"Stella," Rulon said calmly, "please go tell the press I'll be out in a moment with a very big announcement."
Stella nodded dutifully and stood up.
Rulon said, "Let them know we've learned that Special Agent Tony Portenson of the FBI withheld information that resulted in the deaths of six people and the shutdown of state and federal lands across Wyoming."
"You can't do that!" Portenson shouted. "You're out of your mind!"
Rulon arched his eyebrows. "This isn't the first time someone has said that."
"I'm this far," Portenson said, pinching his index finger and thumb together, "from breaking this Klamath Moore thing and getting my transfer out of this hellhole. I should have been moved up a year ago, but it didn't happen. This will absolutely kill me! This might get me sent to Butte, Montana!"
"What's wrong with Butte?" Joe said. "I like Butte."
"It's where bad FBI agents are sent to die," Portenson whined.
"That's your choice," Rulon said, nodding to Stella to go.
"No!" Portenson said.
She hesitated at the door.
"What do you want?" Portenson pleaded with Rulon.
"Access to all your files on the Wolverine investigation and the name of your snitch so Joe can question him," Rulon said.
"Okay," Portenson said as if in physical pain. "You've got it."
"What's my role?" asked Randy Pope, the forgotten man.
"You stay here," Rulon said. "I want you in your office leading your agency and deflecting the outrage we're already getting from constituents about the state lands closure. Plus, I don't want you in a dicey situation where you might run like a rabbit again. That kind of behavior makes me want to puke."
"You don't understand," Pope said, pleading. "The head was in my room… this is personal. I have to be involved."
"No," Rulon said bluntly.
Pope dropped his head into his hands. Joe was put off and embarrassed by the reaction.
"Okay, then," Rulon said, gesturing to Stella to open the door.
Joe sat up. "That's not all."
Portenson and the governor both looked at him. Stella hesitated, with her manicured hand poised above the door handle.
"No," Portenson said, his face flushing red. "I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is: absolutely not. Don't even ask."
Joe turned to the governor. "Nate Romanowski knows the area and he has contacts with extremist groups all across the West. I don't condone it, but he does. He's got special insight into somebody like Wolverine because, frankly, Wolverine reminds me more than a little bit of Nate. If you want me to continue this investigation, I need his help."
Portenson continued to shake his head.
"If he was released into your custody," Rulon said, "do you give me your word you'll bring him back for his trial when and if this investigation is over?"
Joe swallowed hard. "I'll do what's right."
Portenson hissed, "We can't release a federal prisoner on Joe Pickett's word! We can't release him, period!"
Pope surprised Joe by saying, "I concur. We need all the help we can get."
Joe said to Portenson, "You charged him with flimsy evidence that hasn't gotten any better. You're just hoping something falls into your lap between now and the trial or you know you're going to lose."
"We're building our case!"
"Just like you were building the case against Klamath Moore and Wolverine?" Joe asked.
Rulon stood up. "Stella, tell them I'm coming out with explosive news."
"No!" Portenson shouted again, his voice cracking. Then: "Okay, okay!" He pointed his finger at Joe. "But if he doesn't live up to this agreement, I'm going to throw both of them in jail."
"Agreed," Rulon said breezily.
Joe wanted to tell the governor he'd perhaps spoken too soon. Although he had some influence over Nate and Nate had promised years before to assist Joe and protect his family, he didn't own the outlaw falconer. Nate had always gone his own way, used his own methods, lived under his own code.
"Governor…" Joe said, as Rulon turned and Stella preceded him out the door. His words were drowned out by Rulon booming, "Men and women of the press, we've got a break in the case! Due to an unprecedented partnership between the state of Wyoming and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I can tell you today that we're closing in on the vicious killer who…"
As he went on, Joe slumped back in his chair, as did Portenson.
Joe listened to Rulon assure the media that the end of the investigation was now in sight, that leads were being vigorously pursued, that the forests and high-country plains of Wyoming would once again be reopened for hunting, fishing, and recreation.
"I can't believe I just agreed to release Nate Romanowski," Portenson said sourly to Joe.
I can't believe it either, Joe thought.
"That governor of yours," Portenson said, jabbing a finger toward the conference room. "He fucked us both."
"And that's why we love him," Stella said, overhearing Portenson and leaning in the door, flashing her biggest smile at Joe.
17
STELLA DROVE the Escalade with Joe in the passenger seat to meet Tony Portenson at the Federal Building before it closed at five. Joe knew the layout of Cheyenne well enough to know she was taking an unnecessarily circuitous route via Lincolnway and Depot Square downtown. When she stopped at a red light under the galloping plywood horse and rider of a massive western wear store, she said, "I'm really sorry for the families of the dead hunters, but I can't help but think that maybe some good can come of this in the long run. I never knew that's what hunters did to animals. I guess I never thought about it before. It repulses me. I told the governor that."
"And what did he say?" Joe asked.
"He just shook his head. He's a hunter."
Joe said nothing. She had the radio on a news station, and the reporter was excerpting portions of Rulon's press conference, saying the authorities were following every lead and closing in on the killer.
"Well spun," she said, nodding at the radio with professional admiration.
"I wish I agreed with it," Joe said.
She laughed. "If the governor says we're closing in on the killer, we're closing in on the killer. Come on, get with the program."
"I'll never get used to this," Joe grumbled.
"Back to where we were," she said, turning the radio off. "So you're a game warden. How can you stand to be around the kind of killing and mutilation that happens out there? You have daughters-how can you stand to see Bambi murdered?"
He eyed her closely to see if she was baiting him. She was, but there was a grain of sincere incredulity as well.
"I've yet to see Bambi murdered," he said.
"You know what I mean."
"In a shallow and very superficial way, I do," he said. "But that isn't what this is about. It's about the murder of innocent men. This has nothing to do with hunting. That's just what the shooter and Klamath Moore want you to think."
"Struck a nerve, eh?" she said, a slight smile on her lips.
Joe sighed. "In order to process a game animal properly, the carcass needs to be field-dressed and the head and hide removed. Otherwise, the meat can be ruined. It's not a pretty thing, but it's necessary. And it's not the purpose of the hunt."
"What is?" she said. "To drink whiskey and grunt and run around in the hills with a rifle?"
"I don't think we have the time for this," Joe said wearily, thinking he was sitting at the longest red light in the state of Wyoming. "I just hope you ask the same questions the next time you sit down to eat dinner. What events occurred behind the scenes and out of your view to deliver that food to you? Some eggs get broken to make your breakfast omelet, you know. Do you ever think of that?"
"That's different," she huffed. "The food producers didn't do it for pleasure. It is just a job to them."
"Most hunters don't kill for pleasure either," Joe said, "and at least they're honest enough to get down and dirty and take part in the harvesting of the food they eat. They're honest enough not to use proxies to do their killing for them."