Carnosaur Crimes

by Christine Gentry

  “I don’t know, but he sure is git-gone. That’s SOP with drug cartels that need to eliminate a problem.” He passed the file back. “Eventually we’ve got to visit Carigliano, but I don’t want to tip him off that we’re spotting the plant operations as well as Cyrus.”

  “Got it, Reid.” Odie paced away.

  Reid grabbed up the report on Hillard Yancy. No criminal record, court appearances or bad press. Yancy was from a rich family in New York so the question of his funding for the shop was a no-brainer. Despite the gold apron strings, Yancy had gone to college at Utah State for a degree in geology, then worked as a paleogeologist for Wonsits Valley Oil and Gas. He’d retired after twenty years and was now the proprietor of Earthly Pleasures.

  He’d even looked at Yancy’s glossy sales pamphlet which contained color fossil photos, long lists of indecipherable Latin names, and sequential catalog numbers. Before he could exhale his frustration, a shapely, uniformed file clerk dropped another sheaf of papers on his desk.

  Dorbandt threw up his hands. “No more, Jasmine, please.”

  The harried, auburn-haired woman barely gave him a glance. “And the beat goes on,” she sang in a Cher-like voice. “La-dee-da-dee-dee. La-dee-da-dee-da.” She sped out the division doorway. So much for fraternal bonding.

  Reid dropped Yancy’s file and picked up the six page lab report. He was surprised to see that it was the brief analysis from Trace Evidence concerning the foil tab Ansel had given him. That was fast, which meant that the object had been easily identified by one of the Missoula techies. He skipped the parts regarding the material evidence designation number, background recovery information, and the item’s physical description.

  Findings

  The evidence from the crime scene (Case 04-08-29-H-0011) in Big Toe, Montana is consistent with TLD chip (Thermaluminescent dosimetry) badges, bracelets, and rings used to measure exposure to radiation due to x-ray, beta, and gamma rays.

  The radiation passes through a thin layer of aluminum oxide and different filters. A circular TLD chip mounted on Kapton foil is further attached to a small aluminum disc containing a miniature, circular bar code with a six-digit number which is personalized for identification of each person. The TLD chip assembly is inserted into a disposable, plastic finger ring and protected by a clear teflon cover plate. This design is convenient to wear, comes in small, medium, and large finger sizes, and can be cold sterilized for multiple use in surgery.

  For readout, the ring is opened by a semi-automated device and up to four bar-code discs can be inserted into a modified standard TLD card for automatic processing by Harshaw readers model 6600 or 8800. The reader contains a video bar code identification system based on a miniaturized CCD camera and image processing by special PC software. The circular bar codes are mathematically linearized and decoded directly from the enhanced grey scale picture obtained with optimized illumination by power LEDs.

  Rings are usually issued on a 3-month, calendar-quarter basis and serve to distinguish between different types and levels of radiation exposure. They are worn at all times when exposure from ionizing radiations are likely and exposures to the extremities is a possibility Typically, these are issued to persons working with significant amounts of P-32 or other hard beta-gamma emitters.

  TLD detecting elements are reusable and expensive. They are not waterproof and must be protected by plastic or latex gloves if immersed. Personal dosimeters are issued for use by the named person they are intended for. They are not to be used by any other person. If damaged, they must be returned for replacement. If lost, the person they belong to is usually charged for replacement costs.

  “Wow.” Reid sat back in his chair. He had to think. If this TLD chip had belonged to one of the FBI agents as Ansel suspected, it meant that the feds weren’t just chasing fossil poachers but something radioactive as well. And if the device hadn’t belonged to the Feebees, who did it belong to? He wondered if there was a way to read the bar coded chip and find the person the dosimeter had been issued to. But did it matter where the original ring came from?

  For all he knew, the chip could have come from some x-ray technician who visited the museum to take a gander at the dinosaur tracks. Just because Ansel said the agents were proficient at forensic recovery didn’t mean squat. The wind was thorough, too. Given the heat boomers and dust blows going on the last week, a prairie gust could have blown that foil tab in from the next county.

