Linda shoved the microphone in Angela’s face. “Special Agent Dimato, in your own words, tell us what happened.”
Angela stared at the woman. Dressed in a tight white Bogner ski suit, she appeared to Angela to be the anti-Christ. “I’m not at liberty to discuss this case. Suffice it to say, Eric fell through the ice.”
Verbiscar’s face drained of color behind her makeup. “Folks, we have just learned that the victim’s first name is Eric.”
Angela kicked herself for letting his name slip. Kramner would have a field day.
“Special Agent Dimato, is it true that you are investigating the alleged poisoning of a flock of migratory geese?”
“Yes.”
“Is it also true that the National Park Service rehabilitation center has been helping with the geese?”
“Yes.” Where was Verbiscar headed with this line of questioning?
“I’m just trying to help our viewers understand the situation,” said Verbiscar, as though answering Angela’s question. “Isn’t the poisoning of migratory geese against the law?”
“Yes it is.”
Verbiscar made a mean face, indicating Angela should expound.
“Migratory birds are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act,” added Angela. “Harming them is a federal offense.”
Verbiscar cracked a smile, then gazed at Angela intently. “Then you’re saying it’s possible this wasn’t an accident?” She gestured toward the fishing huts behind them. “That the ranger might have been the victim of foul play?”
Angela swallowed. “I never said that.”
Verbiscar switched tacks. “According to my sources, a man left word for you to meet him here early this morning. Was that person ‘Eric’?” Her voice caught on his name.
Where had Verbiscar gotten her information? wondered Angela. Velof? “No comment.”
Verbiscar pressed. “Perhaps he wanted to meet you to disclose the identity of the person, or persons, responsible for poisoning the geese?”
Angela’s mouth went dry. Was Verbiscar trying to create a story, or did she know something Angela didn’t? “I said, no comment.”
The reporter looked grim. “My source also informs me that those poor individuals sick from eating the paté served last night at the Drummond banquet may, in fact, have been eating paté made from the livers of the poisoned geese.”
Angela frowned. What had she missed? Rather than attend the banquet, she had treated herself to a pay-per-view movie. Had something happened downstairs?
In her zeal to move in for the kill, Verbiscar released Angela’s arm.
“I know nothing about that,” Angela said, stepping away.
Signaling her cameraman to keep the film rolling, Verbiscar tried to block Angela’s retreat. “Agent Dimato—”
Frakus, of all people, came to her rescue, stepping in and blocking the reporter. “Linda, you must know Special Agent Dimato can’t discuss an active case. Tell your viewers not to worry. They can rest assured. This was just an accident, and the Jamboree is on as planned. We’ll be here until noon today.”
Verbiscar smiled sweetly. “That’s all from the scene. Back to you in the studio, Dan.”
Once the red light flipped off on the camera, Verbiscar scowled and teetered after Angela. “Was it Eric Linenger?”
Angela didn’t answer.
“Off the record. He’s a friend of mine. He helped me once.”
Angela didn’t stand to lose anything more by telling her. “Yes, it was.”
Verbiscar’s gloved hand fluttered up to her throat. “Is he going to make it?”
“I hope so.”
Angela waited for the woman to collect herself, then added, “Now you answer a question for me. What’s this about the Drummond guests being sick?”
Verbiscar’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“You really don’t know.”
“Know what?”
Angela listened as Verbiscar recounted the highlights. The details were vague, but the picture was clear. Angela’s thoughts flashed on the man collecting geese off the lake.
It had to be a coincidence.
Her stomach churned.
“What?” asked Verbiscar, studying Angela’s face.
Angela shook her head and tried worming her way around the woman. Verbiscar planted herself in Angela’s way. “You have to admit it seems fishy.”
Her mind pictured the man again. There’s no way.
The man culling geese from the ice on Saturday morning wouldn’t have had time to make enough paté for two hundred people that night, she reasoned.
“Maybe it was the water,” she suggested.
“You don’t believe that anymore than I do.” Verbiscar planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t stand there and tell me that, given this latest turn of events, you don’t plan on increasing the scope of your investigation.”
In spite of all her doubts and the sick feeling in her stomach, Angela was forced to toe the party line. “I don’t have the authority to make that decision, Ms. Verbiscar. My assignment, outside of watching for illegal catch, is to figure out what happened to the geese. Nothing more.”
This time, Crandall came to her rescue. “I think she made herself clear.”
“Crystal,” said Verbiscar.
Angela averted her eyes.
“Then you’re done here,” said Crandall, waving off the woman and cupping a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Why don’t you head out, Verbiscar?”
“Thanks,” Angela said.
“I still don’t see why you can’t send one of your own men up to the Raptor House.” sniveled Frakus.
“Because,” said Crandall, pushing his nose up close to the director’s face, “this is how it’s going down. When Angela’s done up at the Raptor House, she’ll come back. Meanwhile, I want to see Mr. Tauer, in your office, now.”
