Joe accelerated on Bighorn road, grabbing his radio as he drove. "Cleve Garrett has kidnapped a man named George Easter, aka Not Ike Easter," Joe shouted into his radio microphone after switching to the mutual aid channel. "Everyone out there watch for a Suburban towing an Airstream trailer…" he described the vehicle, the trailer, and Not Ike as best he could.
It took a few beats before the radio traffic became fevered, with comments, questions, and location reports coming in through the central dispatcher from Saddlestring police, sheriff's deputies, and the highway patrol. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, everyone wanted more details. Deputy McLanahan complained that he was just done with his shift and headed for dinner at the Burg-O-Pardner. He asked how to spell "iconoclast."
Joe's cell phone rang immediately, as he expected it would.
It was Hersig, and he was distraught. "What in the hell is going on, Joe? What are you doing? Everyone's in a damned uproar because of something you just broadcast."
"A man matching the description of Cleve Garrett lured Not Ike out of the river and took him someplace," Joe said. "He was last seen headed toward the mountains."
"Cleve Garrett?" Hersig shouted. "CLEVE GARRETT? What about Eric Logue? I got a message from Portenson about him."
"I don't know!" Joe yelled back angrily. "Maybe it was Garrett all along!"
"Jesus Christ," Hersig said. "How do we know Not Ike wasn't just getting a lift to another fishing spot upriver?"
"Because," Joe said, "things are starting to fall into place, and not in a good way. None of us-especially me-took Garrett seriously, because of all his goofy theories. But the fact is that he was in Montana when the first cattle mutilations were reported. When the cattle were mutilated in Sad- dlestring, he was here too. No one else we know of was around when and where both sets of crimes were committed-except Cleve Garrett. And Garrett pulled up stakes and vanished, so he was obviously trying to get away fast. I couldn't figure out why, before, and assumed it had to do with Deena. Now I'm thinking he must have thought we were closing in on him, that I was closing in on him."
"But if that's all true, why would Garrett come back to Saddlestring and risk getting caught?" Robey said. "Why grab Not Ike, of all people?"
"Not Ike told us how he'd seen somebody, a couple of men, in an alley behind Logue Realty. He called them ' creepylike.' Remember from the report?"
"Now I do. I didn't put any stock in it."
"Me either, damn it," Joe said. "But I'm thinking that Not Ike was the only living person who may have actually seen the bad guys. Maybe he could identify them."
Hersig paused. "Who would know about what he said besides us?"
"Cam Logue would know," Joe said.
"How in the hell would he know?"
"Because I told him about it in his office."
"Oh no…"
"That's right," Joe said. "There must be a connection between Cam and Garrett. I don't know what it is yet but it's the only explanation I can think of.
"Not Ike said he saw two people in the alley by Logue Realty- Garrett was one of them and Cam Logue was probably the other. Cam must have called Garrett after I left his office and told him." Joe mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. If something happened to Not Ike because of him, he'd never forgive himself.
"Calm down, Joe," Robey said. "Just stay focused, all right? We don't even know for sure that Cam's involved. Not Ike could have told the same thing to others and probably did. This morning you told me Logue wasn't part of all this, and now suddenly you're convinced he's in cahoots with Garrett?"
"Forget what I said, Robey," Joe said heatedly. "I may be wrong but if I'm not then Not Ike's life is in danger. You've got to send someone out to pick up Cam right away. He may know where Garrett is heading. Hell, for all we know he could be running now, too."
"Who do you want me to send, Joe? Finding Garrett and Not Ike is everyone's number-one priority," Hersig said. "Barnum and his deputies and basically all other law enforcement within twenty miles of Saddle- string are already out looking for Garrett. I'm not going to call one of them and ask that they turn around to go pick up a respected local businessman who may or may not be involved in this whole thing."
Joe gripped the phone so tightly that he thought it would break. "I don't care who you send-call the goddamn highway patrol if you have to. Someone's got to be around. Cam's involved in this one way or the other and we can't risk losing him like we did Garrett."
"I'll see what I can do," Hersig snapped. "But I'm not making any promises."
"Funnel everything through the dispatcher," Joe said. "I'll keep the radio on and report in if there's anything to report." Hersig clicked off without answering.
Joe tried to tie it all together. Garrett's involvement puzzled him. He had been so focused on Cam Logue that he had paid scant attention to Garrett. Deena had provided Joe with a reason to dig more deeply into Garrett's motivations, but Joe hadn't done it in time to stop what was happening now. Something else clicked in, regarding Cleve Garrett. Garrett was a publicity hound. He wanted the attention in order to advance his crackpot ideas on aliens and conspiracies. But maybe Garrett was darker, more twisted. Maybe Joe's lack of credulity was the motivation for Garrett to step up his crimes? And where in the hell did Cam Logue fit into all of this? Joe wondered. He had to be part of this. How else could Garrett have known about Joe's conversation with Cam? Garrett had left before Joe confronted Cam. Were they in contact? Despite the bungling of the rest of the task force, Joe had been the closest to the killer all along and he hadn't seen it. There might still be another explanation-he hoped so-but he doubted it. If this played out the way it seemed to be headed, it was his fault for not preventing another murder. He cringed as he drove. "Man, oh man, oh man," Joe said aloud. He grabbed his cell phone from the dash, speed-dialed Nate Ro- manowski's number. For once, Nate answered. "It's Joe." Nate was excited. "Joe, I haven't talked to you since we found the bear. Well believe it or not…" "Nate! I really need your help!" "Go ahead." "How fast can you grab your weapon and meet me on Bighorn Road? I'm heading west toward the mountains." "Ten minutes." "I'll pick you up."
