The Tanner Trilogy Boxed Set

Chapter 5

5

Ethan placed his bag inside the rear door of the Ford Explorer with 4-wheel drive, then settled himself in the driver’s seat, his carryon next to him. Glancing at the GPS unit in the middle of the dash, he reached inside the pocket of the briefcase and extracted the map of Wyoming he brought with him from Baltimore. He unfolded it to get his bearings on the length of the drive from Laramie to Centennial and the surrounding towns. Glancing out the windshield and side window to locate the setting sun, he then turned his gaze to the southeast corner of the Wyoming map. Refolding it so the county that held Laramie was in the middle, he traced Highway 130, west. He should arrive in Centennial, Wyoming, in an hour. Just to ensure he didn’t miss an exit and end up in the wrong mountain range, he programed the GPS for Tanner’s Outdoor Adventures.

Flicking around the radio stations, he wasn’t surprised to get only a few from Cheyenne, which were all country-western, and then smiled when a classic rock station came in from Boulder. They were getting precipitation, but not as much as Denver, and the bite to the wind that blew and rocked the Explorer to the side was a spin-off from the storm dumping spring snow on the Rockies to the south. That same weather disturbance forced their plane to land in Billings, Montana, and relegated him to take a puddle jumper to Laramie. Coming in from the north, the sky was clear. When they had announced that Denver was shut down, he was grateful that his flight was close enough to be diverted instead of turned back or not even allowed to take off. The sooner he offered his assistance to the local sheriff, the quicker he could return to the bustle of Baltimore and the twelve cases he had yet to close.

Laramie was a fair-sized town, but as soon as the city limits were passed, the houses became more sparse, giving way to stretches of flat grassland, rolling hills, and finally the peaks within the Medicine Bow National Forest. The sun was quickly setting, and he took the vehicle to just over the speed limit, chasing the sunset. If he was pulled over by the Highway Patrol, it was a matter of professional courtesy to evade a ticket.

As he closed in on the foothills of the Snowy Mountain Range, grasses were overtaken by tall pine trees. The wind subsided somewhat, and he became so enthralled by the surrounding wilderness that he nearly missed the change in speed limit as he entered the town of Centennial. Continuing on 2nd Street, the main drag through this populated area, he thought about the lodge where he would spend his forced “working vacation.” He had the days accumulated to take time off, but why? There was satisfaction with his job when the perpetrators were arrested and the sentencing matched the crime. What he didn’t need was time away. He was city born and raised, and though he had spent time in rural areas, he just felt he could never relax in such unfamiliar territory.

Looking both ways along the road, in a minute, the town was behind him. His headlights landed on a building a block beyond the end of the rest of the structures that made up 2nd Street, and he pulled into a parking space in front. The words “Centennial Sheriff’s Office” on the glass door flashed in his headlights. He saw the shadows of two people inside, so he cut the engine and climbed down from the SUV.

Shaun glanced at the headlights outside the window as he took the fax from the machine. It was official looking, including the FBI seal across the top. Reading the memo, he snorted. Seems the Regional Director on the East Coast, a client of his father’s, was taking a personal interest in Bear Tanner’s death. So much so, that he deemed it necessary to send some federal help to solve Bear’s murder. Shaun looked up from the fax as the door opened.

“I’m looking for Sheriff Tanner,” Ethan said to the receptionist, closing the door behind him.

The office consisted of a sitting area that held four chairs, a counter that suggested friends and family stay on one side, while the suspects and officers conducted business on the other. To his left was a map of Wyoming and a more detailed topographical one of Laramie, Carbon, and Albany Counties. To his right was a corkboard that served not only as a place to display wanted criminals but also for the locals to post classifieds. There was a water cooler, fax machine, half a dozen filing cabinets, two desks, complete with phones and computer monitors in front of the open door to what he guessed was the personal office of Sheriff Tanner. A hallway led off to the left, and he figured there were a few holding cells out of sight of the reception area. His eyes came to rest on the man in the uniform.

“You found him. You must be the FBI agent,” Shaun said and waved the fax.

“Glad my introduction preceded me,” Ethan commented with a nod toward the paper.

“Barely. I can understand the concern of the Regional Director, but this is a small town crime. We’ve had forensics from Cheyenne out here, and the ME at Ivinson Memorial Hospital believes it could be a deliberate act. Despite the town’s size, we’re capable of solving our own crimes.”

Ethan shrugged, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “No one is saying you’re not. Perhaps we could talk privately?” he suggested, his eyes swiveling from Esther to the open door of the office.

“Sure,” Shaun agreed, then walked to the counter, pulled open the small gate, and allowed Ethan behind the boundary.

Once they were inside Shaun’s office, and the door was closed, Ethan stuck out his hand. “Ethan Brooks, FBI, Baltimore Field Office.”

