is in no shape to—”
Joe didn’t let her finish her sentence. Instead, he turned to the right and shoved the push bar on the door with the heels of his hands and entered the emergency wing of the hospital. He knew that the staff used the ER as a staging area for patients being prepped to depart on the helicopter. The receptionist called to him to come back, but her voice was silenced when the doors closed behind him.
Judge Hewitt lay on his back on a gurney covered by white sheets. Fluids flowed into him through tubes from elevated stands with wheels next to him. A physician’s assistant, a young man whom Joe recognized as being from the same high school class as his daughter April, said, “Hi, Mr. Pickett. I’m not sure you’re supposed to be in here.”
“I’ll be quick. Is the judge conscious?”
“He’s deeply medicated.”
A male attendant who looked to be prepared to wheel Hewitt out to the helipad said nothing.
Joe approached the head of the gurney and sidled up next to it. Hewitt’s face was like a death mask of pure white and his cheeks were hollow. His eyes were half open but unfocused, and a string of saliva hung from his slack lips to the top of his pillow. The side of his neck was heavily bandaged, as well as the top of his right shoulder. A spot of dark blood the size of a quarter had seeped through the binding from the wound on his neck. If it weren’t for his chest slowly heaving under the sheets, Joe would have guessed he was gone.
“Judge, can you hear me?”
Hewitt’s eyes moved across the ceiling but didn’t settle on Joe’s face.
“Judge? I need to know what you saw before you were attacked.”
There was no recognition of the question in Hewitt’s expression. His eyes continued to wander.
“Judge? Help me out here, please.”
The roar of the helicopter outside increased in volume as it settled onto the helipad.
“Mr. Pickett, we’ve got to go,” the PA said.
“Judge,” Joe said sharply. “Look at me.”
“Mr. Pickett …”
Joe knew that the judge disliked shaking hands or just about any form of physical contact, so he reached under the sheets and grasped Hewitt’s hand. It was cool to the touch and it instantly recoiled.
Hewitt suddenly grunted and his eyes focused on Joe.
“He knows I’m here and I think he can hear me,” Joe said. “Judge, what did you see?”
“Please,” the PA said, shouldering Joe aside. “They’re waiting on us.”
Joe was frustrated, but didn’t want an altercation, so he stepped back. The attendant moved to the foot of the gurney to push it outside. The PA opened the double doors and kicked wooden wedges under each one to keep them agape. Outside, the chopper idled on the helipad as its rotors spun ineffectually.
As the gurney passed by him, the PA suddenly leaned down and turned his head so his ear was close to Judge Hewitt’s mouth. He stood back up after the gurney rolled outside.
“Did he say something to you?” Joe asked.
The PA blinked. “He said what sounded like ‘red dot.’”
“Red dot?”
“That’s what I think he said. It could have been something else, though.”
“Like from a rifle scope?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Pickett. Now, if you don’t mind …”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Joe said. “Thanks for your help.”
Red dot?