"There isn't a person in Twelve Sleep County that wouldn't think it was wrong for Judge Pennock to preside over a crime involving his business partner," Joe said. "Even Pennock can understand that"
"So you need to ask Pennock to assign the case to another judge," Joe said, and stood up.
Hersig looked up and spoke sharply "Joe, what you're talking about will get you in all kinds of trouble. You think Finotta is going to give up? He's got a personal line to the governor, and to your director. I've got to tell you this case is really weak. You've got a witness who recanted and the only way you can prove anything is to get an order from a judge in another county to search the home of a Twelve Sleep County rancher and lawyer. Do you really think that mount will still be on the wall when you go to get it? My guess is that instead of that elk, there will be a charming English hunting print or some damn thing."
Now Hersig stood up, his face softening. "Joe, I like you. You are one of the few good guys I know But this has turned into one of those cases where a truck backs up to the courthouse and dumps a huge pile of steaming shit on the floor. My job would be to try to convince the judge and jury that somewhere in all of that shit a gem of a case is buried, if they'll just be patient and get used to the smell. And to tell you the truth, if you were to keep pressing, it would start to sound a little like harassment."
Joe listened. He was surprised how vehement Hersig was. "Keep this up and I might be prosecuting you, Joe."
"This just really makes me mad," Joe said. "The guy killed the biggest elk in the Bighorns and left the meat."
Hersig waved Joe away "I know: I know. You already told me that. There's just not much I can do here."
Joe turned and fumbled to open the door without banging the chair he had been sitting in.
"Joe!" Hersig called after him.
Joe leaned back into the office.
"I hate to say this, but usually the assholes win." Joe stood silently for a moment, then put his hat on his head. "Seems like, in this county they do," Joe said, and closed the door hard.
***
Sheriff O. R. "Bud" Barnum was in his office and Joe walked in as Barnum checked his watch.
"I've got a lunch meeting planned," Barnum said, raising his heavy lidded eyes. "You should have called ahead."
"This will take five minutes," Joe stated. The meeting with Hersig had battered him. He was humiliated, angry, and frustrated with how it had gone. He was mad at himself for trusting Sandvick and not anticipating how slick and effective Finotta could be. He wondered how much time Finotta had spent in the last week anticipating Joe's moves and countering them, and wondered what Finotta was telling the judge, the governor, and the director of the agency about him.
Joe decided to start the conversation with the less incendiary topic and told Barnum about the branch in the tree and asked if it had been examined for blood, hair, or fiber. Barnum looked at Joe with barely disguised impatience.
"You're here to ask me about one particular branch in a particular tree?"
"It's in the shape of a fishhook," Joe said.
Joe accepted how silly it sounded. But after the meeting with Hersig, his well of embarrassment was dry Joe described the location of the tree, how the branch could almost certainly support the weight of a man, and how the branch was stained dark red. He left out his feeling of being watched that night.
Barnum shook his head slowly as if Joe Pickett had disappointed him.
"So you're cowboying again, huh?" Barnum asked. "Following up on my investigation like you did when those outfitters got killed?"
Joe fought the urge to bring up the fact that Barnum had botched that investigation and had reached the wrong conclusion well before Joe ever got involved.
Barnum stood up and looked at his watch again. "The state crime lab boys photographed, tested, and measured everything up there. I would guess they looked at your branch as well. However, I will ask my deputy to send them an e-mail to confirm that. Are we through?"
"We're through except for one thing."
"And that is?" Barnum asked, reaching for his jacket.
"I'm going to petition Judge Cohn in Johnson County for a search warrant for Jim Finotta's residence," Joe said flatly "Then I'm going to arrest that son-of-a-bitch for poaching."
This froze Barnum. Slowly, the sheriff swiveled his head toward Joe. Barnum's eyes, which had seen just about everything, showed surprise.
"I just thought you ought to know, so that when you hear about the arrest, you can say you were officially forewarned," Joe said calmly
A crooked smile formed on Barnum's face. "I'd sure miss that half a beef at Christmas," he said. "But something tells me I don't have much to worry about in that regard."
Joe ignored the insult. "And when I bring him in I'm going to ask him how he knew about that exploding cow before I told him about it."
***
THERE WAS A "CLOSED" SIGN in the front window of Wolf Mountain Taxidermy and a hand-lettered sign taped to the inside of the front-door window Joe stopped to read it.
gone fishing until sept. 1. can't wait until hunting season!
for rates and orders, see www.sandvicktaxidermy.com
Joe slumped against the doorframe and looked down the empty Main Street of Saddlestring. At the end of the street, on the bridge, a knot of teenage boys were cheering on a buddy who was underneath them in the river. The boy had tied a rope to the railing on the bridge and was waterskiing in place on the fast summer runoff of the Twelve Sleep River. Joe suddenly felt very old.
***
Mary Beth was at the master bathroom sink, cleaning her face for bed and thinking about the day when Joe came and flopped down on their bed. He was in a foul mood.
"Finotta outmaneuvred me," he said bluntly "He was ten steps ahead of me all the time, and he got to Sandvick. I really screwed that one up by not getting that photo from Sandvick on the spot."
Marybeth sighed inwardly. Sometimes her husband was a little too quick to take people at their word and it frustrated her. She hated it when he got taken advantage of. "You're too trusting, Joe." She looked at him in the mirror. "You're not cynical enough sometimes."
"I'm working on that."
She turned, the washcloth still poised near her cheek. "Finotta is a reptile, but you need to give up on him right now, Joe. He could buy and sell us if he wanted to. And if he's as bad as we think he is, you'll get another crack at him some day"
Joe grunted.
Marybeth thought of Ginger Finotta and about their aborted conversation in the library She thought about the Tom Horn book, which hadn't yet been returned.
17
July 1
Through billows of sulfur-smelling steam, the Old Man watched and waited for Charlie Tibbs. The Old Man reclined on the mineral-slick steps of a very hot pool and closed his eyes. He willed the muscles in his neck and back to begin to loosen up and untie what he imagined as a series of complicated, technical knots. He sighed heavily and slid forward another step so the hot water lapped at his chin.
They were in the Central Wyoming town of Thermopolis, hard against the border of the Wind River Indian Reservation. Thermopolis claimed to have the "largest hot springs in the world," a claim based not on the number of spas or facilities but on the volume of hot water that poured from the earth.
The Old Man slid forward on the step and leaned further back. His mouth was now under water, then his ears. Total submersion created a static whooshing sound. He breathed slowly through his nose. He was big and white and the hair on his legs and chest riffled beneath the water like a bed of kelp. In addition to helping his sore back, the Old Man hoped the water would somehow purge his wracked, tormented soul. But that was a lot to ask of Thermopolis.