The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volume 1-4 (29 page)

Vic didn’t look like a killer. Her fine Italian skin contrasted with the dark luster of her hair and, even in sleep, an eyebrow was arched in disbelief. At this angle, you could just make out the little upturned point at the end of her nose that always made me want to pick her up and squeeze her. I hadn’t ever done it, figuring she’d likely kick me in crucial areas. Not for the first time did I notice my deputy was a very good-looking woman. “So, you get to home plate or what?”

Just as I’d suspected, everything else could stop moving, but not the mouth. “Sorry?”

“Oh, you’re one of those kiss-but-don’t-tell guys. Fine, I’ll just go back to sleep.” I looked at the clouds of vapor on the window beside where she had spoken.

“Home plate?”

“Yeah, I was trying to cater to your delicate sensibilities. Did you fuck her?”

“I don’t think this was the conversation I had in mind when I climbed in here.”

“Too bad . . . put out or get out.” She repositioned herself and smiled, satisfied with her wit.

“The truth would be pretty boring.”

“I was afraid of that.” I watched as the condensation on the side window grew and subsided with her breath. “I suspect that nobody’s having sex in this county.”

I waited a moment for her to continue, but she didn’t. “That the problem with you and Glen?”

“What, the fact that we haven’t had sex for three months? What would make you think that?” She still hadn’t moved, and I was considering getting out and going for a walk. “Do you find me unattractive?”

“You?” That got an eye. It wouldn’t hurt anything to level with her, and she was being vulnerable, which only happened on leap years. “I was just sitting here, a moment ago, thinking what a handsome woman you are.”

“Handsome?”

I caught my breath. “Wrong word choice?”

“Sounds masculine.” The eye again. “You think I’m too butch?”

“No, I don’t, and I really was thinking what a good-looking woman you are.”

The eye closed, but the smile returned. “Good.”

“Then you opened your mouth . . .”

She tried to kick me but only glanced off the accelerator and gunned the motor. She glared at the dash. “Shut up.” Her eyes shifted to me. “How often did you have sex when you were married?”

“In the beginning or the end?”

“Forget I asked that question.” She settled back against the door and fluffed the rolled-up blanket she was using as a pillow. “How come you have never made a play for me?”

I couldn’t help but laugh; life in general was just so much more interesting with women around. “I um . . . considered it a dereliction of the sheriff-deputy relationship.”

“No, dereliction would be what Glen is doing to me.”

“Well, that’s another issue. You’re married, and I’m not into hypotheticals at three in the morning.”

“In six weeks it’s not going to be a hypothetical.” I sat there, letting that one settle in. “He got some bullshit job up in Alaska, and I’m not going. I did this drill once, and I’m not doing it again.” She lay there, not moving. “You still going to want me around as a deputy if I’m single?”

“I’m not sure the county can take it.” I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, you don’t know you’re my heir-apparent?”

She snuggled a little more, and the smile broadened. “Yeah, I just like to hear you say it.” The smile held, but her eyes remained shut. “So, you wanna fuck, or do I owe you an apology?”

I laughed what seemed like the first good laugh I’d had in a very long time and leaned against my own door, covered my face with my hat, and quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Ferg showed back up at six-thirty with his metal detector. He liked gadgets, which was good, because I didn’t. The wind had died down some, and what snow had fallen last night was piled up against the east side of everything, trailing away in long tails of white with edges as crisp as the blade on a knife. It was still relatively cold, but the promise of warmth had started and, if you weren’t careful, you always found your face directed east.

As Ferg unloaded the equipment and supplies, I took the opportunity to get out of my dating clothes and put on the winter gear I always kept behind the seat of my truck. Mine were the same as Al had described as having been on the shooter last night: arctic weight coveralls and a hooded jacket that matched. The medium brown had faded to a light khaki and the seams were starting to look a little threadbare, but the little star was still holding fast, and it had my name on it. Everybody else in the department had these clothes, too; theirs just looked better. I was sitting on the tailgate of my unit, changing into my Sorels, when he came over with the metal detector. “Espers?”

