Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(45)
Then, with a pistol in the back waistband of his trousers and a long, thin skinning knife up his sleeve, he began the long hike down the draw toward the falconer’s home.
THIRTEEN
BETWEEN WINCHESTER AND SADDLESTRING, JOE TOOK A ranch road exit off the highway and drove deep into the breaklands, a unique geological feature that existed between the Twelve Sleep River Valley and the Bighorn Mountains for several hundred square miles. The breaklands consisted of knife-like draws that ran in zigzags offset by flat-top buttes and two-track dirt roads that often went nowhere. Although it was very difficult terrain, deer and antelope hunters ventured into it during the hunting seasons because the harsh landscape provided refuge to wily big-game animals. Plus, ranchers rarely grazed cattle there because they were too difficult to locate when it was time to round them up.
The destination he had in mind was the highest point in the area: a grassy plateau he often used as his perch. He’d parked there many times over the years and had used the high ground to set up his window-mounted spotting scope. On a clear day, and most days were clear, the view was incredible. From his perch he could see the smudge of Winchester to the northwest all the way to the outskirts of Saddlestring to the south and the tree-lined curves of the river that threaded through the floor of the valley.
Joe noted a couple of vehicles in the area by spoors of dust in the distance. They were likely road hunters who drove slowly and hoped they’d blunder into something. He didn’t mind it that hunters could see him up there watching them. It was a good reminder to them that he was on the job.
But Joe chose to drive to his perch for different reasons than checking on hunters. One was that because of the altitude and openness, his perch had excellent cell phone service. The other was that it delayed his arrival home, where Missy would be.
*
HE OPENED HIS NOTEBOOK and placed it next to him on the front seat. Daisy lifted her blocky Labrador head from the cushion to watch him before sighing and settling back to sleep with her snout between her paws.
Joe reviewed his notes from the previous thirty-six hours. There were plenty of items to follow up on, and he couldn’t assume that Sheriff Kapelow would beat him to it. As far as Joe was concerned, he was on his own in the investigation.
First, he confirmed with United Airlines at the Billings airport that Dennis Sun had, in fact, arrived the night before after a long international flight. The producer was well known among the employees of the airline because he was memorable and a frequent flier.
Then he placed a call to Sarah Vieth, the public relations liaison for the Department of Corrections at the Wyoming State Penitentiary for men in Rawlins. When she answered, it was obvious she was eating a late lunch at her desk at the same time.
“Hello, Joe Pickett,” she said. Her desk phone obviously had caller ID.
“Hello, Sarah. Is this a good time?”
“It’s always a good time for you,” she said while chewing something.
Vieth had worked in the administrative offices of ex-governor Rulon, and Joe knew her from there. When Rulon had been replaced by Colter Allen, Sarah had seen the writing on the wall and managed to be transferred to Rawlins before Allen’s inauguration. She was competent, generally cheerful, and she’d thrown herself into her new job.
Sarah Vieth was tall, thin, and fit. She was married to her partner, Vanessa, an artist who had moved with her to Rawlins. Vanessa created trout out of wire, and Marybeth had bought one for their living room.
“I’m wondering about the status of two of your guests at your establishment,” Joe said. “Specifically, Ron Connelly and Dallas Cates.”
While there were over seven hundred inmates at the state prison, Joe kept a mental inventory of nearly every man he’d helped put there. It wasn’t as many people as the average cop, sheriff, or prosecutor, because most game violations were misdemeanors, but those who were in Rawlins were the worst of the worst in Joe’s world. For that reason, he kept aware of when specific inmates were scheduled for parole hearings or when they were likely to be released back into the public. Ron Connelly and Dallas Cates were of special interest to him. Especially Dallas Cates.
“Is there a specific reason you’re asking?” Vieth said.
“Yup. You’ve probably heard that someone took a shot at Judge Hewitt up here and hit his wife instead. We’re tracking down the status and whereabouts of everyone who publicly threatened the judge with retaliation to see if we can place them here at the time. If nothing else, we can clear them off our list of suspects. Those two are on my list.”
“Well,” Vieth said, “neither has been released. If that were to happen, I’d make sure to give you a heads-up.”
“Thank you.”
“I did see your name when I reviewed their files,” she said.
“I hope they said nice things.”
“They didn’t,” Vieth said with a chuckle. “I make it a point to read the files on all of the high-level offenders—all the guys in C and E buildings. I want to know who we’ve got here and, believe me, we’ve got some bad dudes. I try to meet with all of them at one time or another. The prison psychologist and I tag-team it. We started with the white and orange shirts and we’re about halfway through the blue and red shirts in A and B pods.”
Joe knew from visiting the pen that inmates in blue and red were in the A and B pods and they were well behaved, generally harmless to others, and in for nonviolent crimes. The inmates confined to the C and E pods were a different matter and they wore orange or white clothes. Orange meant the prisoner was considered dangerous or unstable, and white meant death row.