I waited till the next minute passed. “Is it usually on the dot?”
She nodded and turned away toward the door. “Maybe a few seconds after, but it’s always 12:34.” She opened the door again and got out, leaving it hanging ajar. “I need some air.”
I glanced back at Henry, then got out with my thermos and cup and pulled his door open for him, leaving ours open as well so that we might hear anything that came in over the airwaves. “Well?”
Rosey had resumed her spot at the guardrail.
“Would you like me to speak with her?”
“No, it’s my line of work.”
He nodded, reached into his pocket, and handed me back the silver dollar. “I’m going to go get my greatcoat out of your truck.”
I looked at the very unhappy and confused woman by the rail. “Yep, it might be a long night.”
? ? ?
“How ’bout a cup of coffee?”
“You think I’m crazy now.”
“Yep, most people take my coffee.”
She didn’t move. “I think I might be losing my mind, Walt.”
“You’re not losing your mind, you’ve just had a few strange occurrences that have put you off.” I unzipped my jacket, reached under my shirt, and pulled out the large ring on the chain around my neck. “You see this ring?”
“Yeah?”
I examined the thing myself, the available light reflecting off the silver. “A little over a year ago, a seven-foot-tall Crow Indian gave this to me.”
“Okay.” She looked at me when I didn’t answer. “That’s nice.”
“Yep, it was, especially considering he was dead at the time.” She stared at me. “Virgil White Buffalo kind of came to my rescue up in the Cloud Peak Wilderness while I was chasing down some escaped prisoners, one of them a very bad man.” I waited a moment before continuing. “I was hypothermic, concussed, and damaged in about a half dozen ways. I needed company, and help, so I guess I came up with Virgil. I had conversations with him, interacted with him . . . but I know he wasn’t there.”
“Where’d the ring come from?”
“I found it.”
“Just like I found the silver dollars?”
The one in my pocket burned like a heated rivet. “Yep, something like that.”
“So, what are you saying?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s important what I’m saying—it’s what you’re saying.”
“And what is it I’m saying?”
“Help.”
Crossing her arms, she pushed her boot off the guardrail and turned toward me. “Excuse me?”
“Rosey, you are one of the finest police officers I know—smart, tough, thorough, instinctive, fair, independent. . . .” I gestured toward the towering granite walls that surrounded us. “Heck, most people wouldn’t even have put in for a duty like this down here at the end of the world, especially with all the stories, myths, and legends that surround this place.” I lowered my arms and looked at her. “But there’s something wrong. Think about it, think about what he says—Unit 3, that’s you. You’re Troop G, Unit 3. Then he calls in a 10-78, officer needs assistance.”
She stood there looking at me but saying nothing as the wisps of fog tangled around our boots.
“You need assistance. I think that’s what this is all about—you need help.”
She yanked her head toward the river and started to say something, but I cut her off. “Rosey, everybody needs a little help once in a while, but I don’t think you’re capable of asking outright, so you came up with somebody else to do it for you. Bobby Womack.”
She looked down at her boots and bit her lip. “So, you do think I’m crazy.”
“No, I don’t. Haven’t I been clear about that?”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“Mistaken.”
I dipped my head, trying to catch her eyes underneath our combined brims. “It happens; we’re not perfect.” I glanced toward the vehicles and could see the Cheyenne Nation, giving us plenty of space, patiently waiting by my truck.
“So, does he think I’m crazy, too?”
I turned back to her. “Hold on just a minute. I’ll let him head back to the motel with my truck and then you and I can talk.” Not waiting for a response, I limped over and handed the Bear my thermos and keys.
“What is up?”
“This is probably going to take longer than you’re going to want to stand out here for, so why don’t you head back to the motel, and I’ll catch a ride with her to Thermopolis?”
He stashed the thermos in the Bullet. “Tomorrow morning?”
I glanced back—Rosey hadn’t moved. “Yep, it’ll take that long, at least.”