He had the metal detector taken apart and was checking the charger pack on the thing. “I called DMV and got the registration numbers and descriptions of all their vehicles and put out an APB with the Longmont police, letting them know this was somethin’ to do with a homicide case.”

“That get their attention?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I propped a boot against the side of the truck and started lacing; my foot felt immediately warmer. I should have done this last night, but I suppose I had been caught up in the moment. I dropped my foot off the tailgate and turned to face him. “Nothing at the house?”

“No.”

“The 3K?”

“I got Bryan and brought him in.” His face looked like he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Rest of the family?”

“Mrs. Keller was there, but not Jim.”

“I bet that was a warm welcome.” I searched for my gloves in the pockets of my jacket and pulled the stiff leather onto my fingers, flexing them. “Where is he at four o’clock in the morning?”

“Hunting.”

Jim Keller hunting, that was interesting. “Where?”

“She didn’t say.”

I let it go. “You bring supplies?”

“In the cooler. I also made arrangements with South Pass Lodge to bring in warm food.”

“What about Turk?”

“Didn’t talk to him, but I left a message.”

“And where is he at five o’clock in the morning?”

“Some buckle bunny’s bed, I suppose.” He closed the little plastic door, turned the device over, and flipped a switch. The little LED display lit up.

I smiled, which was hard when it came to Turk. “Jealous?”

His eyes came up and met mine. “Yeah, a little.”

“Me, too.” I slid off the back of the Bullet and stood, stretching the stiff muscles that had bunched at my shoulders and neck. It felt good, and my feet were warm for the first time in twelve hours. I indicated the metal detector. “That thing going to work, or am I going to be forced to make a highly dramatic and emotional display by throwing it in the lake?”

“I think it’ll work.”

Vic joined us as I peered over the edge of Jacob’s truck bed and turned to look at the snow-covered hillside behind us. “Well, it’s not in the truck and from the looks of Jacob, I’d say it’s not in him.” I extended a finger in the direction a straight trajectory would have taken. “Detect.”

I wandered over toward the lake to get out of the way and didn’t see any lights on in Al’s cabin; I figured he was still asleep. I was wrong. After a moment, I could hear the door open, and the familiar figure stepped around one of the lean-tos and hollered across the lake, “Hey, you want any goddamned coffee?!”

I laughed. “Love some!” The echo of my response sounded around the little bowl of the lake, and my voice sounded good, like I was capable. The niggling thought hadn’t gone away though, and a little less than four hours of sleep hadn’t been enough to make it surface. I comforted myself with the thought that I was doing what it took to solve cases like these: knocking on one more door, looking at the crime scene photographs one more time, making one more phone call, making one last try. I went back over to Jacob’s body and ducked under the tarp for another look-see. Obviously, something had been bothering Vic, too. A small Tupperware stepstool was there, so I pulled it over and sat down facing Jacob again. I sat on the top, pulled a foot up on the first step, and rested my elbow on my knee, placing my chin in the palm of my hand. I was finally comfortable, which was more than could be said for Jacob. Here we were, Jacob and I, staring at each other, only one of us seeing. Something wasn’t right, and I’d be damned if I could figure out what it was.

I listened as Vic and Ferg conferred on the other side of the truck. “I think we’ve got something.”

He didn’t sound sure. “In the trajectory of the reference points?”

“We’re getting a strong reading off to the right.”

“Dig there.”

A moment passed. “Don’t you want to wait for DCI?”

“They might be in a motel in Casper, for all we know.” I sounded angrier than I was, taking the frustration of the unknown out on my deputies. I made a conscious effort to be nicer. “We’ll go ahead and dig it out.”

Jim Keller hunting, why was that bothering me? Because, as near as I could remember, he didn’t hunt. I started thinking back to that day he had brought in Bryan, how he seemed so hard on the boy. I remembered thinking what a mess this was for the young man and how it was strange that they hadn’t just moved away. As far as I knew, they had no family here in the county, with no reason to stay other than to torture that boy. It was a pretty horrible thing to do to your child, and a pretty horrible thing to do to Cody and Jacob. Somebody ruins your life, your child’s life, and his future . . . These were pretty powerful motives.

