by Robin Lamont
It was nearly midnight. Gordon had gotten a flight into Jackson Hole, and Lisbet had put together some food in case he hadn’t eaten. But he brushed his plate aside and retreated to the corner of Lisbet’s office with his computer. He hadn’t yet said why the rush out here, but his long, narrow face, lit by the computer screen, looked serious.
Jude was trying to pry more information from Lisbet. “Tell me about the victim,” she prompted.
Lisbet brought a cup of tea over to Gordon, who took it without raising his head, then she put another on the table in front of Jude and perched on the edge of her desk. “I knew Craig Eberhardt,” she said. “Not well, but we’d crossed paths. He worked for Wildlife Services.
“I’ve heard of them, but what exactly do they do?”
“We’ve been asking ourselves that for years,” was the caustic reply. “Wildlife Services is a federal agency that used to be called Animal Damage Control. Their stated vision,” Lisbet said, accenting the word with finger quotation marks, “is to ‘improve the coexistence of people and wildlife.’ But as you probably know, conservation in this country is not about helping wildlife flourish, but about managing it in a way that doesn’t interfere with human endeavors.” She took a sip of her own tea. “Sorry if I sound bitter, but we put our hearts into bringing the wolves back from extinction, and now we’re at risk of losing them again.”
Jude looked over at Gordon talking on the phone while tapping out a message on his computer keyboard. Despite being fifteen years her senior, Gordon was as tech-fluent as a teenager and was armed with an arsenal of digital devices that connected him to a constant flow of information.
“Gordon helped with the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone, right?” asked Jude.
“He did, and probably saved our skins as well.”
“How so?”
“A lot of folks around here were very upset about wolves coming back. And when we finally got the authorization to release six Canadian wolves into Yellowstone, the opposition was in a frenzy. More than once we were confronted by wolf hunters in camo gear, shotguns, the whole works. They even wore KKK hoods like they were some self-appointed militia. We actually had to keep the location of the penned wolves secret, so we set up camp for ourselves a good distance away. The night before we released the wolves, a group of armed men surrounded our camper. They thought we had the wolves and they wanted to kill them right there. When we wouldn’t tell them where the wolves were, they were so enraged I thought they were going to shoot us. Thankfully, Gordon was able to turn them around. But it was pretty tense.”
Across the room, Gordon closed his computer, deposited his lanky frame onto a chair next to Jude’s and gratefully reached for a tomato and avocado sandwich. Finn sidled over to him to see if his hands needed warming. Apparently they did because Gordon began to absently stroke Finn’s big black and brown head while he ate. After a few mouthfuls, he tore off a piece of crust for Finn, who thanked him by taking it gently from Gordon’s fingers.
“CJ was able to ferret out some information from a law enforcement source in Salt Lake City,” said Gordon soberly. Everyone at The Kinship relied heavily on CJ Malone, their resident tech nerd, intelligence officer, logistics man … lifeline. “Eberhardt is definitely being treated as a homicide. I’m sure the cops are handling it, but there are rumors that animal activists are interfering with traps in the area, so the FBI is inserting themselves into the mix.”
“That should go over well with the local police force,” Lisbet commented dryly.
Gordon turned to her. “Give us a little background on Stanton.”
She pulled out a map from her desk drawer and opened it. “Here’s Yellowstone,” said Lisbet, pointing to the northwest corner of Wyoming. Stanton is about twenty-five miles from our border a little south of here. The town itself is small, about three thousand residents. But it’s a hub for hunters because of a big elk ranch, and for trappers who come in to the fur auctions in Saint Claire. Hunting season for big game is just about over, but not for wolves and coyote. In fact, a local sportsman’s association is gearing up for a wolf and coyote shooting derby, and I hear it’s not sitting well with a few of the residents. Because of the relative proximity to us and the other state parks, Stanton also draws tourists and wildlife watchers, so there’s always conflict between them and the hunting community.”
