SALMON, IDAHO. OCTOBER 23.
6:15 A.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.
Jake woke up and called the number for the Steele Memorial Medical Center. Wildlife Biologist Allen Ridley was already gone, transferred to St. John’s in Jackson for surgery. He was stable, but hope for the leg was dim.
Jake wandered to the two-story lobby. The coffee was near an old granite fireplace that hadn’t been used since its last cleaning. Only the steelhead fishermen were up, waiting for their guides and chatting about the one that got away. Normally he loved soaking in fishing stories, but Jake couldn’t bear to listen.
Shock dulled his senses. The gloom he’d tried to forget for nearly a decade had returned overnight. He’d tried to do good but ended up only adding fuel to the fire. Instead of restoring order to chaos, righting a wrong, he exposed an innocent person to forces no one should ever experience. No more volleyball at the YMCA, Allen—all because of my ego. Sorry about that. Keep in touch.
The fact that J.P. wasn’t badly hurt was nothing short of a miracle. The chopper had taken Allen first, leaving Jake and J.P. with one paramedic and the corpse. Fish and Game, with local police in tow, drove up the road on the back side of Mount Phelan an hour later. Jake and J.P. gave their statements and the authorities marked off the scene. A few hours later, they were back in Salmon.
Jake took an extra cup of coffee and headed back down the corridor. One room short of his own, he stopped and knocked.
J.P. came to the door. He was still dressing, his hair wet from the shower.
“Got you some coffee.”
His friend took the Styrofoam cup. “Come in. You look like shit,” J.P. said, almost smiling at the role reversal.
Jake finished his coffee. He turned on J.P.’s coffeemaker for another.
“You heard from Sergeant Compton?” J.P. asked.
“Not yet this morning. I’m supposed to meet him in an hour.”
“You know they found her, right?” J.P. was standing now, futzing with his shirt, looking in the mirror. “Better with or without top button?” He ran his hands through his hair.
Jake was in disbelief. “Esma? They found her? How?”
J.P. finally opened up a big smile. “Dumbass walked right into Steele Medical, they said. Four a.m. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. They called me an hour ago. Didn’t want to wake you up. You got him, man.”
Jake tried to connect the dots. “I fired only one round.”
“Hell, maybe the biologist did it.”
Jake thought back. He remembered it now. Bang. A rifle shot as he was tending to J.P. The panic of the moment and the ringing in his ears had drowned out the sound.
Allen had fired while sitting on his bottom and nearly bleeding out.
“Anyway, she’s okay. A little banged up. I’m going to see her now.”
Jake looked at his watch. Still plenty of time before he met with the cops. “Do you mind?”
“She’d love to see you.”