C. Box - Free Fire

Layborn continued even though Ashby admonished him with his eyes to stop.

“There are seven thousand Zephyr people. They come from all over the world to work in the park. Too many of them come to think they’re on the same level as we are. They forget they’re here because we allow them to be. They’re contractors for the Park Service, nothing more. They work in the hotels, change the bedding, cook, unclog the sewers, wrangle horses, whatever.Some of them are renegades. We used to call ’em savages-”

“Eric, please ,” Ashby said, sitting up, cutting Layborn off. “We’re getting off track.”

“The hell we are,” Layborn said to Ashby. “If we got rid of the bad apples in Zephyr, we’d get rid of most of our crime.”

“That may be, but that isn’t why we’re here.”

“The hell it isn’t. The campers who got shot were Zephyr people camping in a place they shouldn’t have been camping.” He turned back to Joe. “See what I mean about their attitude? And you can only imagine what they said to get themselves killed. I knew those people very well. I didn’t get along with ’em either. They had no respect for anyone or anything, those people. They liked to call themselves the Gopher State Five becausethey were all from Minnesota, like that made them specialsomehow.”

Joe observed that Demming had subtly pushed her chair fartheraway from Layborn. Portenson observed Layborn as if the ranger were an amusing, exotic specimen.

“You know,” Portenson said, “I bet you guys could really run this damned park properly if you could just get rid of all of the people in it. We feel the same way about the reservation. If we could ship all those damned Indians off somewhere, we wouldn’t hardly have any trouble at all.”

Layborn turned his scowl on the FBI agent. Demming looked mortified by both Layborn’s and Portenson’s language. Joe felt sorry for her.

“Maybe we can get back to the issue here,” Joe said, and receiveda grateful nod from Ashby.

“And maybe,” Layborn said to Joe, “we can start with why you’re really here. Why we all had to show up for this damned meeting in the first place.”

“I’m a little curious about that myself,” Portenson agreed.

Joe felt his neck get hot. He had been expecting the question and couldn’t lie or mislead them. Not that he was any good at lying anyway. He felt it was his assignment to tell them the truth but leave a couple of things out. The specter of Governor Rulon stood in the corner, it seemed, listening closely to what Joe said.

"Spencer Rulon was the U.S. Attorney for the District of Wyoming before he ran for governor, as you know,” Joe said. “So if he still had his old job, he would have been the one tryingto prosecute this case. He’s got a vested interest in it. He’d like to see Clay McCann thrown in prison because he doesn’t like the idea of a man getting away with murder in his state, despitethe weird legal circumstances of this one. So he asked me to come up here and talk to you all and write a report summarizingthe case. If he reads something that interests him, he may go to the new U.S. Attorney, or have the Wyoming AG take a look at it. He wants to help, not interfere. That’s what he told me. He asked me to come up here and poke around, see if I can figure anything out from a fresh perspective.”

Layborn snorted, sat back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you expect to find that we haven’t already gone over?”

Joe shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“This is pointless,” Layborn said. “You’re wasting my time and everybody’s time in this room.”

“Maybe,” Joe agreed.

Ashby said, “I suppose it can’t hurt. Sometimes the best thing to do is start fresh.”

Joe could tell by the way Ashby said it that he really didn’t believe what he was saying. He was playing peacemaker and he wanted to move the meeting along so he could get out of there.

“Doubtful,” Layborn said.

Ashby sighed and looked squarely at Joe. “The particulars of this case have been reviewed ad nauseum. We’ve never had a case with a higher profile, and frankly, we don’t appreciate the publicity that’s come from it. We saw more national press up here last summer than we’ve seen since we reintroduced the wolves, and it wasn’t very good press.”

“Is that why the chief ranger isn’t here?” Joe asked.

Ashby tried not to react to Joe’s question, but there was a flicker behind his glare.

“The National Park Service is funded by federal appropriation,” Ashby said flatly. “Congressmen want to feel good about the parks. We want to be the agency everybody feels all warm and fuzzy about. They don’t like this kind of controversy, and neither do we.”

Layborn shot his arm out and looked at his wristwatch. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

“I have some questions,” Joe said quickly.

“This is stupid,” Layborn said, looking to Ashby for a nod so he could have permission to leave. “He has the files. He should read ’em.”

Ashby wouldn’t meet Layborn’s eye to dismiss him.

“I read over the file more than once,” Joe said, forging ahead. “I read everything in it, but I’m not sure all of the information was in there. Not that anything was withheld deliberately,but there are things I’m just unclear on. So I thought I’d start with those so I have a better picture of what happened.”

The room was suddenly silent except for a loud sigh from Layborn.

“The sooner we do this the sooner I’ll get out of your hair,” Joe said quickly. Ashby acquiesced and sat back in his chair. With his fingers, he signaled, Go on .

“It looks to me like everybody involved did everything exactly right,” Joe started, hoping to relieve some of the doubt they might have. “By the book, down the line. From the initial call to throwing McCann into the Yellowstone jail. I have no questions about the procedure at all. In fact, given the crime, I was damned impressed with how restrained and professional you all were.”

He looked up to see Layborn nodding as if to say, What did you expect?

“The things I don’t get have nothing to do with how you handledthe arrest. They have to do with other aspects of the case.”

Joe didn’t like talking so much. He had already used more words in this room than he had in the past month. But he had no choice but to continue. Self-doubt began to creep into his consciousness,like a black storm cloud easing over the top of the mountains. He wasn’t sure this was a job he could do well, a role he could play competently. Joe liked working the margins, keeping his mouth shut, observing from the sidelines. He did his best to block out the image of the thunderhead rolling over.

He asked Demming, “You were the first to respond, correct?”

For the first time, Demming sat up. Her expression changed from embarrassed to interested.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I was actually off-duty at the time. I was coming back from Idaho Falls with my daughter, who had to see the orthodontist. I was out of uniform, but I had the cruiser and my weapon. I heard the call from dispatch and realized I was just ten to fifteen minutes away from the Bechler ranger station, so I responded.”

Ashby cut in. “That corner of the park is by far the least visited,” he said, his voice monotone, as if he’d explained it countlesstimes, which he likely had. “You can’t even get there from the park itself. In order to get to Bechler, you’ve got to drive into Idaho or Montana and come back in. The road down there doesn’t connect with any of our internal park roads. That’s why we didn’t-and don’t-have a constant law enforcement presencethere.”

Joe said, “I’ve read the file, Mr. Ashby. I know where Bechleris located. What I’m asking about are things that aren’t in the incident report.”