Gordon’s face darkened in a frown. “Maybe this derby is drawing a few hardcore activists. I wouldn’t be surprised since Idaho is ground zero right now, especially after they passed an ag-gag law. I’m guessing the FBI is interested because they believe that the ALF is working in the area.”
There was a moment of silence as Jude and Lisbet took in this information. Finally, Lisbet said softly, “Animal Liberation Front? I heard about a couple of fur farms that were raided in Wisconsin, and there was some trap interference in Wyoming. It’s a pretty radical group.”
Jude’s naturally translucent complexion had paled a shade. “Well, it’s not really a group, it’s more of an ideology. But why would anyone think the ALF had something to do with this guy’s death? I mean, come on,” she spluttered. “The ALF is opposed to violence. They … they don’t do that.”
“They did firebomb that place in California a while back,” Lisbet said. “And they were linked to an arson attack in Colorado.”
“That was ages ago. And no one has ever been killed in any of their actions,” insisted Jude.
“Murder is not their style, I agree,” said Gordon, the muscles in his jaw working. “But systematic trap interference is. It’s direct action – it’s what they believe in.” He began to pace the office. “I hope to God they don’t have anything to do with the Wildlife Services killing.” He looked directly at Jude. “And I don’t have to tell you why.”
Lisbet looked back and forth at the two of them. “You have to tell me why.”
After taking a huge breath, Jude said, “In a couple of weeks, Gordon’s going to testify at a Homeland Security hearing on terrorism. They’re looking to put more teeth in the Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act.”
Gordon picked up the thread. “Bush signed the AETA into law in 2006 as a gift to the meat and pharmaceutical lobbies, both of which would like to get animal activists off their backs.”
“They’re afraid the public will learn too much about what’s happening to animals in factory farms and testing labs,” threw in Jude. “Because when people start to learn, they stop buying.”
“As of now, the AETA is designed to punish anyone who ‘damages or interferes with’ an animal enterprise,” said Gordon. “The language of the statute is so broad that the term ‘interfere’ could cover almost any activity, as could ‘animal enterprise.’ And they went so far as to title the statute in a way that labels animal advocacy as ‘terrorism.’ Under an earlier version of the act, six people were thrown in federal prison for running a website that reported on some questionable actions by animal activists. The government alleged they were encouraging the activists. Quite honestly, you’d be hard pressed to find any state court that would call that criminal conspiracy, but there it is on the federal law books. And it’s making everyone in the animal protection movement worry about getting similarly arrested just for speaking out.” He blew out his cheeks in frustration. “It gets worse. There’s a Republican named Olander on the Homeland Security subcommittee panel who’s pushing this new AETA amendment hard. He’s been trying to shut down the animal protection movement for a long time and he’s got some real corporate power behind him. They’re determined to criminalize undercover investigations on a federal level. I’m the only voice at this hearing trying to convince the committee that it’s unconstitutional – and nothing more than corporate repression…”
Lisbet finished his thought. “And if an animal activist is arrested for a murder, not to mention the murder of a federal agent, it damages your case before the subcommittee.”
“It does more than that,” Gordon threw back. “Just the perception that the ALF is escalating their violence makes it difficult for all animal protection groups.”
Jude felt compelled to throw in, “Well, we don’t know anything for sure yet. It may turn out to be an accident–”
“They put Eberhardt in a leg hold trap!” exclaimed Lisbet somewhat shrilly. “If that isn’t making a statement, what is? For all the animals he’s killed in traps?”
“If CJ’s sources are correct and someone is sabotaging traps in Stanton, I want to know who’s behind it,” Gordon said. “I want to know what ties they may have to the ALF and if they had anything to do with this Wildlife Services agent. I hope it’s not true, but if it is, we need to be the first to know.”
His tone left no room for negotiation and Jude sensed trouble heading her way even before she looked up and met his eyes.
“That’s why you flew out here?” she asked softly.
“You could do it,” said Gordon.
