Death Takes a Gander

by Goff, Christine

  “It’s my hope.”

  Even Kramner wouldn’t buy that many coincidences.

  “What about the geese at Elk Lake?” she asked, determined to keep him talking. She inched her hand a little closer to the gun.

  “What about them? I figured they were off the Front Range, and it was obvious they were sick. I had my grandson help me scatter some sinkers around, hoping local animal control would assume they’d been poisoned from the lead. It almost worked too.”

  That made sense, thought Angela. It was Radigan’s grandson’s partial fingerprint that Crandall had pulled off the lead-sinker container.

  “Get up.”

  The preamble was over. Angela’s fingers worked along the fabric of her shirt. “I need to rest.”

  “I said, get up.” He prodded her arm with the barrel of his rifle, and her shoulder throbbed with pain. She struggled back onto her feet.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back out to the field. You’re going to be shot by a hunter. You’re not wearing orange, and you’re out here on your own. I’m afraid you’ll look foolish, but it can’t be helped.”

  Radigan stayed behind her, moving her through the house, out the front door, and to the driveway. The whole time, she gathered the fabric of her shirt into her hand. Finally, her hand captured the butt of her gun, and she slipped her finger around the trigger.

  She took her chance at the treeline. Darting ahead of Radigan, she ducked behind the trunk of a cottonwood. He fired his gun, and the shot chipped at the bark.

  “You can’t get away.”

  This time, bracing her hand with her left arm, she fired back, hoping the action would gain her ground. Sprinting west through the cottonwoods and willows, she crashed through the understory, oblivious to the pain in her arm. Branches tore at her face and reopened the wound in her shoulder. Her blood spilled, and her energy drained away.

  “Angel!”

  She hated him using her nickname and considered stopping to shoot at him again. But common sense spurred her on. The birders were waiting at the banding station.

  Radigan gained on her. She could hear him closing in, drawing closer and closer. Stopping at the edge of the trees, she stared out at Barr Lake. She had stuck to the treeline, but there was a section of dried lake bed to cross that measured thirty feet across. Thirty feet too many.

  “Give it up, Angel. You’ll never make it.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t have played this one alone. That had been Ian’s mistake. Not trusting his partner.

  “Lark!” she screamed, hoping her voice would carry to the banding station. “Help! Someone!”

  “They can’t hear you.”

  No, but they could hear the gun.

  Angela fired in his direction. She had eight shots left. There was no telling how long that would hold him off. She could only hope that the noise brought help.

  Radigan fired back, the slug chipping the bark of the cottonwood at the height of her ear.

  She waited until he fired again, then shot back.

  After trading more shots, she was down to her last bullet when she heard Lark calling. With a sudden thrashing, Radigan took off through the trees.

  Peeking behind her, Angela watched in stunned silence as the EPOCH members walked hand in hand, crunching their way across the dried lake bed.

  The reunion had been short-lived. Lark called 9-1-1, and dispatch sent out emergency crews. Angela was taken to the nearest hospital, and the police issued an all-points bulletin for Charles Radigan.

  Two weeks later, her arm still in a sling, Kramner drove Angela up to Elk Park.

  “What’s going to happen to Radigan?” she asked as they wound their way into the mountains.

  “He’s been charged with murder. Tauer cut a deal in exchange for a lesser plea.” Kramner glanced at her sideways. “I have to admit, you had it pegged.”

  A small comfort.

  “Does that mean I get to go back in the field?”

  Kramner squared his jaw and nodded his head. “You still need some training, Dimato. But I think I’ve worked it out to hire someone to pick up where Ian left off with you. He can’t come on board for a couple of months, so don’t think it will happen tomorrow, but… ”

  Angela felt lighter. She needed a month or two to recover. The timing just might work out.

  The truck crested the hill and coasted into Elk Park. The lake sparkled below them, nestled in the valley between Long’s Peak and Lumpy Ridge. The weather had warmed. The ice had broken, heralding the onset of spring.

  “What are we doing here, sir?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  He pulled the truck into the parking lot at the Visitors Center, and Frakus rushed out to meet them. “The others are already down by the lake.”

