Sully
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I barely managed to stop the by-now-familiar dark SUV the feds are driving before it was able to head over to my cabin.
Pippa is working out some of her grief and frustration in the kitchen, and I’ve discovered it’s best to give her the space to do that. I made myself scarce and went to check in the barn to see how Sunny and her foal are doing. I was just on my way to look in at the office before heading back when I saw the SUV drive up.
Wolff rolls down his window and leans an elbow out.
“Seriously, Wolff? What do you want with her now?”
“Easy. I’m simply the delivery guy today,” he says, jerking his thumb behind him. “I’ve got both your computers in the back.”
I peer in and over his shoulder to the back seat.
“Unload them here,” I suggest. “No offense to you, but my wife needs a break from this case, so unless you’re here to tell her you’ve caught the son of a bitch, I don’t want her catching sight of your ugly mug.”
“Fair enough,” he says as he gets out of the vehicle and opens the back door. “Porch?”
“That would be easiest.”
I take the first computer he pulls out from him and carry it to the porch steps. I’ll haul mine back to the cabin later, and load Pippa’s into my truck. Maybe we can drop that off at the garage later this afternoon.
“What’s this?”
Jonas walks out on the porch with a bottle of scotch, a couple of tumblers, and his father in tow.
“Computers the feds took,” I explain as Wolff sets the second one on the porch. “Little early for that, no?” I point at the bottle.
“Actually, it’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. Dad and I are having a drink and a cigar on the porch.”
“I’m sorry,” I automatically respond, but Jonas waves me off.
“Wolff, you on the clock?”
“I’m always on the clock,” the younger man says with a lopsided grin.
“You take breaks to eat, don’t you?” Jonas persists. “Take a load off and have a drink, both of you.”
He doesn’t wait for a response and sets the bottle and glasses on the porch railing before he disappears inside, only to reappear moments later with more glasses and a box of cigars. In the meantime, I helped Thomas drag over his favorite rocking chair. Wolff has taken a seat on the steps.
“Here’s to my Mary,” Thomas says, right after Jonas hands out glasses.
“To Mary,” I echo.
Never actually met her but I feel I know her from Thomas’s stories alone.
“So…you done harassing our girl now? Seeing as she almost got killed by the real shooter,” the old man fires at Wolff, who blinks a few times at the unexpected frontal attack.
Jonas groans and I suppress a grin. Trust Thomas to lay claim to Pippa, he’s done so with every other female.
“She’s not a suspect,” Wolff concedes.
“’Bout fuckin’ time you yahoos figured that out.”
“Dad,” Jonas intervenes. “I don’t think Wolff was ever on board with that idea.”
“Well, at least that’s something. So, who do you have in your crosshairs now?” Thomas pries. “I hear there’s a fifth victim? Pippa’s friend?”
“We haven’t confirmed her death is related yet,” Wolff defers.
Probably a standard response when you’re trying to avoid an answer. I can’t blame the guy; Jonas’s old man seems determined to score points.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” the agent turns decisively to Jonas. “You were the first one to arrive on scene, correct?”
“We were.”
“Do you remember passing any vehicles on the way up to the lake?”
That’s right; the shooter got away somehow. For him to get back to the main road he’d have to take the forestry road Jonas came up, but unfortunately it has a few trails branching off someone could duck into and hide a vehicle.
“No. Not on the forestry road anyway,” Jonas specifies. “Did you ask Moses? The game warden? He was right behind us.”
“Yeah, yours was the only vehicle he encountered after the call went out,” Wolff answers before turning to me. “And you never saw or heard a vehicle, did you?”
Not the first time I’m asked that question but I understand the need to repeat it. People sometimes recall things when they’ve had a chance to process events. Unfortunately, my response is the same as it was yesterday.
“No. And between the time the last shot was fired and the cavalry showed up was only ten minutes. Not a lot of time to disappear. What are you thinking?”
I take a fortifying sip of my scotch and watch as the agent visibly considers how much to share.
“We found the location where we think the first shots came from. Our forensics team found only a few tracks but couldn’t trace it back to a trail he might have taken coming in, or going out, for that matter. Whoever it is seems very familiar with the terrain.”
“So are we,” Jonas offers.
Wolff looks at him from over the rim of his glass. “I know.” He says nothing more as he takes a sip.
“Are you asking for our help?” I suggest.
The agent’s eyes turn to me. “As you know, I’m not in charge of this case and Powell has made it clear he doesn’t trust any local involvement.”
True enough. Powell got pissed when our guys handed him the slug they’d recovered from the tree and he was adamant we not touch anything else.
“All I’m interested in is getting my hands on the shooter, by whatever means at our disposal, but…” Wolff shrugs his shoulders. “Like I said; I’m not in a position to make that call…”
He leaves that statement open-ended as he takes another sip. Jonas fills it in for him.
“You want us to have a look.”
“Nothing I could do to stop you.”
“This going to blow back on us when Powell clues in?” Jonas wants to know. “Because you’re a decent enough guy and all, but I’m not sure I wanna piss off an agency that regularly pays my bills.”
