The statement surprised Walt. Hillabrand had just thrown Fiona under the bus. Walt had hoped that Fiona’s involvement with Hillabrand might mitigate how seriously he intended to prosecute the photography.
The committee turned in on itself for internal discussion. Indiscernible whispering floated through the room, as the steam radiators popped and clanked. Walt felt desperate to at least get his first question answered, though it now seemed obvious that Hillabrand was willing to lie.
“You said you would answer the question,” Walt reminded.
“I’m unaware of any spills or leaks or any health threats posed by our operations at the INL.”
“Have you or any of your employees,” Walt asked him, “had contact with, or offered payments to, Lon Bernie, James Peavy, or Daniel Cutter in exchange for their silence, their participation in a cover-up concerning contamination of groundwater in the Pahsimeroi Valley?”
This question sent the committee into gasps and further consultation; harsh glances at both Hillabrand and Walt. Someone left the room behind Walt, and, within seconds, a dozen spectators hurried inside, including a few reporters, judging by their busy notepads. The chairman took notice of the arrival of the press, cupped his mouth, and went back to whispering to his panel members.
“Sheriff Fleming,” the chairman finally said, “while this committee respects and applauds your service in law enforcement in the great state of Idaho, we do not feel that this is the proper forum for your line of questioning.”
“Isn’t this a hearing on environmental impact?” Walt asked.
“It is.”
“My position, Mr. Chairman, is that the INL, under Mr. Hillabrand’s governance, has contaminated an eddy in the Northern Rocky Mountain Intermontane Basins system, the deep groundwater beneath the Pahsimeroi. I have personally witnessed the burning of over fifty head of sheep. What rancher would dispose of his sheep by fire, Mr. Chairman? Buck-Senator Oozer-you run sheep. Have you ever burned any?”
Buck Oozer shook his head no.
“I also have medical records for two employees of Trilogy Springs bottling who were admitted to a hospital in Salt Lake City and, after extensive testing, were determined to be suffering from radiation poisoning. You can see on this map,” Walt said, stepping toward the dais, “the relative proximity of-”
“Ask the sheriff,” Hillabrand said, raising his voice and interrupting,
“if he’s an expert in radiation poisoning. If he has ever heard of radon, an underground source of radiation known to riddle the sediments of central Idaho.”
“Radon does exist, Mr. Hillabrand, and has existed for thousands of years-millions, I suppose. But it doesn’t just turn itself on. These ranchers have had no problems until very recently. Now there’s sickness all around that region.”
“If there has been depredation of livestock and sickness in employees of bottling companies,” Hillabrand said to the chairman, “don’t you think we’d have heard about it before now? Is a county sheriff our best source for such accusations? Are you an expert on such matters, Mr. Fleming?” He turned around. “There’s James Peavy, right back there. Why doesn’t the chairman ask the Honorable Senator Peavy if his livestock is suffering from radiation contamination?”
Peavy stood.
The chairman looked bewildered. He mumbled, “It’s not in our purview to treat this like a trial, Mr. Hillabrand, Sheriff Fleming. It’s a hearing. Your complaint is noted, Sheriff Fleming, and it will be looked into. Sit down, please, Senator Peavy.”
Peavy sat, but his apparent willingness to testify registered with the committee.
The chairman asked, “Are there any other comments from-”
“He’s paid off Senator Peavy,” Walt said. “Just as he’s tried to pay off Daniel Cutter to remain silent about the sickness out at his bottling plant.” The gallery stirred. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chairman, but taking note of my complaint is not enough. There are lives at stake here.”
“The accusations are baseless!” Hillabrand said. “Totally and utterly baseless!”
“Sheriff Fleming,” the chairman said, “please sit down!”
Walt held his ground. “Baseless, Mr. Hillabrand?” Suddenly, it was just the two of them in the room.
“Completely.”
Walt held up a finger to buy himself a moment and returned to his seat.
“Finally,” the chairman said, loud enough to be heard.
“I’m not done!” Walt said, digging into his briefcase. “Mr. Hillabrand!” He threw something toward Hillabrand, who reached out and caught it one-handed.
“A twenty-ounce bottle of Trilogy water, identified as part of a two-week run, all of which has subsequently been held off the market, quarantined, because of possible contamination. Since you’re so sure the aquifer has not been poisoned by a leak at the INL, have a glass of water. Convince me.”
Hillabrand looked at the bottle, at Walt, and then at the dais. A reporter in the back stood up and shot a photograph of Hillabrand holding the bottle. When Hillabrand next met eyes with Walt, his own had hardened. He broke the seal on the cap and poured himself a glass.
“Don’t drink that,” Walt said, running toward the witness table. “It really is from the quarantined run. That is contam-”
But Hillabrand put the glass to his mouth and began to drink.
Walt knocked the glass out of his hand. It shattered on the floor in front of the dais.
Hillabrand brushed spilled water off his tailored suit.
“Are you crazy?” Walt asked Hillabrand, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why’d you drink it? I took readings on Lon Bernie’s sheep: they’re so hot they should glow in the dark. I have an expert on the aquifer confirming there’s an eddy that passes directly under the INL and then turns north into the Pahsimeroi. It… is… over.”
“If you’re right about any of this, would I risk this?” Hillabrand upended the plastic water bottle and chugged. Walt fought him and managed to get it out of his hand. Walt recognized Sean Lunn from Fiona’s description as Lunn rushed the table. Hillabrand waved the man off.
Walt threw the water bottle to the floor, where it spun, discharging its contents.
“That’s good enough for me,” the chairman said. “You’re done, Sheriff. In fact, this hearing is over. Our next public hearing will be in approximately three months’ time. Good day!”
Walt and Hillabrand, both breathing hard from their struggle over the bottle, were locked in a staring contest.
“Why?” an exasperated Walt said to Hillabrand. “You know what that did to Cutter’s employees. I know you know.”
Hillabrand steadied his breathing. “Buck’s office,” he whispered. “Ten minutes.”
Hillabrand stood, still brushing water off his suit. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”
Lunn waited alongside like a well-trained dog.
“You think you can bribe me too?” Walt said, just as softly.
Hillabrand stopped brushing and glared at him.
“Hopefully,” Hillabrand said.
50
BUCK OOZER’S OFFICE SMELLED PLEASANTLY OF PIPE TOBACCO. A wide partners desk sat between two flags, with a credenza pushed up against the only wall with windows, sunlight spilling over the tall leather chair and flooding the desktop.
Oozer was nowhere to be seen. Only Hillabrand and Lunn occupied the office, as Walt entered.
“I’m going to ask Sean to check you for a wire,” Hillabrand said.
“The hell you are.”
“Or we cannot do this,” Hillabrand said.
“I’m not wearing a wire.”
“Then you won’t mind. Also, Sean will take your briefcase, cell phone, radio, and portfolio in the hall with him.”
Walt studied him, deciding it did him no good to fight. He didn’t happen to be wearing or carrying a wire. He took off his belt, which held everything from a gun to a pair of handcuffs and a flashlight, eased it to the floor, and raised his hands.