Back of Beyond (9 page)

“No shit.”

“They’re looking at it now. I’ll let you know what they come up with.”

Cody stroked his chin. “See if they can find any letters or documents he had stored away. That and e-mails, of course. There might be an e-mail exchange with whomever he invited to dinner that night. That would be a hell of a stroke of luck. And the history on his Web browser. Maybe we’ll know what he’s been looking at lately.”

Larry rolled his eyes. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of any of that before, Cody. Good thing you’re here to straighten me out.”

Cody grinned.

The office door opened without a knock. Bodean filled the doorframe, hands on hips. His face was dark.

“I thought I heard your voice,” he said to Cody. “Why in the hell are you still here?”

“Larry got all emotional when he heard I’d been suspended,” Cody said. “I came in to comfort him and talk him off the ledge.”

Larry snorted.

“Get the hell out of here or I’ll have you arrested,” Bodean said. “You have no authorization to be here. And give me your key card so you can’t come back.”

Cody handed it over and picked up his box to leave.

“And the keys to your Ford. It’s a county vehicle.”

Cody said, “I’ll leave ’em at the shop when I turn the Ford over to the maintenance guys. Remember—it’s kind of wrecked.”

Bodean considered that a moment, and nodded. “Sort of like you,” he said.

“Wow,” Cody said, “that was a good one, Bodean. Clever.”

Cody picked up his box to leave.

“It stays,” Bodean said. “That’s county property, too.”

Cody shrugged. Larry simply watched, and raised his eyebrows.

“Go home and stay by your phone,” Bodean said.

“Bye, Larry.”

“Cody.”

“Try not to weep.”

“I’ll try,” Larry said.

*   *   *

The morning was warm and sunny
and the sky was achingly blue. Cody shuffled across the lawn toward his vehicle in the parking lot. As he reached it he turned back and looked at the buildings he’d left and wondered when and if he’d be back.

The county courthouse next to the modern brick and glass Law Enforcement Center was a regal old Victorian building built of stone blocks. He saw the DA and his assistant come out holding files. When they saw him they stopped and the DA pointed. He could read his lips even though he couldn’t hear him at that distance. The DA said, “There he is.”

“Here I am,” Cody mumbled.

He patted the keys in his pocket. He was glad Bodean let him keep the vehicle for the time being. His personal pickup hadn’t run for months; he needed the Ford to get around.

As he pulled out of the lot onto the corner of Breckenridge and Ewing, he noted faded lettering on the side of an old brick building he’d never even noticed before.
BOARDING STABLES
was still legible in paint.

He hesitated on the corner. If he turned left he would drive by the Jester Bar. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He could use an ice-cold beer. Just one, though. To calm his nerves and maybe take the edge off the nasty jagged edges in his brain. He would leave after just one.

His cell phone burred. Larry.

“The ME called. They sliced his eyeballs open. Winters had
no
alcohol they could detect in his system. You were right.”

“We’re just getting started,” Cody said.

“Wait until I walk down the hall and tell Tubman we might have a homicide after all. With the day he’s having, this won’t exactly brighten it up much.”

“Keep me in the loop,” Cody said, turning right toward his place. “I’ve got a lot to think about. I’ll keep feeding you.”

7

Even though he was exhausted
and stabs of pain pulsed through his ear, Cody refused to take the medication they’d given him because he knew, he just
knew,
that if he let his defenses down even a little he’d start drinking. He knew himself. He’d find a justification to start off on another bender.

His ear hurt;

He was suspended;

Precious hours for finding the killer had been wasted and he’d never get them back;

His dog had died (granted, it was twenty years before, but it was still dead);

He missed his son;

His 401(k) wasn’t worth crap anymore.

And that was just off the top of his head. He had to stay as sharp and determined as possible, despite the pain and bone-weariness, so he drank strong coffee and chain-smoked cigarettes and paced and thought.

