McReynolds was lounging against the wall of the conference room, arms crossed on his chest and one cowboy-booted heel flat against the wall. He looked like a very tall, very tan crane. “Lord, Carly. They’re going to think you don’t know your stuff you keep after him like that. Hush and let’s talk about cow innards.”
She blew her husband a kiss and stood in front of the board while Sam and Xander took seats at the table.
Satisfied she had everyone’s attention, she addressed Sam directly.
“Have you ever necropsied a cow?”
Sam shook her head. “I’ve never had the pleasure, no.”
“Damn hard work. Cows have a lot inside of them. The rumen itself takes forever to get through. You have to pick them up out of the fields with a crane. I was in luck, when Gerhardt’s stock went down, the NTSB had their portable crane they call Godzilla here in the mountains dealing with a plane crash. They came and helped us. We were able to use it to move the cows up the hill so we could do the necropsies behind Gerhardt’s barn. Level ground there, a nice wide concrete slab.”
She pointed at the first of the pictures. Sam saw the pasture running downhill, and the dead cows dotting the green grass like gigantic black-and-white spotted mushrooms. It wouldn’t have been an easy feat to move them. She imagined herself, grimly prepared to necropsy the cows, marching off down the hill with purpose, and her respect for Carly upped a notch.
“How many died?” Sam asked.
“Five. Four cows with new calves and a newly weaned winter calf.”
“And your findings were consistent with grass tetany?”
“Honestly, that was the only thing that made sense.” She started moving down the line of photographs. Sam got up to see better. The first was of a cow on its side, then wide open, on its back, its legs splayed wide as if the cow had spun out on some ice and landed upside down.
Carly continued a painstakingly detailed recitation on the dissection, walking Sam through every step with her on the photos. She was a good teacher, though once you got past the rumen, things were pretty self-explanatory. Hearts were hearts and lungs were lungs and guts were guts on mammals.
“See this? The rules on an animal this size are easy—if it’s hollow you lay it open, if it’s solid you cut through it. Once I got into the rumen, I started opening things up, and found there were lesions in the abdominal track, as well as blood in the lungs and more lesions on the snout and tongue. It stood to reason it was something they ate, and their magnesium levels came back as low. We gave the herd supplements in some fresh grain and that seemed to fix the problem. We didn’t lose any more.”
“Are the samples you took still available?”
“I seriously doubt it. We sent it all to the lab at Colorado State, and since it wasn’t a herd disease, something communicable that could spread across the stock, there was no reason to keep it on hand once we made the diagnosis. Tetany is dangerous, but only to the cows that aren’t getting the right nutrients. I take it you think I’m wrong?”
“I do. But damn if I know how to prove it.”
“So what do you think caused their deaths?”
“Abrin. Most likely in their grain. Cows are four to eight times the weight of an average man. The killer would want to be sure the dosage was enough to kill. If it would take down a cow, it would take down a human, without a problem. Personally, I’d have tested on pigs, they’re closer to humans point for point. Cows seem overkill, honestly.”
“Not a lot of pig farms up here, though.”
“Maybe he had a vendetta against Gerhardt,” Xander offered. “Reed, did the old man have any threats against him, or problems with people?”
“You know Gerhardt, Xander Moon. He had problems with everyone. But no one wanted him dead as far as I knew.”
Carly was walking along her line of photographs, thinking aloud. “Gerhardt could have just been a wrong place, wrong time casualty. If the poison was in the grain, anyone who fed those cows could have gotten sick. The dust that comes up when you pour it out of the carrier is bad. Jeez, I fed the stock myself when he was laid up—it could have been me just as easily. Assuming the killer was testing things.” Her hand went to her throat and her china-blue eyes grew wide, and Sam remembered, drama lessons.
“What about poachers?” Sam asked.
“You’re thinking about how they could get on his land unseen?” Xander asked.
“Yeah.”
Reed shrugged. “They’re out there, but we don’t have too many problems in this area. We mostly have fools who are fishing without licenses and taking a buck out of season rather than people trying to get at the mountain lions and brown bears without a care. It’s been known to happen, but it’s rare.”
Carly was watching her husband. “What about the bandit, Reed?”
“What bandit?” Xander asked.
Reed stepped himself off the wall. “You haven’t heard about this? Been going on for a couple of years now. Summit, Jefferson counties, pretty widespread. Someone’s been breaking into the cabins and barns and helping themselves to some very nice stuff. Everything from weapons to axes to food. Even a cell phone here and there. We thought it was kids for the longest time, but last month, one of the camp owners got smart and rigged an outdoor camera. We caught the bastard on tape, dressed head to toe in BDUs, sporting a rifle on one shoulder, a coonskin cap and snowshoes. Got him dead to rights coming into the camp, breaking into the cabin and walking out with groceries. Owners were at some kind of party, came home to find they’d been burgled. They called me and since the trail was so fresh, we tried to go after him, but we got nowhere fast. Trail ended at Ridge Road. He must have taken off the snowshoes and hiked along the asphalt for a good ways, because we went up and down the ridge and never got another whiff of him. He hasn’t been spotted since, and we’ve had no new reports.”
