Blood Trail - C. J. Box [103]
“It really, really was.”
“But you all went along with it.”
Pope shrugged. “Yes, of course.”
“Even though you really didn’t want to.”
“In my case, yeah. I wasn’t all that attracted to her.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“Yeah, I did it too.”
“So why’d she try to get all of you arrested?”
Pope said, “It was extortion, maybe. And it was because she was ashamed. Of herself. She was ashamed of what she’d done, and she didn’t want anyone to find out. So she blamed us and cried rape. I mean, if she really was raped, as she claimed, do you think we all would have stayed up there in that camp and waited to be caught? When she got angry and left to go to town . . . we realized how it would look.”
Joe and Nate exchanged glances. Nate obviously didn’t believe Pope’s version. Joe wasn’t so sure.
“What we did know was what would happen if the story got out,” Pope said. “Five white guys, two married at the time, accused of gang-raping an innocent Native American girl in an elk camp. No matter what the facts were, do you think for one second that any of us would have had a chance? We’d have been tarred for the rest of our lives. I mean, all five of us grew apart after that incident and went on to become pretty successful. Frank was a bigshot in his community, and Wally was a great guy, head of his United Way campaign. I’m the director of the game and fish department. If she’d taken us to court, none of that would have happened, and for what good reason?”
Joe said, “So you made sure she’d be discredited and shamed. You contacted Vern Dunnegan and the sheriff and told them ahead of time she was off her rocker.”
Pope shrugged, held out his hands in a “what else could we do” plea.
Joe didn’t respond.
“What choice did we have?” Pope asked, heatedly. “And even if she sees things differently now than I do, how can anyone justify these murders? She obviously convinced someone—and I think we know who—the five of us were evil men.”
Joe had never seen Pope so desperate, so scared. He could smell his fear in the cab of the truck.
“What bothers me,” Joe said, “is how long you knew about the connection.”
“I wasn’t sure!”
“But you said nothing. You kept it to yourself. My guess is you thought about it for the first time after John Garrett was murdered. Especially when you heard about the poker chip. Am I right? That’s why you shut me down so fast when I brought it up.”
Pope said nothing. Joe took his silence as confirmation.
“And when Warren Tucker was killed, and again there was a poker chip, you knew there was a connection. Two of your old friends in a row. Each hunting at the time, each with a poker chip on them. You knew.”
Pope stared ahead as if Joe wasn’t speaking.
“That’s what hacks me off so much,” Joe said. “Neither you or Vern Dunnegan did the right thing. You sat there while two men were murdered, leaving behind widows, children, and grandchildren, and you didn’t do a thing because all you could think of was yourselves.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Pope said softly.
Joe shook his head. “You can say that now. But you knew. That’s why you were all over this when Frank Urman was butchered. You were just waiting for it. So for the first time in your professional career, you were on the scene. You wanted to be in charge so if we caught the killer you could mitigate the damage to you. And you offered up your buddy Wally Conway to get him out of the way so he wouldn’t start talking. You were appeasing the shooter, offering up Wally, hoping that would put a stop to it. But when you saw how Klamath could get to you, could put a severed head in your hotel room, well, you knew it wasn’t over after all. You knew you’d be next no matter what. Am I right so far?”
Pope snorted, as if Joe were amusing him. It wasn’t convincing.
“But more than anything, you were hoping we’d trail the shooter and take him out so nothing would ever get out. Right? That’s why you were there to help spring Nate, right? Because whatever you think of him, you know he’s lethal.”
“Damned right,” Nate said.
“You’re insane,” Pope said.