He lived in a rented duplex with a decent view of Mount Helena from the backyard deck. But the structure was getting tired—old carpets, scarred molding, torn screens, windows that didn’t shut tight. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, which was too many of each. One bedroom sat completely empty, the other was full of junk and empty moving boxes from a year before, and he had a bed he rarely used except for sex because he always fell asleep on the couch. Books were stacked from floor to ceiling in the living room but he’d never bought a bookcase since his divorce. He kept the downstairs bathroom door closed because it stank of duck. Bringing that wounded mallard drake home and letting it paddle around in the bathtub for weeks had left a stench that wouldn’t go away. Stupid duck, he thought. He was glad when it finally flew away.

He went into his basement office and fired up his computer and sent the list of names to Larry. Within seconds, Larry thanked him in a terse e-mail. Then Cody started pacing.

Every time he passed one of his two phones he stared at it, willing it to ring. On the hour, he checked for messages from the sheriff or Larry or anyone. His hands shook and his skin felt twitchy.

He ran through the scenario that best fit the facts and his own speculation. Hank flew back from Salt Lake City and stopped at the supermarket on the way from the airport, buying food for two. He rushed home to cook it.

Cody stopped and smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Maybe it was a
woman.
Maybe Hank had a
date.
He hadn’t even considered a woman before, but now it made even more sense than a man. But big steaks? That was man food. He shook his head and started pacing again.

So the guest arrived not long after Hank. They hadn’t even started the grill yet, so they must have been catching up (man) or who-knows-what (woman). Then, for some reason, the visitor clocked Hank in the head. He didn’t even eat first, which said to Cody the attack was likely quick and premeditated and not a crime of passion that arose from whatever transpired in the cabin that night. When Hank was incapacitated, he (she?) took Hank’s AA coins and maybe something else—cash? Drug samples? Gold? A treasure map?—opened a bottle of alcohol, and left it close to the body. The visitor opened the door to the woodstove, filled it with lengths of pine until it was roaring, and then started the curtains or rug, and left the scene. And it all could have been just about perfect if it hadn’t started raining and not stopped for three days.

God, how he hated coming down. It hurt. If he could just have one beer.…

*   *   *

As the sultry afternoon melded
into dusk he went out on the deck with his handset and began his round of telephone calls. This was one of the things he hated most about coming off a bender: apologizing to everyone he’d offended. Sometimes, it went on for hours. Sometimes, he found out friends and relatives never wanted to talk to him again, and he prepared to lose a couple more.

He started with Carrie Lowry, who listened with impatient silence until she interrupted and said she was busy. That her boyfriend Jim didn’t like getting awakened like that and blamed it on
her.
Then Skeeter, who refused to take his call. Then Skeeter’s wife Mayjean, who was cold and distant and irritatingly formal. The guy from the liquor store, who said, “No problem, come again any old time and throw hundred-dollar bills at me.” Finally, Jenny.

“You were drunk, weren’t you?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember denying it? You always deny it and act like you’re offended I even asked. That’s how I know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cody lit a cigarette off the one he’d been smoking so he wouldn’t miss a second of nicotine. He pictured her: long dark hair, blue eyes, pug nose, lush mouth, nice curves. She had a good sense of humor, too,
once,
before he separated her from it. He’d always love her, always want her, and she knew it. She just couldn’t live with him the way he was then, and the way he was the last two nights. He didn’t hold it against her.

“So this is the apology tour,” she said. “Am I the first stop?”

“No, I saved the most important one for last.”

“Ahhh,” she said, mocking.

He told her about what had happened. She broke in when he mentioned Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I’m so proud of you for going,” she said, her voice softening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if I fell off the wagon I didn’t want you to think I was a failure at that, too. Which, by the way, I did. Fall, I mean.”

“Then climb back on,” she said. “There’s no rule against that, is there?”

He thought about the group, how supportive they were. How he was rewarding them for their confidentiality and support by having his partner interview them one by one to determine if any of them might be guilty of murder. Man …

“My sponsor was murdered,” he said. “That kind of triggered things.”

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“I wish I was.” Then: “Oh—did I tell you I shot the county coroner last night?”

