Paradise Valley (Highway Quartet #4)

“Did Frank treat his daughter differently?”

“Yeah, he did for as long as he was even around there. He kind of doted on her when she was a baby. But he wasn’t there when she turned out to be the good one. Frank was dead by then.”

“How did he die?”

“Got drunk and passed out on the railroad tracks in Livingston,” Bull said. “Cut into three pieces. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

“Back to the family,” Cassie said. “When you were around Frank did he ever mention taking them anywhere? Like a favorite hunting or camping place?”

Bull rubbed his jaw with his big hand. Cassie noticed for the first time that he was missing the tips of two of his fingers. She’d never known a horseman who didn’t have missing digits.

“I’ve got to think about that,” he said. “Frank wasn’t much of a hunter but he was a poacher. He always got his meat whether he had a license or not or whether there was an elk season on.”

“Do you know where he hunted?”

“I’ve got a good idea now that I think back on it,” Bull said. “I think he snuck into the park and killed them elk. It was illegal as all hell but that’s something Frank didn’t have a big problem with. Any peckerhead can kill a docile elk inside the park.”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “Hey, you never asked me why they call me Bull?”

She ignored him because she knew the answer. Cody had told her.

“Do you know if he ever took his family with him hunting or camping? Specifically Ronald?”

“I told you I didn’t pal around with them.”

“But you know, you might have heard something when your wranglers were talking, or Frank bragging in the bar…”

Bull closed his eyes and seemed to be searching his memory. Cassie perched on the end of her chair.

Then he opened his eyes and they fixed onto the television screen. She looked over to see Tucker Carlson’s opening on Tucker Carlson Tonight.

“We’re done,” Bull said with finality as he pointed the remote at the set and turned up the volume.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Cassie pleaded. “I’ll only take a few more moments of your time.”

He acknowledged her with a nod but gestured toward Tucker Carlson.

“I’m not sure I like her new hairdo,” he said, settling back in his chair.

*

“WELL, THAT WAS FRUSTRATING,” Cassie said as Rachel walked her back to the door. “We ran out of time and I have a lot more questions.”

“He’s a frustrating man,” Rachel said. “I’ve never met anyone as cantankerous as he.”

“Yet he read your mother stories at the library.”

Rachel looked away but not before Cassie noted the tears in her eyes. “That he did,” she said wistfully.

“Can I come back and finish tomorrow?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Rachel said. “I’ll ask him, but he kind of fades in and out. Tonight he was particularly loquacious. He liked talking to you—until he didn’t. Whether he’ll pick up where he left off tomorrow is another matter.”

“Other than his age, what are your father’s problems?”

Rachel paused and held her hand up. As she spoke she’d raise one finger after another. “Rheumatoid arthritis, gout, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, early Alzheimer’s. He’s on way too much medication, I think, and the different doctors don’t talk to each other. I’m thankful every day that he’s still with us, but he does make it tough at times to remember that.”

Cassie thanked her for interrupting her evening and was half-way to her Escape when Rachel called after her.

“You know I have a defense practice here in Bozemen, right?”

Cassie turned.

“I didn’t know what kind of law you practiced,” Cassie said, letting her opinion of defense attorneys show.

“We’re not all bad,” Rachel said. “Sometimes we defend innocent people who deserve justice.”

“And sometimes you get guilty people off.”

“We even defend cops who are wrongly accused. They deserve a defense like anyone else.”

Cassie instantly regretted where this had gone. She said, “I’m sorry—there’s still a lot of cop in me. It’s hard to forget preconceived notions.”

“I understand,” Rachel said tentatively, as if reconsidering whatever it was she had set out to say. Then: “Anyway, my partner and I sometimes need to bring on a private investigator to help with cases. We’ve not really had much luck hiring a really good one. I’ve been impressed how dogged you are. Is it something you’d ever consider?”

Cassie was surprised at the question. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I’d urge you to think about it, Cassie.”

“I live in North Dakota.”

“You’re unemployed in North Dakota,” Rachel said. “Montana is your home. I did some research on you. You’re not hard to find with a Google search.”

Cassie didn’t respond.

Rachel said, “You of all people should know what it’s like to be railroaded by people in authority. I was just thinking you might be a little more sympathetic to our line of work because of that.”

Cassie shrugged and said, “All I can think about now is finding Kyle.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Rachel said as she waved good night and closed her front door.

*

AFTER CHECKING INTO THE HOLIDAY Inn Express and talking a few minutes with Ben—he was ready for her to come back because Isabel’s organic cooking was making him sick, he claimed—Cassie drank another plastic cup of wine and called Clyde Johnson. It was an hour later in Minneapolis.

“Mr. Johnson, this is Cassie Dewell. I’m just so sorry to hear about Raheem.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said. “I was thinking that when they asked me to give them stuff that might have his DNA on it…” He was attempting to be stoic but she could sense his sadness.

“I know there’s nothing I can really say other than it’s a terrible thing. I wish I could have called with good news.”

“No shit,” he said. “I wish you could have, too. But you didn’t. And now I find out he got his damned head blown off and he was left in a field. I can’t even … I can’t wrap my mind around it.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you think it was racially motivated? I ask that because Kyle wasn’t found with my boy.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Johnson.”

“Because that would make it worse. That would make it a hate crime: Let’s kill the black one. And why do you think it wasn’t?”

She couldn’t think of a good answer.

“Raheem was a knucklehead at times but he was a good boy,” he said. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“I agree. I’m doing my best to find out who did it.”

“When you find them you call me. I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll call,” she said. “But not before I get law enforcement involved.”

“Great,” he said with sarcasm. “The same folks who wouldn’t even look for him.”

With that he disconnected the call.

*

CASSIE FELT LIKE she’d been gut-punched, but she forgave Clyde Johnson. She could only imagine how she would react in the same circumstances.

When her phone buzzed she thought it might be him again but the number on her screen was local.

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