  “Ansel, where are you,” he whispered. He needed her. He’d left her phone messages all morning and afternoon. She’d better not have done something stupid like traipsing off with Outerbridge and not telling him about it.

  Reid slipped the TLD report into the Indian poacher’s file. Just looking at that gave him another harsh reality check. That case wasn’t exactly being cross-whipped either.

  Odie and he had gone to the bank and checked out his money machine theory. Yeah, the machine had a camera, and it did eyeball the door to Humpy’s Grill across the street if the traffic was sparse, but the video was broken. Had been for a month. No one had bothered to have it repaired. The idea of too much government control was anathema to people in the heartlands, and one less Big Brother camera watching people’s private, financial transactions and conversations was not a priority at the Swoln Credit Union. God bless, America.

  Reid looked toward the exit door and wondered if he could escape just as Jasmine had. Then he saw Agent Adam Broderick pass by the opening. He’d never met the man, but he’d made sure to pull up everything he could about the guy. He’d been waiting for this moment since Ansel told him about her unpleasant encounter. He’d also pulled up Broderick’s license photo from DMV records, and there was no mistaking that distinctive mug or taupe BLM uniform. Reid leaped from his chair in an instant and jetted past Odie’s desk into the hallway.

  Broderick had stopped to use the water fountain and was bending over in a most vulnerable position as Reid reached him. The urge to kick the agent’s permanent-pressed butt was a powerful temptation. Instead he crossed his arms and waited until Broderick turned around.

  The agent rose and started visibly upon seeing Reid face-to-face. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were there.” He shifted his weight and moved around Reid. When Reid moved directly in front of him, Broderick stopped. His face tightened. Reid held his ground and smiled. They were pretty evenly matched in terms of height, but Broderick outweighed him by about thirty government pounds.

  “Is there a problem,” Broderick said.

  “I have a message for you.”

  Broderick eyed Reid’s I.D. card clipped to a shirt pocket. “Do I know you?”

  “Leave Ansel Phoenix alone.” His stare bored into Broderick’s widening eyes.

  The hall was fairly busy with other cops, clerks, civilians, and office personnel. A few stopped in mid-stride to view this unexpected entertainment. Surprise wiped the smug expression off the agent’s face, but he knew he was being watched and snorted through his nose.

  “I don’t know who you are and what you’re talking about. Who’s your supervisor?”

  Reid pointed a finger scant inches from Broderick’s pointy nose. “Leave her alone.” He turned and walked through the growing knot of onlookers and back into his department. Broderick could have followed but didn’t. He didn’t care. Nobody was going to steam roll Ansel as long as he was around.

  Odie, oblivious to the confrontation outside, sat at his desk nodding into a phone receiver. When he spied Reid, he motioned wildly. Reid stepped toward him, still feeling his blood pounding like a hammer against his left temple.

  “He’s just walked in, sir. I’ll put him on the phone.” Odie covered the earpiece and mouthpiece with one Herculean hand. “Bucky.”

  There was no way Broderick could have gotten to Sheriff Combs this fast. Reid took the device. “Lieutenant Dorbandt.”

  “Lieutenant. Dr. Birch called. The reconstruction is done. She’s faxing me head photos as we speak. Go to Billings and gather up her final
report, our papers, and the skull. I just got an official request sent to the Coroner’s office from the state FBI in Glasgow. I have to transport the remains there immediately. I need that head to go with the body even if it is cleaned to the bone. Those bastards can’t grouse if the deed is already done.”

  Reid looked at his watch. Five-thirty. He could be in Billings by ten if he hustled. He could see Chloe. “Will I spend the night?”

  “I don’t see why not. Get back here by five tomorrow. Clock your travel time and don’t worry about completing a request for expenditures. Just get receipts. You’ve been putting in a lot of overtime, and I promise you’ll get some time off when these pressing cases are closed.”

  “I’m leaving now. Thank you, sir.”

  Sheriff Combs hung up and Reid handed the phone to Odie, who’d been listening to every word. “The reconstruction is done. I’m leaving for Billings to get everything. Be back late tomorrow. Find out all you can about the slaughterhouse.”