Jude’s heart sunk. “Oh, Gordon, I waited a long time for this week off. I really need it.”
“Jude, this is important.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to do? Just waltz into Stanton and start asking around?”
“Go in under a pretext.”
Jude’s stomach tightened. “I … I couldn’t put a cover story together in time.”
“CJ will help you with that.”
Lisbet broke in. “What are you two talking about?”
“We send Jude to Stanton undercover,” Gordon explained. “If anybody can unearth ALF connections, she can.”
“I can’t leave Finn,” Jude protested.
“CJ will put something together that will include him.”
“Gordon, please. I don’t feel comfortable with this. It’s too quick.”
He stepped over and crouched by her chair, so that their faces were level. “What’s up, Jude? This is not a big deal, you’re not using a cover to get hired. You’re just going to see where things are at. This murder has to be a huge event in Stanton, and like Lisbet said, it’s a small town, people talk. If the ALF is around, you’ll find them before the feds do.”
She shook her head. “I just don’t think it’s … a good idea.”
If Gordon saw her blush, he didn’t see anything behind it. He knew Jude well, but he didn’t know everything. “Listen, we need someone there, ears and eyes on the ground, and we need to do it soon. Hey, you usually jump at these things.” He looked at her keenly.
Lisbet broke in apprehensively, “Gordon, I have to agree with Jude. She’d have to have an airtight story. Yes, it’s a tourist town, but mainly in the summer. Not now. Now it’s gone over to hunters and trappers. They do not like animal activists.”
But he had already made up his mind. He stood and pulled an iPhone out of his pocket. “Nobody does,” he replied.
Chapter 4
Jude glanced at the speedometer and was surprised to see she was bulleting along ten miles over the speed limit. She’d left Yellowstone midday and driven west, crossing the southern tip of Montana before turning south into Idaho. She eased up on the gas pedal, keeping an ear tuned to the soft, persistent whine of her old Subaru engine. The mechanic back home in D.C. told her not to worry too much about it, any vehicle with a hundred-and-thirty-thousand miles was bound to be a little cranky. But she couldn’t afford to break down. The road ahead, coated white from road salt, was just one long, straight line that disappeared into the base of a mountain range that never seemed to get any closer and wisps of cirrus clouds feathered an empty pale sky – all reminding her that she was on her own now.
She’d been here before. Finn in the back, the two of them driving down a lonely highway to another investigation.
Her last assignment had taken her to North Carolina, where a worker at a Marshfield Industries hog slaughterhouse had promised to give her a video he’d made with a concealed camera, footage clearly documenting the terrible treatment of the animals and the miserable conditions for the workers. The meeting never happened and events turned ugly – she became the target of a whole town’s animosity towards animal activists. This time she was going in undercover. But it didn’t make it any safer. Trying to get the information she needed while maintaining a pretext would be like trying to dance in a straightjacket, and as she cruised closer, she could feel the straps tightening around her chest. She took a deep breath and went over her cover story again.
A few miles outside of Stanton, Jude drove into the parking lot of the motel where CJ had booked her a room. It looked nearly abandoned and was so dismal, she circled the lot and got back on the highway.
“Give me some other options, CJ,” she said, putting the phone on speaker.
“How about the Ritz-Carlton?” he grumbled.
“They take dogs now?”
“Why are you doing this to me, girl?” he moaned.
“Because the motel is too far from town and because I’m the one with my ass hanging out here and it has to feel right – or as right as I can feel with just a handful of phony business cards as a cover.”
“Didn’t you get the hotel receipts? They were in the same package.”
“You mean those slips of paper I’m supposed to leave conspicuously hidden in my room in case someone searches it?”
“Ok, they’re not perfect, but they’ll back up your story about being a travel representative.”
“Except that if anyone is suspicious enough to search my room, I’m already toast.”
“Well, I’m working on the EO Travel web page. It’ll be up by tonight.”
