limit through the Wapiti Valley en route to the East Entrance of Yellowstone dropped to forty-five miles per hour and Joe slowed down. He checked his wristwatch. If he kept to the limit and didn’t get slowed by bear jams or buffalo herds, he should be able to make it to the park headquarters at Mammoth Hot Springs by 3:30 P.M., enough time to locate Del Ashby and get the briefing.
As he drove on the nearly empty road, winding parallel to the North Fork of the Shoshone River, Joe thought again about the murders and how they’d taken place because the circumstancesof the crime bothered him. All those shots, multiple weapons. That’s what jumped out. Most people reading the reportswould come to the conclusion the park rangers apparently had, that the crime had been committed in anger, in passion. Joe wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, despite all the blasting.Just because Clay McCann fired a lot of shots didn’t mean he had gone mad. It might mean he wanted to make sure the victimswere dead. Most of the wounds Joe read about could have been fatal on their own, so they were well-placed. There was nothing in the reports to suggest McCann had shot at the victims as they stood in a group, or peppered the shore of the lake with lead. Just the opposite. Each shot, whether by shotgun or pistol, had been deliberate and at close range. Although there were no facts in the file to suggest McCann was anything other than what he was—an ethically challenged small-town lawyer—Joe couldn’t help thinking the murders had been committed by a professional, someone with knowledge of death and firearms. Since McCann’s biography didn’t include stints in any branch of the military and didn’t include information that he was a hunter, Joe wondered where the lawyer had received his training.
Joe had spent most of his life around hunters and big game. He knew there was a marked difference between the way Bear and his friends killed those elk and the way the men on the porch hunted. Bear and his friends were clumsy amateurs, firingindiscriminately at the herd and finding out later what fell. In contrast, the men on the porch were careful marksmen and ethical hunters.
Simply pointing a long rod of steel (a gun) and pulling the trigger ( Bang! ) didn’t instantly snuff the life out of the target. All the act did was hurl a tiny piece of lead through the air at great but instantly declining speed. The bit of lead, usually less than half an inch in diameter, had to hit something vital to do fatal damage: brain, heart, lungs. To be quick and sure, the bullethad to cause great internal damage immediately. Rarely was a single shot an instant kill. That only happened in the movies. In real life, there was a good chance a single jacketed bullet would simply pass through the body, leaving two bleeding holes and tissue damage, but not doing enough harm to kill unless the victim bled out or the wounds became infected. Pulling the triggerdidn’t kill. Placing the bullet did. McCann had placed each and every shot.
In a rage, a man like Clay McCann would much more likely start pointing his weapons and shooting until all his victims were down and consider the job done. But to have the presence of mind to walk up to each downed camper and put a death shot into their heads after they were incapacitated? That was pure, icy calculation. Or the work of a professional. And if not a pro, someone who had reason to assure himself that all his victims were dead, that no one could ever talk about what had happened,or why it happened. Vicinage and jurisdiction aside, the murders had been extremely cold-blooded and sure.
Joe couldn’t put himself into Clay McCann’s head on July 21. What would possess a man to do what he did with such efficientsavagery? What was his motivation? An insult, as McCannlater claimed? Joe didn’t buy it.
At the east entrance gate, the middle-aged woman ranger asked Joe how long he’d be staying. Until that moment, he
As he drove on the nearly empty road, winding parallel to the North Fork of the Shoshone River, Joe thought again about the murders and how they’d taken place because the circumstancesof the crime bothered him. All those shots, multiple weapons. That’s what jumped out. Most people reading the reportswould come to the conclusion the park rangers apparently had, that the crime had been committed in anger, in passion. Joe wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, despite all the blasting.Just because Clay McCann fired a lot of shots didn’t mean he had gone mad. It might mean he wanted to make sure the victimswere dead. Most of the wounds Joe read about could have been fatal on their own, so they were well-placed. There was nothing in the reports to suggest McCann had shot at the victims as they stood in a group, or peppered the shore of the lake with lead. Just the opposite. Each shot, whether by shotgun or pistol, had been deliberate and at close range. Although there were no facts in the file to suggest McCann was anything other than what he was—an ethically challenged small-town lawyer—Joe couldn’t help thinking the murders had been committed by a professional, someone with knowledge of death and firearms. Since McCann’s biography didn’t include stints in any branch of the military and didn’t include information that he was a hunter, Joe wondered where the lawyer had received his training.
Joe had spent most of his life around hunters and big game. He knew there was a marked difference between the way Bear and his friends killed those elk and the way the men on the porch hunted. Bear and his friends were clumsy amateurs, firingindiscriminately at the herd and finding out later what fell. In contrast, the men on the porch were careful marksmen and ethical hunters.
Simply pointing a long rod of steel (a gun) and pulling the trigger ( Bang! ) didn’t instantly snuff the life out of the target. All the act did was hurl a tiny piece of lead through the air at great but instantly declining speed. The bit of lead, usually less than half an inch in diameter, had to hit something vital to do fatal damage: brain, heart, lungs. To be quick and sure, the bullethad to cause great internal damage immediately. Rarely was a single shot an instant kill. That only happened in the movies. In real life, there was a good chance a single jacketed bullet would simply pass through the body, leaving two bleeding holes and tissue damage, but not doing enough harm to kill unless the victim bled out or the wounds became infected. Pulling the triggerdidn’t kill. Placing the bullet did. McCann had placed each and every shot.
In a rage, a man like Clay McCann would much more likely start pointing his weapons and shooting until all his victims were down and consider the job done. But to have the presence of mind to walk up to each downed camper and put a death shot into their heads after they were incapacitated? That was pure, icy calculation. Or the work of a professional. And if not a pro, someone who had reason to assure himself that all his victims were dead, that no one could ever talk about what had happened,or why it happened. Vicinage and jurisdiction aside, the murders had been extremely cold-blooded and sure.
Joe couldn’t put himself into Clay McCann’s head on July 21. What would possess a man to do what he did with such efficientsavagery? What was his motivation? An insult, as McCannlater claimed? Joe didn’t buy it.
At the east entrance gate, the middle-aged woman ranger asked Joe how long he’d be staying. Until that moment, he
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