  “The info will be on your desk,” Odie assured him, grinning.

  “What the hell are you smiling at?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Odie beamed. “I know what you’re thinking, too. Have a good trip, Reid.”

  “Oh, I will.” Reid grabbed the essentials he’d need to make the drive: shoulder belt holster, cell phone, beeper, and suit jacket. He already had a pre-packed bag in his car trunk for traveling emergencies. In seconds he was ready to depart, energized by his excitement about seeing Chloe. The evening promised to be very special.

  First he had to get out of the station before Agent Broderick got to Sheriff Combs.

  Chapter 22

  “Our first teacher is our own heart.”

  Cheyenne

  Ansel sat beside Parker on one of the double beds inside room one-ten of the Rimrock Motel, swinging a crossed leg back and forth like a metronome. Outerbridge had just informed her and the ERT members, minus Agent Walthers, that they were not leaving Billings for another eighteen hours. The small consolation that her split skirt showed a tantalizing amount of leg between boot top and thigh, which Parker seemed to be enjoying, was Ansel’s single high point in this entire Machiavellian drama.

  Outerbridge, wearing thin, silver-framed reading glasses, sat at the tiny round table just inside the door. The sale papers from the clasp envelope were splayed across it. Dixie sat across from him, puffing on a cigarette with carefree abandon. Smoke rose to the ceiling of the pocket-sized, industrial grade room like steam. He seemed oblivious to the fact that this was a non-smoking room.

  “There’s been a lot of activity since you two left the store,” Outerbridge intoned. “Plenty of people coming and going. We’re getting some solid information about co-conspirators in this group. Walthers is taping everything. I don’t want to pull up stakes until we’ve gleaned every piece of evidence we can. Then agents from the local office will continue monitoring things. Sorry for the inconvenience, Ansel. We’ll get you home soon.”

  He sipped from a Coke can and continued. “Walthers is on surveillance through tomorrow morning. After that, we’re flying out of here. We won’t be back until De Shequette sets up the skull viewing appointment. Parker, you’ll be the only person going in on that. Questions?”

  Ansel waved her hand. “I have to make some phone calls tonight. There will be people worrying about me if I don’t make contact. No one knows I left Big Toe.”

  “That’s usually not possible in cases like this, but I’ll compromise. I can let you contact one person. Decide who needs to know your whereabouts the most.”

  Ansel didn’t like it. She’d never reach Dorbandt at this rate. “I’d like to call my parents.”

  “Fine. After we finish this meeting, you can do that.” His quick brown eyes surveyed the rest of the group. “Anything else?”

  “What’s next after we leave here?” Parker said.

  “I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see how long before the suspects set up the skull sale and how it goes down. Then we’ll have plenty of new information to process. There is, however, a chance we’ll go back to Utah right after the Vernal buy.”

  Ansel wasn’t sure she understood Outerbridge correctly. “That’s after you bust De Shequette and his gang, right?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Ansel looked around the room. Nobody seemed to be as confused as she was or acted the least bit annoyed. “You will prosecute them, correct?”

  Outerbridge nodded. “Eventually, yes. We’ll take possession of the skull in any case. We’ll pay for it, and De Shequette can deliver it to Parker a.k.a. Peter Georges. It’s essential evidence for conviction so we must regain possession of the Allosaurus skull at all costs. It’s also important that we follow the poaching links to the top of the food chain. That’s the only way we’ll break it.”

  Ansel checked her anger. “Are you saying that you have no immediate interest in prosecuting bottom feeders like Billy and Claude?”

  Outerbridge pulled off his glasses. His expression was bland. “Prosecuting a bottom feeder takes just as much effort as prosecuting a shark, Ansel. The same amount of time, money, and back-breaking footwork with the same lack of evidence, resources, and judicial or legislative support. I’d much rather filet a twenty-foot Great White than a three-foot channel cat. It’s a matter of profit per pound.”

  Ansel sat there stunned. She hadn’t offered to help so creeps like Billy and Claude could plea-bargain their way out of trouble by offering to rat out their higher associates in crime, but what could she do? It was the legal system, not Outerbridge, who set the conviction bar so high.

