“Sustained,” Judge Pickens said. “The jury is instructed to disregard defense counsel’s speechifying. And counsel”-he pointed his gavel-”if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll shut you down like a clam.”
Yes, yes, Ben thought. Scold me all you want. The more the judge threatened, the more likely the jury was to remember what Ben had said. “Deputy Wagner, did you in fact make any effort to find out who made the anonymous phone call?”
“As a matter of fact, we did.”
Ben drew back. Darn.
“We traced the call through phone company records. Turned out the call came from a phone booth not far from Bunyan’s-uh, that’s a bar here in town. It would still be open that time of night. We asked around inside the bar, but no one knew anything. There was no way to determine who made the call.”
“Do you remember anything distinctive about the call?”
“Distinctive?”
“Anything unusual about the voice? Anything that caught your attention?”
“Well … of course, I can’t be sure, but”-he glanced quickly at Granny-“I thought it was a woman.”
“A woman?”
“Right. I could tell whoever it was was trying to disguise her voice, but still and all, I thought it was female.”
A woman, Ben thought. A woman who witnessed the explosion. Hmm …
“Deputy Wagner, what was your reaction when you saw the … remains of Dwayne Gardiner?”
“My reaction? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, if it had been me, I would’ve been pretty shaken up. Were you?”
His trembling hands almost answered for him. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”
“Did you run?”
Wagner’s brow creased. “What do you mean? I’m not a coward.”
“I’m sure you’re not. But we all have a flight reflex. If I’d seen that horrible corpse, I would have instinctively run away.”
“Well … maybe I did. At first. But I came back.”
“So you ran away, then came back a second time. Must’ve left a lot of footprints around the corpse.”
Out the corner of his eye, Ben could see Granny rising to her feet, trying to think of an objection. As luck would have it, Wagner answered first. “Sure, I suppose.”
“And what size shoe do you wear?”
“Size ten. Why?”
“Just curious. Thank you, Deputy.” Ben exchanged a quick glance with Christina. That bit of information would be filed away for later use. And while he was at it …
“One last thing, deputy. After you called for backup, how long did it take for Sheriff Allen and the rest of the team to arrive?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know exactly. Not long.”
“How long. An hour? Maybe two?”
“I told you, it wasn’t long.”
“It takes half an hour just to get to the clearing from the sheriff’s office. And most of these people were probably at home in bed.”
Wagner ground his teeth together. “I’d guess it was an hour before the team arrived. Maybe an hour and fifteen minutes.”
“And so, for that entire waiting period, you were alone at the crime scene. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you stand still the whole time?”
Wagner’s face crinkled up. “Did I stand still?”
“Right. Or did you move around periodically?”
Wagner’s expression suggested that these were the dumbest questions he’d heard in his entire life. Which was fine with Ben. It was better if the witness didn’t understand the significance of the question. Until it was too late.
“I suppose I must have moved around.”
“I thought so, Deputy. Thank-”
“I don’t think you understand. When I saw that-thing-that used to be a human being, it was just, it was-” He shook his head. “It was horrible. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.” He paused. “But I’ve seen it a lot since.”
“What do you mean?”
His face fell, and his eyes began to well up. “I see it every morning when I go to work. Every time I hear the man’s name. Every time I close my eyes. It … haunts me. Hard as I try to forget it, I can’t. That image is always with me.”
His head lowered, and his eyes turned watery. “And the worst of it is, I think it always will be.”
Chapter 41
After driving through the tangled trails and one-lane dirt byways of the Green River National Forest for more than an hour, it occurred to Loving that he was not at heart a country boy. Granted, he wasn’t quite as bound to concrete and smog as the Skipper; he did enjoy the occasional hunting or fishing expedition. But when all was said and done, he was not really at home in these leafy green surroundings. He missed city conveniences, like, for instance, street signs. And if he saw one more squirrel dart out in front of his car, he was flooring it.
Not that he would ever share these thoughts with the Skipper. Ben needed to feel someone on the team was competent in the Great Outdoors. If it made him comfortable to believe it was Loving, well, so be it. Like his daddy used to say, it’s not who you are that matters. It’s who people think you are.
The directions Doc had given Loving were vague at best. But Loving couldn’t complain-none of the other Green Ragers had helped him in the least. They all claimed they didn’t have the slightest idea where Kelly might have gone. Which was odd. Because Loving had the distinct impression that they did; they just didn’t want him to find her.
Now why would a bunch of do-gooders like Green Rage be keeping secrets? That was a question he found very interesting.
At long last, Loving spotted a low-lying wooden sign that directed him toward the SOPHIA CAMP. He turned his rental Jeep and drove another two miles or so in that direction. Finally, just around a sharp curve, he spotted a group of eight women at the top of a hill.
They were holding hands and, unless he was very mistaken, chanting.
Loving parked the Jeep, climbed out, and waited. He’d seen a picture earlier, so he knew which one he wanted. She was the one in the long blue sundress, short and heavyset, barefoot with long curly black hair.
Loving waited a good fifteen minutes until the ceremony was completed. He assumed it was a ceremony; for all he could tell it was an elaborate adult version of ring-around-the-rosy. But the closed eyes and solemn expressions suggested that something more serious was going on. Or at least that they thought something more serious was going on.
The group of eight began to disperse. A row of one-room log cabins lay a few hundred feet behind them, and Loving assumed that’s where they were headed. He quickened his pace, ran around the hill, and cut off the woman in blue before she reached the main cabin.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Kelly Cartwright?”
The woman stopped, frowned. “It’s possible. Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Loving. I wanna talk to you about Green Rage.”
Her face became red and livid. “Are you a Fed? Goddamn it. You are, aren’t you? Don’t you people ever give up?”
“Ma’am, I’m not-”
“Couldn’t you go hassle a bank robber or serial killer or something? Why do you have to spend all your time bullying conservationists?”
“Ma’am, I’m not a Fed.” He pointed at his T-shirt. “See? No white shirt, no black tie. I’m not a cop, either.”
“Then what are you?”
Loving could think of about a million ways to answer that question, but figured it would be smarter to keep the conversation on track. “I’m a private investigator. I work for a lawyer in Magic Valley.”
An eyebrow rose. “Not the one who’s representing Zak.”
“Yeah. Ben Kincaid. You know him?”
“Well, I’ve heard a lot about him.” She frowned. “How’s he doing?”
“The trial’s just getting started. He’s got a theory involving a local drug dealer, but so far he doesn’t have much evidence to support it. Why?”
Her eyes darted away. “Oh … no reason. Just curious, I guess. So what do you want from me?”