“I’ll be confiscating your weapon and the ammo,” Joe said. “Don’t worry—I’ll give you a receipt.”

“You can’t do that,” Wentworth said.

“Sure I can. Weapons suspected of being used in a wildlife crime can be confiscated until it’s proved otherwise. So I’ll be taking your shotgun with me for analysis.”

Wentworth shook his head. He was trying to force a smile. He said, “I know shotgun pellets aren’t like bullets. You can’t match up the markings on pellets to a certain gun, and those Federal shells are a dime a dozen.”

“Yup,” Joe said, gathering the items. “But every shotgun leaves a unique firing-pin indentation on the primer. You can’t see it with your naked eye, but a forensics lab can see it through a microscope. They’ll know if this gun was used to kill those birds when they match it up with the spent shells I found at the scene.”

“Bullshit.”

“This time I’m sending the evidence to my lab,” Joe said. “If I were you, I’d start a long conversation with myself about all this.”

“So what are you going to do?” Wentworth talked like his mouth was dry. He looked at Joe with pleading eyes.

“Now?” Joe said. “I’m going to go home and have dinner with my family. But don’t worry—I’ll be in touch.”

Wentworth’s cell phone rang on a lamp table near his bed.

“That’ll be Annie,” Joe said while he backed out with the shotgun. “If I were you, I wouldn’t pick up.”

Joe’s last glimpse of Wentworth as the door shut was of a man with his head in his hands.

—

THAT NIGHT, while Joe and Marybeth were getting ready for bed, Marybeth said, “I think we should go to church tomorrow. I know it’s been a while, but I want to pray for April and Nate and to make sure they’re on the church’s prayer list. Lucy even said she wants to come along.”

Joe said, “I have to go to Cheyenne and meet with the governor.”

“On a Sunday?” She was distressed by the news.

“You know how he is.”

“You have to go to Cheyenne on a Sunday to talk about wild birds?”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“No, you go,” she said. “The governor’s been good to you and he won’t be in office forever. I’ll take Lucy with me to church and give everyone your regards.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll pray for them as I drive south.”

“You do that.”

—

AFTER MARYBETH had turned off her reading lamp, Joe said, “Do you think there is any connection between what happened to April and what happened to Nate?”

She hesitated for a moment, then clicked her light on again and propped herself up on her elbow.

“What?”

“It’s something the governor mentioned today. He doesn’t know all the details, but he thought it strange that two big events happened so close together. It’s got me thinking, but I can’t connect them at all.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to connect,” she said sharply.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

She reached over and doused the light again and settled under the covers with a huff.

“Thanks for giving me something to keep me awake all night,” she said.

“Sorry.”

17

Three hours later, Liv Brannan’s eyes snapped open. Something—or somebody—was up there. Maybe it was the coyote or dog from a couple of nights ago. She’d heard it snuffling and padding around the closed doors. This time, though, it seemed heavier.

The Cateses unplugged the hanging trouble light at midnight, although they didn’t unhook the extension cord that powered the space heater. She guessed it was an hour past, but she didn’t know for sure. They’d taken her watch.

This was the first time she’d slept hard since they’d put her in the hole. The reason, she suspected, was that she was physically tired. Either that, or God forbid, she was getting used to being down here.

She was tired because, for the last day and a half, she’d spent every spare minute chipping away at the concrete-like compacted clay of the wall, trying to loosen a rock she’d discovered. The rock was round and smooth like a river rock but she had yet to find out how large it was. When she’d first uncovered the rock, the surface was no bigger around than a quarter. But when she began to dig around it with her fingernails, she found out it was much larger. Her fingernails were now sore and bleeding.

She’d used eating utensils after meals to dig deeper, using the tip of the butter knife and the handle of a spoon. More progress was made with the utensils, but she had to clean and return them so no one would suspect what she was doing. They always counted the silverware after they raised the bucket.

The face of the rock was getting bigger all the time. Her fear was that it was massive—too big to remove and too heavy to do her any good. Her hope was that it was medium-sized, maybe the size of a softball, and could be used as a lethal weapon.

Maybe they’d heard her digging and had come to punish her, she thought. But why after midnight?

The hasp snicked and the doors opened quietly. She looked up to see a large square filled with stars, and she felt a breath of cold air from outside.

Bull whispered, “Hey.”

She closed her eyes and felt her heart race.

He said, “I’m puttin’ the ladder down.”

Not now, she thought. It was too soon. Not until she got the rock out of the wall.

She whispered back, “Bull, are you sure about this? What if somebody sees you?”

He snorted and said, “We went out tonight. Cora Lee is passed out on her fat ass and snoring like a hippo.” He chuckled at his comparison.

Moonlight glinted off the rails of the aluminum ladder and she could sense it coming down. She shifted her position so the feet wouldn’t hit her on her legs or pin her blankets to the floor. Then she was up, standing, rubbing her eyes. Her face was gritty with dirt and her mouth tasted like metal.

The ladder groaned as Bull descended rung by rung. If only she could yank that rock out of the wall . . .

“I’ve been . . . stoked . . . ever since you . . . told me you was lonely,” he whispered. The exertion of climbing down made him short of breath. Exertion, plus gallons of alcohol. She could smell it on him as he descended. He was less sure-footed on the ladder than usual.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim starlight and she could see that even though he was “stoked,” he hadn’t forgotten the pistol in his waistband or the hot-shot that hung around his neck on a cord.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work, she thought. Her hints were supposed to have gnawed at him over several days until he finally gave in. By then she’d be ready with the rock. She’d wait until he turned his back to her to climb up the ladder and she’d bash in his skull. But here he was, the same day she’d set her plan in motion. And the rock was still in the wall and as stuck as when she’d discovered it.

“Bull, are you sure about this?” she said.

His boots were on the floor now and he turned and held out something to her.

“I brung you this,” he said. It was a long-stemmed rose, the kind they sold for a dollar in bars. He’d probably bought it for Cora Lee and took it back while she was passed out.

She reached out for it and their hands brushed together. She guessed he liked that.

“Thank you,” she lied.

He towered over her. Now that he was close, she could smell the stew of alcohol on his breath and cigarette smoke on his clothing. Then he was placing his huge hands on her shoulders, stroking her.