The Bitterroots (Cassie Dewell #4) - C.J. Box Page 0,58

mouth off to a peace officer.”

She bit her tongue. As much as she had always despised fellow cops who used their badges to intimidate and harass citizens, she didn’t need to tell him that. She’d wait until the morning and file a complaint with Sheriff Wagy.

He opened his door and leaned inside. She waited and seethed.

After less than a minute, he stepped back onto the asphalt. “Looks like I left my Breathalyzer tester back at the department.”

She waited for more. Then asked, “What’s that mean?”

“I thought you said you used to be a cop. You know exactly what that means. It means I need to take you in so we can do it there.”

“Take me in?”

“Yes, ma’am. To that place with lots of desks and cells and prisoners and jail bars and stuff.”

He was being clearly provocative and sarcastic. He was, she concluded, trying very hard to bait her into a reaction.

She didn’t bite.

“Can I please follow you?” she asked. “I don’t want to leave my Jeep out here on the highway.”

“In your condition?” he said with a grin. “That’s fucking nuts. No wonder the cop shop you worked for let you go.”

“My name is Cassie Dewell,” she said. “I’m a licensed private investigator with the State of Montana.”

“Let’s hope you can keep that license after this,” he said.

“Believe me, I will. Look, I know Sheriff Wagy. I met with him just this morning. He knows I’m here on legitimate business.”

Grzegorczyk rolled his eyes. “You’re going to try and play that card on me? Act like you and my boss are best buds? Even if he knows you I doubt he’d approve of you driving drunk in Lochsa County, lady.”

Then he opened his back door and signaled for her to get in.

“Now I need you to take a seat in the cruiser. Try not to bump your head getting in.”

“Can I at least get my purse and lock up my car?” she asked.

“I’ll get it,” he said. The deputy placed his left hand on the Taser on his belt and his right hand on the grip of his service weapon.

His voice was chilling. “I need you to get into this car right now, ma’am.

“You’ll love our jail,” he said, stepping aside so she could crawl into his cruiser. “It’s really historic.”

*

Deputy Grzegorczyk turned back onto the highway and Cassie watched her Jeep slide by with its driver’s-side window and door closed but unlocked.

“So you’re a PI, huh?” he asked, eying her in the rearview mirror.

“Yes. License number seven, seven, seven, five.”

“Do you make a good living at it? It’s something I might be interested in doing some day is the reason I asked.”

“I do okay.” She sighed. His change in tone was curious to her.

“Good to know.”

As they drove toward Horston, she recalled something John Wayne Kleinsasser had asked her.

What are you driving so I’ll know it’s you?

Or had Cheyenne called a friend in the sheriff’s department known as Deputy Grzegorczyk?

fifteen

The truck driver chose a different place to park the second time he came to the high school building. There was no need to arouse suspicion, no need to create a situation where a resident could later recall that he or she saw the same vehicle idling in the middle of the night at the same location.

So instead of a side street, he chose a gravel two-track on the far east end of the campus near the football stadium. The driver would have preferred to get closer because of what he was about to do, but he was convinced his logic was solid in choosing another spot. Plus, with the exception of a single pole light on the west end of the stadium that illuminated a closed-up concession stand, he couldn’t be seen from the side streets.

He powered down the driver’s-side window, killed the engine, and pocketed the keys. He sat silently for ten minutes letting the cold night air envelop him. As he did so he waited and watched. The engine ticked as it cooled.

The stadium itself was no different than it used to be although there were some new guest boxes on the top level and artificial turf had been laid down to replace the old grass field. Unlike the landscape around him of brittle tufts of dried grass and cover, the new plastic field with its perfect white stripes looked phony and cheap to him. Just like the coaches and physical education teachers who used to give him such a hard time.

Being so close to the stadium