Free Fire - C. J. Box [40]
“I did so,” she said, looking back at him. “I told you when you arrived. But it didn’t fit with anything then, so you probably just forgot about it.”
Layborn rolled his eyes and turned to Joe. “What difference does it make?” he asked.
“Maybe none,” Joe said. “I’m just trying to figure out if he went trolling for targets or if there was more to it.”
Joe asked Demming, “Did McCann check in at the ranger station before he went on his hike that morning? Did anyone see him?”
Demming hesitated, trying to recall. “Yes,” she said, “he even signed the register, listing his destination as Robinson Lake.”
“I didn’t see a copy of the registration page in my file,” Joe said. “That’s why I asked.”
“Why does it matter?” Layborn cut in.
Joe said, “Because if McCann checked in that morning he could have looked on the register to see who was already in the park before him. I assume the victims registered the day before. McCann could have seen their names on the sheet and known who was at Robinson Lake. If he knew their names and where they were camping, that might suggest some familiarity with them after all—that he didn’t just bump into complete strangers like he claimed.”
Layborn, Ashby, and Portenson exchanged looks. Joe had hit on something. He felt a little trill in his chest.
“What about that?” Ashby asked Layborn.
The chief investigator started to answer but stopped. His face reddened as he looked back at Joe.
“I’m sure the sign-in sheets are still at the station,” Demmingsaid, unsure where Joe was headed.
“It would be interesting to take a look at them,” Joe said.
Portenson reacted by furiously rubbing his face with his hands. “We’ve been down this road for months, Joe,” he said. “The FBI has been working on the Gopher State angle. We interviewedeveryone the victims knew in Minnesota, their parents, teachers, friends, fellow environmental activists. Environmental terrorism is high priority with us and we pursued that angle. What we found is a bunch of granola eaters who hate George Bush. No surprises there. But we couldn’t find a single thing that connected the victims with Clay McCann. Not a damned thing. We’ve gone over it a thousand times. Nada.”
Joe said, “So none of them had ever been to West Yellowstone?”
“Not that we could find,” Portenson said with impatient finality.“And we couldn’t find any record of McCann in the park either. Like maybe he stayed at Old Faithful and one of them spit in his food or something so he wanted revenge. Believe me, we’ve been all over this.”
“We think they were involved in drugs,” Layborn cut in.
Joe looked up at him. That wasn’t in the file.
“Meth, dope,” Layborn said. “There’s a goddamned pipeline from somewhere into the park. We think half the Zephyr people are users, and we don’t think they travel to Jackson or Bozeman to get it. We think they buy it locally.”
Ashby cleared his throat. “Half is too much, Eric.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was more than half,” Layborn said, ignoring his boss. “I’m convinced if we ever find out why those four people were murdered, if there was even a reason other than Clay McCann having target practice, it’ll have somethingto do with the drug ring.”
Joe looked to Ashby and Portenson for clarification. Portensonrolled his eyes. Ashby looked away, said, “We don’t have any evidence that the crime had to do with drugs.”
Layborn smirked. “Drugs and environmental terrorism,” he said. “I’ll bet the house they’ll have something to do with this. We’ll just never fucking know, I’m afraid.”
Layborn’s conspiracy had silenced the room.
“And I’ll tell you something else,” he said, leaning across the table toward Joe. Ashby saw what was happening and was too late to intervene. Layborn growled, “Getting rid of those four assholes was not the worst thing to ever happen to Yellowstone National Park.”
“Eric!” Ashby said. Then quickly, to Joe: “That is not our policy.”
“But I bet you wish it could be.” Portenson grinned.
“No, we don’t,” Ashby said heatedly.
Demming had shrunk back into her chair