C. Box - The Highway

“Oh, yeah,” Pedersen said, “it slipped my mind. We’ve got everybody out on assignment right now but I might be able to spare a couple of guys after lunch.”

“After lunch?”

“Yeah, I got Gadbury and Simmons I can send down there. They’re two of my best investigators.” Meaning plainclothes detectives, similar to Cassie and Cody.

“What about some uniforms?” she asked.

“Not likely. We’re running a skeleton crew as it is because of the holiday coming. I’ve got to have a couple guys here on call and I’ve got to man my jail. I can’t pull anybody to drive down there today.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to remain calm. Legerski’s words came back to her, that just because she was having a crisis didn’t mean anybody else was.

“Sheriff, we’ve got three missing people. Trooper Rick Legerski is on his way up there to get a search warrant from the judge, and I really need some manpower from your department to help serve it.”

“This is for the church compound?” Pedersen said, an unmistakable note of reluctance in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I guess I know about this,” Pedersen said.

She waited for more, but more didn’t come.

“Sheriff, is there a problem?”

A long sigh. “No, I told Tubman I’d help you out. I owe him a couple. But you have to understand something, Deputy Dewell. This whole thing sounds flimsy to me. You’re asking us to go down there and turn a church group upside down the day before Thanksgiving based on what you suspect? How do you suppose that’s going to play with them or with the residents in the valley? It seems damned heavy-handed, if you ask me.”

I didn’t, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Look at it this way. The quicker we clear them the quicker we can look other directions. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”

“You think?” he said, dubious. Then, “You’re determined to do this today?”

“Yes.”

“Less than twenty-four hours after these girls were reported missing … somewhere? ”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it can’t wait a little while? Say after the holiday weekend? We’ll have more guys available then and we might have more to go on. We don’t even know if those girls disappeared in the canyon for sure, do we?”

“No. But Investigator Cody Hoyt told me personally he was coming here last night to investigate. That’s the last we heard of him.”

Groaning, Pedersen said, “I know Cody. He’s an obstinate son of a gun. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he thinks it’s just fine to cross the county line and start an investigation out of his jurisdiction without bothering to inform or involve the local authorities.”

“He’s on his own,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive.

“He always is, and that’s the problem with guys like that.”

She said, “We can debate Cody’s methods or we can try to save some lives, Sheriff.”

Pedersen sighed again.

“I heard you were kind of tough to deal with.”

“Who told you that?” She suspected either Tubman or Legerski. Either way, as much as she wanted to deny the feeling, it cut into her. Then she thought: not Tubman. Even sheriff to sheriff, he wouldn’t cast aspersions on his own high-profile diversity program hire.

“So Trooper Legerski has been in contact with you this morning?”

“Just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. He wanted to know if the judge was in chambers or off for Thanksgiving.”

So she knew. Legerski.

She said, “Is the judge in?”

“Until noon. After that, he’s on the road.”

“Good. We should be able to get the warrant.”

“I suppose, Investigator Dewell. But he might have some of the same questions I do. He may wonder why we can’t wait.”

She closed her eyes, fighting real anger. She said, “If it turns out those girls and my partner were hurt down here and we could have prevented it, maybe then you’ll be able to explain to everyone why it was best to wait over a four-day weekend to save them.”

“Calm down, little lady-”

“I’m not anyone’s little lady, Sheriff.”

“And no wonder. But never mind. I’ll send Gadbury and Simmons like I said. And if I can rustle anyone else up, I’ll send them, too. I’ll ask them to give you a call when they get close so you can arrange a place to meet.”

She said, “At the locked gate that leads to the compound. Tell them to meet me there.”

“All right. ”

He said it as if he couldn’t wait to get off the phone.

* * *

Fuming, she noticed as the Expedition idled there was only a quarter of a tank of gas left, and she decided to run the ten miles farther to Gardner to fill up. As she pulled back onto the highway toward Gardner, she replayed the conversation with Sheriff Pedersen in her head, and got even angrier. Little lady? Legerski had poisoned the well. Why?

She thought again about the number of cigarette butts she’d found in the Dumpster. She thought about the furtive way he’d acted when they met that morning. She speculated what the trooper had told the sheriff in their conversation about her other than she was “tough to deal with.” She thought about what he’d mouthed when he left.

Cassie opened her phone again and speed-dialed Edna’s cell phone back in Helena. She didn’t want to talk to the chief dispatcher over the radio where anyone listening could hear.

After recapping what had happened and where she was, Cassie asked, “Didn’t you say your sister still lives in Gardiner?”

“Yes, hon. Sally. She owns the little quilt shop there. Yellowstone Quilt Shop.”

Cassie nodded. “I have a little time. I might just drop by and see her.”

“I’ll call her and tell her you’re coming. I’ll bet she’ll do a twenty percent discount for you if I ask.”

“Edna,” Cassie said sharply, “please don’t call her. I’ll just drop by. I want to ask her a couple of questions about her ex-husband Rick Legerski. I’d rather she didn’t know that before I got there.”

Edna paused and said, “She’s a private person. But if she trusts you she has plenty to tell. Okay, I won’t call her.”

“Thanks, Edna.”

11:10 A.M., Wednesday, November 21

The snow squall had stopped for the time being but the storm clouds to the north looked to be gathering, bunching, closing their fists to deliver a much harder blow later in the day. Pergram bounced the old Buick down the rutted private road toward his home, a sense of black calm in his head and heart.

Although he did poorly in school and barely graduated, he’d always had an innate ability to plan and figure, to think several steps ahead. If he was ever called to write his formulas down on paper he couldn’t do it. But he had learned over the years from trucking that he could outthink and outmaneuver his fellow drivers and keep himself ahead of the game. He was superior to them. That’s why he kept his load just under the 80,000 pounds gross vehicle weight by not filling both 125-gallon tanks all the way and adding the extra weight of fuel. When he ran he never used cruise control but used his gears to avoid unnecessary stress on the motor, and he kept it below the speed limit between sixty-two and sixty-four miles an hour, optimal speed for fuel savings. He knew his truck would get 6.2 miles per gallon in the summer and 5.5 in the winter and he planned accordingly; putting on more fuel in low-tax or rebate states like Illinois and driving across high-tax hard-ass Minnesota without stopping at all. He ate and slept in his cab and didn’t waste money at truck stops unless he could help it. He perfected the art of shifting his load slightly from the front of the trailer to the rear and vice versa by applying pneumatic air to different parts of the trailer as he drove over scales.