Winterkill - C. J. Box [52]
“So I says to myself, ‘What the hell?’” Wardell said again. “And I turned up that closed road and give chase.”
“Got it. Can you identify the vehicle?”
“White. Or maybe tan. Light-colored, for sure. Not brand-new. The damn sunlight was starting to go bad on me about then.”
“Ford? GMC? Chevy?” Joe asked.
Wardell thought. “Maybe a Ford. The truck was pretty dirty, I noticed that. There was mud or smudges on the doors, I think.”
Joe smiled grimly. Finding a Ford pickup in Wyoming was about as hard as finding a Hispanic male in Houston.
“Anyway . . .” Wardell swallowed, and his eyes fluttered. He was tiring. Joe felt a little bit guilty pushing him so hard. Joe looked at his watch: 3:30 A.M.
“Anyway, that truck saw me coming and the driver took off over the hill, still on the closed road. You know how it is out there with all them draws and hills. It’s damn easy to get lost or turned around. But whatever . . . I took off after him up that hill anyway.”
“Did you try to call anyone?”
“Damn right I tried. But the BLM office closed early, on account it’s New Year’s Eve. Our dispatcher left early.”
“Go on.”
“I got to the top of that hill and the whole unit was out there to be seen. The road turned to the left and I started to go that way but then I seen that white Ford halfway down the hill. He had gone off-road and was barreling down the hill toward the bottom. I said ‘What the hell?’ and followed him. All I wanted to do by then was get a license plate.”
“I think this patient needs some rest,” a night shift nurse said tersely from the doorway.
Joe turned. “We’re about done.”
“You better be,” the nurse said.
“Sassy little number,” Wardell commented, watching her walk away, her big hips making the hem of her skirt jump.
Joe turned back. “So, you saw the truck at the bottom of the draw. Doesn’t it start to get brushy down there?” Joe was becoming convinced that he knew the specific road and hill Wardell was describing.
Wardell nodded, then winced. “Yeah, it gets all tangly down there. And it was getting pretty dark, but I could see those taillights go right into the bush and disappear. Hell, I had no idea there was a way to get across that draw down there in a vehicle.”
Joe stroked his jaw. He didn’t know of any way to cross there either.
“Then I saw the truck come out of the brush on the other side and start climbing the hill straight across from me. I said . . .”
“ ‘What the hell?’ ” Joe joined in with Wardell.
“I tried to get a read on the plate through the binoculars, but I couldn’t get an angle on it. So I thought, shit, if he could cross down there, I can cross down there.”
“What about the snow?” Joe asked suddenly. “Wasn’t it deep?”
Wardell shook his head. “That hill is on a southern exposure. The wind and sun cleared it down to the grass. The big drifts are all toward the foothills.”
“Okay.”
“So I followed the tracks straight down that mountain, stayed right in ’em. Right into the big bushes . . . and then WHAM! I was suddenly ass over teakettle, and in the air. I literally was airborne for a second until I hit the bottom of the draw. I hit harder than hell. Good thing I was wearin’ my seat belt.”
Joe agreed. “You didn’t see how the truck crossed down there?”
Wardell said no, he didn’t see how anyone could have done it. It was steep on the sides, and there was a frozen little stream on the bottom.
“So how did he get across?” Joe asked.
“I have no earthly idea,” Wardell said, his eyes widening with amazement. “No clue at all. But when I was hanging there, suspended by the seat belt with blood pouring out of my head, I could hear laughing.”
“Laughing?”
“That son-of-a-bitch in the truck was laughing out loud. I heard his truck start up again, and he just laughed his stupid head off. He must have been sitting up there on that hill watching me. I’m sure he thought he left me there to die.”
Joe stood up straight and crossed his arms. The scenario just didn’t sound quite right.
“I finally got out of the cab of the truck and started