Death Takes a Gander

by Goff, Christine

  “Shit!” Her voice startled the nearest goose. It raised its head and struggled to its feet, flapping its wings.

  Again, she remembered the swan.

  “Hey there, baby,” she said, drawing near. “I’m just going to pick you up, okay?”

  As she hefted it into her arms, the bird writhed, nearly knocking her onto the ice. Gripping the animal more tightly, she struggled to stand.

  “We’re going to head back now.”

  The wind picked up, spitting snow in her face and glazing the ice in front of her. Her feet slipped. The ice snapped.

  Fear sliced through her.

  Time froze.

  She slid until her feet caught on a crust of snow, and she nearly tumbled headlong. Her heart banged in her chest. The goose struggled against her hip.

  It took a moment to realize the ice hadn’t broken, another to figure out she was back in control of her feet. Puffing out air, she looked down at the bird. “That was close. Shall we try it again?”

  Reaching shore, she retraced her footsteps. Dawn gripped the morning, and light now seeped through the cracks in the trees, making it easier to see. The wind died down. The honking of the geese faded. In her arms, the goose breathed softly, and Angela marveled at the beauty of the bird.

  “What do you have there, Angel?”

  Eric’s voice startled her, and she bobbled the animal. The goose’s head snapped up. It tried stretching its wings and lashed out with its bill. Angela dodged, struggling to maintain hold. “Don’t just stand there. Help me.”

  Eric tried moving in.

  The goose hissed, bobbing its head from side to side like a tall featherweight boxer.

  “From where I stand, this is as close as I get,” he said.

  “I can’t hold it alone.”

  “Then put it down.”

  Angela glared up at him. Judging by how much he towered above her, he had to be over six feet, and he looked to be in good shape. “What? Are you afraid of a bird, Eric?”

  “Not so much afraid as unwilling to approach. That is not a happy goose.”

  Spoken in a singsong accent, his words made Angela laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

  With no good way for Eric to get around behind her, Angela realized she was going to have to let the bird go. To her left, through the trees, was Black Canyon Creek. If she could release the goose onto the water, it might have a chance.

  She made a beeline for the creek. Clearing the last tree, she lost her grip. The goose spread its wings. Air swirled around her ears. The bird gained its five-foot wingspan, flapped once, then crashed to the ground.

  “Great, just great,” she muttered, shaking out her arms.

  “Are you okay?” Eric moved in closer now that the bird was on the ground. “What were you trying to do with that thing?”

  “Save it.”

  The bird shook out its feathers and glanced side to side. Eric looked skeptical. “It looks fine to me. It’s nice and fat.”

  “Well, it’s not fine.”

  In confirmation, the goose waddled toward the water, then staggered, falling face-first into the snow. It flapped about, uttering a series of high-pitched honks and squeaks, and Eric pointed in the direction of the Visitors Center.

  “I’ll get my net.”

  Angela squatted down on her heels, studying the bird from eye level. “We’ll need more than one. There must be a hundred of them on the ice, most of them near the tournament area.” She glanced up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’d been drinking the fishermen’s beer.”

  Eric stared down at her. “You’re kidding. A hundred?”

  “I told you there were others.”

  “Ja, but when you said ‘others,’ I thought you meant ten or twenty.” A lock of brown hair fell across his brow, and he brushed it back with a thick glove. “Are you sure some aren’t mallards? Large ducks, gray bodies, green heads?”

  Angela bristled. “I know a Canada geese when I see one. Large bird, grayish-brown body, black head, long neck, white chinstrap.” She gestured to the bird on the snow.

  “That is a Canada goose.” Eric said. It’s just… we don’t usually see them on Elk Lake in any numbers. Never in the quantity you’re talking.”

  She shrugged. “Then here’s your chance. They’re down near the fishing huts.”

  CHAPTER 3

  It had taken Eric twenty minutes to track her down, and ten minutes for the two of them to backtrack to the path. By then, John Frakus, the newly appointed director of the Elk Park Chamber of Commerce, had discovered the geese. Angela heard him barking orders as she and Eric broke free of the trees.

  “I don’t give a damn how you do it. Just get those frickin’geese off the ice,” he yelled into his handheld radio.

  Angela glanced at Eric. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

  “I don’t think he has the best interests of the birds in mind,” she pointed out.

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “There you are,” Frakus hollered, hailing them from the direction of the boat launch. Lowering his handheld, he stormed up the path. “What the hell is going on?”

  “We’re not sure, John,” replied Eric, tipping his head in Angela’s direction. “Angel discovered the geese on the ice. She called me.”

  Frakus turned on her. “You knew?” he bellowed. “You knew, and you didn’t do anything?”

  Angela’s hand instinctively moved toward her gun. Frakus was a big guy, and she didn’t like having him in her face. He was tall, like Eric, though more heavyset, and his neon-green snowsuit made him look like the Incredible Hulk.

  “I did something,” she replied. “I called him.”

  Eric leaped to her defense. “She couldn’t get out to the birds from where she was.”

  “Well, I’m damn well going to get to them,” hollered Frakus. “We have a fishing tournament kicking off in just under two hours.”