“What exactly was he stealing?”
“Tools, supplies, food, you name it.”
“Did he ever hit Gerhardt’s place?”
“You know, come to think of it, he did. Last year. Around the time Gerhardt got sick the first time.”
Sam chewed on her lip. She didn’t believe in coincidences.
“You still have the video, right?”
“Sure. It’s an open case.”
“What are you thinking?” Xander asked.
Sam smiled. “Depends on what he stole. Are we talking tuna fish, or are we talking real supplies?”
Reed went to his desk and pulled out a wide file from the cabinet.
“Let’s see here—it’s mostly food, but when he does take things, it’s always really odd stuff, things that don’t match. The first one was fertilizer, potting soil, metal pipes, gardening supplies. The second was all kinds of food and vitamins. Kids’ vitamins. The third was weapons, the fourth he took the mufflers from the cars, and a whole wad of stuff from the garage—nails and tacks and PVC. The list goes on and on and on. He’s like our very own barefoot bandit. We haven’t decided if he’s harmless or not.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Xander. “I’m going to vote for not. None of those things sound random to me. That’s all the makings to cultivate a crop of rosary peas, and build some delivery vehicles.”
Xander nodded. “Among other things.”
Reed’s phone began to squawk. He apologized and went to answer it. Carly followed him.
Sam and Xander sat down together at the table.
“I can just see Carly, marching off down that hill to necropsy the cow.”
“She’s very determined,” Xander said carefully, unsure of whether Sam was being serious or flip.
“Takes a special woman to treat animals,” she offered. Olive branch. Carly may have looked like a piece of fluff, but she was obviously smart, and obviously in love with her husband. Sam stowed her animosity an
d thought aloud about the bandit.
“I bet he has a greenhouse. That’s how he’s been growing the rosary peas. They need warmth. A hothouse would work just fine for that, especially up here with all the sun. Could be solar, or on a geothermal area—you’ve got lots of those pockets this high in the mountains.”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled at him. “Ledbetter’s book. It was one of the tricks they used for keeping themselves warm without having to use fire, since the smoke is a dead giveaway if you’re trying to stay invisible. They build their camps near a natural geothermal and pipe the hot water in.”
“Whoever is doing this was in the Mountain Blue and Gray when she was.”
“I agree. And growing rosary peas is hardly illegal, so anyone who happened upon it thinking it might be a marijuana operation would be sadly surprised. If he’s stealing the materials, he’s trying to stay off the radar. So there will be no records of him buying the makings.”
“You’re right. He’s totally off grid.”
“So it’s time to visit your friend and see if he can identify the people in the picture.”
Xander nodded. “Let’s go then.”
Reed and Carly came out of his office. “Man, I’m sorry, I gotta run. Accident up in Breckenridge, I’m gonna take Carly up there. They want someone from ski patrol. You have what you need?”
“We do. We’re heading up to Crawfords’ Ranch. Will is in town. When we push him with this new information, he might share more about what’s going down. He didn’t give me the whole story last time we talked.”
Xander and Reed shared a look that Sam couldn’t decipher.
“Careful up there,” Reed finally said. “Crawford’s all kinds of crazy. Dementia.”
“I know.”
Sam turned to Carly. “Thank you for the necropsy primer. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’ll check and see if those samples are still around the labs up there in Fort Collins.”
“Thanks.”
They all walked out together. The sun beat down, the blue sky close and watchful, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like they were one step closer.
Closer, and even farther away.
Chapter 43
It amazed him that an office building in Boulder could have better security than the Metro in D.C., but there you have it. It didn’t matter, really, he had the appropriate ID and equipment and uniform. No one would give him a second glance. But it was ironic.
He showed the badge at the front desk, grunted noncommittally when the guard asked him to sign in, scribbling something with the pen, careful to wipe it on his sleeve before he set it down, to smudge any possible prints. Going about in gloves at this point was too suspicious, but the minute he was in the elevator he slipped them on.
The higher the elevator rose, the more the bombs seemed to come alive in his bag, chittering to him, though he knew that was impossible. They were each swathed in the devil’s own Bubble Wrap, tucked tightly together without a chance for connection until he was ready to make them sing. They couldn’t clank or whisper, he’d made sure of that.
At the top floor, he got out and made his way to the end of the stairwell. He had a large fluorescent light in one hand, his bag in the other. He looked every bit the part of an electrician, replacing a specialized bulb.
He started at the top. He had five to place. Five tubes of life-ending hell, all ready to unleash their fury upon the heathens who created their horrors within these walls.
He worked his way down the stairs, tucking a bomb into the ventilation shafts every third floor. No cameras in the stairwells, the dummies. Though he assumed they made their devil deals out here, which was why it was the perfect spot, private, load bearing and the main escape route from the building in case of emergency. He’d be sure to capture everyone. When he was finished, all he had to do was pull the fire alarm and hightail it out of there. Count thirty to allow for maximum confusion, then hit Send on his cell. He’d already be a block away before anyone knew what hit them, and on his way back to the camp before the first responders arrived.
