Hersig slapped his desktop angrily. “Joe, do you realize what you’re saying?”
Joe nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think Barnum had anything to do with the mutilations or the murders. I think he’s playing another angle, but I don’t know what it is yet. Somehow, I think he’s taking advantage of the situation.”
Hersig stared at Joe, still upset. “I can’t lie to him, Joe. He’s the sheriff.” “But you can just sort of withhold information, can’t you? Not return his calls? Just for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow?” Hersig shook his head. “Do you think we’re that close?”
“I think we’re close to something,” Joe said, standing and clamping on his hat. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Hersig gave a low moan.
As Joe opened the door, Hersig called out to him.
“Give Cam my regards,” Hersig said. “And call me the minute you know something.”
29
It felt odd , Joe thought, entering the front office of Logue Country Realty. In a few hours, Marybeth would be there.
Marie wasn’t at the front desk, as she usually was. In her place was a thin, blond woman who pursed her lips, whom Joe caught reading a supermarket tabloid. She was the only person in Saddlestring, he thought with some relief, who wasn’t aware that there was NO PROGRESS IN MUTILATION DEATHS.
“Is Marie still sick?” Joe asked.
“I guess so,” the woman said. “All I know is that the temp agency called and asked me to come in again.”
“Is Cam here?”
“May I ask your name?” “Joe Pickett.”
The temp hesitated and looked puzzled for a moment, as if she had heard the name but couldn’t place it.
“My wife, Marybeth, works here,” Joe said.
“Ah,” the temp said. “She seems nice.”
“She is nice,” Joe said, impatience creeping in. “But I’m here to see Cam.”
The temp looked at her wristwatch. “He usually comes in around nine, I think.”
Joe glanced at his own watch. Ten to nine. “I’ll wait in his office.”
The temp wasn’t sure if this was appropriate, but Joe strode by her as if he waited for Cam every day, and she said nothing.
Joe sat in a chair across from Cam’s desk, and put his hat on the chair next to him. This would be interesting, he thought. He planned to watch Cam carefully as he asked him questions, and listen even more carefully. Joe dug his microrecorder out of his front shirt pocket, checked the cassette, and pushed the record button, then buttoned his pocket. By Wyoming law, the tape would be admissible in court, even if Cam wasn’t aware he was being recorded.
Joe surveyed the office. Neat stacks of paper lined the credenza in columns. A large-scale map of Twelve Sleep County covered an entire wall in the room. Cam’s realtor and insurance licenses were framed behind his desk, as were large portraits of Marie and Jessica, and several family photos of them all. There was a Twelve Sleep County Chamber of Commerce “Businessperson of the Year” plaque, as well as a photo of a boys’ soccer team Cam obviously coached, signed by all of the players. On Cam’s desk was a coffee cup that read “World’s Greatest Dad.” There was a “Volunteer of the Year” award from the United Way. Jeez, Joe thought. What am I doing here?
Cam entered his office a few moments later, without a hint of trepidation. He asked how Joe was with concerned sincerity, and if he wanted a cup of coffee.
Joe passed on the coffee, but stood and shook Cam’s extended hand and returned a half-smile. Joe thought he detected a flash of discomfort in Cam’s eyes as he shook Joe’s hand, but wouldn’t swear to it. Then Joe thought, If I made a pass at a man’s wife and the husband showed up in my office unannounced, I might be more than a little jittery too.
Cam asked, “What can I do you for, Joe?” in a forced, too-cheerful way, and sat in his big, leather chair across the desk from Joe. “I do have a meeting in twenty minutes, so I hope . . .”
“Shouldn’t take that long,” Joe said. “How’s Marie?”
Again, the flash of discomfort, or maybe fear. Then it was gone. “Marie?” Cam said almost absently. Then: “I’m sorry, I guess Marybeth must have told you. Marie’s had some kind of a bug for over a week that just won’t go away. She has not been a happy camper.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Joe asked.
Cam seemed to be thinking about it, then he shook his head. “That’s a really nice offer, Joe. But she seems to be just about back to normal, now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came back to work this afternoon. Tomorrow for sure, I’ll bet.”
“Well, good,” Joe said. “But don’t hesitate to ask. Marybeth thinks the world of Marie.”
“Yes, Marie and Marybeth have a great relationship, which is wonderful. Really wonderful,” Cam said, agreeing enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically, Joe thought. But was Cam’s nervousness because of what he had said to Marybeth, or something else?
“Cam, you know about the task force I’m on,” Joe said, watching Cam’s face carefully. “The investigation isn’t going quite as badly as what you might have read in the paper this morning. We’re pursuing some new leads.”
Cam’s eyebrows arced. He was interested. “One of them involves you.”
Cam seemed to freeze in place. Even his breathing stopped. His tanned face drained of color.
“Say again?” Cam asked, his voice a whisper.
“We’re pursuing everything, even if it turns out to be a dead end,” Joe said. “I’m here to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
Cam was clearly shaken. Joe tried to interpret it, but couldn’t decide if Cam was displaying guilt, or shock.
“I guess I don’t mind,” Cam said. “Jesus. I can’t believe you’re even here.
I can’t believe you could even think . . .”
“Why did you think I was here?” Joe asked innocently, but the implication was clear. Now you’ve done it, Joe said to himself. Whatever the Logues and the Picketts had together is now over. Marybeth and Marie. Lucy and Jessica. Maybe even Marybeth’s future career.You’ve done it now, Joe, and there’s no going back.
“Gee, I guess I thought maybe it was because Marybeth and I had a misunderstanding a while back,” Cam said, looking at his hands and not at Joe. “But I think she thought I meant something I didn’t. That was bad enough. But to have you here saying I’m being investigated . . .” he trailed off.
Joe sat in silence, letting Cam talk.
“Should I call a lawyer?” Cam asked. “Is it that bad?” “Only you can answer that,” Joe said. Man, he felt cruel.
Cam still didn’t meet Joe’s eye, but reached for his telephone. Joe noticed that the man’s hand was shaking.
“Please cancel my 9:30,” Cam told the temp, then listened for a moment. “No, I don’t want to reschedule it right now.” When he replaced the receiver, it rattled in the cradle.
“What do you want to ask me, Joe?”
Joe thought that Cam looked just about as pathetic—or guilty—as anyone he had ever seen. He was either about to nail a killer, or make a horrible, unforgivable mistake.
“Cam, we have a theory that the murders of Tuff Montegue and Stuart Tanner were connected. We think there is a possibility that they were killed because of something they—or one of them—knew about the sale of the Timberline Ranch.”
“You’re kidding me,” Cam said. The flash in his eyes this time was of anger.
Joe plowed on: “I think Stuart Tanner was going to nix the drilling of all of the CBM wells because there was too much salinity in the water. Or maybe he found something else, like silica or something. His report would cost some people a hell of a lot of money. The company that holds the mineral rights would be out millions, and the realtor who didn’t get his commission would be out thousands. I think somebody wanted him dead, and saw the opportunity to kill him in the same method as the cattle and the moose.”