C Box - Blood Trail

“How would a man eight years in prison know that?” she asked.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

“Hold on. I’ll ask Spencer.”

Not “the governor” or “Governor Rulon,” but Spencer , Joe thought.

Rulon came on the line so quickly Joe could only conclude that he had either been listening in on another line or Stella was so close to him physically that he heard what Joe had told her. Joe briefly closed his eyes, thought, Uh-oh.

The governor sounded annoyed. “Is he there?”

“Vern Dunnegan? Yes, he’s here.”

“Let me talk to the son of a bitch.”

“Okay,” Joe said, crossing the room and handing the handset to Vern. “It’s Governor Rulon.”

Vern’s eyebrows shot up, and a self-satisfied smirk crept across his lips. He took the phone. “Hello, Governor Rulon.”

Joe sat back down and listened to Vern’s side of the conversation. Occasionally, he could hear Rulon shout or curse through the handset. Again, he thought of how close Rulon had to have been to Stella to hear Joe clearly. He rubbed his eyes and listened.

“That’s right,” Vern said. “I can help you close this case and then you can reopen the state for hunting.”

Vern listened for a while, said, “Why didn’t I come forward sooner? Well, I have to admit that it didn’t really register when John Garrett was killed. I mean, I knew the name and I vaguely remembered him, and when I read about it in the paper nothing clicked. Then I read about Warren Tucker a couple of weeks later and it started to make some sense to me. I almost told the warden of my suspicions at that point, but that’s all they were, suspicions. A man can’t bargain with suspicions…”

A few moments later, “Right. Frank Urman was the clincher. When I heard his name I knew how the victims were connected. Wally Conway just drove the nail in the coffin, so to speak.”

Joe glanced angrily up at Vern, who chatted away with the governor.

“What? No. Not anymore. I’m a prisoner of the state, remember? I have no kind of obligation anymore,” Vern said, rolling his eyes.

Joe shook his head.

“Yes, there will be at least one more murder as it stands right now,” Vern said. “Maybe more. I can promise you that. But if we can make a deal, I can help you prevent it. And you can be the hero. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Fat chance , Joe thought, seething.

“No, I can’t give away any more. Not until we’ve got an understanding.”

Joe could hear the governor going on in his best growl.

“Sure, I understand,” Vern said into the phone. “If what I tell Joe here turns out to be wrong, I know the deal would be off. But I think we both know I’ve got very valuable information that I’m willing to share.”

As they negotiated, Joe glanced over at the table where the couple sat. It appeared that the inmate was chewing on her collar. He could see the man’s jaws working, and his eyes rolling back in his head in pleasure. Her gaze was focused above his head, and she looked detached. Joe couldn’t help but think of the old joke where the wife, beneath her husband in bed, says, “Beige. I think I’ll paint the ceiling beige.”

Joe tore himself away as Vern Dunnegan said, “So we have a deal then.”

Then: “Okay, I want it in writing. You can fax it to the prison. I won’t say a word to Joe here until I read it over and see that it says exactly what we discussed.”

Then: “Sure, I trust you. You’re the governor, right? What is there not to trust? But nevertheless, I subscribe to the Ronald Reagan notion of ‘trust, but verify.’ So I need that paper and your signature… Sure, I’ll wait. But visiting hours will be over in ninety minutes. I need the agreement by then. You’re a wordsmith and a former federal prosecutor-it shouldn’t take long.”

“Here,” Vern said, beaming, thrusting the phone back across the table, “he wants to talk to you.”

“Yes,” Joe said.

“We made a deal,” the governor said wearily.

“So I heard.”

“What an asshole.”

Joe looked up at Vern, said, “Yup.”

“So you think it’s legit, then?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, we’ll fax the paperwork over within a half hour. Then he better spill the beans. Call me when you’ve got something solid and we’ll proceed from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Joe… ”

“Yes?”

Hesitation. Joe frowned.

“Nothing,” the governor said. “Forget it.”

“Is it about Stella?” Joe asked.

Rulon barked a laugh. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

Joe cringed, and punched off the phone.

AS THEY waited for the agreement to arrive, Joe and Vern sat at the table in silence, each pretending the other man wasn’t in the room. Joe kept checking his wristwatch. He shot another glance at the couple in the corner, and looked away guiltily. Vern chuckled.

“Caught you,” he said.

“It looks like he’s eating her neck,” Joe mumbled.

“It’s a con trick,” Vern said. “The female cooks meth down into crystal and hangs it from her necklace chain like a pendant. She sits there while he sucks it and gets high. The guards haven’t figured that one out yet. They’ll do a full-body and cavity search, but they don’t think about testing the jewelry.”

“My God,” Joe said.

“It’s a different world in here,” Vern said. “I’ll be glad to be leaving it soon.”

THE DESK GUARD got a call, spoke a few words, and motioned Joe over.

“There’s a fax from the governor for Vern Dunnegan at admin. They’re bringing it over.”

Joe sighed.

The driver who had delivered Joe to A-Pod brought the fax. As Joe took it to Vern, he read it over. It was on official letterhead stationery and signed at the bottom:

I, Governor Spencer H. Rulon, agree to commute the remaining years of prison time for inmate Vernon Dunnegan in exchange for information that results in the arrest and conviction of the so-called Wolverine who has been responsible for the deaths of several Wyoming resident hunters. If no arrest and/or conviction is/are obtained, this agreement is rendered null and void.

AFTER VERN had told his story, Joe shut his notebook and said, “So this is all your fault.”

Vern shrugged. “I was never like you, Joe. I wasn’t in it to save Bambi.”

Joe shot his fist across the table and hit Vern Dunnegan flush in the face, snapping his head back.

“Hey!” the desk guard yelled, standing. “Do I need to call my boys in?”

Joe, still enraged, stood up quickly and walked away. He knew if he looked for another second at Vern’s self-satisfied face or heard his arrogant words that he wouldn’t be able to stop swinging.

“I need to get out of here,” Joe said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you do,” the guard said, picking up his handset to call the driver.

“See you on the outside,” Vern called from the table, one hand at his face to stanch the flow of blood, the other waving and flittering his fingers in a toodle-do.

Joe turned, squared his feet, and stared Vern down. “If I do,” Joe said, meaning it, “you’re going to wish you were back in here.”

NATE WASN’T outside in the parking lot and neither was Joe’s pickup. Joe stood seething in the space where he’d parked, but his fury was not directed at Nate-yet. Vern’s words, I was never like you, Joe. I wasn’t in it to save Bambi, echoed in his ears, but what enraged him was Vern’s attitude, his casual disregard for what he’d casually set in motion so many years before. Vern’s action-or inaction, in this situation-had resulted in ruined lives and the deaths, so far, of seven men. And in the end, instead of accountability, Vern was able to use his malfeasance as a bargaining chip to walk away free from prison.