Free Fire - C. J. Box [115]
The first of the five black Wyoming SUVs had a single driver and no passengers and the plate WYO 22-8BXX. County 22 was Teton County, or Jackson. The driver was male, mid-fifties, silver hair, serious. That in itself was interesting, since most of the shots Joe saw were of harried tourists with a carload of family members.But a single driver didn’t match the profile. He forwarded.
The second and third matches were families. A pudgy man in an Australian drover hat manned the first, his anxious wife at his side, kids and dogs peering over the front seat. Joe discountedthem, as well as the second shot of an enormously fat contingent of five, two of whom were gnawing on what looked like turkey legs.
The fourth black SUV was WYO 22-8BXX again, which got Joe’s attention and he sat forward in his chair. This time, there were two profiles in the vehicle, which he could now identify as a GMC Yukon. Unfortunately, the sun hit the windshieldand obscured any identification of the driver and passenger. Joe checked the date. Two days before. The day Cutler was killed. He searched for the time stamp and found it: 5:15 A.M.
“Nate,” Joe said, “I may have something.”
Joe did a quick calculation based on spending a week in Yellowstonedriving the figure-eight road system. If WYO 22-8BXX entered the park at the South entrance at 5:15 A.M., it could have been at Sunburst Hot Springs by 6:30, a half-hour before they were to meet Cutler. It worked.
“Oh man,” Joe said.
“What?” Nate asked.
“I may have them,” Joe said, puffing furiously on his cigar. “They may have taken the wrong computer. I may have them right here, coming up from the South entrance.”
“Jackson,” Nate said, snorting. “That figures.”
Joe fast-forwarded to the fifth and last bookmark.
There it was, WYO 22-8BXX again. From the day before, the day Judy Demming was shot. They had come back. There were two of them again, and despite the sun on the windshield and the smoked-glass windshield, this time he could see their profiles. The driver matched with the first shot: lean, silver-haired.Whoever it was was back again, three times in three days. The passenger was harder to see because of glare on the glass, but there was something about his silhouette, the tilt of his head, the jut of his jaw, that seemed strangely familiar to Joe. Inside his head, alarm bells went off. He realized he was shaking not only with the cold but also with excitement.
“I know this guy,” Joe said.
“Who is he?”
“I’m not sure. But there’s something about him. I’ve seen him before. I just can’t make him out on the screen.” Joe wonderedif he could send the image to the Wyoming DCI in the morning for enhancing. He didn’t know if they worked on Sundays.He doubted it.
The cabin door opened and Marybeth came out.
“It’s cold out here, guys,” she said. “You can come in now. The girls are in bed.”
“Joe thinks he’s figured something out,” Nate said.
“Maybe,” Joe said.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a cigar?” Marybeth asked, looking from Joe to Nate. Joe couldn’t believe it.
Nate opened his “Fuses and Toilet Paper” box, and she took one. Joe watched in amazement as she clipped off the tip, lit it, and blew out the smoke.
“Good,” she said.
“You’re smoking a cigar,” Joe said, dumbfounded. Marybeth raised her eyebrows at him as if to say, Why not?
“This is real interesting,” Nate said, holding up a sheaf of paper. “I might have found something too.”
“Sounds like we’ll be up for a while,” she said.
“I almost missed it,” Nate said once they were inside and had spread the documents out on a table. Sheridan and Lucy were in bed sleeping, lumps amid strewn covers. “I was concentratingon this Swiss company called Genetech. They’re the ones who have the bio-prospecting permit in Yellowstone Cutlertold us about. Judy couldn’t remember the name. Remember the ‘million-dollar slime’ they found at Sunburst that’s used for genetic typing? They’ve made millions off of