C Box - Below Zero

“Anyone else?”

Coon frowned. “Should there be?”

“The nine-one-one call mentioned bodies outside. Is there a girl in there?”

“No.”

“Can I look?”

“I said…”

“Stay the hell out,” Portenson interrupted, appearing behind Coon. He was red-faced. “Why are you always around, anyway?”

Joe sighed in frustration. “Can you at least describe the scene to me? What’s your best guess what happened in there?”

Portenson rolled his eyes and shouldered past Coon toward the helicopter, making it clear he didn’t have time to waste with Joe. Over his shoulder, he said, “I want Stenko. I want his head on a platter.”

When Portenson was out of earshot, Coon said, “He is not a happy man.”

“He never has been. What’s going on?”

Coon said. “Tony is in big trouble because of that incident earlier today. Our bosses don’t like that kind of thing anymore because it attracts the wrong kind of attention in the press and in Washington. We’re supposed to be counterterrorism these days except for the occasional slam-dunk mob arrest. And when we screw up like we did this morning, the shit rolls downhill.”

Joe nodded.

“I think you know that all Agent Portenson really wants is to get out of Wyoming. What happened earlier doesn’t help. Neither one of us is out of the woods yet. Hell, I don’t mind whatever happens. I like it here and so does my family. But Tony…”

“… wants out,” Joe said. “I know. He wants to run with the big dogs.”

Coon nodded. “The only way he can make amends is to nail Stenko.”

Joe gave it a beat. “So what’s it look like inside?”

Coon finally got his right glove pulled off with a sharp snap. “As I said, two victims. One under the broken kitchen window. Male, thirties, dressed in tennis togs, if you can believe that. His ID said he was Nathanial Talich from Chicago. He was the youngest of the three brothers and considered to be the craziest…”

“The psycho,” Joe said, repeating the term from the call.

Coon nodded. “Multiple gunshot wounds. I could see one right below his eye, but my guess is he took at least a few more in the belly the way he was curled up.”

“The other guy?”

“The sheriff said he’s the owner of the ranch. A guy named Leo Dyekman. Also of Chicago,” he said, raising a single eyebrow. “We think he’s a known associate of Stenko. His money man, we think. Portenson is in communication with Washington now to confirm that.”

“Can you tell what happened?”

Coon shrugged. “It looks like a gunfight. They were both armed and I’m guessing they shot each other.”

Joe shook his head. “I doubt that. Can Dyekman talk?”

Coon narrowed his eye, not pleased by the Joe’s casual disregard of their theory. “Why? What do you think?”

“I’ll show you in a minute. Can Dyekman talk?”

“I’d be surprised if Dyekman ever talks, judging by the amount of blood he lost. I don’t think his wound was fatal-it looks like he got hit on the side of the neck-but he might have bled out after he made the call. There is a lot of blood in that house.”

Joe hoped none of it was April’s.

Coon said, “That’s the problem with living out here in the middle of nowhere. The EMTs can’t get to you in time.”

“So why do you think the two guys shot each other up?” Joe asked.

“Because that’s what it looks like, Joe. But that’s why we called in forensics. They might be able to figure out what the hell happened in there.”

“So why did Dyekman refer to more bodies?”

Coon shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Was there any other blood anywhere?”

“I told you, Joe, there’s blood all over the place. It looks like a slaughterhouse.”

“So why is the kitchen window broken?”

Coon gave Joe a big-eyed exasperated expression. “I don’t know, Joe,” he said with annoyance. “That’s why we called in our team.”

“I can’t wait for your team,” Joe said. “Look, there’s brass on the side of the house outside the kitchen window. I tried not to disturb it much. But what it looks like is that somebody stood outside and started blasting.”

Coon stared at Joe skeptically.

Joe said, “April’s not here. Every minute we wait for your team she gets farther away.”

Coon threw up his hands, said, “We don’t even know that she was ever here, Joe. Come on…”

Joe held up his hand and extended a finger for every point: “One, she said she was going to a ranch in the Black Hills. Two, these guys are associated with Stenko. Three, the caller said there were people who might be injured. Four, someone who is not on the floor in there stood outside the house and fired inside. Which says to me they got away from here and they probably took April, who might be hurt.”

“Is there a five?” Coon asked sarcastically.

“Five, where else could she be?”

“Go home, Joe,” Coon said. “For once, I agree with Portenson. We’ve got this handled. There’s nothing you can do. Plus-”

Joe waited. Coon didn’t finish. Instead, he stepped out of the way of the EMTs who came crashing through the door with a body on a gurney. Joe stepped aside as well and walked alongside the gurney, hoping the slight middle-aged man beneath the sheet would open his eyes. The man-Leo Dyekman-was ghostly white. Swinging plastic units of blood coursed into both arms as they wheeled him toward the open ambulance. Joe recognized the stitched brown cowboy shirt Dyekman was wearing as one he’d seen on a Western wear store clearance rack.

“Leo, talk to me,” Joe said, prodding Leo’s chest.

“Please don’t touch him,” a bearded EMT warned.

“Leo, where’s April?”

“Man…” the EMT said, shaking his head.

“Leo!”

And Leo’s eyes shot open.

“Jesus,” the EMT said, as surprised as Joe.

Joe reached out and stopped the gurney and leaned over the victim. His eyes were open but there was no expression on his face. “Can you hear me?”

Dyekman groaned.

“Leo, who shot you?”

“Fuck. I’m gonna die.”

“No you’re not. You’ll be fine. Now who shot you?”

Dyekman rolled his head to the side. “I think Robert. But it could have been Natty. Lots of shots.”

“Robert Stenson?”

“Who else?” As he said it, his eyes drooped. Joe didn’t think Dyekman would be conscious much longer.

“Was there a girl in the house?”

“Stenko,” Dyekman said. “That damned Stenko got the cash.”

“Clear the way,” the bearded EMT said to Joe. “We need to get going. You can talk to him later in the hospital.” He pushed on the gurney and the lead EMT pulled. Joe walked alongside.

“What about the girl?” Joe asked again.

“What about her?”

He felt a thrill. “So there was a girl. Do you know who she was?”

Dyekman’s face contorted with pain.

Joe slapped him. The bearded EMT said, “Hey!” One of the sheriff’s deputies guarding the front door broke away and started jogging toward them, his hand on his weapon.

“Did you see what he just did?” the EMT said to the deputy.

“Clear the hell away, mister,” the deputy growled.

But the slap had opened Dyekman’s eyes again. Joe cocked his hand as if to do it again.

Dyekman said, “I didn’t get her name!”

“Blond? Fourteen?”

“Could be.”

The deputy bear-hugged Joe while the EMTs rolled Dyekman into the ambulance.

“Man, what’s wrong with you?” the deputy hissed into Joe’s ear.

“Let me down,” Joe said. “I got what I needed.”

When the deputy released him, Joe turned toward his pickup near the Quonset hut. Sheridan had watched the altercation and looked to him with pleading eyes. He knew what she was asking: Was April here? He nodded: “Yes.”