  Outerbridge took advantage of her silence. He pulled out three room keys from his suit pocket and tossed one to each of them. “We’ll stay here for the night. I’m in this room. I’ve got phone calls to make the rest of this evening and I don’t want to keep anybody up. The rest of you are upstairs. Dixie, you and Ansel will bunk together again. Parker you have Walthers’ room to yourself. He won’t need it tonight. The three of you have the evening off. Enjoy it. Just stay on your toes and keep a low profile. We’ll regroup at eight tomorrow in my room. That’s all.”

  Dixie got up quickly and headed for the door. Obviously she wanted first dibs on the dubious amenities the Rimrock could provide. Ansel felt too tired to move that fast.

  “How about some dinner?”

  Ansel looked up. Parker’s smile was as inviting as his offer. “All right. I have to use the phone first.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” He gave her the second wink in two days and hurried out the doorway into the first floor hallway.

  Outerbridge got up and closed the door behind Parker before turning to look at her. His accompanying sigh was long and audible. “You think I’m a real sell-out, don’t you?”

  “No. I think I made a mistake coming here.”

  He chuckled and his face crinkled at the corners of his eyes, nose, and mouth. “Me, too.” He walked toward a small black suitcase setting on a collapsible stand, unzipped it, and pulled out a small pint of Jack Daniels. “I’m off duty. Want any?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to make that call.” She reached for the phone positioned on a night stand between the two beds.

  “Not that one. Use my cell.” He pulled the blood red device from his suit pocket and walked over to pass it to her. “Keep it to a couple of minutes.”

  As she dialed, Angel watched Outerbridge remove the shrink-wrap from a plastic cup on the bureau, pour Coke from the can into it, then add two fingers of booze. She only had seconds to think about what she was going to say to Pearl or her father, but her worries were fruitless. The answering machine kicked in. Outerbridge sat down in the chair again. When the machine began recording, she left a brief message explaining how she’d left Big Toe the night before to do some research for one of her drawings and would be back by the next afternoon.

  Outerbridge reviewed the dinosaur papers again, but Angel knew
it was a ruse. He was listening to her every word. She hung up, feeling frustrated over her lack of control over the situation but glad that her parents wouldn’t worry.

  She stood and approached the table. “Thanks.”

  He set down his drink and accepted the phone with a brief, sad smile. “You did a terrific job today. It does count. No matter what you think.”

  Angel didn’t agree and might never. He was rigid, opinionated, and fiercely loyal to a bureaucratic system that couldn’t support the weight of its own dogma, a federal cop through and through. To most Montanans she knew, Outerbridge was a trickster, bamboozler, and destroyer of the American Dream and everything westerners held dear.

  Well, he’d loaned an Indian woman he hardly knew his private property without a second thought, and she figured that’s all she needed to know about the Special Agent Outerbridge inside that government suit. She had to respect him for that.

  Ansel gave him a brief, heartfelt smile. “Goodnight, Agent Outerbridge. See you in the morning.”

  ***

  Parker was waiting as he promised, leaning against the hotel wall outside the door, legs and arms crossed. “We’ll have to order in, but I know some really good take-out places here.” He gazed into her eyes. “Your place or mine?”

  Ansel grinned. “Hmm. Let’s see. I’m sharing a room with Dixie, and you’ve got one all to yourself. Which should it be?”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Certainly.”

  Parker pointed a finger due east. “That way. I’ll lead.”

  And he did. They walked down the hall to a foyer where an elevator took them up to the second floor. They said very little on the way up, mostly because Ansel was too nervous to make even idle conversation. They exited and Parker stopped at room two-fifteen to unlock the door where he motioned inward.

  “Welcome to Chez Parker.”

  Ansel stepped inside. The room was a clone of Outerbridge’s, right down to the laminated, fiber board table. Parker came up behind her, slid past her, and flicked on the orange, ginger-base lamp on the night stand between the beds. It was much cooler in this room. Goose bumps hitched up along her arms. Then he closed the door.