He paused again, took a longer sip. “Still, we went out, talked, showed the sketch, made sure they heard what this individual we were asking about is being investigated for. Only the hard-liners are going to hold that line when a man’s done what this one’s done. Still, we didn’t get much of anywhere on it. Until today.”
At that Bodine walked over, stood by Callen.
“I got a call from somebody today. I won’t say the name—couldn’t say if you’d know it—but I’ve got to keep it confidential in any case. Says he recognized the face, has seen this man at the compound they have a few times. Doesn’t know his name for sure. Says he goes by J.G. Says this man drills with them every few months—not regular. Runs some supplies for them. Claims he hasn’t seen this individual for months now. The compound’s a good way east of here, but this character thinks our man has a patch of land around here, lives—as some of them do—off the grid. We’re going to push on this, but carefully.”
“Would a reward help?”
“Money never hurts,” Bob told Sam.
“Fifty thousand, if he can lead you to the son of a bitch.”
“Ten’s enough for this type. You clear me to offer ten, he’ll find out more than I think he already knows.”
“Then you’re clear for it.”
“Saves me from asking.” Bob drank again. “There’s more, on the other information Alice passed to Callen. About there maybe being other women. The time she gave for hearing the screams, and the calls for help. Going after we figure he moved her into that shed. I did a search for missing persons, in the age span that makes the most sense. I’ve got one who’s never been found. Nineteen-year-old girl, doing some hiking and photography on the trails in Lolo. Called her ma and her boyfriend from Stevensville on July sixteenth, fresh off the Bass Creek Trail. She planned, she said, to get some food, maybe another quick hike, then camp for the night. That’s the last they heard from her. Last anybody did. Not a damn trace of her.”
“He might have had more than Alice,” Bodine offered. “He might have another woman locked up right now.”
“I talked to the agent who has that case, that still open case. We’ll talk again. I went to Stevensville, talked to the people he talked to back then who remembered seeing her. Still daylight when she walked off, and Alice says it was dark when she heard the scream. We’re going to follow this through, try to narrow down when and where he grabbed her, if he did. I’m going to need to talk to Alice again, about when she might have heard the other sounds she told Cal about. Other things that might mean other women.”
He let out a breath. “On the next, I need to tell you all we haven’t got anything panning out on Billy Jean’s or Karyn Allison’s murders. The couple of leads we thought were viable, just weren’t. We’re still working it, but we don’t have anything new, and it’s been months now. Longer it goes, the colder it gets. I’m sick and sorry about it.
“And last.” He lifted his gaze to Callen’s. “You know Garrett’s out on bail.”
“I heard something like that.”
“I’m telling you the prosecutor’s going for him. Feels the evidence, and Garrett’s own stupidity, mean a solid case. The lawyer might work out a plea, but he’ll do time, Cal. He will do time, and he’ll never carry a badge again.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You ought to stay clear of him.”
“I’m just having a cigar on the front porch.”
Tate shook his head, rose. “You ought to stay clear. Thanks for the drink. I’m going to plan on talking to Alice tomorrow, but now I’m going home and hoping Lolly will warm up whatever she made for dinner.”
He pushed up, started down the porch steps. Looked up.
“We got a clear night. You see something like that sky, no matter how long you’ve been the police, you just don’t understand why people do what they do to people.”
As Tate drove off, Sam picked up his empty glass, then Tate’s. “I’d better tell your mother all of this.”
“Do you want me to talk to her with you?”
He shook his head at Bodine. “I’ll take care of this.” He looked out where Tate’s taillights grew small. “Long, hard day for some of us.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Bodine lifted her hands, let them fall when her father went in. “What to do or think or feel.”
“Nothing to do but take it as it comes. I need to say you know I’ve had an ear to the ground about Clintok. He’s spending some time at the Step Up Bar. I’m going to take a drive over there in a few days.”
“What’s wrong with tomorrow?”
“I believe we have a date and a fancy dinner.”
She flicked that away like a gnat. “We’ll have the fancy dinner next Saturday. Get this done, Skinner. It’ll eat at you until you do. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“Bodine, are you saying you’d rather go to a potential bar fight than a fancy restaurant?”
“I don’t understand anyone who wouldn’t.”
Grinning, he held out a hand. “There come those powerful feelings again. Let’s take a walk under this big sky.”
*
He picked his wife. He had a plan. This time around there would be no mistake. Evenings most usually he worked on organizing, on preparing. Supplies and security.
A woman needed to be locked up tight until she understood the order of things. And even after that.
He had the leg irons bolted strong to the wall, added two more sturdy locks to the door. Thinking of the noise some of them could make, he took time to staple up strips of foam on the walls.
Not that anybody ever came around the cabin, but that sort of precaution should’ve been done long ago.
Once done, he took a good look around, imagined his wife in the bed. Stripped down, she’d be—he’d see to that—and ready for planting.
The image made him hard, so hard he was grateful he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
The long winter was over, and spring had come. The time for planting. To every time there was a season, he thought. And this was his.
The seed, his seed, would take. Grow inside the young, fertile womb. And then he’d make another change. Leave the son in the care of the mother. Honor thy father and mother. Yes, this time that would be done. He’d even bring the boy to her for visits, maybe some schooling as he grew. And do the same with the sons who came after the first.
They’d make a family, with him as the head, the woman as the helpmate, the sons as legacy.
Confident in his plans, in his choice, he lay down on the bed where he’d plow and plant. And considered how once that seed took hold, he might choose another wife, start another son.
He had room, could keep them separated until they learned to be sisters. Two to keep him pleasured, to grow the sons, to grow the crops, tend the stock, to clean and cook as time went on.
Two to see to the women’s duties while he took on the men’s work, pursued the men’s interests.
He closed his eyes, building it all in his head. A kind of kingdom, he thought, and slept a little while to dream of it.