C. Box - The Highway

“You’re in no condition to drive,” she said.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “In fact, I’ve probably logged in more road miles drunk than most people have sober. But I can’t just sit around. I’ve got to get into the middle of things and start knocking some heads. Many times, a case doesn’t get solved until all the players involved-local sheriffs, cops, state guys-are properly motivated. And if there are suspects, I want to be the one asking questions. We can’t wait until morning.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Nope,” he said. “You won’t.”

“Really,” she said. “I can take a sick day.”

“Forget it,” he said. “You don’t want to be around me if I have to use some unorthodox methods to get answers, if you know what I mean.”

She said, “I read the report about what happened in Yellowstone. I know there were some allegations of brutality. One witness said you shot him in the knees and hung him from a tree.”

Cody shrugged. “Otherwise, the bears would have eaten him. I saved his miserable life. But you don’t want any part of that. You want to be as far from that kind of thing as possible at this stage of your career. Besides,” he said, “How do I know you wouldn’t just report me again?”

“You’re a son of a bitch,” she said angrily.

“Yes, I am.”

“Look,” he said, “if you want to help you can help me more by staying here. If I get onto something down there I’ll need someone to work the phones and access all the databases. I can’t rely on anyone else in the department considering my situation. So if you keep yourself available, you could be a hell of a lot more help than if you tagged along.”

She started to argue, but thought better of it. “Makes sense,” she said.

“So if this thing goes to hell, keep an eye on e-mail and keep your cell phone on.”

She nodded.

The door opened and Jenny came in. Justin hovered just behind her.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Cody said. Justin’s shoulders slumped in despair.

Over his shoulder, a chime on his computer sounded. He glanced over and saw it had come from Edna.

“Everybody out,” Cody said, “I need to collect my thoughts before I call that idiot Ted Sullivan and tell him his daughters are missing.”

21.

11:32 P.M., Tuesday, November 20

A SINGLE DARK CLOUD SCUDDED across the slice of moon, halving it, while the Lizard King adjusted the control for the RPMs on the ancient Case backhoe. The powerful old engine revved roughly, rattling the metal floor of the cab, but settled into a banging muscular rhythm that could be heard for miles if there had been anybody out there to hear it.

Mountains rose on all four sides of the deep little valley and they were blacker than the sky. The night was still and cold. And beyond the growl and glow of the backhoe in the mountain meadow there was utter darkness.

The four lights mounted on the roof of his open cab threw harsh white light on the matted grass in front of the machine. He dropped the outriggers on both sides of the backhoe and triggered the stabilizers. They bit into the soil with a hydraulic hiss and he could feel the backhoe sit back on its haunches and settle in. He placed his gloved hands on the two tall lollypop sticks between his knees. The left stick maneuvered the hinged hydraulic arm and the right stick controlled the bucket curl. The scarred steel teeth of the bucket plunged into the soft soil and the motor strained as he lifted the first big mouthful and dumped it to the left of the backhoe. The ground was dark and moist with a few large rocks, and he should be able to dig a square pit that was fifteen feet long, twelve feet wide, and six feet deep within a couple of hours.

He knew this because it wasn’t the first excavation he’d performed in the narrow valley. In fact, if one looked closely, the valley floor was riddled with them.

* * *

The Lizard King was both incredibly excited and exhausted. He’d not slept for twenty hours and the night had been a roller coaster of anger, lust, fear, and triumph. He hadn’t been home yet and his cell phone was filled with messages. Since he knew what was on them and who had left them there was no reason to listen. No reason at all.

* * *

To the right of the hole he was digging was the little red Ford they’d towed in. In the glow from the light bar above his head he could see the reflection of his white Tyvek jumpsuit crumpled on the front seat of the car. On the passenger seat was a bundle of clothes and shoes that had been removed from the comatose girls. Everything would soon be buried under tons of dirt. Including that green Colorado license plate.

By morning light there would be no visible trace of the red Ford or the items inside it and the backhoe would be garaged in the county machine shed.

He thought of those two thin, flawless, half-naked bodies they’d unloaded. They were so unlike the lot lizards he’d brought back the last few months. Sure, there had been treasures from time to time when he got lucky and the circumstances were right. But for too many months, they’d had to make-do on a steady diet of lot lizards.

Then he pushed the thought aside as far as it would go so he could concentrate on his work.

11:38 P.M., Tuesday, November 20

As Cody reached for the landline phone to call Ted Sullivan’s Omaha phone number, his cell phone lit up. The display showed a 406 area code-Montana-but he didn’t recognize the number. In his move for the phone he’d knocked over half a cup of coffee Jenny had brought in for him-his third so far. Hot coffee flooded across the surface of his desk and a rivulet poured into his crotch where he sat. Cody kicked his chair back, daubed the spilled coffee with the sleeve of his shirt, and opened his phone with his free hand.

His voice croaked, “Cody Hoyt.” His throat was raw from cigarettes. The caffeine hadn’t sobered him up much but had simply made his nascent hangover more wide-awake.

“This is Trooper Rick Legerski of the Montana Highway Patrol. I got your number from Edna Mulcahy in Helena.” His voice was deep, gravelly, gruff, and no-nonsense. Cody could hear a radio or television in the background and assumed the man was calling from his home.

Cody introduced himself while sopping up more coffee with a series of Kleenex tissues from a box he kept on his bookshelf.

“Edna tells me you used to be married to her sister,” Cody said. This is how it went in Montana. Longtime residents sniffed around each other until they found someone they both knew. Usually, it didn’t take long.

There was a moment of silence.

“Sally, yeah,” the man said with a sigh. “Do you have any ex-wives?”

“One,” Cody said.

“I’ve got two. Love is grand, but divorce is a hundred grand. But enough about that.

“Yeah, Hoyt,” Legerski said, changing the subject, “I’ve heard of you before.” His voice was cautious and a little weary. Cody recognized the intonation and had heard it many times from older law enforcement types.

He smiled. “You’ve heard all good things, I imagine.”

“I knew your uncle Jeter,” Legerski said. “In fact, I busted his head open once when I spotted him weaving across the center line outside of Ekalaka with a dead bull elk in the back. He refused to take a Breathalyzer and got belligerent so I … subdued him.”

“So that was you,” Cody said. “I remember hearing that story.”

“His head was as hard as a rock,” Legerski said. “It bent my baton and I had to get a new one.”

Cody chuckled.

“And your name has come up a time or two around here,” Legerski said.