  Angela wet her lips. “It may take longer than that to—”

  Nearby, an engine coughed, then the roar of machinery drowned out her words.

  Frakus had already stopped listening. “Alright boys, let’s do it,” he said, yelling into the handheld again.

  Angela looked at Eric.

  “Do what?” she mouthed.

  Eric kept his eyes on Frakus, who waved his free arm in the air.

  “Start clearing the ice,” ordered Frakus.

  On Frakus’s command, the roar grew louder. Within seconds, two trucks equipped with plow blades, and a small Bobcat with a bucket attachment swerved into view on Highway 34.

  Frakus keyed the radio again. “Open the gate.”

  “Wait!” cried Angela, stepping forward. “You can’t just blade those geese off the ice.”

  Eric cupped his hand on Frakus’s shoulder. “You know, John, Angel’s right. We need to have a look at the birds. There’s no telling what’s wrong with them.”

  Frakus jerked his arm free. “I don’t have time for games, Linenger. You, of all people, should understand the stakes. This town has a lot of money tied up in this tournament.”

  “That may be,” Angela said, moving into position to block his path. “But we have a job to do. I’m charged with protecting these animals, and what you’re intending to do is against the law.”

  Frakus glowered. “So arrest me.”

  “I will if I have to.” She worked at curbing her temper and waited for his response.

  Frakus signaled his men to stand down. The engine noise dropped to an idle.

  That’s better. “Thank you.”

  Frakus batted away her words. “Tell me your plan.”

  “I—we,” she said, gesturing to Eric, “need to assess the situation before anyone gets on the ice. Once we know what we’re dealing with, I’ll make arrangements to have the birds removed.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Who knows?” she said. “We don’t have any idea what’s wrong, and—”

  “I
’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Frakus said, jabbing a finger in her face. “We’ve got crap on the ice. Loads of crap. Let me tell you something, Angel… ”

  She didn’t like his gestures or the way he used her name, and unsnapped the safety strap on her holster.

  Frakus leaned in, his warm breath steaming her face. “Geese are not birds. They’re pests. I want them off of my ice.”

  Angela refused to back down. “That may be, Mr. Frakus, but those ‘pests’are migratory and therefore protected by law. You make any attempt to remove them, and I’ll charge you with a felony violation under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act.”

  Frakus’s face reddened, making him look like a malfunctioning stoplight. He whirled on Eric. “How about you, Linenger? Do you understand the ramifications of what you’re doing?”

  Eric nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Then perhaps you could explain them to your friend.”

  Eric scrunched his face, looking doubtful. “I don’t know her very well, but I’d have to say she doesn’t seem like much of a listener.”

  Frakus scowled. “Well I know someone who is. Be prepared to get your marching orders.”

  Angela wondered whom he planned on calling. Kramner? He was the only one with overriding power, and he would back her. He had to. The law was clear.

  “Go to it,” she said. “Do whatever you’ve got to do.”

  Eric moved out of Frakus’s line of vision and made a slashing motion across his throat in the universal sign for ‘cut.’ Did he know something she didn’t?

  Frakus narrowed his eyes at Angela, as though sensing her anxiety. “Mark my words, Ranger—”

  “Special Agent,” she corrected. She dug in her pocket and came up with a card. She handed it to him.

  He swiped his thumb across the U.S. Fish and Wildlife emblem, studied the card, then looked up.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Agent Dimato,” Frakus said.“You got that?” He looked at Eric. “Fifteen minutes! After that, my boys are scraping ice.”

  Angela’s hand gripped the butt of her gun, but Eric grabbed her elbow.

  “We got it,” he said.

  “Stupid jackass,” she muttered as Eric hustled her down the path toward the boat ramp. “Who the heck does he think he is?”

  “Let it go, Angel. We need to use the time wisely.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and jerked her sleeve free of his grasp. “Excuse me? Are you saying he can make good on his threat?”

  “Exactly.” Eric’s mouth formed a hard slash. “In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure he can.”

  “How?” She pointed toward the lake, the fishing huts with their flapping banners, and the geese. “Those birds are protected.”

  “So you would think.” He took up walking again, setting a pace that forced her to crow-hop to keep up. “But trust me, Frakus is calling Kramner, and Kramner will side with him on this one.”

  Angela frowned. She and her boss didn’t always see eye to eye, but she knew he was ethical. “Is there some loophole in the law I don’t know about?”

  “Ja.” Eric glanced down at her. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Every year, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service issues permits to the USDA, the U.S. Department of—”

  “Agriculture. I know what it stands for.”

  “The permits allow for the depredation of geese in areas with overly large populations.”

  She experienced a sinking feeling. She knew about the special permit policy and disagreed with it. In her mind, it was a political concession to keep the urbanites happy. “It doesn’t apply here. You said yourself, Elk Park doesn’t have a resident goose population.”

  “Fort Collins and Denver do.”

  Angela’s mouth went dry, and she licked her lips. “Your point is?”

  “Ever hear of a guy named Gurney Crawford?”

  “The name’s familiar.” She tried tapping the vague recollection with no success.

