C Box - Trophy hunt

Portenson moaned. "Why don't we forget about the dead cows for now."

"Because I can't." Joe didn't bring up the moose.

"Jesus Christ."

"It means that somebody or something else mutilated the animals," Joe said. "It had nothing to do with Eric, or Marie. She used the mutilations for cover to do in Tanner. But she didn't have anything to do with them in the first place."

Portenson sounded almost physically pained. "Joe…"

"Don't tell me it was birds, Portenson."

After a long silence, Portenson said, "Okay, I won't. But I don't see where it matters anymore. The mutilations have gone away. We'll never find out who did it, and frankly, since we've got Marie, I really don't care anymore. We'll find Eric. It's just a matter of time." "One more thing," Joe said. "Jessica Logue." "Oh, man…" "Are her grandparents okay? The ones in Denver? Can they take her?" "This isn't my department." "I know. But you talked to them. Do they seem like normal human beings? Not like Clancy and Helen? Or Marie?" "They seem normal." "Are you sure?" "I didn't give them a psychological test, or anything. Come on, Joe…" "I'm serious." Joe said, raising his voice. "It's important. We've seen too many people screwed up by bad parents. I can't let Jessica go there unless I'm sure she'll be okay. If it's not, we've got to find a normal uncle and aunt. There's got to be somebody." Portenson sighed, "Okay, okay. I'll make your case. We'll send some people over there, and do some checking. But please understand that this isn't what the FBI does…" Joe thanked him before he could recant. n the plane back, Joe sat in his seat and furiously rubbed his face with his hands. He hadn't seen it, hadn't suspected. And even though one part of the investigation was concluded, there was still more. The whole sordid case left a bad taste in his mouth. It always came down to the family, he thought.

Marybeth listened as Joe recounted the interview, watching him. She shook her head sadly. "It's not your fault," he said. "She fooled everyone." Marybeth came over and sat on Joe's lap. Her eyes were moist. "We talked about everything, Joe. She told me about her dreams. I told her about mine. Now I find out that her dreams were things she made up for my sake. I feel horribly duped, and angry." He held her. "Sometimes, darling, we see what we want to see. Remember Wacey Hedeman?" Wacey had been Joe's closest friend until he betrayed Joe. Four years before, Wacey had shot Marybeth and threatened Sheridan. It still hurt when Joe thought about it. Wacey had twenty more years to go at the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Rawlins. "Thank you for trying to find the best family for Jessica," Marybeth said softly. "I wish we could keep her, I really do. But after what happened to April, I just can't make the commitment." Joe nodded. "I knew that. It's okay." They sat like that for a half an hour, each with their own rumination, holding each other. Eric Logue is still out there, he thought, and so is whatever mutilated the cattle. She thought, We're back to where we started.

Winter storm clouds were nosing over the top of the Bighorn Mountains and the air was cold and lifeless when Nate Romanowski pulled on his jacket to check his falcons in the mews. Joe Pickett was bringing Sheridan out later that morning, for her first falconry apprenticeship lesson in a while. Nate's special project had concluded, more or less successfully, and it was time to fly his birds again. It had been too long, nearly two months.

On mornings like this, in the quiet of an impending storm, sounds carried farther. It would be a good morning to submerge himself in the river and listen, Nate thought. But the water was getting too cold for that. He needed a winter wet suit.

From inside the mews, he heard his peregrine squeal and flap his wings wildly, and Nate stopped before opening the door. He had put a leather hood on the bird the night before, specifically to keep the falcon calm. Something had alarmed the bird. There was something wrong…

The blow to his head came from above, from the roof of the mews. He hadn't thought to look up.

Nate knew what was happening, he knew why it was happening, but there was nothing he could do about it. His limbs wouldn't respond and he couldn't even open his eyes. The heavy blow had temporarily paralyzed him, disconnected his brain from his body. He lay on his back in the dirt near the door of the mews.

Even worse, someone was on top of him, pinning him down.

He felt the deep slice of a blade behind his ear, felt it draw down across his jaw, the sound like a liquid swish, then a jarring scrape of metal on bone that sent a shock throughout his nervous system. It reminded him of how amplified things sounded when he was underwater. He felt the air on exposed tissue as the flesh on his face was pulled aside, and it felt cold.

Eric Logue.

Sheridan had been searching the sky for falcons and lazily eating a banana for breakfast as they drove to Nate Romanowski's stone cabin on the bank of the river, when she lowered her gaze and saw the two forms on the ground near the mews.

"Dad, what's that?"

Joe took it in quickly, saw it for what it was, yelled, "Hold on tight!" and jammed the accelerator into the floor.

Through the windshield, Joe saw Eric look up at the sound of the approaching pickup. Eric was wild looking and filthy, with shredded clothing, a scraggly beard, and stiff, tumbleweed hair. He was on top of Nate's prone body with his knees on either side of Nate's head. Joe saw blood and Nate's lifeless, pale hand flung out to the side of him.

As Joe bore down on the mews, Eric stood up, looked quickly at his unfinished business on the ground, then turned and started running toward the river, loping toward it like some kind of heavy-limbed animal.

Sheridan braced herself on the dashboard of the truck, her eyes wide, as Joe drove by Nate and pursued Eric. The distance between Joe, Eric, and the river closed at once, and Joe saw Eric shoot a panicked glance back over his shoulder seconds before Joe hit him.

The collision dented the grille and buckled the hood of the pickup, and sent Eric flying toward the river where he hit the water with an ungainly, flailing splash. Joe slammed on his brakes, and the pickup fishtailed and stopped at the water's edge.

Joe and Sheridan scrambled out, with Maxine bounding behind them.

"Jeez, Dad…" Sheridan said, her face white. "I mean… wow."

Joe concentrated on the surface of the river. The water was dark and deep, the surface blemished only by ringlets that spread from the center of the violent splash. Eric had sunk like a rock, but Joe wasn't sure he had hit Eric hard enough to kill him outright. He wished Sheridan hadn't been there to see it.

Nate was breathing and his eyes were open when Joe and Sheridan got to him. The cut on the side of his face was deep, and bleeding profusely, and a flap of his skin was folded back and raw. Joe knelt and put it back, seeing that Eric had been interrupted before he could sever any arteries or do fatal damage.

"Ouch," Nate said weakly.

"Stay down," Joe said, still shaky. "Don't sit up. I'm calling the EMTs right now."

Sheridan stripped off her hooded sweatshirt and dropped to her knees to compress the cloth against his wound.

Joe ran back to his truck and keyed the mike.

He completed the call and was told to expect the ambulance within twenty minutes.

"That's a hell of a long time," Joe said angrily.

"They're on their way," Wendy the dispatcher snapped back. "You are quite a ways out of town, you know."

He looked back toward the mews. He could see Nate and Sheridan talking to each other. Nate was going to be okay, Joe thought, although he would have quite a scar on his face.

For the first time since they'd arrived, Joe took a deep breath. He realized that his hands were shaking and his mouth was dry.