“Did you talk with Covyduck?”
“Before I called you. He’s checking on the tests as we speak. He promised to call me back.” Lark sighed, and a tendril of fear curled from Angela’s stomach to her throat.
They’d been working the wrong leads.
“Angela?”
“I’m still here.”
I’m thinking.
“What other things could make the geese sick like that?” she wondered aloud. “What would make them toxic to someone who ate them?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Come on, Lark, think! We have all the pieces. We just have to fit them together.”
Angela climbed out of bed. Cradling the phone against her shoulder, she shut the window and sealed out the cold air. The day was bright. Sunlight played on the frost covering the bird-feeders in the backyard, and a flock of LGBs—little gray birds, mostly house sparrows and pine siskins—mobbed the large feeder, kicking seed to the squirrels on the ground as they squabbled. Flashes of red indicated a house finch or two frolicked among the bunch, and an American goldfinch pecked thistle from the tube feeder. Reaching for her robe, Angela cranked up the heat, then settled herself into a chair from where she could watch the birds.
“Dorothy told us last night that the geese and the banquet guests were all getting better.”
“Right,” Lark said.
“So that should have been our clue. Lead accumulates in the system. Whatever poisoned the birds seems to be working its way through.”
“Like a virus?” Lark said.
Angela thought of Ebola and hemorrhagic fever, and nixed that idea. “No, more like—”
“Food poisoning,” they said in unison.
Why didn’t I see it before? thought Angela. It took less than a second for the epiphany to happen.
“It’s the corn!”
Lark’s silence at Angela’s pronouncement was profound.
“Hold on a minute. I’m switching phones.” Angela dropped the receiver and padded down the hall to her office.
A guest bedroom by virtue of the twin bed shoved into the corner, the prominent feature of the room was her grandfather’s desk, a huge mahogany rolltop dominating most of one wall. A thin layer of bills coated the surface. An ergonomically correct chair—a throwback to dorm life—was stuffed underneath. On either side, stacks of books rose from the floor like statues flanking a throne.
The rolltop’s cubbies were crammed full of papers, and it took her a moment to locate a Colorado map. Spreading it open on the desk, she clicked on the speaker phone. “Lark, do you remember how Covyduck said they’d found a mixture of corn and wetland grasses in the geese’s stomach?”
“Yes.”
“At the time, I figured it would help us pinpoint the previous location of the geese, but what if it’s the corn that’s making them sick?” Angela traced her finger along the route of the Barr Lake Drainage Loop. There was farmland all around.
“Geese eat corn all the time.”
“True,” Angela said, “and people eat geese. Just go with me on this.” She needed Lark’s help to brainstorm. “Outside of the shot, the fishing sinkers, and wetland vegetation, corn was the only thing the geese had in common, right?”
“Right.”
“And unlike lead, corn passes through, right?” Angela sat down, twisting her legs into the chair.
“Which explains why the banquet guests and the geese are getting better.”
“You’ve got it!” Angela traced her finger along the eastern edge of Barr Lake. “What do you want to bet at least one of the fields near the Barr Lake Hunt Club is planted in corn?”
Lark hesitated. “That doesn’t explain why it’s making them sick.”
“Maybe they sprayed the field with some new pesticide, or—” Angela broke off. There was another possibility, one she hadn’t thought of until now.
“What?”
“Maybe the corn has been genetically engineered.” Genetic engineering technology was still in its early experimental phases, and she knew next to nothing about it except that it was becoming more prevalent.
“But isn’t GE farming regulated?”
“It’s supposed to be. But I know of at least one case where a bunch of people died and a few thousand more ended up disabled—all from taking some sort of GE dietary supplement.” Angela paused. “That, and what I’ve read about Monsanto.”
They were one of the largest producers of genetically engineered crops and had been fined numerous times over the years for their planting practices—not leaving a large enough border around their GE fields, not monitoring for spread, and planting test fields of GE crops without notifying APHIS, the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service division of the USDA.
“Aren’t they the ones that produce sterile seed?” Lark asked.
“Yes.” The practice had spawned a big debate by forcing farmers to buy new seed every year. Since the onset, other companies had jumped on board, and now there were plants being engineered for insect resistance and pharmaceutical production. It was big business and big money.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lark asked.
“I am if you’re thinking Agriventures is somehow involved.” Angela untwisted herself from the chair. “I think it’s time to do some research.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. Have Covyduck send the sample back through the lab. Let’s see if they can pinpoint a toxin in the corn.”
Lark clicked off, and Angela spent the next hour on the phone. According to county records, the land adjacent to the Barr Lake Hunt Club was owned by Radigan Enterprises. Hadn’t he mentioned something about sharecropping the land?
It didn’t take long to find out who held the lease. According to a woman in the Adams County tax department, Agriventures, Inc. had declared profits for farming the land for the past two years.