  Frakus glommed onto Kramner. Angela lagged behind, enjoying the day. The path was clear of snow, and birds twittered from the willows. In another month, the warblers would start returning.

  Lark waited for her down by the lake. “How’s the arm?”

  “Better. Did I remember to thank you?”

  Lark grinned, and the other EPOCH members rushed over to greet her. Bernie Crandall clapped her on her good shoulder.

  “Hey there, Special Agent Dimato. How goes it?”

  “Good, in spite of the extra holes.”

  Lark tugged on her sleeve, and the beefy cop stepped out of her way. “Eric, look who’s here.”

  Eric Linenger stood at the water’s edge. His muscular frame appeared wilted, but his blue eyes sparkled. “Vell, if it isn’t my rescuer.”

  “You’re walking!”

  “And talking. Who would have believed?”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.” She knew he’d improved, but now she knew he’d get better.

  “Me too.”

  “Me three.” Lark slipped her arm through Eric’s. “Now comes the best part.” She moved to the side, and Angela noticed the crates sitting beside the shoreline. She counted eighty-six.

  “We decided to have a send-off party,” explained Gertie. “John sent Petey and his crew up to bring down the crates. You get to do the first honors.”

  Angela blinked back tears and bent down to open a carrier. But before she could extract the honking goose, Pierre Ducharme swaggered toward them from the top of the boat ramp.

  “I have returned to collect my paycheck,” he announced in a thick French accent. “Stephen tells me you are on the ice.”

  Lark stepped forward. “I don’t know what to say, Pierre. I owe you an apology.”

  “Oui, madame. I am waiting.” Ducharme puffed up his chest, and Angela couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this eez funny?”

  Oui. She shook her head and forced a straight face.

  “I’m sorry, Pierre,” Lark said, looking to Eric for guidance. Eric signaled her to go on. “I jumped to a conclusion, and I was wrong.”

  “You are forgiven, madame.” A smile fractured his swarthy face. “I gladly accept back my job.”

  Angela choked. She doubted that’s what Lark had in mind.

  “But—”

  “No buts, madame. I will go straight away and start preparing zee lunch.”

  Lark watched him swagger away, a pained expression on her face.

  “Cheer up,” said Crandall. “He’s an excellent cook.”

  “No paté,” Lark shouted. “Do you hear me, Ducharme? No geese, no ducks. Stick to chicken.”

  “Oui, madame. I am hearing you.”

  The geese had too, and they all set to honking. Angela turned back to the crate. Raising the lid, she reached inside and picked up the gander. As if sensing her injury, the bird stopped struggling the moment it entered her arms. She marveled at the creature, at its soft feathers, its gentle breathing. She basked in the moment. Then, opening her arms, Angela set the bird free.

  CANADA GOOSE

  Branta canadensis

  Family: Anatidae

  APPEARANCE: A very large bird with grayi
sh-brown plumage, a long black neck, and a black head with a white chinstrap. There are six species of Canada goose, each one varying slightly in size.

  RANGE: Once known mainly as a wilderness bird, the Canada goose, or “honker” as it’s sometimes called, is adapting to life on golf courses and in urban parks, expanding its year-round range. Northern flocks still migrate from Alaska, Canada, and the Arctic to northern Mexico.

  HABITAT: Canada geese can be found at reservoirs, lakes, ponds, marshes, wet meadows, golf courses, urban and suburban parks, and in open spaces.

  VOICE: Its voice varies from species to species, from a deep musical honking in the larger birds to a high cackling or gabbling in the smaller birds. Few can resist the haunting sound of Canada geese honking and calling as they fly in V formation overhead.

  BEHAVIORS: The Canada goose forms a long-term bond with its mate and produces young usually in its third year. Spring and early summer find the goose family swimming together on lakes and pond. The gander usually leads, while the young, fluffy, yellow-and-black babies trail behind.

  CONSERVATION: The goose feeds on shoots, roots, seeds of grass and sedges, bulbs, grain, berries, insects, crustaceans, and mollusks. Most grain consumption is post-harvest. Danger comes in the form of genetically engineered crops and hunting. More recently, the semi-domesticated goose found on golf courses and in urban and suburban parks faces increased predation by man.

