fifty-seven:
friday, late afternoon

“I was watching for you,” said William Sulchuk. The heavy-looking, tall front door had opened slowly when Allison was halfway along the flagstone walkway.

Four Mile Ranch. The only thing being ranched here was another addition to residential U.S.A. There was no sneaking up on anybody in this neighborhood, unless it was by foot on a moonless night.

She had called ahead to let him know she wanted to stop by, found her voice caught. Her uncertainty was closer to the surface than she would have preferred. If Sulchuk had any knowledge of the dog hunts, whether that knowledge was remote or intimate, she was walking into the house of a monster.

His easy smile belied all the implications to date. He led her into a gleaming, oversized kitchen with high ceilings and a five-seat breakfast bar. The kitchen was showroom ready, except where Sulchuk was preparing food in one small section of the available acre or so of counter space.

“Elk tenderloin,” said Sulchuk. “About the last from the freezer. Last year’s cow—she was a beauty.”

So was the tenderloin—a roundish strip, not a scrap of fat on her.

Sulchuk wore an Oxford button-down like a lawyer on the weekend at the country club. His blue jeans were crisp with a manufactured fade. He had that uncanny ability to look like he was mere minutes from his last shower. She couldn’t say the same for herself. The adrenaline that flowed when Boyd had showed up was equal to about a week’s worth of routine sweat in the woods. She wished Colin could have come along for the trip to Glenwood Springs to deliver the blindfold and have this chat with Sulchuk, but the Oklahomans had showed up, three matching black Dodge Ram pickups tugging three behemoth camping trailers.

Sulchuk offered her a barstool at the kitchen counter. “And it’s close enough to five o’clock so around here that means a cock-a-tail,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, you are partial to tequila.”

“Good memory,” said Allison, trying to think when she might have ever revealed that fact.

“I have some Alquimia,” said Sulchuk. “Ever had it?”

From a top cupboard, Sulchuk produced a wide-bottom bottle about three-quarters full. A seductive brown liquor sloshed inside. “One hundred percent organic tequila in hand-blown glass bottles,” said Sulchuk. “From Jalisco. How do you take it?”

From a Nalgene flask, she wanted to say, with a hint of Triple Sec and a squirt of lime. Sitting near a lake in the Flat Tops watching the light fade. Alone.

“Neat,” she said.

Sulchuk ran through the ingredients in his tenderloin marinade—red wine, soy sauce, balsamic vinegar, rosemary, garlic and honey—and asked her why he had the “honor” of her visit. “Aren’t things getting busy up your way?” he said.

“Matter of fact, yes,” said Allison. She pictured Colin running around answering questions for the crew from Oklahoma. They had looked like they might be needy. Polite, probably, but needy.

She wished she could trade places. But Sulchuk was her connection. The initial Lumberjack meet-up had been his request.

“That was no mountain lion,” said Allison. She made sure to say it when she could watch his eyes. He stopped chopping garlic and looked up. His reaction suggested bewilderment, but the acting was amateur.

“Finally and for sure?” he said.

“No question,” said Allison.

“You don’t hear about too many lion attacks. But how do you know?”

“Cops,” said Allison.

“What did they find?” said Sulchuk. “Was it some other animal?”

“Yeah,” said Allison. “Human.”

“Well, we were all around that poor guy,” said Sulchuk.

He looked like he was trying to help. The look of a befuddled professor.

“More than that,” said Allison. She sipped the smooth tequila. Not bad. “I’m not exactly sure. Surprised they haven’t talked to you.”

“No. Not me.” Sulchuk put down his knife. Folded his arms thoughtfully. “Of course, as we all know, they’ve been busy.”

“They’ll probably get around to it,” said Allison. “But can I ask you one question?”

“Of course,” said Sulchuk. He had poured a healthy shot of tequila for himself and splashed in some store-bought Margarita mix. Poor tequila, she thought.

“Tell me how you picked Lumberjack Camp to meet up,” she said.

He gave it a moment. His drink glowed an artificial green.

“Just an easy spot to find,” he said. “You said you’d be up in that area and there’s not much else I really know as both a place to wait, you know, it’s perfect. And pretty easy to find.”

“I’m packing in a crew from Oklahoma that’s heading up that way. Crack of dawn tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I’m sure they’d leave at midnight tonight if they could.”

“Lucky you,” said Sulchuk. “Think of me. I’ll be in the office working, even on the weekend.”

“Has to be one of the most beautiful spots around.”

“Seemed like an easy place to find each other, like Times Square in New York or the D&F Tower in Denver,” said Sulchuk. “Why?”

Allison ignored his question.

“Lumberjack was your idea?” she said.

Sulchuk shrugged. “The others were along for the ride. It was something I put together and, as you know, was kind of a last-minute deal.”

“Hey, Dad!”

Gail bounded into the kitchen. She looked fully two years older, almost mature, without the sobs and worried face Allison had seen at Lumberjack. Her hair at Lumberjack had been pinched in pigtails but now it shined and bounced, shoulder length and blond. Full-blown beauty waited right around the corner.

