Page 22 of Three-Inch Teeth

Gordon shrugged. “Like I said, they’re well-meaning, I think. But I’m a scientist and biologist, so that’s not the way I think. There are just some people who identify with bears in what I’d consider a very unhealthy way. You’ve heard of anthropomorphism? You know, attributing human characteristics to nonhuman species?”

“Yup,” Joe said, thinking that Marybeth and his daughters were somewhat guilty of it when it came to their horses and dogs. Of course, he probably was, too, when it came to Daisy …

“That’s what the Mama Bears do,” she said. “But to an extreme degree. They go out into Yellowstone to view bears and they think they understand them. They claim to know a few of the grizzlies personally, and even give them names.”

“How are you going to make them go away?” Joe asked.

“I might need your help with that,” she said to him.

“Glad to help.”

He thought about how much of his job, and apparently Gordon’s as well, was becoming less concerned with managing wildlife and more about dealing with people who fetishized animals. He blamed it partly on the disconnect between modern Americans and nature. Although it was beautiful and fascinating, Joe knew how rough it was out there in the wild. Brutal, bloody, and completely ruthless. The circle of life, he knew, was amoral at best.

*

AS THEY CROSSED the river, Joe looked back over his shoulder at the slope they’d traversed. He could see the silhouette of Cress on top, still on his phone. Hoaglin was out of view.

When they approached the exhumed cache, Joe felt another chill run through him. The proximity of the scene triggered a reprise of the raw fear he’d felt when he found Clay Junior’s body: real, bone-chilling fear. He unslung the .308 and carried it at his side as a cautionary measure.

“I’m going to get the gear gathered up,” Brodbeck said to Joe and Gordon. “I’ll leave the persuading to you two.”

“Thank you,” Joe said, not really meaning it.

*

LYNN FOWLER AND Jayce Calhoun stood with their hands on their hips as Joe and Gordon approached them. Both women were in their late fifties, Joe guessed. They were thin and fit and had expensive haircuts, and the skin on their faces looked stretched tight and wrinkle-free, which belied how much time they apparently spent outdoors tracking grizzly bears. Fowler had a mane of dark hair streaked with ginger, and Calhoun’s long wild tresses of pure white made her blue eyes and plumped lips stand out like a child’s drawing. Both wore matching anoraks with Patagonia embroidered on one breast and Mama Bears on the other.

Their new-model white Range Rover had County 22 plates, meaning Teton County.

“Jennie,” Fowler said to Gordon, “you know why we’re here. This just has to stop.”

“Meet Joe Pickett,” Gordon said. “He’s the local game warden.”

Joe nodded his hat brim to them, but neither responded in kind.

“We know this bear,” Calhoun said. “We know her and we know her tragic circumstances. You cannot kill this beautiful creature. We forbid it.”

Gordon leaned against the grille of her pickup, crossed her arms, and said, “Explain to me how you know the bear.”

Calhoun and Fowler exchanged glances, and Fowler addressed Joe instead of Gordon. Apparently, he guessed, he must look like the softer touch.

“We call her Tisiphone,” she said. She pronounced it “Tie-sif-o-nee.” “After the Greek goddess of vengeance and retribution. This woman you’re with,” she said, pointing at Gordon, “calls her ‘Number 413.’”

Gordon rolled her eyes but didn’t interrupt Fowler, who continued. “Tisiphone is one of the most tragic stories you will ever hear, game warden. She is the embodiment of a mother whose entire world is destroyed by man. The incident was so horrible and violent that Tisiphone lost her mind, and she travels the earth exacting revenge against those who destroyed her family.”

Joe squinted, trying to understand. He looked at Gordon for support, but Gordon looked away.

“Are you a father?” Calhoun asked Joe.

“Yup. Three daughters.”

“Three,” Calhoun said, once again exchanging looks with Fowler. “How interesting. How connected you’ll be when you hear this story.

“Now imagine, Mr. Pickett, that you are on a hike with your three young daughters. Imagine that during that hike you cross a road, you leading and your three daughters following you one by one. Maybe you’re holding hands.”

She paused for effect, then said, “Now imagine that a careless driver just plowed into all three of your daughters at the same time, killing two instantly. Imagine turning around and seeing your third daughter still alive, but bleeding out in the road. How would you feel?”

“Not good,” Joe said.

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