“I think we’ve got something here.” Her voice was flat and emotionless.

I looked at Jacob for another moment, then got up and walked around the truck. Ferg stood to the far side, leaning against the truck bed and balancing the metal detector on his foot. I took up a position just in front of the passenger window and watched Vic work. I looked over at Ferg. “We get about four or five of those DCI guys to stand around here with us, and we’ll have a real state job underway.” He smiled, and my eyes fell back across the seat of Jacob’s truck. I looked at the jumbled mess; was I the only one that actually put things away in my vehicle? I looked past Ferg at his little Toyota and the number of PVC containers he had strapped to the underside of his topper. “Ferg, how many rods do you take with you when you’re fishing?”

He thought for a moment. “Seven, maybe eight.”

“How many vests?”

“Just one.”

I looked into Jacob’s truck at the two vests that lay there, and that niggling feeling stopped.

“You blow one homicide, it looks like a mistake. You blow two, it starts looking like negligence. Or worse yet, stupidity.” T.J. hadn’t brought any investigators with her from Cheyenne, she knew me that well, but she had brought everything else in their mobile crime unit, including the kitchen sink, which was to my right.

“I thought I’d use that on the bumper stickers in the next election, VOTE LONGMIRE, HE’S STUPID.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. You blow this case, and you won’t have to bother about the next election; they’ll just run you out of town on a rail.”

I took a sip of her coffee and tried not to make a face. “No hard feelings?”

“Hey.” She smiled with the little wrinkle at the corner of her mouth. “It’s your county.”

Vic’s rolls of film and DCI’s digital camera sat on a table in the trailer next to the ballistic sample that Ferg had dug out of the hillside. It had flattened on impact to a mushroom-shaped disc about the size of the palm of my hand. I have a big hand. The feather was also there. I reached over and took the plastic-wrapped package from the table. “You mind?” She shook her head no, and I stuffed the piece of evidence in my jacket.

“You might get a phone call, later in the week.”

“I get lots of phone calls. I’m popular.”

The sun had overtaken a large breech in the storm, with blue skies and the odd snowflake that filtered down from high altitude. Digi-Sven, the computerized voice of NOAA, was warning that a real storm was on the way and would probably be here this evening. High wind and heavy snow. I was glad T. J. Sherwin had brought DCI’s mobile unit. I was going to go back down, but at least Vic would be comfortable here.

“So, what’s the story on George Esper?” she asked.

“There were two sets of fishing gear in Jacob’s truck.”

“Any possibility that he just hauls all that stuff around with him?”

“It’s possible, but fly fishermen are pretty careful about their vests, with the flies and all. I just don’t know if George would leave his vest in his brother’s truck.”

“Possibility they were together?”

“Contents of the cooler: two cleaned fish, one partially eaten cheese sandwich, and two empty cans of Busch Lite.”

“Not enough for two.”

“Not enough beer and probably not enough food. Besides, the passenger door was locked. It’s my experience that people in this county only lock their doors when they visit Cheyenne.” This got a sidelong glance. “Nobody was riding on the passenger side.”

“What’s your theory then?”

“I think that Jacob and George Esper were supposed to meet somewhere. That Jacob came up and spent the night, started his truck yesterday morning to go and meet his brother, and instead incurred a consummation devoutly to be wished.”

“Hamlet.
All the death ones are
Hamlet
, at least the contemplative death ones.” I unbuttoned my jacket a little; the propane heater in the camper continued to raise the temperature. “I suppose George could be with his parents, but we won’t know anything about that till we hear something from them. We’ve got an APB out on their vehicle in both Colorado and Wyoming. I’d call Trinidad and Tobago if I thought it would do any good.” We sat there, surrounded by all our technological wonders, hoping that some patrolman in Longmont would happen to drive by the right driveway. No matter how far you went into the modern age, it always seemed to come down to the guy on the beat. “I’ve also got the Forest Rangers, Smokey the Bear, and all God’s little animals out looking for a black Mazda Navajo with the plates, Tuff 1.”