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"Well, I should have said a 'victim,' I guess," Carroll said. "The hunter didn't check for a pulse or anything. He just said there was somebody inside the pickup and that the victim was unresponsive. He said there were bullet holes in the windshield and the glass was all cracked and it was hard to see inside very clearly."

Her heart raced. She asked, "How long ago did the report come in?"

"Like I said, just a few minutes ago. Of course, we don't know how long that pickup has been sitting out there. That place is a long way away from town, as you probably know."

"How soon will it be before you get there?"

"Ten, twelve minutes more, I reckon."

"Did you call dispatch in Cheyenne?" Marybeth asked. "They might know better about Joe's location. He's not the only person driving a Game and Fish vehicle in the county, you know. There are biologists, other game wardens, fisheries people..."

"Like I said, I don't know anything yet," Carroll said. "I was just hoping you'd be able to rule out that it was Joe."

"God, I wish I could," she said. Then: "Hold on."

Marybeth dug into her handbag for her cell phone and she speed-dialed Joe's phone and pressed it to her other ear. While she did, she noticed that the front-desk librarian who had transferred the call was now hovering outside her office door, looking into its wide window with a concerned expression. Marybeth could see her own reflection in the glass and she looked ridiculous holding phones up to both ears. But at the moment, she didn't care.

The call to Joe went straight to his voicemail.

"This is game warden Joe Pickett. I can't take this call right now, but please leave your name and number and..."

When it beeped, Marybeth shouted, "Joe, call me back right away."

"What's that?" Deputy Carroll asked over the handset.

"Never mind," she said. "I was trying Joe on his cell phone. He didn't pick up."

"Does he usually?"

She started to say yes, then she started to say he usually did, then she got honest and said, "At times. But he always calls back when he can."

She tried not to imagine her husband shot to death inside the cab of his pickup. Or worse, bleeding out while waiting for someone to arrive.

"Where is this hunter who called it in?" she asked Carroll. "Did he just leave the scene and Joe?"

"First, we don't know it's Joe," Carroll said. "Second, I'm not sure where the reporting party is right now. I didn't get the initial call."

Marybeth reached up with her free left hand and rubbed her eyes. She tried not to take all her anger, fear, and frustration out on Deputy Carroll.

"Please call me the second you get there," she said, and slammed the receiver down onto the phone's base.

She sat back for a second, staring into space. Judith from the front desk was a stocky woman in her early sixties with close-cropped gray hair and oversized black-framed glasses who was partial to wearing Christmas sweaters any time of the year. When her worried face nearly pressed against the glass of the window, Marybeth growled and raised her voice again.

"Please, Judith, leave me be and get back to work."

Judith scurried away. Marybeth made a mental note to apologize to the poor woman later.

*  *  *

The dispatcher in Cheyenne identified herself as Monica Luce.

"This is Marybeth Pickett, Joe Pickett's wife," Marybeth said. "We're trying to locate Joe right now. Did he call in his location this morning?"

Luce chuckled. "Joe's a great guy, but he never calls in his location unless it's an emergency and he needs backup."

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