The Nature of the Beast by G.M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

rock,” he said offering it to Craig.
    Craig folded back the flap and peered inside. He used two fingers to pull a plastic
    sleeve from the envelope. Inside was a newspaper article. Chicago Tribune. Presidential Commendations For Eight the headline read. Eight headshot photos, six of which had been meticulously crossed out with red crayon, leaving only Secret Service agents Gilbert Fowles and Jackson Craig unblemished.
    “You mind if I ask you a question?” Letzo inquired.
    “Certainly,” Jackson Craig said. “Have at it.”
    “Well, “ he began. “from what I gather from that article, Bryce Caldwell was really a former ATF agent named Steve Wald. I file a report and next thing I know I’m sitting out here with a genuine Secret Service agent. One of the agents pictured in a newspaper article we found at the scene of the crime.” He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You gotta forgive me for being a mite curious about what’s goin on.”
    “I understand,” Craig said. “ But, as much as I appreciate your efforts, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share that information.”
    An awkward silence settled over the car’s interior. Craig’s refusal violated the sheriff’s good ol’ boy lawman code.
    Sensing the sheriff’s pique, Craig put a hand on his arm. “I’m not just pulling rank here, Sheriff,” he assured Letzo. “If I could tell you, believe me I would. Unfortunately, this is part of a highly classified investigation.”
    Took a moment, but the sheriff went down to a simmer. He nodded resignedly and then banged the horn three times. The other cruiser came alive. The driver collected himself, buttoned up and climbed down onto the frozen ground. “I’ve had somebody up here twenty-four seven since we found the body. Four hour shifts. A popular posting among the rank and file.”
    The deputy swung the barrier out of the way. Sheriff Letzo eased the car through the opening. “If you don’t mind,” the sheriff said. “I’m just gonna let you draw your own conclusions, if that’s okay.”
    “Perfect,” Craig said. Working with federal law enforcement authorities was not high on any county sheriff’s list. Sheriffs enjoyed a great deal of autonomy and were generally not subject to external scrutiny, which was just the way they liked it.
    “State Forensic techs have already been over the scene. That was before we knew how much attention this was going to get us. I know you boys prefer to use your own but…” He shrugged and let it hang.
    The sheriff found a navy blue wool cap over the visor and pulled it down over his ears, then fished around between the seats and found a pair of oversized mittens. He shouldered the door open.
    “Let’s go,” he said. Craig followed him out.
    Craig hunched his shoulders against the cold as they slipped and skated around the front of the car. The bright blue tarp snapped in the wind. The bright sunlight reflecting off the blue plastic made him feel a bit like he was under water.
    Below them, the arched glass front of the swimming pool was the sole curve in the ocean of straight lines that made up Homewell, Wyoming. Craig brought the NIKON binoculars to his eyes, then brought them down. Under magnification, the miles of yellow police tape cordoning off the aquatic center were readily visible. He shuffled two paces to his left and repeated the process. Then back to the center and two paces to the right.
    Craig was working out a line of fire, trying to visualize precisely where the shooter must have set up. He pointed down the mountain.
    “How would one get from down there to up here,” he asked.
    “One wouldn’t,” the sheriff said. “You wanna get up here this time of year, you get a snow mobile and you come around from the other side,” the sheriff said. “This road winds up one side and down the other. Comes out on the Flying Crow Ranch over in Diamond Valley. Better part of twenty miles by county road. That’s Stratton County over