Joe flinched.
"I liked his wife, though," she said. "She was kind to me."
"Shannon?"
"I didn't get her name. He didn't introduce her, which was just not cool. So," she said, tapping the file, "what does it say about him?"
"I really can't get into the specifics," Joe said. "Sorry."
"Do you think he has something to do with the murders?"
"I'm not sure," Joe said, "but he may know something about them. But please, keep this between us. I can't believe I'm even discussing this with you."
"I'm interested in this kind of stuff," Sheridan said, rolling her eyes. "I've been around it all my life, you know."
"I wish you hadn't," Joe said, stung.
She shrugged. "It is what it is."
"My, you're philosophical these days."
He could tell she had something on her mind, so he waited her out.
"What about what Klamath Moore says?" she asked. "I mean, he's a jerk and all, but…"
"But what?"
"Do people really need to hunt? I mean, there're easier ways to get food. Like go to the store."
"Do you really think that?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I'm not sure. On the one hand I do. But on the other…" She reached for a banana from a bowl of fruit on the table and began to peel it. "In order to eat this I need to literally pull the skin off. That's pretty gross if you think of it that way. And in order to get milk, some guy has to yank on the private parts of a poor old cow. I mean, yuck."
Joe smiled.
She took a bite of the banana. "It's too bad we can't figure out a way to live without making other creatures give up their lives, is what I'm saying. Or something like it."
"It's a dilemma," Joe said. "But let me ask you something. As people build more and more homes in places where wildlife lives, there are more and more encounters. Add to that the fact that the population of many species-deer, bears, mountain lions, elk-are increasing beyond carrying capacities. Is it better for that excess wildlife to starve to death, to be slaughtered by sharpshooters or hit by cars, or is it better for the animals to be harvested by hunters, who thank them for their meat and their lives? And you can't not choose one of them. People can't just say how much they love animals and turn their heads away and not have some kind of responsibility. My job as a game warden is to make that last choice-hunting-as efficient, biologically responsible, and sporting as possible."
Sheridan nodded slowly.
"I talked too much," Joe said, looking down.
"No, I appreciate what you said," Sheridan mused. "And there's another thing I think about. If I were given a choice to live in a world where some people still know how to hunt and survive in the wilderness or a world where it's all been forgotten, I want to live in that first world. I remember watching television after nine/eleven when all the news people started praising those police and firemen like they didn't even know those men were still around, like they'd sort of looked down on them for years and years. But all of a sudden, when people needed rescuing and somebody had to be physically brave, they were really glad those men were still around after all. It's sort of like that."
She said, "If something big happens and the electricity and Internet go out and we run out of gasoline and groceries, I'm not going to ask Ed Nedny next door or some computer game geek or Emo at school for help. I'm coming straight to you, Dad, because I know you know how to keep us alive."
Joe grinned, embarrassed but proud.
"One thing I do know, though," she said, chewing, "is that when somebody is as hateful as Klamath Moore is-even if it is sort of for a good cause-I don't like them. It's too much."
Joe nodded. "You are philosophical. And maybe even wise."
She grinned at the compliment. "When people want to control other people… it's like those fascists, you know?"
Joe wasn't sure what to say. His daughter amazed him. Where had little Sheridan gone?
"Hey, nice hat," he said. WHEN THE telephone rang Sheridan sprang out of her chair to answer it, assuming it was for her. She said, "Just a minute, I'll get him," and handed the handset to Joe.
"Your boss," she said, rolling her eyes. "Gotta go."
Joe sighed. "Yes?"
Randy Pope said, "Any progress?"
"None."
"None?"
"None."
"What's your plan of attack?"
"I don't have one," Joe said. "I'm reviewing the FBI files. I just got home at one in the morning."
Pope cursed. "So you're just sitting around? Do you not quite understand the significance of this case? Are you aware that your sheriff is assembling teams to go into the mountains and hunt the shooter down? That he is on the Associated Press saying, and I quote, 'Since the governor has thrown up his hands and gone to ground, we've got to take on this thing ourselves.'"
"I hadn't heard," Joe said. "But wouldn't it be good if the shooter was arrested? Isn't that what we want?"
Pope paused uncomfortably long. "Of course that's what we want."
Joe wondered, Why the hesitation?
"Is there something you're not telling me, Randy?"
Pope snorted. "Back to that again, eh? Why can't you just do your job without constantly questioning me? If you spent half the time trying to find this killer that you do questioning my motives, we might actually have some progress. Have you thought of that?"
Nice dodge, Joe thought.
"I put my reputation on the line supporting your insistence on springing that Nate Romanowski," Pope said. "I hope you're in control of him. Is he there with you now?"
"No."
"No? Where is he?"
I don't have a clue, Joe thought, but said, "He's following some leads on his own." He hoped it didn't sound like the lie it possibly was.
Pope took an audible breath before shouting, "On his own! He's got federal charges against him and he was released to your custody! On his own? What are you thinking?"
Joe didn't respond.
"Are you out of your mind? If either the governor or the FBI finds out he's on his own you'll be toast. I'll be toast. And so will the governor! Jesus, what are you thinking?"
Joe swallowed. "Nate operates on different channels than we do. He works best with a loose rein."
"All I can say is you had better rein him in! Like right now." Pope moaned, and Joe could visualize the man pacing his office with his free hand flying around his head like a panicked bird. "I don't know why the governor even trusts you," Pope said.
Me either, Joe thought.
"I'm calling you tomorrow," Pope said, "and when I do, you had better be able to hand the phone over to your friend Nate Romanowski so I can talk to him. And if he isn't there… there will be hell to pay."
Joe raised his eyebrows.
"If he isn't there, I'm coming up there again to take over this investigation. Do you hear me?"
Joe punched off the phone. HE DIDN'T like what Pope had told him about the sheriff, though. Not that the sheriff was disparaging the governor so much as McLanahan leading parties of armed men into the field was a recipe for disaster. ATTACHED TO the summary of Bill Gordon's calls were several sheets of names Gordon had gathered from rallies around the country. Joe guessed it was the closest thing there was to a membership roster of Klamath Moore's movement. A caveat at the top of the first page, written by the agent who compiled the list, said the spelling of the names couldn't be verified.
Joe skimmed the list. A couple of names jumped out at him because they were Hollywood actors.
On the third page he saw it: Alisha Whiteplume.
He moaned and raked his fingers through his hair.
Joe recalled what Marybeth had said about Nate: "What it all boils down to is you either trust him or you don't."
20
FOR THE REST OF Saturday and Sunday, Joe tried to reach Nate Romanowski while at the same time avoiding calls from Randy Pope. Joe tried Nate's home on the river and his cell (both long disconnected) as well as Alisha Whiteplume's home (no answer, but Joe left repeated messages) and her employer (Wind River Indian High School), who said she'd called in sick both Monday and Tuesday. As each hour went by with no contact from Nate, Joe knew he was digging himself deeper and deeper into a professional hole he may never be able to climb out of. He considered calling Bud Longbrake, Marybeth's stepfather, to see if the rancher could use a ranch foreman again, but decided to wait.