Angela headed to the kitchen to make some tea and mulled over the facts. The only connection between Ian’s death, Eric’s accident, and the plane crash were the waterfowl poisonings. Try as she might, she had never been able to come up with anything else tying the three together. With this new information, and ruling out Coot’s poisoning, the whole case pulled together. Donald Tauer was the common thread.
The more she thought about it, the more it all made sense. If Ian had figured out the source of the poisonings was the corn, he would have confronted Tauer. Was that the reason he was out at Barr Lake on the night he died? Was Tauer the person he had planned on meeting?
She knew for a fact that Tauer had been at Elk Lake on the morning of Eric’s accident. Had Eric figured out the source of the poisonings and confronted Tauer prior to Tauer’s meeting up with Frakus and Nate? Had Tauer placed the phone call to her claiming to be Frakus?
And why?
Thinking about Nate caused Angela’s mouth to go dry. He was the commodities grader for the Agriventures fields. Could he be involved in the scheme? Could he have accepted payments from Tauer for his stamp of approval on Agriventures’s products?
Listening to the whistle on the tea kettle, Angela debated calling Kramner, then decided against it. No doubt she was in over her head, but he had ordered her off the case, and at this point she didn’t have anything more than suspicions to go on. Besides, even with hard evidence, it would give him just cause to fire her for working the case against his direct orders.
While the tea steeped, she closed her eyes and relived the scene at the fishing hut the morning she’d found Eric. Donald Tauer had been more concerned about the contents of the fishing hut than about Eric’s accident. Was there something inside the hut he was worried might be discovered, or was he really just worried about the firemen damaging things? Frakus had been upset about the ramifications that Eric’s accident would have on the fishing tournament. And why had Nate been there?
She recalled his comment about things not being what they seemed. How so?
Angela sat up, squeezed the tea bag, an
d sipped at the bitter liquid. She guessed it was time to ask him a few questions.
CHAPTER 18
Nate’s office was located in a building attached to the National Wildlife Research Center in Fort Collins, a facility engaged in developing methods to mitigate damage and reduce public risks posed by wildlife. It was through NWRC efforts that the Environmental Protection Agency was able to register methyl anthranilate as a geese repellant for use on turf and standing water. It was the NWRC that helped obtain FDA approval for the use of alphachloralose, an immobilizing agent that helps with the capture and relocation of nuisance birds. And it was the NWRC that worked to develop immunocontraceptives, chemical repellants, and hazing and harassment techniques to discourage the presence of wildlife in certain areas. Needless to say, Angela had a problem with the NWRC.
Billed as the “leader in nonlethal wildlife damage solutions,” the NWRC’s international reputation for seeking “selective, effective, and socially acceptable” methods for conflict resolution between people and wildlife preceded it. But as far as Angela was concerned, the NWRC rested firmly in the people’s camp. Nothing about harassing animals and birds seemed socially acceptable to her. And the money spent developing things like low-powered, nonlethal lasers for the dispersal of geese constituted cruelty to animals.
Dressed in civilian clothes—a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a pink sweater—Angela flashed her credentials to the guard seated at the NWRC reception desk. “Is Nate Sobul in?”
She hadn’t called ahead, so she breathed a sigh of relief when the guard pointed her down the hall. Pushing through a set of double doors, she crossed into the USDA building and poked her head into the third office on the right. Nate was seated at his desk.
“Hey, Nate.”
The room was big and comfortable, and he had found a way to make it his own. Large oil paintings, splashed in the yellows and reds of the desert, graced the bone-colored walls. A black desk faced a ribbon of windows framing a long-distance view of the Continental Divide.
In keeping with the decor, Nate himself was out of uniform. Rather than brown and khaki, he was decked out in chinos and a black, long-sleeved polo shirt.
“Peeps.”
Angela bristled at the nickname but forced a smile.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Got a minute?”
Nate glanced at the papers on his desk. “Actually, I’m kind of busy.”
She stepped into the room. “I’ll only take a second, I promise.”
Nate waffled, then cleared off a chair.
Angela sat down, then told him about the new twist in the case, omitting the part about having been sidelined. Perched on the edge of his desk, Nate’s posture implied discomfort.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, stretching out his neck. “You’re asking me if Agriventures’s cornfields are genetically engineered?”
“Correct”
“The answer’s no.” He stood and placed his desk between them. “They sell organic product. The fields are processed clean.”
“Look, Nate, we know it’s not lead that made those birds sick. The only other common denominator is the corn. If you’re covering up something, now is the time to come clean.”
It was a bluff, but she had made it sound good. Nate reached for his water.
“Do you remember the morning of Eric’s accident?” she asked.
He nodded, keeping his gaze averted.
“You said the situation was something other than I thought.”
His gaze shifted, and he pinned her with a stare. “Leave it alone, Angela.”
“I can’t.” Not if it means letting Ian’s killer go free.
“Would it put your mind at ease if I told you Agriventures is under investigation?”
“By whom?”
His body language told her he knew a lot more than he was saying. Had Kramner already replaced her on the case?
Nate set down the water bottle. “By me.”
