“Mind if I borrow this?” McCue said, gesturing toward Joe’s tray table.
“Fine.”
McCue nodded man-to-man to Joe, slid the tray table toward himself, and opened a manila folder on top of it. He fitted the glasses to his eyes, then slid them as far down his nose as they would go before they fell off. Joe was distracted by how cloudy the lenses were.
“Just a couple of questions,” McCue said, peeling back single pages within the file. Joe recognized them as copies of the original sheriff’s department statement given to Ron Baird.
“About the Brothers Grim . . .”
“They prefer ‘the Grim Brothers,’ ” Joe said.
McCue looked over his lenses at Joe appraisingly. “They do, do they?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, then. Caleb, the first one you encountered at that lake. It says here he gave you permission to look through his possessions.”
Said Joe, “Yes, and when I think back on it, I don’t know why he did. He must have known he didn’t have a fishing license, which is all I wanted to check on. But, yes, he let me look through his bag.”
McCue placed a bony finger on a dense paragraph of text. “It says here he had a variety of items in the pack.”
“Yes.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I thought I had.”
McCue nodded and read from the statement, “‘The subject’s daypack contained several items, including a water container, a knife, a diary, half of a Bible, and an iPod and holder.” He looked up e xpectantly.
“I think that was pretty much it,” Joe said, trying to recall all the contents. “There were some matches and some string I think, also. Oh, and there wasn’t the iPod itself, just the holder. I’m pretty sure I made that clear to the sheriff, but he must have misunderstood me.”
McCue nodded quickly, and Joe noticed the agent seemed to be tamping down his reaction to avoid revealing anything.
“Is there a problem?” Joe asked.
McCue ignored the question. “Can you describe the iPod holder to me?”
Joe searched his memory. “It was one of those things that strap to the upper part of your arm. My wife Marybeth has one for workouts at the gym.”
“What color was it, can you recall?”
“Pink.”
“You’re sure?”
Joe nodded.
“You’re positive?”
“Why is that important?” Joe asked.
“It may not be at all. I’m just covering all the bases. You know how this works,” McCue said, then quickly flipped over the page to another. Joe saw something in ink written in the margin, and McCue stabbed his fingertip on the passage.
“You say Caleb claimed he was from the UP.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought, being from the Rocky Mountain West, that UP meant ‘Union Pacific.’ ”
Joe didn’t say anything.
“Did you know it could have meant Upper Peninsula, as in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan? That’s what they call it there, the ‘UP.’”
“I know that now,” Joe said. “One of the sheriff’s deputies down in Baggs was from Michigan and told me. I feel kind of stupid, now, not knowing it.”
McCue nodded, apparently agreeing with Joe’s assessment of himself.
“Hey . . .” Joe said, but McCue flipped another page and stabbed another note.
“You say there were four people besides you at the cabin that burned down. Caleb and Camish Grim, Terri Wade, and one other. You suggest that when you saw the profile of the fourth person you thought of Diane Shober. Is that correct?”
Joe felt his face get hot. He realized how ridiculous it sounded when McCue said it.
“She came to mind,” Joe said. “But nowhere in that report did I claim it was her. As I said to the sheriff down there, and my own people in Cheyenne, her name came to mind probably because I’d seen her photo on so many fliers in that part of the state. Plus, I knew that’s where she went missing because I was part of the search team. So when I caught a glimpse of a youngish female in the dark down there, I think I naturally thought of her. I’ve never said it was her.”
McCue bored in. “Do you stand by your impression, though?”
Joe shook his head. “I stand by the fact that I thought of her at the time. I don’t know how I can stand by an impression. And the more I think about it now, the more I think my mind might have jumped to conclusions.” Joe smiled, which pulled at his scalp. “I’ve been accused of that before. Sometimes I’m right. Usually, I’m not.”
“So I hear,” McCue said without irony. “Can you describe her?”
“I already did,” Joe said. “I didn’t get a clear look at all. In my mind, I can recall I thought she was blond, female, and younger than Caleb and Camish and Terri Wade.”
“How tall was she?”
Joe shrugged, which hurt. “I don’t know. She stood away from the others, so I’ve got no perspective.”
“How old?”
“Like I said, my impression was she was younger. But I’m not sure why I say that.”
“What was she wearing?”
“I have no idea.”
“Her build?”
“Thin,” Joe said. “Like you.”
McCue nodded to himself, as if Joe had confirmed something.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Joe asked.
McCue looked up. “Eventually.”
“I’m done answering questions until you let me know why you’re asking them.”
“Fine,” McCue said, closing the folder. “I’ve got what I need for now.”
“That’s it?”
McCue unhooked his reading glasses from his ears and let them drop on the cord. “That’s it.”
“Where can I contact you?” Joe asked, “Cheyenne? One of the other offices? Where are you out of? I’ve never seen you around.”
McCue simply nodded.
“Was that a yes or a no?”
“Thanks for your time,” McCue said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Leave me your card,” Joe said. “I may think of something later.”
McCue said over his shoulder, “I’ll leave one for you at the nurses’ station.”
And he was gone.
Ten minutes later, Joe pressed his nurse call button and asked for Agent McCue’s DCI business card.
“What?” she said. Then: “There’s no card here I can see. I’ll check with the other nurses, but I didn’t see him stop by on his way out.”
“Is there another nurse station?”
“There are several on each floor.”
“Would you mind checking with them?”
The pause was no doubt accompanied by rolling eyes, Joe thought. She said, “I’ll ask around and let you know.”
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Joe opened his eyes and saw something he didn’t want to see, so he closed them again, hoping it would go away.
“I know you’re awake,” his mother-in-law, Missy, said from the foot of his bed.
“I’m sleeping,” Joe said.
“You most certainly are not.”
“I’m sleeping and having a real bad dream.”
“Open your eyes. I need to talk to you.”
Joe sighed and cracked his right eye. He knew he was wincing because it hurt when he winced. “Where’s Marybeth?”
“She’s getting some lunch down in the cafeteria with the girls. She should be back in a half hour or so.”