Free Fire - C. J. Box [70]
“We’ll tag along,” Joe said.
“Good, good. You’ll see some really cool stuff,” Cutler said, turning on his heel and gesturing in a “follow me” wave.
Joe instantly liked him for his affability and enthusiasm for his job. He guessed Cutler was a pretty good manager.
“I’ve got a couple of things to wrap up in my office,” Cutler said, leading them outside on a wooden walkway that led, eventually,to some low-slung administration buildings painted Park Service brown and tucked into a stand of lodgepole pine. “We’re winding down the season, as you can see. It’s quite an operation. That means shutting down all the facilities and winterizingthem, dealing with the reassignment of employees, year-end reports, too many things to count. It would almost be easier if we just stayed open all year, but we don’t.”
“So you knew the victims pretty well?” Joe asked.
Cutler shrugged. “Pretty well. I mean, I was their boss, not their buddy. But I got along well with them. They were good guys, despite what you might have heard.” He nodded toward Demming when he said it, indicating the tiff they had had with particular rangers like Layborn. “They worked hard and they played hard. Hoening had a bit of an agenda, as you probably know, but a lot of new hires do. They come here to save the place, but the day-to-day work starts to make them forget that.”
Cutler’s office was small and nondescript, nothing on the walls or his desk of a personal nature except for a photo of him smiling with Old Faithful erupting in the background.
While Cutler fired off responses to e-mails, Joe turned to Demming.
“The Pagoda is a palace compared to this,” Joe said. “Cutler manages hundreds of people, but his office . . .”
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s how it is. Governmentemployees are the royalty and the contractors are our serfs. Discussion over, Joe.”
“Sorry.”
She smiled to show she wasn’t angry. Then: “I talked to Ashby for an hour last night. He’s not happy. The news about Darren Rudloff is getting out, and he’s gotten some calls already.Apparently, some reporters are asking him questions about the Zone of Death, like are there a bunch of armed outlawsin it, why isn’t the Park Service patrolling the area, those kinds of things. He doesn’t like it one bit and he’s meeting with Chief Ranger Langston this morning to discuss the situation. I may get called back to Mammoth to help out.”
“How can you go back and keep an eye on me at the same time?” Joe asked slyly.
She shook her head. “I’d rather stay here. I don’t know where we’re going, but it seems like we’re headed somewhere.”
“Story of my life,” Joe said.
“If I get called back, you may be asked to leave.”
“Oh.”
“They don’t trust you,” she said, lowering her voice. “They think you’ll do something to bring the whole Clay McCann/Zone of Death thing back into the headlines. In fact, it’s already happening, isn’t it?”
“I hope so.”
Cutler tapped the keys on his keyboard with efficient violenceand fired off the last e-mail, saying, “There! Chew on that, Park Service weenies!” As he did so, he glanced at Demmingand said, “Sorry, ma’am. No offense.”
“None taken,” Demming said coolly.
Cutler leaned back. “I’m going off my shift here now and putting on a different hat. Follow me.”
Cutler launched himself out of his chair and was out the door in a shot, Joe and Demming struggling to keep up. Cutler explainedthat his primary interest in life was geology, specifically geothermal activity. It was the reason he came to Yellowstone in the first place, twenty years before. Although he was area manager,his degree and background were in science, and he’d publishedscientific papers in international journals and kept a regular and ongoing correspondence with geologists around the world, wherever there were geysers. He had personally mapped more than two thousand geothermal sites within the park, and served as the secretary for the loosely organized Geyser Gazers, the volunteers who watched and recorded eruptions and hot-spotactivities.
“So that’s what brought you out here,” Joe asked,