“Thank you,” said Jude, not feeling terribly cheered. She hated to criticize CJ, the hardest worker in The Kinship. Confined to a wheelchair because of a childhood spine injury that left his legs paralyzed and contorted his body, he lived in a small apartment in the basement of the building where they had offices. He was accessible day or night, computers and phones within reach everywhere. Once, she tried to wrest him away from his work, threatening to take him on a vacation at her expense. He rudely rejected the idea and Jude’s feelings were hurt until Gordon took her aside. “Don’t force him to go out where people will pity him. He is needed and appreciated here. Let him be.”
“What about a bed and breakfast?” asked Jude.
CJ clucked like a disapproving mother. “That’s like living in somebody’s house. A motel is more neutral.”
She had to brake sharply when a gravel-spitting truck pulled out of a ramshackle diner in front of her. Outside the eatery was a message board with changeable letters that read FREE PIZZA FOR EVERY DEAD WOLF.
“We are a long way from neutral, CJ,” she came back. “As soon as I crossed the Idaho border I started seeing gun racks on every car.” Looking back at the diner in her rearview mirror, she asked, “CJ, do you think Finn could look like a wolf from far away? Like, through a rifle scope?”
“Finn? Nah. He looks like a cuddly grizzly.”
“I’m serious.”
“No, honey. He doesn’t have big, standup ears like a wolf. He’s got a skinny tail, and that cute Rottie-mix face.”
“I probably shouldn’t have brought him,” said Jude, unhappily.
“They love dogs in Idaho. You’ll be fine,” CJ assured her. “I’ll call you right back avec les boutique hotels pour mademoiselle.”
A few minutes later, Jude rattled over unused train tracks and into the town of Stanton. It was made up of one long main street where cars and trucks parked at an angle to the sidewalk. Sturdy brick buildings accommodated some of the mainstay services like banking and realty, while other storefronts with bright hand-painted signs advertised clothing shops, a bakery, a book store. Lisbet was right; Stanton catered to a tourist trade, and that would suit her cover.
After a brief drive-by of the places CJ had suggested, she settl
ed on the Aspen Guesthouse not far from the main street. It was a sizeable clapboard house with red shutters and paned-glass windows edged in early Christmas lights. Jude cloaked herself in her new persona and rang the doorbell. A tall, rumpled man in his fifties let her in.
“Are you booked?’ asked Jude.
“No, we have a couple of rooms. How long are you staying?” His hands had a slight tremor that belied his keen gaze.
“A few days. Do you take dogs?” she asked hopefully.
He nodded. “Dogs, cats, horses, mules, whatever you got.”
“Well, I left my mule back home … need him to take care of the cats. Hi, my name is Judy Harris.” She thrust out her hand. The outgoing gesture and accompanying banter did not come easily to Jude, but an undercover role was to some degree a performance, and her new persona, Judy Harris, was in sales … so people would expect an extrovert.
“Foster Dunne,” he replied. He had on old sneakers and a sweater vest and wore a placid expression, reminding Jude of Mr. Rogers from the children’s show. But as she shook his hand, she could feel the hard sinews of his fingers.
While Dunne loitered in the hall, she brought in her things, doling out bits and pieces of her reason for being in Stanton: she was a rep for a new company called EO Travel, scouting locations for nature and hunting tours that catered to Europeans. “A few Germans, Swiss, we’re also signing up some groups from the UK,” said Jude airily.
Dunne was quiet, his smile distracted. She waited for him to produce a sign-in sheet or discuss payment, but he did neither.
“And the Austrians are showing a lot of interest,” she added, if only to get things moving again.
Finally he asked, “Is Glawischnig still around?”
“Excuse me?”
“Eva Glawischnig, the head of Austria’s Green Party.”
Jude reddened. Oh, hell. She and CJ had crafted a cover story they figured would pass muster in Idaho and right off the bat she’d run into an expert in European politics. Her heart sank as she conceded that CJ was probably right – she would’ve been better off at a motel.