As Joe screamed over the hill, he saw Nate climbing out of his Jeep and pulling on his shoulder holster. Joe slowed to a roll, and Nate swung into the cab of the pickup. Without actually stopping, Joe eased the pickup back onto the Bighorn Road and the motor roared. "It's Cleve Garrett," Joe said. "Really?" Nate whistled. "I guess it shouldn't be that much of a surprise." "No," Joe said sourly. "I guess it shouldn't be. But I think Cam Logue is involved somehow, maybe others as well." While they drove, Nate pulled his weapon, checked the five-shot cylinder, and shoved it back into his shoulder holster. "Consider yourself deputized," Joe said, looking over at Nate. Nate said, "I didn't know game wardens could deputize anyone." Joe shrugged. "We probably can't. So I'll deputize you in the name of the Murder and Mutilation Task Force." "Cool," Nate said. "As long as you undeputize me later." Joe nodded. "Remember when I told you about what it was like under the calm surface of the river?" Nate asked, his eyes wide, "how there is a whole different world, with noise and chaos?" "Nate, what does this have to do with…" "Just listen for a minute, Joe," Nate said. "I've come to believe that there are different levels of consciousness and being. There are whole worlds out there with their own different versions of what reality is, and their own sets of natural laws. Sometimes, the laws are broken and things spill over from one level to the next. When that happens, we hope that something from that level is sent to fix the mess or all hell will break loose." Joe was speechless. "Nate…" "I know," Nate said. "We don't have time for this. But the bear is with me now, at my place. We're communicating." he radio crackled. It was Wendy, the dispatcher.
"A fisherman just reported seeing a vehicle and trailer matching the description of the suspect's vehicle and trailer at a public-access fishing campground."
Joe and Nate exchanged glances, and Joe snatched the microphone from its cradle.
"This is Joe Pickett, Wendy. There are six public-access campgrounds on the Upper Twelve Sleep River. Can you tell me which one?"
There was a pause, then: "The fisherman says he saw the unit in question at the Pick Pike Bridge campground."
Joe knew which one she was talking about. It was the last public-access fishing location before the start of the national forest. It was small, with four or five spaces, and was located in dense woods. The only facilities there were a pit-toilet outhouse and a fish-cleaning station near the water. Because of the way it was tucked into the heavy timber near the river, it was a good place to hide out. He had ticketed more over-limit fishermen there than any other place on the river, because the fishermen assumed no one would see or catch them.
"I'm fifteen minutes away from there," Joe said to Wendy. "Are there any other units in the vicinity?"
"Sheriff Barnum is rolling now," she said.
"That's right," Barnum barked, breaking into the transmission. "Secure the exits and wait for the cavalry."
Secure the exits? Joe looked at Nate. "Sheriff, there's one road into that campground from the Bighorn Road, but there's at least four old two- tracks that go to it from both sides of the river. That makes five exits."
"Then use your best judgment, goddamit," Portenson broke in from another radio. "I'll take it from here, Sheriff. Follow me."
Joe was relieved that Portenson was taking charge.
They topped a sagebrush covered hill on a two-track road, and the river and campground were laid out below on the valley floor in front of them. Joe slowed the pickup to assess the layout. The Twelve Sleep River, its surface reflecting dusk gold, rebounded in a loopy sidewise U from a cliff-face upriver before it turned and disappeared from view into thick river cotton- woods. The campground was under the canopy of trees where the river bent. As Joe had described to Barnum, roads that looked like discarded dark threads through the sagebrush came in and out of the bank of trees, offering multiple entrance and exit points. If Garrett's truck and trailer were down there in the trees, they couldn't be seen from above. To locate them, they would need to be on the valley floor, in the trees or in the campground itself. Joe had made the decision not to wait for Portenson and Barnum. If Not Ike was being carved up by Cleve Garrett, Joe wanted to stop it as quickly as he possibly could. I've already screwed this thing up enough, he thought. I couldn't live with knowing I was sitting on top of a hill while Not Ike was being tortured. Joe asked Nate, "Are you ready?" Nate said, "Of course."
At home, Marybeth was making spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner when the telephone rang. She was greeted with silence on the other end, although she thought she could hear breathing. "Hello?" she said again. Nothing. Marybeth put the spoon on a plate and was about to hang up when someone said, "Marybeth?" It took a moment for Marybeth to recognize the caller. "Marie? Is that you?" Marie hesitated, then spoke softly. "I got your note. That was very nice of you. But it was too late, too late." Marybeth knew there was something dreadfully wrong by the soft, vacant quality of Marie's voice. "Marie, are you okay?" There was a wracking sob, then a beat while Marie seemed to be collecting herself. "No, I'm not okay," Marie said, her voice breaking. "I'm not okay at all. Cam's gone, and I've done something horrible. They took him." "Who took Cam? Marie, what are you telling me?" She recalled her conversation with Joe, his admonishment to stay away from Cam. But Marie couldn't answer because she was crying too hard, and she finally barked out "I'll call you back," between wails, and hung up. Marybeth found herself staring at the stove but not really seeing anything. She realized that she was suddenly trembling. Where was Joe? He needed to meet her at the Logues' right away.