Angela sat in stunned silence. The heater fan whispered warm air into the room. Nate’s chair squeaked. Finally, she found her voice. “I thought you were just a commodities grader.”
That was a direct quote. It had been his excuse for not helping during Operation Goose Rescue.
Nate tipped back his head and laughed. “I guess I deserved that.”
“You’re serious?” she said. She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice and failed miserably.
“What, you don’t think I’m up for the task?” Nate rolled back his chair and swung the door closed. “Look, what I’m going to tell you has to remain in this room. Since last year, I’ve been working undercover with the IES.”
The Investigative and Enforcement Services division for the Biotechnology Regulatory Service division of APHIS. Nate was an agri-cop!
“I can tell by your expression you’re finding it hard to believe.”
“A little,” she admitted. “Okay, a lot.”
Based on her knowledge of Nate, he lacked the perseverance and follow-through needed to make a good law enforcement officer. If he was telling the truth, there had to be an angle.
“It was my ticket into the BRS division. Trust me, Peeps, biotech is the wave of the future.”
She knew it.
“You always were opportunistic.”
If the barb landed, he ignored it. “Last year IES received a tip that Agriventures was selling a nonorganic product under their organic label. We checked it out. The product turned up clean.”
“Using what criteria?”
“The basics. A farmer can’t have used pesticides, chemicals, or fertilizer on the crops for at least three years. The soil samples and product samples showed Agriventures complied.”
“What about genetically engineered plants? How do they factor in?”
Nate’s dark eyes locked on Angela’s. “It’s hard to prove.”
“How so?”
“You want the crash course?” Nate stood and walked over to the window. The sun danced off his hair, crowning his head in a reddish aura. “GE Farming 101. Farmers have been using genetics for years. They’ve bred plants together to come up with the best strain of peas, the best potato crop. But with today’s technology… ” Nate twisted the handle on the blinds, opening and closing the shutters. “Now, they can snip, insert, recombine, rearrange, edit, and program genetic material to create ‘Frankenfoods,’ bioengineered food crops that can be dangerous to consumers.”
“Aren’t there regulations?”
“There’s legislation in Congress.” He studied her for a second. “For instance, there’s a bill on the floor that would require food companies to label all foods containing GE material, and one that would require the FDA to ensure compliance with special testing.”
Angela wrestled with the information. “You mean they don’t do that already?”
“Only if it is determined that the GE product is not equivalent to a conventional product.”
That left room for definition. “Are there any more bills pending?”
Nate leaned against the windowsill and crossed his ankles. “There’s one to protect the farmer by granting him indemnification from liability and placing the sole responsibility for any crop failure or negative impact on the biotech company that created the GE organism. And there’s another that would place a moratorium on crops grown for pharmaceuticals. There’s a real fear that crops containing the antibiotic marker gene might recombine with disease-causing bacteria and create antibiotic-resistant infections we won’t be able to cure.”
Angela got a bad feeling. “Like what?”
“Maybe a new strain of E. coli or salmonella.”
Angela shifted in her chair. Despite the answers he gave her, all she could come up with were more questions. “Can you test products and determine if they’re genetically engineered?”
“Yes. But it’s expensive. And without just cause, not usually done. The truth is, if the product is tested, its usually by the pu
rchaser after it’s in the market.”
Scientists playing God.
“So where does the USDA stand on all this?” She hoped they were angling for more control.
“The BRS monitors the GE crops in field trials and evaluates the impact of any widespread environmental release.”
“In layman’s terms?”
“We want to know what effect the product has on weeds. And we want to know the effect on any other plants it comes in contact with. Most of all, we want to minimize contact.”
“How do you do that?”
“All GE experimental crops must maintain a one-mile buffer zone to avoid cross-pollination and contamination of other crops.”
Angela hooted. “What about birds and insects? Any animal moving between fields carries pollen on their feet. Contamination is inevitable.”
Nate’s face hardened. “Don’t forget, you’re preaching to the choir.”
Time to switch tacks.
“So, basically, what you’re saying is, it’s not illegal for Agriventures—or anyone else for that matter—to grow GE plants.”
“Not if they submit to monitoring.”
Angela rubbed her temples and tried dispelling the faint throb in her head. “And if they don’t?”
“Then we can fine them up to five hundred thousand dollars and/or force them to destroy the plants and clean up any contaminated areas. The FDA determines if there’s a health risk and has its own fines. Hell, even the Environmental Protection Agency has a regulatory role.” Nate pushed himself off the sill and moved back toward his chair. “If a GE plant manufactures its own pesticide, the EPA ensures the pesticide levels present in the plant are safe for humans and the environment. Same with the herbicide-resistant plants. If not, then they have their own set of fines.”
“There isn’t just one oversight agency?”
“No, which makes it even easier for these guys to slip through the cracks.”
Angela considered his answers, then doubled back. “But if you suspect Agriventures of growing GE plants, why not test one of their samples?”
Death Takes a Gander Page 19