Blood Trail - C. J. Box [63]
“Governor . . .” Joe said, as Rulon turned and Stella preceded him out the door. His words were drowned out by Rulon booming, “Men and women of the press, we’ve got a break in the case! Due to an unprecedented partnership between the state of Wyoming and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I can tell you today that we’re closing in on the vicious killer who . . .”
As he went on, Joe slumped back in his chair, as did Portenson.
Joe listened to Rulon assure the media that the end of the investigation was now in sight, that leads were being vigorously pursued, that the forests and high-country plains of Wyoming would once again be reopened for hunting, fishing, and recreation.
“I can’t believe I just agreed to release Nate Romanowski,” Portenson said sourly to Joe.
I can’t believe it either, Joe thought.
“That governor of yours,” Portenson said, jabbing a finger toward the conference room. “He fucked us both.”
“And that’s why we love him,” Stella said, overhearing Portenson and leaning in the door, flashing her biggest smile at Joe.
17
STELLA DROVE the Escalade with Joe in the passenger seat to meet Tony Portenson at the Federal Building before it closed at five. Joe knew the layout of Cheyenne well enough to know she was taking an unnecessarily circuitous route via Lincolnway and Depot Square downtown. When she stopped at a red light under the galloping plywood horse and rider of a massive western wear store, she said, “I’m really sorry for the families of the dead hunters, but I can’t help but think that maybe some good can come of this in the long run. I never knew that’s what hunters did to animals. I guess I never thought about it before. It repulses me. I told the governor that.”
“And what did he say?” Joe asked.
“He just shook his head. He’s a hunter.”
Joe said nothing. She had the radio on a news station, and the reporter was excerpting portions of Rulon’s press conference, saying the authorities were following every lead and closing in on the killer.
“Well spun,” she said, nodding at the radio with professional admiration.
“I wish I agreed with it,” Joe said.
She laughed. “If the governor says we’re closing in on the killer, we’re closing in on the killer. Come on, get with the program.”
“I’ll never get used to this,” Joe grumbled.
“Back to where we were,” she said, turning the radio off. “So you’re a game warden. How can you stand to be around the kind of killing and mutilation that happens out there? You have daughters—how can you stand to see Bambi murdered?”
He eyed her closely to see if she was baiting him. She was, but there was a grain of sincere incredulity as well.
“I’ve yet to see Bambi murdered,” he said.
“You know what I mean.”
“In a shallow and very superficial way, I do,” he said. “But that isn’t what this is about. It’s about the murder of innocent men. This has nothing to do with hunting. That’s just what the shooter and Klamath Moore want you to think.”
“Struck a nerve, eh?” she said, a slight smile on her lips.
Joe sighed. “In order to process a game animal properly, the carcass needs to be field-dressed and the head and hide removed. Otherwise, the meat can be ruined. It’s not a pretty thing, but it’s necessary. And it’s not the purpose of the hunt.”
“What is?” she said. “To drink whiskey and grunt and run around in the hills with a rifle?”
“I don’t think we have the time for this,” Joe said wearily, thinking he was sitting at the longest red light in the state of Wyoming. “I just hope you ask the same questions the next time you sit down to eat dinner. What events occurred behind the scenes and out of your view to deliver that food to you? Some eggs get broken to make your breakfast omelet, you know. Do you ever think of that?”
“That’s different,” she huffed. “The food producers didn’t do it for pleasure. It is just a job to them.”
“Most hunters don’t kill for pleasure either,” Joe said, “and at least they’re honest enough to get down and dirty and take part in the harvesting of the food they eat. They’re honest enough not to use proxies to do their killing