Her mood darkened at the sight of Allison. “Whoa,” she said. “What’s—?”

Gail put her arm around her father’s waist. He pulled her in for a quick hug.

“Finding out more about, you know—” said Sulchuk.

“Don’t say the word,” said Gail. “I didn’t sleep for three nights.”

Allison offered a warm, not-too-worry smile.

“Stick around,” said Sulchuk. “It’s about the investigation.”

“I don’t watch Bones,” said Gail. “Too gross.”

“There’s nothing to see here,” said Sulchuk. “Just talk.”

“But then I’d have to think about it again.”

“Try,” said Sulchuk.

Gail took a seat at the bar next to Allison. “I’ll try,” she said.

“Where were we?” said Sulchuk.

“Lumberjack,” said Allison. “Meeting there—was your idea.”

“Yes,” said Sulchuk. “Well, Neil and Dusty had never been up on the Flat Tops before so they didn’t have a clue. Their jaws were on the ground most of the time, like most people who get up there for the first time.”

“And?” said Allison.

“And now you’re wondering about Army?”

“Army?” said Allison.

“Larry Armbruster,” said Sulchuk.

“Rejected by the U.S. Army,” said Gail as if she was talking about her best friend. “And his name is Larry Arrrmbruster. So, Army.”

Sulchuk shook his head slowly. “He wears it on his sleeve. Still angry about it. He didn’t survive boot camp. A medical issue surfaced. He won’t talk about it. He was none too happy. This was during the first Gulf War. The U.S. Army had been his dream.”

“That’s how I learned the word ironic,” said Gail. “Nickname Army, but he’s not.”

“Call him that to his face?” said Allison.

“He likes it,” said Sulchuk. “Or claims he does. Says he wants to be reminded every day that the whole military operation is a bunch of clueless fools.”

Allison dampened her lips with tequila. She had to put aside her general resistance to Sulchuk’s corporate flair and realize, from Gail’s perspective, that William Sulchuk was just another dad. This was Gail’s definition of dad.

“So how about Army?” said Allison. “Did he go up with you?”

“No,” said Gail, blunt like that boot camp drill instructor. “We brought Hank with us.”

“His son,” said Sulchuk.

“I remember Hank,” said Allison. The unflappable one. All boy. “So where was Larry?”

“Larry’s a big time hunter,” said Sulchuk. “Obsesses about it—bowhunting, black powder, and regular rifle too. You should see his barn, back in a deep canyon halfway to New Castle. Put it this way, he has a storeroom full of rifles and bows. He trades, fixes up, deals some more. We first met at the Lake Catherine shooting range. He was admiring my new Sako. Hank was with him. When we got to talking, it turned out Hank was the same age as Gail and then I saw Army at a school function. This was a couple years back. We hunted together twice. The man is a bulldog, predawn to after dusk, no weather bothers him. The rougher, the better. He’s got something to prove. I don’t know who he’s proving it to, but that’s his thing. He put the T in tenacious.”

Gail nodded knowingly. “He’s nice though. He’ll help you with anything. Teaches you how to survive and stuff.”

“Big on survival,” said Sulchuk.

“And where was he before we met at Lumberjack?” said Allison.

“Don’t know,” said Sulchuk. “He said he’d meet us there and a guy like that, there’s not much question or doubt—he had a little fire going and some beef stew bubbling away when we got there. I guess he’d been scouting and said he’d found some big old bulls. First time he’d drawn a bull tag in a long time.”

Allison let the information settle. She wanted to see if Gail would fill in any blanks or if Sulchuk would know to do some calculations on his own, maybe pick up the thread.

“Holy shit,” muttered Sulchuk.

“Daddy!” cried Gail. “You owe mom a dollar.”

“Sorry. I suddenly realized—” Sulchuk looked at Gail. “You know, I’ve got some things to say about the body.”

“Ewww, don’t say that word,” said Gail. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

With Gail gone, Sulchuk took a slow tour of the kitchen, drink in his right hand and his left rubbing his neck as he cranked his head around, working out the kinks. He came back to his starting position, stood at the counter and stared at Allison. A full minute passed. Sulchuk looked worried.

“Does he spend a lot of time in the Flat Tops?” asked Allison. Giving him a nudge.

“As soon as it opens up,” said Sulchuk. “He knows it like he knows his house. Army was the one that pointed up the hill and wanted us to all try that area for some mushrooms.”

“Not exactly prime mushroom terrain,” said Allison.

“I don’t know mushrooms,” said Sulchuk. “But he almost pointed to the spot.”

Allison held his gaze. Nerves fired inside. She hoped they didn’t show. “Let me ask you this,” she said. “Did he ever talk about illegal aliens? About immigration?”

Sulchuk took a deep breath.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “And that’s going to cost me ten bucks. How did you know he’s got a bug up his ass about immigration?”