C Box - Blood Trail

But it wasn’t just his house that was bothering Joe. Klamath Moore had all but confessed to murder back in the parking lot and there was little he could do to nail the man on it. Joe didn’t have his digital recorder with him at the time, and it would be his word against Klamath Moore’s. With Joe’s apparent obsession with Moore-at least according to the sheriff’s office-this latest revelation would be greeted with the suspicion it probably deserved. Plus, Moore’s words about hunting rats could be taken different ways, although Joe knew what was meant.

While he ran it through his mind, the front door opened and Marybeth came outside in a sweatshirt and jeans. He was surprised she was dressed, and felt guilty for keeping her up so late waiting for him.

He hauled himself out of the van and trudged toward her.

“Sorry to keep you up,” he said.

“No bother,” she said. Her voice was light, airy, not what he’d expected given the circumstances. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“It’s about time,” Joe said, suddenly awake.

NATE ROMANOWSKI and Alisha Whiteplume sat at the kitchen table. They’d obviously been there for some time judging by the empty plates, glasses, and coffee mugs that were pushed to the side.

“Nate,” said Joe, “where in the hell have you been?”

“Joe…” Marybeth cautioned.

“Around,” Nate said.

“Around,” Joe repeated. “Do you realize what kind of heat I’ve been getting from Randy Pope and everybody else? They all thought I’d lost you. You’re supposed to be in my custody, remember?”

Nate shrugged. “I said I’d keep in touch.”

“I can account for his whereabouts,” Alisha said coolly.

“And those whereabouts are… where?” Joe asked.

“Mainly in bed with me,” Alisha said evenly.

Nate had a smug look on his face, Joe thought.

“Would anyone like more coffee?” Marybeth asked in a mock-cheerful tone.

WHILE A pot of decaf dripped into the carafe, Joe filled the three of them in on what had happened over the past days. He noticed how Alisha stared at him with barely disguised hostility while he described his visit to the high school, and how Marybeth covered her face with her hands and moaned while he detailed his assault on Officer Byron. Nate looked on skeptically when he heard about Bill Gordon’s wounds. Both Alisha and Marybeth gasped when Joe recounted what Klamath Moore had said about rats.

“So he did it,” Marybeth said. “My God.”

Joe talked mainly to Nate, but shot side glances at Marybeth and Alisha while he did so. He knew he’d have to explain himself further to his wife later on, and that she’d have questions. What he couldn’t understand was the antagonism from Alisha. Was it simply because he was the reason Nate had to resurface? Or something else?

“So that’s where we are,” Joe said. “Bodies everywhere, and the same suspect we’ve had all along but no proof to nail him with.”

“Meanwhile,” Marybeth said sourly, “Randy Pope is on his way up here to take charge or fire you again. But can he do that? Aren’t you working solely for the governor?”

Joe shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

Nate and Alisha exchanged a long look. Joe stared. He felt Marybeth’s hand on his arm.

“Joe, do you have a minute? There’s something I want to show you.”

He looked at her, puzzled at what could be of such importance. She looked back wide-eyed, nodding, urging him on.

“Excuse me,” he said, getting up, following her from the kitchen and up the stairs to their bedroom.

“What?” he asked.

“Joe, you can be so dense sometimes,” she said, shaking her head. “Can’t you see what’s going on?”

“No, obviously.”

“Those two are deeply in love.”

“That I can see.”

“It’s not just that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Nate wants to tell you something but Alisha isn’t sure she wants him to. She thinks he’d be breaking a confidence with her, and he’s asking her permission to do that. Alisha can’t decide if Nate’s relationship with you is more important than his relationship with her.”

Joe was flummoxed. “How can you possibly figure that out? Is that why she’s so angry with me? And what relationship are you talking about with me? Sheesh.”

She shrugged. “Trust me on this.”

“How can I look at them and not see any of that?” Joe asked. “How is that possible?”

“This is why you need me,” she said, smiling. “You can be as thick as a brick sometimes.”

He agreed. “So what is it Nate wants to tell me?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s about Alisha and Shannon-or Shenandoah Yellowcalf, and probably what Shenandoah has told Alisha about Klamath Moore. You know how it can be on the reservation-they don’t like to openly air their dirty laundry, and I don’t blame them. Alisha has let Nate inside, and he respects that. You should too.”

“But we’re talking about murders here,” Joe said. “I don’t care about reservation gossip.”

She sighed.

“What?”

“You might need to prepare yourself for losing him,” she said. “I hope you’ll be okay with that.”

Joe made a face. “Are we back to the relationship thing again? Come on, Marybeth, we just work together.”

“He may choose her and her secrets, is all I’m saying.”

“This is getting too complicated,” he said.

“It is what it is,” Marybeth said ruefully.

He turned and opened the closet and squatted down, shoving old boots and shoes aside and reaching for a cardboard box.

Marybeth asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for some old notes,” he said, sliding the box out and taking the lid off. “I’ve kept all of my old patrol journals since I was a trainee. I’m looking for the one from when I worked under Vern Dunnegan.”

“I despise that man.” She shuddered.

“Me too,” Joe said, digging through the thick spiral notebooks until he found the one from nine years before.

WHEN JOE and Marybeth returned to the kitchen, Nate was still at the table but Alisha was across the room, leaning against the counter. She was stoic, avoiding his eyes, and Joe could tell nothing about what had gone on in their absence.

Nate cleared his throat, said, “When you told me about the governor hiring that master tracker and Randy Pope personally overseeing the murder of the hunters, it struck me as all wrong.”

Okay , Joe thought, Nate and Alisha had come to an understanding.

Joe said, “How so?”

“It was typical law-enforcement procedure. Get the experts in to look at the physical evidence, try to figure out what was going on scientifically. And when Klamath Moore showed up it established a motive and a philosophy for the murders. You all put yourself in that particular stream of thought and never got out of it. You’re like trout sitting in a channel waiting for insects to come to you. When the insects stop coming, you don’t move to another part of the river. You just sit there, finning in one place, wondering why you’re getting hungry. You, Joe Pickett, are right there with the rest of ’em in that stream.”

Joe nodded, said, “Finning,” with a hint of sarcasm. He was used to Nate’s circular and obscure reasoning and had learned to let it play out, see where it led. Sometimes it wound up nowhere, in the ether.

“There’s nothing wrong with hiring experts and gathering evidence and doing forensics tests and all of that,” Nate said, “but without on-the-ground intelligence it’s all just technical jerking off. It gives bureaucrats something to do. I learned a long time ago when I worked for the government myself that there is no substitute for intelligence, for talking to people where they live. By being sympathetic, actually listening to what they say and sometimes what they don’t. By doing that, you might find a whole other way to look at what’s going on.”