Blood Trail by C.J. Box Read Free Book Online

Burg-O-Pardner—burgers, fries, coffee, cookies—and the room smelled of hot grease and dry-erase markers. Joe’s cheeseburger sat untouched on a white foam plate.
    “You gonna eat that?” Kiner asked.
    Joe shook his head.
    “You mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hungry,” Kiner mumbled as he unwrapped Joe’s cheeseburger.
    Joe shrugged. He had had no appetite since that morning and could not get the image of Frank Urman’s hanging body out of his mind. The photo spread of the crime scene tacked on a bulletin board didn’t help.
    McLanahan and his deputies occupied the other end of the table, digging into the box of food like hyenas over a fresh kill. On the wall opposite Joe were three television monitors and two stationary cameras. The county technician fiddled with a control board out of view of the cameras and whispered to his counterpart in the governor’s office in Cheyenne.
    Robey Hersig, the county attorney and Joe’s friend, read over the crime-scene report prepared by the sheriff. At one point he gulped, looked up, said, “Man oh man,” before reading on. It was good to see Robey again, but Joe wished the circumstances were different, wished they were on Joe or Robey’s drift boat fly-fishing for trout on the Twelve Sleep River.
    “Five minutes before airtime, gentlemen,” the technician said.
    Director Randy Pope paced the room, head down, hands clasped behind his back. Pope was tall and thin with light blue eyes and sandy hair and a pallor that came from working indoors in an office. He had a slight brown mustache and a weak chin and his lips were pinched together so tightly they looked like twin bands of white cord.
    “Pope is making me nervous,” Kiner whispered between bites. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
    “Me either,” Joe said.
    “He’s not just passing through either,” Kiner said. “He got a room at the Holiday Inn. He’ll be here awhile.”
    “Terrific,” Joe said sourly.
    “I wish he’d sit down,” Kiner said. “He’s making me jumpy.”
    “Two minutes,” the technician called out.
    Pope stopped pacing and stood and closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. All eyes in the room were on him, but he seemed too preoccupied with his own thoughts to know or care, Joe thought. Joe found it difficult to work up the anger he once felt toward Pope now that his nemesis was in the room instead of barking orders or making innuendos over the phone. Since his arrival, Pope had surprised Joe with his lack of animosity at the crime scene, and Joe was equally pleased, puzzled, and suspicious.
    The director took his seat next to Kiner and gathered the files in front of him, then stacked them one on top of the other. Joe read the tabs on the files. The bottom one read J. GARRETT, the middle one W. TUCKER, the top one F. URMAN. He looked to Pope for some kind of explanation of the files but the director avoided meeting Joe’s eyes.
    “What’s with the three files?” Joe asked.
    “Not now, Joe,” Pope said out of the side of his mouth.
    “Why are you and the governor so directly involved in this case?”
    Pope shot Joe a look of admonition tinged with panic, and repeated, “Not now, Joe.”
    The middle monitor flickered, revealing the top of a desk and the State of Wyoming seal on the wall behind the desk. The technician brought the audio up as Wyoming Governor Spencer Rulon filled the screen and sat down. Rulon was a big man with a wide, expressive face, a big gut, a shock of silver-flecked brown hair, a quick sloppy smile, and eyes that rarely stayed on anything or anyone very long. Joe thought the governor had gained some weight since he’d seen him last, and his upper cheeks seemed rounder and ruddier. He wondered if Stella was there in the room, if she would appear on the screen.
    “Are we live?” Rulon asked. His voice was gravelly.
    “Yes, sir,” Pope answered.
    “Sheriff, we’d like to thank you for the use of your