Breaking Point

doesn’t look like I quit. The wheels of government turn pretty slow, you know.”
    “Except when they don’t,” Nate said, and grinned. “So what are you going to do?”
    Joe shrugged. “Something different. Something honest. I have to be able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning.”
    “And what would that be?”
    “I’m figuring it out, Nate. Governor Rulon has called my cell phone twice in the last couple of days. He says he wants to offer me a job.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.”
    “And you haven’t called him back?”
    “Not yet.”
    Nate nodded and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then: “Since I’ve been gone, I’ve come up with a few projects of my own. It’s worked out pretty well. I’m in demand. Do you want to hear about it and maybe partner up?”
    Joe looked over and squinted. “I don’t know. Do I?”
    Nate smiled wolfishly. “It depends if you’ve completely shucked that Dudley Do-Right thing of yours.”
    “I haven’t.”
    “Then this is a subject best left for another time,” Nate said.
    Joe was curious but not curious enough to ask. There was something disconcerting about Nate, he thought. Nate seemed too jolly, too devil-may-care, where in the past he’d been intense yet honorable in his way. Joe chalked it up to the terrible things that had happened to Nate in the past year, and understood how those tragedies could affect a man.
    Still . . .
    —
    C OUNTY A TTORNEY D ULCIE S CHALK had come to their house two days before and had told Joe and Marybeth the governor was on a rampage against Batista.
    It turned out rancher Frank Zeller had noticed an extra horse grazing in his pasture several days before that turned out to be Toby. Zeller had retrieved the digital recorder and delivered it in person to Rulon, who’d listened to it.
    Although Dulcie said she didn’t know any of the details, Julio Batista had been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation of his actions—not the least of which was the unauthorized use of a Hellfire missile. The governor wanted Batista arrested and was making the case for it to anyone who would listen, including Dulcie.
    Dulcie said she was pursuing charges against Juan Julio Batista for the murder of Jimmy Sollis. So far, the federal agencies were refusing to turn over the audio and video footage of the drone strike, but Dulcie was tenacious, and she was certain she’d receive it in the weeks ahead. When she did, she said, she’d file the papers to have Batista extradited to Twelve Sleep County.
    Joe said, “The murder of Jimmy Sollis? That’s it? He’ll claim fog-of-war stuff. If you’re lucky, you’ll get him on manslaughter.”
    “It’s better than nothing,” Dulcie said, defensive.
    “There’s more,” Joe said, and waited for Marybeth to hand Dulcie the file she’d put together.
    “And maybe,” Joe said, “we can get him to deliver
himself
.”
    —
    J OE HAD VISITED Butch Roberson in the county lockup the day before. Roberson wore an orange jumpsuit with TSCDC—Twelve Sleep County Detention Center—stenciled across his back and over a breast pocket. He was shaved and cleaned up, although his arms were covered with bandages from his wounds. He looked smaller through the thick glass of the visiting booth, Joe thought.
    Joe asked Butch if he’d changed his mind about his confession.
    Roberson said he hadn’t.
    “I need to ask you about representation,” Butch said. “I don’t know anything about being a criminal. I’m supposed to show up tomorrow before Judge Hewitt for a charging ceremony or whatever they call it. I built an addition on Hewitt’s house. He knows me, so I think that’s good. The county has said they’d give me a lawyer free of charge.”
    “Duane Patterson,” Joe said. “He’s the public defender. He hasn’t handled any high-profile cases like yours.”
    “He seems like a nice guy, though.”
    “He is,” Joe said. “You could do worse.”
    “I got a call from some public defense firm,” Butch said. “They said they have a team of lawyers who want to screw the EPA. I’m fine with that. I was starting to wonder if there was anyone out there who cared at all what they did to us.”
    “That’s good to hear,” Joe said.
    Butch shook his head. “It’s kind of out of my hands now, isn’t it? Now I’m just a peon in the system.”
    “There are some good people out there,” Joe said. “You should at least listen to them. Even if they take you on to