C Box - Blood Trail

“Insubordination,” Nate said, “that too.”

“Call the governor now,” Pope said to Joe. “Let’s get this thing straightened out.”

“I’ve already talked to him,” Joe said.

Pope mouthed something but no words came out.

“That’s right,” Joe said. “He’s willing to trade you for Wolverine, if necessary.”

“But we can work together,” Pope said, pleading. “You don’t have to do it this way. We can work something out now, and for the future.”

Joe seemed to think it over, to Nate’s consternation. Finally, Joe said, “Nope. I saw how you treat your friends.”

THEY WERE past Joe’s old house on Bighorn Road when Pope said, “It wasn’t like what you think.”

“What is it I think?” Joe said.

“That we gang-raped her. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“How was it, then?”

“She was more than willing. I didn’t even want her, but, you know, peer pressure and all. She was drinking and sitting in on the poker game, and she started rubbing herself all over Frank. We were all a little lit up by then, and Frank threw down his cards and took her to her tent. After a while, they came back and she started rubbing on Wally.”

“So it was all her, then?” Joe said woodenly.

“It really, really was.”

“But you all went along with it.”

Pope shrugged. “Yes, of course.”

“Even though you really didn’t want to.”

“In my case, yeah. I wasn’t all that attracted to her.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Yeah, I did it too.”

“So why’d she try to get all of you arrested?”

Pope said, “It was extortion, maybe. And it was because she was ashamed. Of herself. She was ashamed of what she’d done, and she didn’t want anyone to find out. So she blamed us and cried rape. I mean, if she really was raped, as she claimed, do you think we all would have stayed up there in that camp and waited to be caught? When she got angry and left to go to town… we realized how it would look.”

Joe and Nate exchanged glances. Nate obviously didn’t believe Pope’s version. Joe wasn’t so sure.

“What we did know was what would happen if the story got out,” Pope said. “Five white guys, two married at the time, accused of gang-raping an innocent Native American girl in an elk camp. No matter what the facts were, do you think for one second that any of us would have had a chance? We’d have been tarred for the rest of our lives. I mean, all five of us grew apart after that incident and went on to become pretty successful. Frank was a bigshot in his community, and Wally was a great guy, head of his United Way campaign. I’m the director of the game and fish department. If she’d taken us to court, none of that would have happened, and for what good reason?”

Joe said, “So you made sure she’d be discredited and shamed. You contacted Vern Dunnegan and the sheriff and told them ahead of time she was off her rocker.”

Pope shrugged, held out his hands in a “what else could we do” plea.

Joe didn’t respond.

“What choice did we have?” Pope asked, heatedly. “And even if she sees things differently now than I do, how can anyone justify these murders? She obviously convinced someone-and I think we know who-the five of us were evil men.”

Joe had never seen Pope so desperate, so scared. He could smell his fear in the cab of the truck.

“What bothers me,” Joe said, “is how long you knew about the connection.”

“I wasn’t sure!”

“But you said nothing. You kept it to yourself. My guess is you thought about it for the first time after John Garrett was murdered. Especially when you heard about the poker chip. Am I right? That’s why you shut me down so fast when I brought it up.”

Pope said nothing. Joe took his silence as confirmation.

“And when Warren Tucker was killed, and again there was a poker chip, you knew there was a connection. Two of your old friends in a row. Each hunting at the time, each with a poker chip on them. You knew .”

Pope stared ahead as if Joe wasn’t speaking.

“That’s what hacks me off so much,” Joe said. “Neither you or Vern Dunnegan did the right thing. You sat there while two men were murdered, leaving behind widows, children, and grandchildren, and you didn’t do a thing because all you could think of was yourselves.”

“I wasn’t sure ,” Pope said softly.

Joe shook his head. “You can say that now. But you knew. That’s why you were all over this when Frank Urman was butchered. You were just waiting for it. So for the first time in your professional career, you were on the scene. You wanted to be in charge so if we caught the killer you could mitigate the damage to you. And you offered up your buddy Wally Conway to get him out of the way so he wouldn’t start talking. You were appeasing the shooter, offering up Wally, hoping that would put a stop to it. But when you saw how Klamath could get to you, could put a severed head in your hotel room, well, you knew it wasn’t over after all. You knew you’d be next no matter what. Am I right so far?”

Pope snorted, as if Joe were amusing him. It wasn’t convincing.

“But more than anything, you were hoping we’d trail the shooter and take him out so nothing would ever get out. Right? That’s why you were there to help spring Nate, right? Because whatever you think of him, you know he’s lethal.”

“Damned right,” Nate said.

“You’re insane,” Pope said. But his shoulders slumped in defeat.

THE TREES closed in around them as they ascended. The sky was gray, the air almost still. Two hours until dark. Joe pulled his truck off a two-track and turned off the motor.

“Recognize this place?” Joe asked Pope.

“Of course,” Pope said, annoyed. “It’s where Frank Urman was found.”

“And where Randy Pope will be found,” Joe said.

Pope’s red-rimmed eyes filled with tears.

THERE IS a very specific way to skin an animal so that a taxidermist can create a flawless shoulder mount. It’s called caping. It works best if the animal to be caped is hung up by the back legs.

Caping requires a sharp skinning knife with a short, fat blade like the one in my sheath. A slit is made in the skin behind the shoulder at the midway point of the rib cage. Another is made around the legs just above the knees. Or the arms, in this case. A third precise cut is made to join the slits on the back of the leg (or arm). The skin is then peeled like a banana toward the jaw until the neck is exposed. Then the very delicate work begins: cutting the skin away from the ears, skull, nose, and mouth. The weight of the hide-skin is surprisingly heavy-helps because it pulls the skin-peel downward. The skin is sliced away from the flesh with extremely light knife strokes. If the procedure is done correctly, the skin will drop away into a wet pile in the grass, showing an inverted, inside-out face.

This is what will happen to Randy Pope. My only dilemma is whether I’ll cape him when he’s dead or still alive.

THE TERRAIN , of course, is familiar. As I stride-careful to step on exposed rocks and to keep slightly to the side of established and muddy game trails-I weigh the advantage of knowing this mountain and the exact location of my prey against the possibility that I’m being led into a trap. Given the odds and what I know to be true-that the FBI informant has yet to give bad information and that an opportunity like this is too great to disregard-I proceed.

The sky concerns me. Even a skiff of snow makes tracking easy. I vow that if it starts to snow I’ll turn back the moment it begins, despite the opportunity offered me. I study the clouds and conclude it will snow, but later in the evening. After I’m done and back.