Cody tried to remain calm.
“Here it is,” she said, pulling a file. “All the applications and signed releases of liability. And here,” she said, slipping a single handwritten sheet out of the file, “is the complete list in alphabetical order.”
He snatched it out of her hand and read down the list.
1. Anthony D’Amato
2. Walt Frank
“His Richness,” Cody mumbled. “Damn it.”
3. Justin Hoyt
“Damn it,” Cody whispered. “He’s on it.”
Cody scanned the rest of the list:
4. James Knox
5. Rachel Mina
6. Tristan Glode
7. Donna Glode
8. André Russell
9. Ted Sullivan
10. Gracie Sullivan
11. Danielle Sullivan
12. K. W. Wilson
None of the other names rang a bell. But he thought one of them might produce a ViCAP hit.
“I’ll need that back,” she said.
“In a minute,” he said, shuffling through the applications. Here, in the folder he held in his hand, were the names, addresses, physical descriptions, and details of each client on the trip. He was ecstatic. “Where’s your fax machine?”
“Is it long distance?” she asked. “You know, each fax is just like a long-distance phone call.”
Cody dug in his pocket and threw her a twenty-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”
“Where are you faxing the pages?” she asked.
“Just tell me where the goddamn machine is,” he said.
“No need to be like that,” she said, pointing to a supply room behind her.
While Cody fed in each page and transmitted it to Larry, he turned on the copy machine next to the fax. After each application was sent he made a copy for himself. Margaret Cooper was at her desk retrieving telephone messages, and had left him alone. He hoped she wouldn’t object to him making copies but it didn’t matter-he was taking the applications with him. Because one of these people, he thought, killed Hank Winters and was near his son.
When he was through he returned all the original documents to the folder and stuffed the copies in under his shirt.
He handed the folder to her at her desk.
“Why do you suppose a detective is calling me?” she asked him. “Is this your colleague? Are you a policeman?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, suddenly sitting up straighter.
“Undercover,” he said. “And this matter is confidential. Please tell no one I was here. Do you understand?”
She nodded furiously.
“Now I need you to think for a minute,” he said. “What is the best way to catch up to the pack trip? Don’t tell me the outfitter doesn’t have a satellite phone or some way to get in touch with the outside world.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but he doesn’t.”
“How can that be in this day and age?” Cody spat. “What if the Park Service needs to contact him? What if he’s got an emergency, like a client has a heart attack or something?”
She smiled sympathetically. “Then he’s to locate a park ranger and the park ranger places the call. You don’t understand how they can be. The Park Service, I mean. Such bureaucracy! They’re the reason Bull Mitchell finally sold the business. I wish he never had. I know he wouldn’t be making me learn how to work a computer.”
Cody took a deep breath. “Okay, so I can’t call them. So how would I find them? Is there a designated route? Doesn’t the Web site indicate they stay at a specific camp every night of the trip?”
She nodded her head. “Unless they camp somewhere else,” she said. “Things happen out there. Sometimes they’ll camp in other places, or even on a different trail if the trail is washed out or trees fall over it or something. All I ever know is where they start and where they end. The middle is kind of… random.”
He slapped the desk in frustration. Then he said, “Where can I find Bull Mitchell?” Thinking: Does he even live in Bozeman? Is he alive?
She looked at her watch.
“It’s nearly two,” she said. “That means he’ll be at the library.”
“The library?”
A misty look came over her eyes. “You’ll see,” she said.
12
Gracie didn’t mind being so far back in the string at all. She liked being able to observe the riders ahead of her, something she couldn’t have done if her horse was higher in the pecking order.
Jed was first, trailing three mules strapped with massive pack-boxes of gear and food. He constantly turned in his saddle to make sure everyone was behind him and in the order he’d set for them.
Behind the mules was the older couple, Tristan and Donna Glode. Gracie hadn’t heard Tristan say much so far on the trip, but he had a kind of serious and businesslike bearing, she thought. His wife seemed cold and aloof, but Gracie noted how gracefully she’d climbed on the saddle and how elegantly she rode. She was the only guest wearing honest-to-God English riding boots. Gracie tried to model her riding style-relaxed, not slumping, head up, reins loose in her left hand-after Donna Glode. But that’s the only thing about Donna Glode Gracie wanted to learn.
Walt and Justin were next. Gracie noted how often Walt turned in his saddle and sized up his soon-to-be stepson and then nodded approvingly at what he saw. She wondered what it was Justin was doing that was worthy of the head nods since it seemed to her the only thing Justin wanted to do was bump along and steal looks at Danielle. Justin rode well, Gracie thought, the way a natural athlete would ride. He wasn’t smooth but he looked strong and well balanced. He had a certain style about him, an attitude: confident, cocky, maybe a little full of himself. He knew he was the only young buck on the trip. He apparently saw no reason to put his feet in the stirrups, for example, and they dangled on the sides of his horse.
Rachel, the divorcée or widow or whatever she was, rode behind Justin on a slick jet-black gelding. Gracie thought the horse, named Midnight, was by far the best-looking of the herd. Midnight’s coat was so black it shined dark blue, like Superman’s hair, Gracie thought. And Rachel Mina looked good on him. She wasn’t as self-consciously slick as Donna Glode, but she’d obviously ridden before. Her posture was good, Gracie thought, as she found herself sitting more upright in Strawberry’s saddle. Gracie thought it would be interesting to talk to Rachel Mina to find out why she’d come alone on a trip like this. She had a feeling the woman was interesting, or had a good story, at least. And was she mistaken, or did Rachel Mina smile at her earlier in an almost familiar way? Like they’d met before, which Gracie was certain hadn’t happened.
The three Wall Streeters rode behind Rachel Mina; James Knox, Drey Russell, and Tony D’Amato. Gracie guessed that maybe Knox had been on a horse before, and possibly Drey. But certainly not Tony, who kept saying things like, “Where is the brake on this thing?” and “What good is a saddle horn that doesn’t honk?” Tony kept the other two laughing with his stupid asides and observations, and Gracie guessed it was kind of an act. Tony pointed out each time Knox’s gelding’s long penis unfurled and swung loose from side to side as the horse walked, saying, “Look who’s relaxed,” or “He reminds me of me when he does that.” The three men together were interesting, she thought. She’d seen very few male friendships up close in her life and the way they chided and insulted each other was a way of showing affection, she guessed. If women talked like that to each other there would soon be scratching and blood. She also thought how quickly boring it would become if every other statement was about their sexual organs, as it was with the male Wall Streeters. Despite their goofiness, though, Gracie liked having the three men around. They seemed solid and anchored. Better than three women, she thought. Especially on a trip like this.