Shaun shook it, then gestured for the agent to sit. Not one to cling to formality, the sheriff settled himself on the edge of his desk.

“I’m here at the request of my boss’s boss. I have no intention of taking over the investigation—”

“Glad to hear it,” Shaun interrupted.

“Only to offer my assistance. I would like to take a look at the ME’s full report, photographs of the scene, list of the evidence, and any interviews you’ve taken.”

“I’ll ask Esther for the file. Where will you be staying, Agent Brooks?”

“Ethan. And I’m booked at the lodge for at least a week,” he said, then observed the expression on the sheriff’s face as he realized how difficult it would be to keep anything from the FBI since Ethan would be conveniently close enough to instigate his own interviews, gather his own information.

Shaun’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Alyssa failed to mention that to me.”

“She probably didn’t know, since my reservation is under ‘Mister’ instead of ‘Agent,’” Ethan replied, then continued, “You know, to keep the town gossip to a minimum.”

Shaun laughed without humor as he stood. “One thing a small town always has plenty of is speculation. Esther is the best I could come up with to keep it under control.” His expression became serious as he glanced out his office window at Esther, then back at Ethan. “Bear Tanner was as much a part of this community as the mountain air and 2nd Street. He gave people jobs when they were down on their luck, donated money to the school and the hospital. Hell, he even served several terms on the Town Council. There isn’t anyone who would want him dead.”

Ethan watched closely. There was honest conviction for the sheriff’s beliefs and a strong tie to protect the town. He nodded, knowing he was beginning to like Shaun Tanner but would be careful to not step across the line of whose town, or investigation, this was.

“Sometimes fresh eyes and a different perspective can offer alternatives. I promise to keep you updated on anything I discover,” he said as he rose from his chair. “We both want the same thing, Sheriff Tanner—”

“Shaun,” he interrupted.

Ethan smiled. “And that is to catch Bear Tanner’s killer.”

Shaun nodded, then opened the door. “Esther, did you file the reports on my father’s case?”

“Top drawer, first cabinet,” she answered, fingers tapping on a keyboard.

Shaun moved to the indicated location and pulled what Ethan had requested. Stepping over to the copy machine, he ran the papers through, gathered the sheets from the side, and handed the stack to the FBI agent.

“Thanks,” Ethan said, taking the papers. “I’ll review these tonight. Should I come here tomorrow to discuss our next steps?”

“I’ll be at the airport and then the lodge. I’ll catch up with you there,” Shaun said as he opened the gate on the counter and followed Ethan to the door.

“I was informed there’s Internet access and spotty cell service on the game Preserve,” Ethan waited for confirmation from Shaun, “but here’s my card and ways to contact me.”

Shaun took it. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

Ethan nodded and turned towards his parked rental. Another fifteen minutes down the road and the sign for Tanner’s Outdoor Adventures was lit up by his headlights. He parked near the steps leading to the veranda, grabbed his carryon and his case from the back, then opened the solid wood door of the lodge.

Glancing at her watch, Carli saw the numbers roll to 3:03 AM. Sighing, she shifted her gaze to Tim who slept awkwardly in the seat next to her on the third part of their journey to Wyoming. He looked boyish, with his red curls falling across his forehead, the longer strands still contained in the ponytail. They had made a bet that her suggestion for reaching Laramie would get them there quicker than Tim’s original travel plans. The winner would receive bragging rights and a hundred dollars. The bragging would get more mileage than the cash.

Remembering the countless airports they had been in, the incalculable miles traveled, she grinned. That same hundred dollars had shared time in each of their pockets over the years. Stretching her legs out in front of her and interlacing her fingers, resting them on her belly, she didn’t think she would find another to tolerate the number of days she was away from home, or her unusual eating and sleeping habits. Realizing how she was sitting was reminiscent of her father, she shifted in her seat, her eyes wandering from Tim, to the darkness out the window, to the few lights that shined over passengers who, like herself, were wide awake. They had an hour before they landed in Salt Lake. She should try to rest.

Closing her eyes didn’t take away the images in her mind. Her father guiding hunters, taking her and Sam and Shaun to the carnival in Laramie, teaching her to drive, fix a toilet, clean a gun, track a bear, to stand up to Sheila Jones, the bully in fifth grade. He was there when she had her heart broken the first time. And the second. It was Bear’s insistence that encouraged her to pursue her art degree, and to meet her at the Laramie Airport every time she came home. He would make her dessert on her first night back at the lodge, would view and critique her pictures, and wanted to know the tiny details of the natives she observed, spoke to, and often lived with. Who would do that now? She was a grown woman, so did she even need someone to do those things for her? Did she want someone? Restless dreams took her then, and she welcomed the diversion from her conscious, perpetual thinking.