“Maybe I should have called Nancy to come get him,” she said.
“You did the right thing.”
“He scared us when we saw him out there,” she said. “With all the things that have been happening around here, we’re a little jumpy.”
“I understand,” Robey said.
Joe said nothing. It made him angry to think about it.
He saw Robey to the door. As they passed his office, Joe said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that search warrant for Hank’s place. Do we have it yet?”
Robey turned, his face wary. “You haven’t heard?”
“Not a thing.”
“Judge Pennock refused to issue it.”
“What?”
Robey nodded. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. The judge said we needed probable cause, that the anonymous tip wasn’t enough to search a man’s home. Even though you transcribed the call real well.”
Joe was confused. He’d never had a search warrant refused before.
“Judge Pennock and Hank are friends,” Joe said.
“I’m afraid so. I didn’t realize it before. They must be pretty close.”
Joe snorted. “If they are close, Pennock would have recused himself. It’s got to be more than that.”
“I don’t even want to speculate, Joe,” Robey said cautiously. “I have to appear before Judge Pennock all the time. I can’t push this one too hard or he could make my life miserable.”
“Can’t we go over his head?”
Robey suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “We could, but I hesitate to do so.”
“You ‘hesitate to do so’?” Robey’s choice of words was so formal and bureaucratic that Joe repeated them.
“Look, Joe,” Robey said, “there are things I will go to the mat with, as you know. There are some subjects, for example, I won’t discuss with you because I don’t want to know the answers. But this fight between Hank and Arlen . . . I don’t know. It’s so dirty, and so . . .” He searched for a word. “. . . epic, you know? I’m not sure how hard I want to come down on either side. And we’re just talking about what? The possibility someone may have taken some animals out of season? That’s not even a felony.”
As Robey talked, Joe felt his anger rise.
“How about if we try to enforce the law,” Joe said. “You know, on a lark?”
“Joe . . .”
“Enforcing Game and Fish regulations is what I do, Robey. I take it seriously, because I’ve learned if a man will do something illegal or unethical out in the field when no one is looking, he’s capable of anything, no matter who he claims to be, or how big a man he is in the county.”
Robey sighed, reached out, and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to calm him. “Joe, sometimes I think you take things a little too far, you know? It seems like you think bad character is a crime. Again, we’re talking about some game animals that might have been poached.”
“No,” Joe said. “We’re talking about looking the other way because we don’t want to appear to take sides in a conflict. Well, I’m not taking sides, and I’m not looking away. I’m doing my job.”
Robey shook his head. The silence grew uncomfortable.
“I’ll run it by Tucker Fagan in Park County,” Robey finally said, sighing, referring to the new judge there. “Thunderhead is so big it’s in Park also, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you, Robey.”
“Good night, Joe. Sometimes you piss me off.”
JOE AND MARYBETH lay in bed facing each other. They talked softly so the girls wouldn’t hear them. Marybeth’s reading lamp was on low and the light cast a buttery glow on the side of her face and softly illuminated her blond hair. As they talked she stroked his forearm, rubbing it with her thumb.
She had broached the subject about moving the girls to the ranch. Joe had grunted at the idea.
“I know you don’t like it,” Marybeth said. “Frankly, neither do I. But if this continues . . .”
Joe started to argue, but caught himself. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t continue. And get worse. The sheriff’s department had done nothing he was aware of to investigate the incidents. His hands were tied by Pope to investigate himself. But enough was enough. This was his family, and his wife was talking about moving.
SHE HAD TURNED off her light and shifted to his side of the bed in the dark, her hands moving over him under the covers, her lips brushing his neck and ear. Joe liked it. He smiled in the dark.
They both froze when they heard the sounds.
A two-beat noise, a sharp snap, then a tinkle of glass downstairs.
“What was that?” Marybeth whispered.
Then the roar of a vehicle racing away on Bighorn Road.
Joe shot out of bed, naked, and cast back the curtain on the window. There were no lights outside, and no moon. The starlight was shut out by cloud cover.
He looked right on the road, the way to town. Nothing. Then left, nothing. But he could hear the motor, so how could it be?
Then he saw a flash of brake lights in the distance. Whoever had been outside was fleeing without his lights on, and revealed himself when he had to tap on his brakes at the turn that led to the foothills and the mountains beyond.
But aside from the brief flash of brake lights, he could see nothing about the vehicle itself, whether it was a car or pickup or SUV.
He cursed for two reasons: he could never catch who had been out there, and whoever had been out there had destroyed the mood in bed.
“What do you think that sound was?” Marybeth asked.
“I’ll go check.”
“Put some clothes on . . .”
JOE SNAPPED ON the lights in the living room. He had pulled on his robe, and he carried his .40 Glock loosely in his hand. He could see nothing amiss. He might have to get Marybeth to come down, he thought. It was one of those male/female things, like his inability to notice a new couch or when his daughters got a haircut unless it was pointed out to him. Conversely, he could see a moose in a faraway meadow on Wolf Mountain when it was a speck and Marybeth wouldn’t see it unless it charged her and knocked her down.
But when he walked near the front window, he felt slivers of glass dig into his bare feet and yelped in pain.
Then he saw the hole in the glass, like a tiny star. Someone had shot into their home.
He turned, visualizing the trajectory. The shot originated on the road and passed through the glass into the family portrait. Marybeth had arranged for it the previous summer. They had stood smiling against the corral fence rails so the mountains framed them in the background. In the photo, Joe thought they all looked a little uncomfortable, as if they were dressed for a funeral, and the smiles were forced. Except for Lucy, who always looked good. The portrait was slightly askew.
Joe limped across the living room, his feet stinging, and stared at the photo. The bullet had taken off most of his face and lodged into the wall behind the frame. Beneath the hole, his mouth smiled.
A chill rolled through him. Followed by a burst of rage.
Again, whoever was doing this had come right to his house and this time, in his way, he had entered it. The bullet hole in his face in the portrait was no coincidence. Joe thought, if Nate were around he’d ask for help now. But Nate wasn’t around, and Joe was officially prevented from investigating.
Screw that.
Marybeth came down the stairs looking at the bloody footprints on the floor. She followed them to where Joe stood.
Joe said, “You’re right. Let’s get the kids. We’re moving to the ranch.”
“Joe . . .”
“I’m going to get this guy.”
IT WAS ALMOST dawn when he felt her stir beside him. He was entangled, spooning, skin against skin, his leg thrust between hers, pulling her so tightly into him that he could feel her heart beat from where his hand cupped her right breast. His feet were bandaged. She was wide awake, as he was.