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

somebody in the room. Joe thought, Stella?
    “What about this?” Joe asked Pope, holding up the small evidence bag with the poker chip he’d found in the grass near the body. Joe had been examining it through the plastic. The chip was old, red, and had a faded stamp of a flower of some kind on one side. It was blank on the other. A residue of dark powder clung to the chip and the inside of the bag, but no print was found on it besides Joe’s.
    “Urman probably dropped it,” Pope said dismissively. “Poker games and elk camps go together like shoes and socks.”
    McLanahan snorted.
    The governor asked the sheriff, “Do you have something to say about this, Mr. McLanahan?”
    The sheriff sat back in his chair and slowly stroked his new mustache. “Well, you know Joe,” McLanahan said. “I don’t mean to beat the devil around the stump or nothin’, but ole Joe kinda likes to play to the gallery in situations like this. A poker chip is just a damned poker chip, is what I think.”
    The governor paused a few beats, as did Pope.
    “Get out,” Rulon said, waving his hand at the camera as if shooing away a fly. “Get out of the room, Sheriff McLanahan. And take your minions with you. I don’t have the time or patience to learn a foreign language.”
    McLanahan was taken aback, stammered, “This is my building. This is my case!”
    “This is my state,” Rulon countered. “If you expect any more favors from me, you’ll gather up and leave the room. I need to have a talk with my men.”
    McLanahan unwisely looked to Joe for help, then Pope.
    “This ain’t wise,” the sheriff grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. His deputies followed suit, with Deputy Mike Reed struggling to keep from laughing. “This ain’t wise at all.”
    Robey asked Rulon, “Do you mind if I stay?”
    “Joe, what do you think?” Rulon asked. Joe could feel Pope’s eyes on him. The director was miffed he hadn’t been asked that question.
    “Robey’s integral to this case,” Joe said.
    “He stays then,” Rulon commanded.
    “And I ain’t?” McLanahan said.
    “I’ll stay and report back,” Robey said under his breath to Deputy Reed, who winked.
    The governor sat back and waited until he heard the door slam shut.
    “Are they gone?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir,” Pope said.
    “What the hell is wrong with him? What’s this ‘beat the devil around the stump’ crap?”
    Joe said, “He thinks he’s a western character.”
    “I have no patience with those types,” Rulon said, “none at all. There’s room for only one character in this state, and that’s me.”
    Joe grinned, despite himself. And he thought he heard Stella giggle off-camera. Okay, then, he thought.
    “Since they’re gone, let’s get to it,” Rulon said into the camera. “We received word about an hour ago that Klamath Moore is in the state. He plans to come up to Saddlestring with his entourage in tow. Apparently, he already knows about our victim and how he died.”
    Randy Pope went white.
    Joe had seen footage of Klamath Moore being arrested at anti-hunting and animal-rights rallies and being interviewed on cable-television news programs for several years. He was a bear of a man, Joe thought, who came across as passionate and charismatic as he thundered against barbarians and savages who slaughtered animals for fun. There was a documentary film on his exploits that had won prizes in England.
    Randy Pope said, “That guy is a nutcase. He’s my worst nightmare. How’d he find out about Frank Urman so fast?”
    “We’d all like to know that,” the governor said. “My guess is one of his followers has a police scanner and heard the whole thing today and tipped off the big man. But we can’t spend much time and energy finding out who tipped him off, because in the end it doesn’t matter. What does matter is how fast we can find the shooter and put him away so Klamath has to go home. The longer that guy stays here, the more trouble he’ll