It was a shame he couldn’t stay to watch, but Ruth was waiting in the truck. She was a good girl, she was on the floor with her book and the windows were tinted so there was no way she could be seen from the outside. She’d happily play there for a good hour or so, more than enough time for him to set his trap.
He liked this “making a statement” work. Truth be told, in the beginning, he had been planning to stop after D.C., where things had gone so well, but he had the leftover abrin, and the material to make some serious boom-booms, so why not? He could get used to this—eliminating those who pissed him off. Obviously no one in D.C. had any idea of what was going on. They’d arrested some raghead, and he was happy to let them. It gave him more freedom, and that’s all he was trying to do, anyway, was fight for freedom. Damn government tried to interfere in everything now, and he was sick and tired of it.
They made laws that allowed the most terrible things to happen, from allowing children to die in their mothers’ wombs to the rape of the land to the secret stores of stem cells they were using behind the doors, twenty feet away, to build a genetically perfect army, clones who were unstoppable, things that would heal within minutes and rise to fight again. Like zombies. Once they’d figured out how to re-create a woman’s eggs from stem cells, it was all over. There was no more slippery slope: they’d all arrived at the bottom, and the only way to recover was to scrabble around in the mud and build their wall again, sailing to the top on the backs of the unborn, carefully crafted and modified children.
They would interfere with the people next. The evil-loving societies, and their desire to be sheep, led to the slaughter. They didn’t care. They wanted to be fattened and allowed to live their useless little lives, with their cars and electric toys and drugs and sex. They were an abomination. They epitomized sin. They reveled in their greed and sloth and envy. He’d fallen prey to one of the seven deadlies himself, been captured by the bonds of lust, and knew just how powerful that pull could be. And look where that got him.
Things went black, a rage he couldn’t control panting through him, taking him away. He had to fight for control. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. The injustice of it all overwhelmed him.
Not now. Not now.
His breathing slowed infinitesimally, enough for him to catch some air.
He wouldn’t allow the sins of the father to be visited on his child, no matter that she was the direct result of those sins.
No one would ever hurt his Ruth.
And so he became wrath.
Because it is not a sin to be living proof of God’s will.
He realized he was standing stock-still in the hallway, and people were filing past, some in scrubs, all looking at him queerly. He carefully tucked his hands in his pockets and went to the elevator, the now empty backpack on his shoulder.
It was done. In fifteen minutes, they’d all be dead, and the ones who didn’t succumb in the blast would get a nice whiff of abrin and die later.
Die, mother...fuckers.
He stopped himself from giggling. He didn’t use bad words often. Just thinking one was tantamount to shouting it at the top of his lungs, but that thought felt very, very good.
The elevator dinged and the doors slipped open. He kept his gaze averted and entered, ignoring the two nurses inside. He counted it down.
Thirty.
Twenty.
Ten.
Ding.
He walked straight out and made a beeline for the doors.
“Hey! Hey! Electrician dude.”
Stop walking. Turn around slowly. Don’t look anxious.
He followed his own advice. The security guard was on his feet, pointing his long finger right at his...oh, the
badge. They wanted their badge back.
He allowed himself half a breath, and detached it from his pocket, walked it back to the security guard, who grunted thanks and took it.
He turned and hightailed it out of there. At the door he hesitated for a second, looking over his shoulder. The fire alarm was on the wall to the right of the glass door. No one was looking.
He pulled the white bar, and the sirens sang out. Quicker than a breeze, he stepped out the doors and began a quick march away from the building.
The previous glee returned. He was golden.
The truck was parked five hundred yards away, and he glanced at the gorgeous, sunny summer sky, wondering what the people inside the four walls of perdition were thinking.
Panic.
Fire.
Apocalypse.
He bet they’d been looking outside their windows, gloating about their advances, cheering each other with their test tubes full of the abominations they created, reveling in the sun, thinking it signified God’s pleasure at their interference with his plan, and yet they had no idea that they were staring into the brimstone sky of their real creator. And then the warning system kicked in, and they’d have to abandon their work, scramble into the stairwells, where his vengeance lay in wait.
He would show them. Breathe your last, hellspawn.
He counted the steps to the truck. Reached the door. Opened it, and swung his big body into the cab.
“Ruthie, my darling...”
The truck was empty.
“Ruth? Where are you? Ruth?”
No answer.
And the cell phone, stashed so carefully behind the gearshift, was gone, too.
Terror filled him, bleeding into his blood, and he went ice-cold before breaking out into a flop sweat. His breath came fast, and he couldn’t see. The blackness was coming, it was going to take him.
Breathe, man. She can’t be far.
Ruth was going to be in some serious trouble. She had strict instructions not to move. She had defied him, and stolen the phone from him, as well. He would tan her hide the minute he found her.
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