The doctor shook his head, but in a way that indicated he wasn't too sure.
"She had a laptop in her car," Joe said. "There was informationon that laptop that might have implicated some people in the Bechler murders and the Cutler death. The laptop is gone. Somebody took it from her car tonight."
After a few beats, the doctor said, "Do you know who it is?"
"I can't be sure yet," Joe said. "But I think I've got a pretty good idea."
"Does he have only one good eye? Like maybe his vision is impaired just enough to miss a head shot by a few inches?"
"Bingo," Joe said, impressed with the observation.
Their conversation had been so intense he hadn't noticed the burring of the telephone in the receptionist's office. She appearedat the counter holding the receiver and gestured with it toward Joe. "He says his name is Lars Demming. He wants to talk to you."
"I've got to take this," Joe said to the doctor.
"And I guess I need to call the chopper," the doctor said, risingwearily. "But you better be right about all this. Can you promise me you're right?"
Joe started to, then shrugged. "Nope. I'm pretty much guessing,as usual. But I'd rather have her in Billings than here, just in case. Wouldn't you?"
The doctor sighed and shook his head, and went to call for the Life Flight helicopter.
Lars was drunk, shouting and crying. "I leave for one night and my wife gets shot! Shot! I'll KILL the son of a bitch who did this, I swear to God!" Joe held the phone away from his ear and grimaced. "I'm out with my friends and forget to turn my phone on, and when I get back to the room I have twenty messages! Twenty! My kids crying, you calling. I feel like shit warmed over! Jesus, poor Judy, poor Judy, poor Judy, poor me, poor Erin, poor Jake…"
The receptionist looked at Joe with sympathy. Lars was hysterical,but Joe thought he needed to cut Lars some slack. Finally,he raised his voice, "Lars!"
Lars stopped abruptly.
"Lars, you need to stay calm. And you need to stay where you are because they'll be flying Judy to Billings in a few hours. She'll be there where you are and you can go see her. It will all be all right, Lars."
"Will it?"
"Yes."
"Promise me?"
Joe thought he was being asked for too many promises, but he said, "Yes."
"Which hospital?"
Joe asked the receptionist, then relayed the information.
"I'll be there," Lars said. "I'll fucking be there. My life will mean nothing if she's gone."
Joe felt sorry for him and knew he meant it. In his peripheral vision, he saw the receptionist staying close enough to overhear most of the conversation.
"Pickett?" Lars said.
"Yes, Lars."
"I want you to stay away from her," he said, his voice catchingwith a sob. "Don't ever come near her again, or my family. I blame you for all of this."
"I understand," Joe said, feeling as though he'd been kneed in the gut.
"None of this would have happened if you didn't show up."
"You're right," Joe said.
"And if I see you again, I'll kick your ass."
"Kick away," Joe said. "But in the meantime, call your kids and tell them what's going on."
"I mean it," Lars shouted.
"I know you do now," Joe said, handing the phone to the receptionist.
"Tough," she said.
Joe agreed.
"Maybe you should go home and get some sleep."
Joe shook his head. "I'll go home after the helicopter takes off with her in it. Not before."
He went outside again to get more air. The stars pounded down on him like hammers. The night sky seemed to press on him as if to drive him into the pavement. He'd never smoked but thought he'd like a cigarette right now. At four in the morning, Joe snapped awake, surprised that he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the clinic lobby. He sat up quickly, tried to clear his head, wondered what had startled him.
He realized what it was when the receptionist cradled the telephone and looked over the counter at him. "Another emergencycall and the EMTs are on their way," she said in explanation."Busy night."
"What about the helicopter?" Joe asked.
She checked her wristwatch. "It should be here by five. Anotherhour and you can go home."
Joe thanked her, asked, "What is the new emergency?"
She shook her head. "An assault victim, apparently. I didn't get many details. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to alert the doctor so we can prep the room." Joe waited until the receptionist and the doctor were in the receiving station before slipping unnoticed into the room where Demming lay waiting. The light was dim but he could see the spider's web of tubing that dripped fluids into her, smelled the sharp smell of antiseptic and soap and fear. She looked younger and smaller in the bed, which was propped up to raise her head. She was slumped a little to the side. Her eyes were closed and she looked serene, but the china whiteness of her skin jarred him, since it made her look cold. He reached up and gently touched her cheek with the back of his fingers to make sure she was warm. She didn't react to his touch, but he was reassured by the slight puff of breath on his skin, which remindedhim of the sensation produced by the flamers.
He leaned over her. "Judy, can you hear me? It's Joe."
Did her eyes flutter? He thought he saw something but couldn't be sure. Maybe she could hear him but not wake up. Maybe inside she was shouting, but he just couldn't hear her.
"Who did this to you, Judy? Try and give me a name."
He thought he saw a slight purse of her lips, but couldn't tell if it was deliberate or an unconscious tic.
"Give me a name, Judy, and I promise I'll get him. That's a promise I will absolutely keep. I'll get him."
She didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't respond.
He brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead, and told her Lars would be waiting for her in Billings. Joe was outside in the predawn, leaning against the brick building, listening for the sound of the helicopter in the utter stillness. His breath billowed with condensation. He rememberedhow he and Victor used to strike tough-guy poses against the fence in the backyard and "smoke" lengths of twig, blowing the steam out like he was doing now. The stars in the eastern sky were losing their pinprick hardness due to the mauve wash of the coming sun.
Four-thirty. He'd decided to wait until six to call Marybeth and tell her not to come. It was too dangerous. He simply couldn't let her take the chance now, as much as he wanted to see her and his girls.
In the distance, the EMT van sped down the canyon, headlightsstrobing, but with none of the fanfare or sirens that accompaniedDemming's arrival. Assault victim, the receptionist had said. The van slowed abruptly, with a screech of brakes, and Joe saw a coyote in the middle of the road, in no hurry, loping down the center stripe. Finally, the coyote ran into the brush and the van could continue down the hill until it turned off the highwayand wheeled to a stop beneath the alcove.
The driver and assistant bailed out, the assistant filling in the doctor who had come outside and nodded at Joe. Joe nodded back.
"What do you mean there's two of them?" the doctor said, annoyed. "The call said one. We prepped inside for one."
"There's two, all right," the assistant said, lighting a cigarette while the driver strode to the back and threw open the door. "One's in bad shape. The other one might just be passed out."
Joe froze as they pulled the gurney out and the legs unfolded,snapped into place, and locked. He saw the assault victim's face clearly, recognized him despite the lumpy, misshapen appearance and all the blood. It was his father. And the second man, the one still slumped in the back of the van, moaning like a steer, was Doomsayer.
The assistant rolled the gurney toward the entrance door, the doctor alongside, reaching under the bloodied sheet to find a pulse.