Tuesday Morning—Day 12
The next morning, Books got up early, went into the kitchen and made coffee. He was working on his second cup when he decided to call his father at the university hospital. He knew if this day became as busy as recent ones, it might be his only opportunity to speak with him. After several unanswered rings, Books began to worry. He hung up and called back, asking that the call be directed to the nurse’s station. An aid answered and informed him that Bernie was already up and away from his room engaged in a daily exercise regimen. If he continued to improve, the aid said, the treatment plan called for his release sometime on Thursday.
It sounded like the old man was well on his way to recovery from the surgery. The question now was whether outpatient treatment would put the cancer in permanent remission.
Books prepared a breakfast of toast and a cheese omelet in sufficient quantity for himself and the stray. By the time he left for work, the dog hadn’t put in an appearance. He refilled the water bowl and left the eggs and toast outside.
When he arrived at his office, he found a message from Alexis Runyon asking him to stop by her office before he left.
Runyon had left a stack of boxes in his office, tourist brochures probably, intended for the new BLM Visitor’s Center in Escalante. Books had apparently been appointed FedEx driver for the day.
When he tapped on her door, Runyon was on the phone but motioned him to come in and have a seat. A minute later she was off the phone and reaching for a message buried in the clutter on her desk.
“You look tired, J.D. You ought to be home in bed.”
“No rest for the wicked, but it looks like the worst is over. I actually managed seven hours of sleep last night, so I’m feeling pretty good this morning. Any news on the search for Jimmy Buck?”
She shook her head. “Nothing I’m aware of. I spoke with the sheriff a few minutes ago. He sounded discouraged. He said they would continue the search today but call it off tonight unless they come up with something new.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Books. “Jimmy Buck has disappeared into the desert wilderness and may be gone for good.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Runyon expressed her concern about Bernie’s recent cancer surgery as well as Bobby’s legal difficulties.
“How is Maggie doing?”
“She’s holding on. Some days are better than others.”
“I’m sure. Is it okay if I give her a call?”
“Sure, I think she’d like that. Also, thanks for your concern about Bernie. The surgery went well, and he should be coming home in the next day or two.”
“Great news! Is somebody going to stay with him for a while?”
Books hadn’t thought about that. “Probably me for a few nights. Maggie has arranged home health nurses to see him every day for the first week at least.”
“Good.” She handed Books a note. “We’ve had two calls, one late yesterday afternoon and the other this morning—a complaint about illegal timber harvesting off the Hell’s Backbone Road north of Boulder. We need you to check it out, and while you’re at it, drop those boxes I left in your office at the visitor’s center.”
“Okay. Did the complainant give us any specifics about where along the road to look? It’s a pretty long stretch.”
“I think it’s on the note.”
Books reread the note. “Says it’s off an access road about halfway in. That helps a little but not much. I’ll see what I can do. Do we know who the complainant is?”
“Not unless it’s on the note. You can call dispatch, though. They probably have something.”
***
From his office, Books called Maggie and asked if he could stop by the house. Although he felt genuine concern for his brother-in-law, if he was honest with himself, what he mostly felt toward Bobby was anger. What he was far more concerned about was how well Maggie and his two nephews were holding up under all the stress.
“Sure. Come on out, J.D. The kids are out the door to school and I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
Ten minutes later, Books parked the Sierra in the gravel driveway of the Case Cattle Company. Maggie met him at the side door and ushered him into the kitchen.
“Bobby’s still asleep. We can talk in here.”
She poured them both a cup of coffee then reached into the family liquor cabinet for a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. She poured a double shot into her mug and offered some to Books.
Books shook his head. “Rain check—can’t do it while I’m on duty.”
“Of course you can’t, I’m sorry.”
Books glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early in the day for that, isn’t it?”
“With things going like they are around here, it’s not even slightly too early.”
“I can’t even imagine. I’m so sorry, Mags.”
“Me, too, J.D. But as you sometimes like to say, ‘it is what it is.’ I don’t mean for that to sound like I’m indifferent or uncaring. It’s all so out of my control that I feel helpless to do much of anything. My emotions run the gamut from fear to frustration to intense anger, all of it directed at Bobby for being so damned stupid.” She sighed. “Anyway, what brings you by this morning? A social call I hope? I’ve had about all the bad news I can stand for a while.”
Books felt instantly guilty realizing that he couldn’t tell her the truth, but knowing that more bad news was about to come knocking on her door.
“Just wanted to check in on you—see how everybody’s doing. How are the boys holding up?”
“They seem pretty oblivious to the whole thing, but it’s hard to imagine how.”
“What makes you say that?” said Books.
“Bobby’s stress level is off the charts. He’s withdrawn, depressed, and when he does interact with us, he’s usually abrupt and irritable. He seems to sleep forever—can’t get him up in the morning. He never used to be like that.”
No wonder, thought Books. Bobby had a lot to be stressed about, far more than Maggie realized.
“I called the hospital this morning—didn’t talk to Bernie—he was busy doing exercises,” said Books, changing the subject. “They’re pleased with his progress. He’s scheduled for release day after tomorrow, unless something unexpected occurs.”
“That’s good. I spoke with him last night. He’s starting to sound like himself again. Unless you can get away, I’ll plan to go get him and bring him home.”
“I still can’t get away, at least not for a few more days, but I know it’s not a good time for you, either. I could ask Ned to get Bernie. I’m sure he’d be willing to do it.”
“I don’t think so, but let me think about it. I’ll give you a call. How’s your investigation going, by the way?”
“Maybe you haven’t heard, but we finally broke the case wide open.”
“Afraid I haven’t heard much of anything. We heard what you did to save that woman’s life. It took a lot of courage. I’m so proud of you, J.D.”
“Thanks, sis—just doing my job. Yesterday, an FBI swat team cornered the man I wounded the day before in the Monument. His name was Earl Buck and we believe he was the ringleader of the group that kidnapped Rolly and Abby. He died in a shootout with the officers. We aren’t sure whether he killed himself or was hit by a member of the swat team. We’ll have to wait until we get an autopsy report to find that out.”
“What about the others?” she said.
“Earl Buck has two sons. We believe both of them took part in the kidnapping. The eldest is still at large. He seems to have slipped away from the search party and is probably holed up somewhere in the Monument. Yesterday in Blanding, we arrested the youngest son, a boy named Jason.”
“So, other than the one who’s still at large, you’ve got everyone else in custody.”
“That’s about it,” Books lied.
“But you still have no idea what’s become of Rolly and Abby.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Books finished his coffee and stood to leave. “Better get myself going. Runyon’s placed me back on regular patrol duty, and I’m off today chasing an anonymous tip about some yokel illegally harvesting timber on Hell’s Backbone Road.”