Free Fire - C. J. Box [42]
Joe’s ears burned, and he needed a drink of water because his mouth was suddenly dry.
Ashby said, “Everything that could be investigated has been investigated. We’re sick to death of reporters, and questions, and second-guesses. We didn’t write the law that created this loophole and there’s nothing we can do about it now. The chief ranger wants this whole episode to go away.”
“Meaning,” Layborn said, “do what you have to do and then get the hell out. We don’t need your help and we don’t need your governor to check up on us.”
Ashby looked at his wristwatch again. For all intents and purposes, the meeting was now over.
“Thank you,” Joe said, and his voice sounded hollow even to him.
Layborn was up and out of the room before Joe could gather his papers and put them back into his file. Demming gave Joe a sympathetic nod and was gone.
“My daughter has a volleyball game in Gardiner,” Ashby said. “It started at five.” He held out his hand and Joe shook it.
“I’ve got daughters too,” Joe said. “I know how that goes.”
Ashby stood aside so Joe and Portenson could leave, then locked the room after them.
Joe and Portenson went down the stairs. The receptionist, who had to stay five minutes beyond quitting time because of the meeting, glared at Joe as he passed her desk.
The evening was cool and still. Joe didn’t realize Portenson was following him until he reached the Yukon.
“You ought to just go home, Joe,” Portenson said. “Save yourself the aggravation. This case has beaten me to death.”
Joe turned around and leaned against his vehicle. “You reallythink we know all there is to know?”
Portenson shook his head. “Sometimes, it’s all there right in front of you. We all want to find something else, figure it out, be heroes. But in this case, there’s nothing to figure. It is what it is.”
Joe wasn’t sure he agreed. “So where’s Bob Olig?”
“Who the fuck knows? Or cares? He probably just felt guilty because his friends died and he didn’t so he went to Belize or someplace like that.”
“Shouldn’t the FBI be able to find him?”
Portenson snorted. “Man, haven’t you been reading the paper?”
Joe didn’t want to go there. “The other thing I can’t wrap my mind around is this Clay McCann. The story just doesn’t ring true. He just happened to go on a hike armed like that? Come on.”
“The story’s so bizarre that it might just be true. And even if the guy knew about the Zone of Death, so what? He committed the perfect crime.”
Joe mulled that over.
“Those guys up there,” Portenson said, nodding toward the law enforcement building, “they don’t know you very well, do they?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The FBI agent grinned wolfishly. “They don’t know you’ve got a knack for getting yourself in the middle of trouble. I wouldn’t really call it a talent, exactly; it’s more like a curse, like I’m cursed to never get out of this fucking state.” He laughed. “It might be just their bad luck that you’ll bumble onto something we missed. Poor fucking them.”
Joe shook his head and thought Portenson had more confidencein him than he had in himself, especially after having his head handed to him in the conference room.
“Are you going to be needing any help up here?”
Joe misunderstood. “Are you offering?”
“Fuck no. I’m through with this case. What I was wondering about was whether you might ask your old buddy Nate Romanowskito show up with his big gun and his bad attitude.”
Joe looked away, hoping his face didn’t reveal anything.
Portenson read him. “So he might show, eh?”
Joe said nothing.
“I still want to talk to him, you know.”
“I know.”
“I may never get out of this state,” Portenson said, “but it’ll make my sentence more pleasant if I know Romanowski is in a federal pen.”
“Don’t you have real terrorists to chase?” Joe asked.
Portenson snorted and opened his arms to embrace all of Mammoth Hot Springs, all of Yellowstone, all of Wyoming, and shouted, “I fucking wish!”
With that, Portenson turned on his heel and stomped across the small parking lot to his Crown Vic with U.S. Government plates. The FBI