The Black man threw himself into the cab and roared away, knocking Randy back against the back doors because of the momentum.
“How do you know me?” he called out at the driver.
The man didn’t respond. He was driving fast, and Randy could feel the van fishtail as it took a corner.
That’s when he realized he wasn’t alone on the floor of the vehicle. A large body was propped into a sitting position against the back of the passenger seat, legs splayed. The victim was white with a blond ponytail cascading over his shoulder. He had a cruel face, Randy thought. The front of the man’s jacket was black with blood, and Randy could smell it.
The man moaned. He was alive. Bleeding out, but alive.
The driver braked hard in front of a brightly lit storefront. Randy could see a glowing sign through the window of the side panel:
EMERGICARE
The driver turned in his seat and his eyes fixed on Randy.
“We’re gonna carry him inside to get him patched up,” he said. As the driver talked, he opened his parka and slid a stubby weapon of some kind into a sleeve under his arm.
“Then you and me are going to have a long talk. And don’t try to run again or I’ll light you up.”
FRIDAY,
NOVEMBER 25
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
—William Butler Yeats, “The Second Coming”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Trap
By ten the next morning, the conference room of the Twelve Sleep County Library was set up to broadcast the press announcement regarding the discovery of the photo album and there was a palpable sense of urgency, tension, and confusion in the air. Joe tried to keep out of the way.
State-of-the-art video cameras, audio equipment, and lighting were set up in the room. The library’s tech employee hovered from station to station in the background, frantically ticking items off a checklist. The gear had all been purchased early in the pandemic, when Marybeth had convinced the library foundation to obtain it so they could safely maintain book clubs and discussion groups. According to her, this would result in professional-looking events. The foundation agreed.
The singular focus of the lights, cameras, and microphones was on a lone table in the center of the space. On the surface of the table was the red leather-bound photo album that had once belonged to Julius Streicher.
* * *
—
Joe was careful not to trip over any of the cords or cables on the carpet as he crossed the room to greet Sheriff Tibbs, who had entered wearing a skeptical squint on his face. AnnaBelle Griffith, the new county prosecutor, was a few steps behind him.
The announcement was scheduled to go live at eleven a.m. mountain time.
“Hello, Sheriff. Hello, AnnaBelle.”
The sheriff said, “Joe. I wish I had confidence in what we’re doing here.”
“I understand.”
Joe had spent the morning going over with him what he and Marybeth suspected and why. Tibbs hadn’t completely bought in on their theory, but Joe had been as persuasive as he could be. Griffith played her cards close to her vest, but she seemed to be more in favor of Joe’s theory than the sheriff, who clearly had his doubts.
Griffith was young and professional, and she didn’t waste words. The month before, she’d had lunch with Marybeth, and his wife had said the new prosecutor was, she thought, a “straight shooter.” Griffith was obviously still trying to figure out where she fit within the male-dominated structure of Twelve Sleep County law enforcement.
“It’s a gamble,” Joe had said to them both. “But it’s a gamble we have to take. Besides, what other ideas are there for smoking out and nailing these guys?”
Griffith had looked to Tibbs for an answer to the question. When there was none, she cautioned the both of them to be careful and to “go by the book.” She said she’d be present to observe.
Tibbs had reluctantly agreed.
The library was usually closed on the Friday after Thanksgiving, so there was only a skeleton crew of staff whom Marybeth had pleaded with to come in. There were no patrons in the aisles. The timing was fortuitous, Joe knew, because they couldn’t risk the safety of civilians who might have come in to browse the books or use the internet.
“Is everyone in position?” Joe asked Tibbs.
The sheriff eyed Joe coolly, as if prepared to dress him down. Apparently, he decided not to.