"At least give the Saddlestring district to Wacey Hedeman," Joe said. "He knows it pretty well, and he's a good hand."
"We'll consider it." Etbauer said, fingering the name badge Joe had snatched. "You're dismissed."
Before Joe opened the door, he turned to Etbauer.
"Have you ever done this before?" Joe asked. "Suspended an active field warden for this kind of first-time violation?"
Etbauer flushed again and looked away. Joe followed Etbauer's sight line. He was looking at a digital clock on a credenza behind him. It was 4:58 P.M.
"Anybody tell you to do this now?" Joe asked.
"Of course not," Etbauer replied, still looking at the clock.
"Nobody called you and said, "Les, I need you to move this Pickett gun thing to the top of the pile'?"
Etbauer wheeled around in his chair. "Of course not." He was defensive. "This conversation is over."
Joe opened the door. The receptionist who had been standing outside, listening, quickly gathered herself together and escaped down the hallway, her shoes clicking like an old Royal typewriter.
"It was never a conversation," Joe said to Etbauer. "A lynching maybe, but not a conversation."
He slammed the door so hard behind him that he stopped in the hall to make sure he hadn't cracked the glass.
He found an unoccupied, unlocked office and called Marybeth at the Kensinger house. Joe still felt strangely calm, but the need to talk to his wife was urgent. He wanted her thoughts after he told her what had happened. When she answered the telephone, he asked her how she liked the new place.
"Oh, it's nice," she said, but he could tell from her voice that she was completely enraptured.
"Five bedrooms, four bathrooms. A beautiful deck that overlooks the Twelve Sleep River, a Jacuzzi, a kitchen the size of our house and a dining room the size of a stadium. All of the closets are walk-in and so is the refrigerator. A breakfast bar and three fireplaces, one in the master bedroom. Mom and Lucy just love it. Right now, they're out walking Maxine and the Kensinger dog around the golf course."
Joe felt better just hearing her voice. After what he'd just been through, he needed to hear it.
"You didn't mention Sheridan," Joe said. "What does she think?"
Marybeth paused before she spoke. "I don't know for sure. She doesn't seem real excited for some reason. She didn't eat any lunch, and she didn't want to go out with Mom. She's just sitting in the living room staring out the window."
"Is it just the change of scenery?" Joe asked, thinking about how much they had moved Sheridan around from place to place in the last few years. The consistency and routine of the Saddlestring house was something Sheridan obviously enjoyed. Maybe she thought they were moving again.
"I hope that's all it is," Marybeth said. "I hope she isn't coming down with something."
Joe agreed. Then he said it: "Marybeth, the department has suspended me without pay as of Tuesday because Ote Keeley took my gun. They also suspect me of somehow being involved in the outfitter murders."
She gasped. "Oh my God, Joe."
He said nothing and neither did Marybeth. Finally, he asked if she was still there.
"Joe, what does this mean?"
"Two things, I think," Joe said, with as much confidence as he could muster. "The first is that there are some pretty powerful people who want me out of the field. The second is that it looks like you're talking to the newest employee of Inter West Resources."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Joe, is this something you really want to do?" Her concern was genuine, and he loved her for it.
"I don't see a lot of options," he said. "I've got a family to support."
"What about the house?" Marybeth asked. "We can stay in it through an appeal, if we decide to appeal."
"Joe ..."
"I've got three days before I'm officially relieved," Joe interrupted.
"I want to spend those three days following up on a few things I was thinking about on the ride down here. Then I'll let Vern know what the decision is. Is that okay with you?"
"Of course."
"I'll be home tonight," Joe said. "But don't wait up for me."
"I love you, Joe Pickett," Marybeth said.
"I love you, too."
***
Joe went downstairs into an area marked wildlife biology section. He walked past a desk already vacated by a secretary, then into a maze of small cubicles and tables littered with lab equipment. It smelled of wet fur and feathers and strong disinfectant, and without any windows, it was dark down there. His boot steps seemed amplified in the empty room as he walked though the middle corridor looking for anyone who might still be working.
When he saw the woman emerge from her cubicle with a jacket folded over her arm and a handbag, he knew immediately who she was. She had that harried look about her that said she had children at day care and she was on her way to pick them up.
"Working late on Friday?" Joe asked, smiling.
"Later than I wanted to be," she said, looking him over and clearly wondering why he was down there. "Can I help you find something? I'm kind of in a hurry."
He recognized her voice. "I'm Joe Pickett," he said. "I believe we spoke on the telephone last week."
The look on her face confirmed it. Her expression was pained.
"I'm sorry to bother you when you're in a hurry and all, so I'll get right to it," Joe said. "I appreciate what you did. It took guts and I know you could get in trouble for it. As far as I'm concerned, we're not even talking right now. I don't know your name, and I'm not going to ask."
She continued to watch him suspiciously. He could tell that she was trying to decide whether or not to simply walk away.
"Yes?" she prompted.
"Would you please show me where I can look up some information on an endangered species? Actually, it's an animal that is thought to be extinct."
Her face was a mask. "Is the species indigenous to Wyoming and the Rocky Mountains?"
"Yup."
She made up her mind and shrugged.
"Oh, come on," she said. "It'll only take a minute, and then you're on your own."
She walked quickly down the length of the room into a library cluttered with reference books and journals. Joe followed. There was a computer and fax machine on one stand and a microfiche reader on another. She put her coat and handbag on a shelf while she booted up the computer, double-clicked through a series of menu screens, and pulled up a document database.
"Do you know how to operate this?" she asked.
"I do," Joe said. He thought he did, anyway.
"Key in what you're looking for. If the search turns up something, you'll get an index number and a title for the publication. The reference books are on the shelves behind you and next door in the resource room." She stood up and quickly gathered her belongings.
"I'm out of here."
He called after her. "One more thing ..."
She wheeled, obviously out of patience.
"Did anyone locate the package I sent here?"
She sighed. "Try the incinerator."
"Thank you again."
"Forget it." She sang over her shoulder as she walked away. "I really mean that.
Make sure you shut off the computer and the lights when you leave, and if anyone comes down here, just leave and don't say anything."
"It's a deal," Joe said, chuckling. He liked her. He sat and turned to the computer monitor. After taking a few moments to figure out how to move around within the document, he pulled up the find command and typed in the words "Miller's weasel."
When Joe Was through reading, he drove into downtown Cheyenne and bought a Smith & Wesson .357 magnum revolver at a pawn shop for $275. Farther down on the same block, he bought a box of cartridges for it.
***
"Hey, little school girl," the man called out as his vehicle slowed to a stop and his power window whirred down.
"Do you need a ride?"