Angela considered pointing out that Nate had skated under the radar, but struck out for the parking lot instead. That was Crandall’s problem.
Frakus stayed behind pulling down yellow tape, but Nate fell in step beside Angela. “It’s not what you think,” he said.
“How do you know what I think?”
Heck, she didn’t know what she thought, other than that his fraternizing with Donald Tauer seemed like a conflict of interest. It was Nathan’s job to inspect Tauer’s crops, for god’s sake.
Nate offered up a smile. She was pleased to find herself resistant to his charms.
“Peeps, you have to believe me. I’m sorry I couldn’t help out. Trust me, there are things you don’t know.”
“Trust? That’s a mighty big word.” For such a small man. How depressing! Her life boiled down to a country western lyric.
Nathan reached out and touched her sleeve. She felt a fissure open in her heart.
“I know we have a history,” he said. “A difficult history. But can’t we work our way past it? What happened between us happened a long time ago.”
It was funny how people hang on to certain baggage. To her, it felt like yesterday.
“In case you’re interested,” he continued, “I’m single again.”
The smooth talk rolling off his tongue raised her resolve. Angela smiled. Somehow knowing things hadn’t worked out for him made her feel better.
“I still care about you, Peeps.”
“So sad,” she said, not caring if it sounded cold. “For the record, I’m not interested.” She savored the rejection flickering across his face. “You know what bothers me most?” she asked. “It’s the conflict of interest you’ve got here. Tell me, was your friendship with Donald Tauer the reason you couldn’t help out with the geese?”
Nathan looked shocked. “Are you questioning my integrity?”
“Only if the shoe fits.”
“I had a good reason for not helping. Besides, I was under no obligation to intervene for you.”
“What was the reason?”
“He
y, Angel,” hollered Frakus. “I expect you back here in an hour.”
Angela resisted the urge to flip him the bird.
Nathan frowned. “He doesn’t seem to like you much.”
“Hmmmm.” That was the understatement of the decade. “What reason?” she repeated.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Convenient.”
Nathan stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Trust me, Angela, there’s stuff going on you know nothing about. Let it rest before somebody else gets hurt.”
Angela stopped dead in her tracks.
His eyes locked on hers. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
Her heart stumbled. The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and, for a moment, she deluded herself into believing he cared. Suddenly, walking beside him was more than she could handle.
“Look, I’ve got to run.”
Sprinting ahead, she left him panting at the door to the Visitors Center. It felt good to leave him behind; like a karmic rite of passage, closure was at hand.
Once inside her truck, she allowed her emotions to dissolve into tears. In the past four weeks, she had been first on the scene in two separate incidents, both involving men she had worked with. First Ian. Now Eric. One dead. One clinging to life. What were the odds?
The situations bore similarities, but they’d occurred a month apart and in two different locations. The only commonalities were the proximity of water and the sick waterfowl. Was there a chance they were interrelated, or was she letting Linda Verbiscar get to her?
Eric had fallen through the ice hole of a locked fishing hut. Ian had strangled in the mist nets. Ian’s death had been ruled a suicide. Eric’s accident was under investigation.
A sudden chill caused her to rub her arms. Details of both nights played through her mind. She could feel the cold. Hear the call of the swan, the honking of geese. And in that instant, she knew they had missed something.
CHAPTER 11
Eric’s accident and Ian’s death were connected.
Angela found it impossible to shake the idea. She had never believed Ian’s death was a suicide, or even an accident. From the start, she had thought it was connected with the person he had met with earlier on the afternoon of his death. Now she tried remembering what he had told her about the case he was working. She dug deep and surfaced with little.
There was the fact that he was out at Barr Lake investigating the report of a sick bird, and she seemed to remember some of his notes indicating he’d recorded a number of animal die-offs along the Front Range. Maybe he’d figured out the source of the poison, and someone had wanted the secret held.
The Raptor House loomed in front of her, and she felt the muscles in her chest tighten. Delivering bad news was one duty of being a law officer she had yet to perform. Her worst fears were realized when Dorothy collapsed upon hearing the news. Angela helped the older woman to a car in the parking lot and assigned a volunteer to drive her home. After that, she answered a flurry of questions.
“Will he be okay?” someone asked.
Angela shook her head. “Truthfully, it’s too soon to know.”
“How did it happen?”
“The accident is under investigation.” A fudge, but she didn’t dare tell them the truth, that someone had pushed Eric through a hole in the ice. Not until the investigation was complete.
Most surprising were the number of questions focusing on details. Obviously some of the birdwatchers liked C.S.I. They pelted her with questions regarding the forensics of the scene.
Once satiated, the EPOCH volunteers resumed their work, and Angela seized the opportunity to duck into Eric’s office and use the phone to call Kramner.
After briefing him on the situation, she tossed out her thoughts. “You have to admit, sir, there are common threads in the cases.”
“You’re reaching, Dimato.”
Silence played on the line. Not knowing how to respond, she let it broaden.
“Let’s say your idea has merit,” he said. “What is it you want?”