  Author’s Notes

  As one of Wisconsin’s largest wildlife rehabilitation facilities, Fellow Mortals, Inc., has been serving the state-line communities in and around Lake Geneva, WI since 1985. Founded on the belief that a compassionate act on behalf of another living creature is one of the noblest deeds that can be performed by a human, Fellow Mortals admits approximately fifteen hundred wild birds and mammals every year, returning sixty percent of them back to the wild—a percentage significantly higher than the national average.

  On January 17, 1992, Fellow Mortals received a call from a woman walking her dog at the edge of Lake Geneva who had discovered a lead-poisoned Canada goose. It was the first of hundreds of geese found on the ice, and the worst lead-poisoning case in southeastern Wisconsin’s history. But through a cooperative effort with Fellow Mortals, the Department of Natural Resources, other wildlife rehabilitators, an army of volunteers, and the generosity of a major pharmaceutical company, there were survivors. And the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service pinpointed the cause—the contamination of wetland area miles to the north. Their investigation fixed the blame on a skeet-shooting ranch owned by a major U.S. corporation that was eventually forced to rehabilitate the wetlands. Death Takes a Gander is based on this case, though I’ve moved the location and taken great license with the story.

  Rehabilitation of animals is a costly endeavor. The costs involved in the case of the lead-poisoned geese—thousands—nearly bankrupted Fellow Mortals. It was only through people’s generosity and donations that they were able to recover. If you would like to donate to their organization, please visit their website at www.fellowmortals.org, or donate to a rehabilitation facility near you. Your gift to a wildlife rehabilitation facility is tax deductible, and your donation saves lives. Better yet, volunteer. In the words of Yvonne Wallace Blane, in the case of the lead-poisoned geese “the cost of lives saved cannot be told in dollar amounts alone, for they were also paid for by the people with disparate interests who invested their time and emotion in a seemingly hopeless cause for one reason—belief in the value of individual life.”

  About the author

  Chris Goff is the award-winning author of five environmental novels. The bestselling Birdwatcher’s Mystery series was nominated for two WILLA Literary Awards, a Colorado Author’s League Award, and published in the UK and Japan. The sixth installment in the series, A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS, will be launching in September 2015.

  Acknowledgments

  Several people helped me by providing technical information for this story. My deepest thanks to: Special Agent Linda Schroeder of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, who lived a real-life version of this story and shared her insider information; Scott Roederer and Gary Matthews, two birders who put their heads together to dig up obscure facts on the migrating patterns of geese; Yvonne Wallace Blane of Fellow Mortals, a wildlife rehab center in Wisconsin, who provided videotapes of an actual geese rescue operation; National Wildlife Rehabilitators Association and Tri-State Bird Rescue and Research, who filled in the blanks; and John from Johnson’s Sporting Goods, Inc. in Rockland, ME, who gave me a hands-on lesson on the different types of shot.

  Additional thanks goes to my fellow writers and friends. To my RMFW buddies, you know who you are; to the members of my critique group, with a special thanks to Suzanne Proulx for the brainstorming and Gwen Schuster-Haynes for the plotting help; to Elisabeth Husseini, for coming up with such a wonderful title; and to my dear friend, Laura Ware, who helped me find my way to the end.

  Finally, I would like Peter Rubie, my favorite agent, for never losing faith; my family, whose confidence in me kept me going through the toughest of years; and especially my new publisher, Astor + Blue Editions, who is committed to keeping the stories of the EPOCH (Elk Park Ornithological Chapter) members circulating. I can think of no better partners than A + B and my new editor, Jillian Ports, to help me navigate the new waters of today’s publishing world.

  Read all of the Birdwatcher’s Mystery Series by Christine Goff, published by Astor + Blue Editions:

  *A Rant of Ravens

  *Death of a Songbird

  *A Nest in the Ashes

  *Death Takes a Gander

  *A Sacrifice of Buntings

  www.astorandblue.com