  “He was a conservation officer for the Colorado Department of Game and Fish back in the 1950s,” explained Eric.

  “That’s right.” She remembered reading about him in one of her college classes. “Wasn’t he the guy who reestablished the goose population along the Front Range?”

  “He was a man very big on geese. When he came on board, Colorado didn’t have many, just a few hundred resident geese in the northwest. Gurney changed all that. He even won a national conservation award for his efforts.”

  The wind picked up, and Angela repositioned her hat, tucking up a loose curl. “Thanks for the history lesson. I still don’t see—”

  “Do you have any idea how many geese we have now?”

  “Fifteen thousand resident pairs?” It was a guess.

  “Close. CDW, the Colorado—”

  “Division of Wildlife,” she said, huffing out a breath. She was young, not stupid. She knew what the letters stood for.

  “CDW put out a release in August of ‘01 claiming more than twenty thousand resident pairs,” continued Eric. “According to their figures, we may have as many as two hundred fifty thousand geese in Colorado during migration.”

  Angela whistled. In investigations, you followed the crimes against wildlife, not the studies. “How many are there now?”

  “More.”

  Angela bit back a laugh. “Seriously, do you know how those numbers break down?”

  “The original group, the Rocky Mountain group, has around ten thousand birds. The shortgrass prairie population—”

  “The ones in the San Luis Valley?”

  He nodded. “That group comes in at around sixty thousand. The rest belong to the Hi-Line population along the Front Range. You do the math.”

  She calculated the numbers in her head, twice. “One hundred eighty thousand geese?”

  “All along the Front Range, all pooping up a storm.”

  Angela emitted a half-hearted chuckle. “Still, you’re talking city populations. This is different.”

  “No, I’m talking damage to agricultural crops and city parks.” He threw up his hands. “Permission has already been granted for the roundup and removal of four thousand two hundred Hi-Line geese this summer.” Eric glanced sideways at her. “Any idea who holds those permits?”

  Angela mulled the question. It had to be someone connected to Frakus. Her eyes moved to the First Annual Elk Park Ice Fishing Jamboree banner. One name stood out. “Agriventures?”

  “You guessed it. The cosponsor of the Ice Fishing Jamboree.”

  She didn’t know much about the company, except that they were a large corporation doing business mostly in the organic foods market. “So, what you’re saying is—”

  “John Frakus has an ace in the hole.”

  “Donald Tauer, Agriventures’s CEO?”

  “None other.”

  They rounded a bend in the path and could hear more clearly the high-pitched honking and squeaks that signaled trouble. Another fifty feet and she could see the bodies. According to her watch, they had ten minutes before Frakus sent his men to scrape them off the ice.

  “We’re going to need reinforcements,” Eric said.

  On cue, Angela’s cell phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Kramner. “Speak of the devil.”

  She answered, then filled him in on what was happening. “The bottom line is, I told Frakus he can’t remove the birds from the ice.”

  “But he can, Dimato. I told him we’d allow the use of the Agriventures permit, provided—and here’s the caveat—the USDA must agree to count the birds in the permit totals. I want their intent to do so in writing.”

  “That’s it? Frakus wins?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded high-pitched, like the geese’s honking.

  “It doesn’t pay for us to be unreasonable.”

  “Excuse me, sir, are you suggesting it’s reasonable to allow him to plow the birds off the ice?”

  “I’m suggesting we choose our political battles.
It does not behoove us to antagonize John Frakus over a flock of Canada geese. I told him to have USDA fax their permission and to be sure you have a copy before he does anything else.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Dimato. If he gets the documentation, you are to stand down. Do you understand?”

  Angela chewed the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay calm.

  Kramner rephrased the question. “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After she’d hung up the phone, Eric crowed. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes.” Acid gnawed at her stomach lining. She wished she had a peppermint candy. According to her grandmother, peppermint calmed the stomach and soothed the soul. Angela could use the double remedy. “There has to be something more we can do.”

  “You could defy Kramner’s orders.”

  Angela reached out and grabbed Eric’s sleeve, forcing him to skid to a stop. “That’s it!”

  “Defiance?”

  “No, an end run.” For the second time since graduation, she thought about Nathan Sobul. He was a lousy boyfriend and a lousy lab partner, but he worked for the USDA.

  “Kramner hedged,” she said. “He made his decision contingent. In order to use the permit, Frakus needs documentation from the USDA to proceed. I may know someone who can intervene.” She told him about Nathan.

  “What does he do for the USDA?”

  Angela shrugged. “But he’s one of those people who knows everyone. If he can’t help, he should know who can.”

  “Where’s he based?”

  “Fort Collins.”

  “That’s good.” Eric shifted his weight from side to side and rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

  For the first time that morning, Angela felt cold. But, Eric was right. It was good that the USDA was headquartered in Fort Collins, and Nate was more apt to know someone with clout working out of the main office. Peeling off a glove, she punched in Nathan’s home number on her cell phone and hoped it was still good. It had been a long time since she’d dialed it. Funny the things you remember. She still knew her junior high school locker combination.

  The phone rang, and Angela’s heart pummeled her rib cage. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was? How long had it actually been since they’d spoken? Three years?