“No blowback. Why? It’s not a restricted area, no active investigation there since Powell pulled everyone out of there last night. You wouldn’t be breaking any rules.”
“And should we find something?” I inquire.
“Just point me in the right direction, I’ll take it from there.”
Thomas draws the attention by slamming his tumbler down on the porch railing.
“No more booze for you guys,” he announces, grabbing the scotch and pouring himself another few fingers. “Sounds like you’ve got a job to do. I’ll hold down the fort here.”
Jonas plucks the bottle from his father’s hands. “Then you best stop guzzling the stuff too. You drink like it’s lemonade.”
“You know what?” the old man continues, undeterred as he wags a finger in Wolff’s direction. “You’re not as big of an ass as I thought. Why don’t you ditch that government job and come work for my son? You can ride, right?”
Jonas shakes his head and turns to me.
“Right. Sully? Wanna go grab the team? James and Fletch are in the breeding barn.”
I nod, and as I walk away, I hear Thomas pipe up again.
“Of course if you’re not man enough…”
Jesus, the old guy is a card.
Pippa
“Fletch is sticking around.”
I tilt my head back, catching a glint of his blues above the growing stubble on his jaw. I reach out and brush it with my fingers.
“Are you growing a beard like Fletch?”
He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know. Are you even listening?”
“I’m listening. You’re going back out there to see if you can find tracks that might lead you to the shooter. I like it.” I smile up at him. “The beard, I mean. But I’ll miss that dimple.”
I dip the tip of my finger into the small divot next to his mouth, which becomes more pronounced as he cracks a smile.
“So noted,” he mumbles, bending down to brush my lips. “Don’t go running off on your own somewhere without letting Fletch know. He’s got a radio too, should you need to get in touch with me—cell signal will be spotty—but I should be back before dark.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
I’m not a coward but until this bastard is caught, I have no desire to make myself—but more so my unborn daughter—an easy target again.
He kisses my forehead and then I watch him walk off to join his teammates assembling in front of the main house, before I head back inside.
Sully relayed the conversation the guys had with Agent Wolff, who’d apparently stopped by earlier to drop off the computers. I know what the plan is. They’re going back to the lake to see if they can retrace the steps of the shooter. Apparently, the agents are not having much success tracking this guy down. Clearly Powell and Wolff have different ideas on how to proceed, but Wolff’s hands are tied since Powell is in charge. It was a smart move on his part to plant a seed for HMT to pursue.
To be honest, I’ve been racking my brain as well this morning. I’ve gone through everyone I know with Fair Game—which is a very short list once you eliminate Marcie and Cade—and I’m starting to think whoever is doing this has nothing to do with the organization. Fair Game isn’t local to the Libby area, these are volunteers from all over the state with a common goal. It’s not some armed, militant group doling out their own form of justice. Heck, all we do is call any possible sightings of baiting in for law enforcement to further look into.
Sure, I could be wrong. I would never have guessed Marcie to be a sharpshooter, but I was right she couldn’t have had anything to do with the murders. Still, I knew her better than any of the others, so who’s to say there isn’t one of them hiding a blood-thirsty alter ego I’m not seeing.
After transferring a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer, I sit back down at the kitchen table and open my laptop, which had been locked in the motorhome.
All I was doing earlier was popping names of group members I know into Google search to see what—if anything—popped up. There has to be a better way than randomly running names through a search, but it’s all I can think of to do since I don’t have the skills to do any in-depth snooping like Sloane and her uncle.
Somehow my gut says Marcie is the key. If she knew something, if she had information on someone, why not notify law enforcement?
Unless…
I pull the laptop closer and type ‘bear baiting’ and add a name in the search bar before hitting enter.
Three pages with hits, mostly listings, a few local news updates, some social media links, but on the second page I find a five-year-old article I can’t quite place at first.
It’s a gruesome story about a woman, a cyclist, who was part of a group of cyclists riding a portion of the Continental Divide Bike Trail that runs from Banff in Canada, all the way down to the US/Mexico border. According to the article, the group was looking for a place to camp overnight not far from Eureka, when they happened on a couple of bears eating from a pile of garbage someone left behind. The group tried to get away when one of the bears attacked, pulling Elizabeth Kiley from her bike, and savagely mauling her. She was dead before anyone had a chance to intervene.
This happened on land reportedly belonging to one Janet Yokum, the congresswoman.
But it’s one of the names mentioned in the last paragraph that jumps out at me. Elizabeth Kiley left behind parents and a half brother.
Oh my God, all of it makes sense. Motive, means, and opportunity. Wow.
If Marcie knew about this story, I can see why she might’ve reacted strongly when I mentioned Congresswoman Yokum. I always suspected there was something going on between them, is this why she disappeared? I wonder if Sloane found anything, I bet she never stopped looking.
Grabbing my phone, I dial the number for the garage. It rings and rings, and I’m about to hang up and try on her cell phone when Ira answers.
“Pit Stop.”
“Ira, it’s Pippa, is Sloane there?”
“Nah, she said she had to leave. She had a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“Yeah.”
As far as I know, Sloane doesn’t know anyone here other than people here at the ranch and Ira. Although she did mention…
“Ira? Who is she meeting?”