Silence.

“He’s not dead. And he shot at me first. I’m suspended but it’s just procedure. What’s killing me is I want to go after the bad guy and take him down—”

“Cody,” she interrupted. “You
shot
the coroner?”

He laughed. It sounded funny coming from her. Then he had to tell her how it happened.

It took a while for her to be able to change the subject. He glanced at the sun sliding behind Mount Helena and realized this was the longest conversation they’d had in two and a half years. Then he remembered something from two nights before about her new rich fiancé being gone.

“Where did you say they went? His Richness and Justin?”

“Stop calling him that. I told you all this the other night but you don’t remember. He took Justin on a week-long wilderness pack trip. They don’t even have cell service, so it’s driving me crazy. It’s Walt’s idea because he wants to get closer to Justin if he can. He feels sort of distant, and…”

Cody tuned out. The thought of His Richness and
his
son spending that much time together made him instantly morose. He sort of listened. Something about horses, fly-fishing, all in Wyoming. What a fortune that must cost, he thought.

“Justin called me the other night,” Cody said. “He needed to borrow something. I barely talked to him. In fact, I cut him off. I feel bad about that.”

His phone clicked—another call coming in.

“I have to go now,” he said.

“Call again,” she said, surprising him. “Just don’t make it part of your next tour.”

*   *   *

Larry said, “Dry hole with your
fellow alcoholics. Everybody has a decent alibi. That doesn’t mean none of them are lying, but three of them were out of town and the other eight gave me names of people who’d vouch for them. Everybody heard about Winters, but since they didn’t put any of the info about that bottle we found in the paper, no one connected the dots as to why I was calling.”

“That’s only eleven,” Cody said. “Who couldn’t you find?”

“Duh. Hank Winters and Cody Hoyt.”

“Oh.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I don’t know whether I’m relieved or pissed,” Cody said. “Because our best angle just got shut down.”

“Yeah, it sucks. My cop radar never went off once talking with any of them. They all were helpful and they sounded sincere.”

“Maybe it was Edna,” Cody said, his voice dropping into his conspiratorial rhythm. “Maybe she was banging Hank and something went wrong.”

“Or maybe it was you,” Larry said. “Can you account for your whereabouts that night?”

This is what they did, Cody thought. Cop-talk. But maybe there was a hint of curiosity in Larry’s question. In fact, he thought, he had no alibi. He’d been out driving, driving, driving. There was no one to confirm where he’d been.

“Tying flies,” Cody said, thinking of what his son was doing.

“You’re lying. You need steady hands for that.”

“Come and get me, flatfoot,” Cody said. Actually, he did tie flies. He’d tied two hundred—caddis, hoppers, Adams, stimulators, tricos, nymphs—in the last two months when he wasn’t driving aimlessly around the county. “Did you hear anything from your IT folks?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. They were able to access part of the hard drive but not all of it. The bad news is no e-mails were found. None. So we’re screwed on that front. But remember you asked me about the history in his browser? Which Web sites he’d been on?”

Cody said yes. He was starting to feel a tingle just by the way Larry was setting it up.

“They’re faxing me printouts and I don’t have them yet, but they said most of the sites he visited were from a week before, apparently before he went on his trip to Salt Lake. News, weather, Drudge, ESPN, no porno or weird shit. But the most recent site he visited was at nine on the night he died.”

Cody waited. Finally: “Was your guy an outdoorsman?”

“Not really,” Cody said. “I remember him talking about hunting, but my impression was it was way back. He didn’t fish because I offered to tie him some flies and he didn’t want any. Why are you asking?”

“Because the last site he visited was for an outfitter.”

Cody heard Larry shuffling papers. “Okay, got it. It was for something called Jed McCarthy’s Wilderness Adventures. I don’t know what the hell they do, but I’d guess hunting trips. I’m in the cruiser right now going back to the office after dinner so I haven’t been able to look it up.”

Cody scribbled down the name. “Thanks, man. I’ll check ’em out, too.”