It was the first sign of concession, and Angela pounced on the opening. “I want permission to investigate the link between the poisonings.”
Asking him to allow her to investigate anything more would be pushing the envelope, but she could do that in the process.
“We don’t need a department scandal, Dimato. Nor can we afford to create ill will between U.S. Fish and Wildlife and the town of Elk Park.” He sounded breathless, and she pictured him pacing. “I expect any findings to come straight through me.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. He was giving her the go-ahead.
Angela sat up straighter. “Then I have your permission?”
“As long as you stick to the birds, Dimato.”
“I pinky swear.” She could tell he had no clue what she meant. “Scout’s honor.”
“And no big expenditures,” he added. “There’s a budget crunch on.”
Fifty people sick! The number was staggering. Lark rubbed her eyes, hoping to blot out the figure scribbled on the desk blotter. According to the nurse at the Elk Park hospital, they had started referring patients to hospitals in Denver. Given the facts and the symptoms, and pending official lab results, the victims were being treated for lead poisoning.
“We might as well lock the doors, Stephen,” Lark said, glancing up at Velof. She was sitting at her desk. He was standing by the door. “The lawsuits will put us under in a week.”
“Wait. There’s more good news,” he responded, marching to the window. “We’ve gone national.” Pulling apart the slats in the blinds, he pointed to the KEPC-TV van in the parking lot. “Linda Verbiscar has been camped outside for an hour. The networks have picked up the story.”
“Why isn’t she down at the lake?” Lark, a volunteer firefighter, had called in when the siren sounded, so she knew someone had fallen through the ice. Enough volunteers had responded so her presence wasn’t needed on scene, but didn’t it warrant some television coverage?
“Maybe because we have multiple victims?”
“Good point,” Lark said. “Besides, who knows? Our story might win her a Pulitzer.”
Velof fixed her with a hawkish stare. “Might I suggest we have Bernie Crandall remove her from the property?”
“And have her go live with the fact that we’re squelching the public’s right to know? I don’t think so.”
Velof’s stiff demeanor crumbled. “Perhaps I should tender my resignation.”
“What, you’re not going down with the ship?”
Velof sat down, slouching in the chair.
“Pull yourself together, Stephen,” Lark said, folding her hands on the desk blotter. “I need your help. Give me a couple of days to figure things out.”
He lifted his head and regarded her through cool, blue eyes. “Do you really think you can straighten this out in two days?”
“Humor me. Look, I need you to do me a favor.” She pushed back from the desk. “Keep Linda Verbiscar out front while I slip out the back. You don’t have to lie or tell her anything. Just buy me a five-minute head start.”
“You’re leaving?” He frowned. “How come you can leave, but I can’t?” Velof stood and marched back to the window, gesturing toward the media circus with both hands. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, for god’s sake.”
“C’est la vie,” she answered, knowing the French would get his goat.
Velof scowled. “What do you expect me to do in your absence?”
“You’ll figure something out. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
His lower lip quivered.
Was Velof afraid?
“This is over my head.”
“You’ll do fine,” she said, pulling on her parka. She felt a bit guilty about acting so cavalier. “Look, just tell Verbiscar you have no comment about anything, and ask her to leave the property. Then start calling the registrations for today and tomorrow. We may need to find
alternative accommodations for some of the guests.”
“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?”
“The Raptor House.”
His lips twisted into a snarl.
“I promise, I won’t be long.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he peered down his nose at her. “You should be here, not running off to look after the fowl that got us into this mess in the first place.”
“The fowl are the key to the problem, Stephen. It wasn’t the geese that got us in trouble. It was Pierre Ducharme.”
Velof huffed. He clearly resented the reminder, but he had, after all, hired the chef.
In the end, he’d run interference, allowing Lark to slip out the back. Creeping behind a row of cars, she jumped into her truck and peeled out of the parking lot. Verbiscar’s hand shot up. Lark waved.
As the reporter and her cameraman bolted for the news-station van, Lark turned left at the stop sign. She intended to throw them off her tail. Keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, she turned west onto Main Street and sped downtown.
Elk Park bustled with activity. People strolled along the wide, bricked sidewalks, scraped dry except for occasional stray patches of snow. The buildings were constructed of pink or sandstone stucco with tiled roofs, and brick or white-painted clapboard with asphalt shingles. Split lampposts were spaced evenly between slender deciduous trees.
Lark waved at several people on the street, but only one or two waved back. The rest averted their faces, staring into shop windows and avoiding eye contact.
Lark’s face burned. Who did they think they were kidding? You learned who your friends were when the chips were down, especially in a small town. And, at present, she was a dangerous friend to have.
With no sign of Verbiscar, she blared the horn at Twilla Frakus, studying the fool’s gold display at the rock shop, then doubled back on Bypass Road to the Raptor House. As far as Lark could tell, she’d left Verbiscar in the dust. To be on the safe side, she parked her truck out of sight behind Miriam’s garage.
Death Takes a Gander Page 11