Carnosaur Crimes

by Christine Gentry

  Samson gagged and stepped away. “Man, that’s ripe.”

  Before anyone responded, a rat the size of a small cat ran out the front door and between their feet, raced across the porch, and dove off the planking into the grass.

  “Damn, did you see that?” Heller the older deputy asked, his face twisted in disgust.

  “Rattus Norvegicus. One of Flynn’s room mates,” Odie replied with utter seriousness.

  Reid was more interested in the smell coming from inside. He walked into the living room, placed the warrant inside his suit jacket, and carefully put on his latex gloves. The joint looked worse than it had the first time. Flies buzzed around the coffee table filled with a mound of unwashed dishes and half-finished cans of beer or plastic soda bottles. Unwashed clothes littered the floor as if Cyrus had simply disrobed and let the stinking apparel stay where it fell – none of them soiled in a way indicating he was as a shackler on a kill floor. Rat turds littered the deteriorating carpet.

  Reid walked to the sofa and switched on the pole lamp. It didn’t come on, but a black object beside the base caught his eye. He reached down and picked it up. A tiny number with letters was carefully written in yellow paint on one side.

  “He’s been gone for a while. Look at the souvenir he left behind.”

  Odie walked over and surveyed the black three-inch, curving stone. “What is that?”

  “I think it’s a dinosaur claw. Guess we’ve just got evidence to link Cyrus to the poaching ring. Bag it and tag it.” He passed it into Odie’s gloved hand, then turned toward the uniforms. “Find out where that smell is coming from. Don’t touch anything.”

  “Looks like the electricity is off,” Odie said. He stared at the blank face of a plugged in digital clock setting on board and cinder block shelving. He placed the claw inside a manila envelope brought along for that purpose. “Probably didn’t pay the electric bill, and the place is locked up tight. Could account for the smell.”

  Reid moved toward the cushions, pulled them up and found enough food crumbs to feed an army of rats, cigarette butts, unpaid bills, a sock, a pair of scissors, and an empty bottle of Iodine Tincture. He picked up the bottle.

  Next he rifled through the coffee table where cold medicines had been laying around before. Among the liquid night-time medicines, chest ointments, and nasal sprays, he found four empty pill boxes of Contact decongestant. Lower in the pile of trash, he discovered several boxes of wooden matches. In a gun magazine he flipped through, a pack of unopened coffee filters fell to the floor.

  “Damn,” he cursed. “I should have caught this before. Cyrus is getting tweaked. He’s been mixing up personal batches of Sidewalk Meth with iodine and cold medicine.”

  Odie nodded when he saw the empty packages. “That’s based on old Nazi formula to make small batches of Speed. Some pseudephedrine and other stuff cooked up with toxic chemicals like lye, muriatic acid, acetone, and red phosphorus, and you’re set to stay awake for several days. The Germans developed that during WWII to keep the Reich going when their troops couldn’t get the manufactured stuff provided by supply lines. Cyrus is lucky he hasn’t burned himself with caustic chemicals or died from the fumes.”

  Reid shook his head. “Too bad he didn’t just blow up the whole damn house with him in it. Keep an eye out for some crystal.”

  They continued their search of the living room and the kitchen. Aside from a wealth of filth, there wasn’t much more incriminating evidence. Reid was going through Cyrus’ bedroom, a dingy hole with nothing but a bed and a bureau when Odie came to the doorway,

  “Reid, you’d better come and see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “The second bedroom.”

  “Something good?”

  Odie’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Hokay.” Reid accompanied Odie through the living room and down a dark hallway leading past the kitchen and toward the rear of the house. The uniforms were standing before a closed white door. “What’s the problem, guys?”

  “Got a locked steel door, Lieutenant,” replied Deputy Sampson.

  Deputy Heller nodded. “We think the smell’s coming from in here.”

  Reid concurred. The stench of a wet foulness was stronger there than anywhere else in the house. The outside of the door had a regular doorknob as well as an exterior dead-bolt lock. He knocked on the portal. It was indeed a multi-layer steel door not unlike those used in the construction of FEMA Safe Rooms. It also felt cool to the touch.

  “Looks like a tornado shelter,”Reid said.

  Odie scowled. “Inside this dump? Rooms like that with temperature controls aren’t cheap. Run about ten to twenty grand depending on the size.”

  “This is the east corner,” Reid considered. He looked at Samson. “Go outside. I want to know what’s on the exterior. Heller, you go to my car and grab the yellow Geiger counter from the trunk and your battering ram. Odie give him the keys.”

  “Yes, sir.” Samson replied. Heller nodded. After Odie passed over the key ring, they hurried down the hall, leather belt holsters squeaking.

  “You think there’s hot bones in there?” Odie queried.

  Reid shrugged. He’d filled everyone in at the department that had to know about Outerbridge’s task force and the details. “I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Ansel was right about that.”

  Odie looked at the manila envelope resting against his groin. “Shit,” he said, his eyes widening. He unceremoniously tossed the package down the hall as if it was poison. “You could have reminded me before I carried that around.”

  Reid started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. Seeing a strapping giant like Odie reduced to near panic was not an ordinary sight. “I didn’t even think about it. Relax. I touched it, too. Besides we had our gloves on. We’ll check it.”

  “It’s not funny. Radiation shoots through you like an invisible slug. Future generations of Fiskars could be hanging in the balance. Ivy and I are trying to have a baby, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. How’s that endeavor going by the way?”

  “None of your business.”

  The deputies returned and Odie’s head jerked toward them. “Hey, check that envelope on the floor with the counter.”

  Deputy Heller stopped short, set down the heavy metal ram, and looked at the boxy, twelve inch long meter with dubious interest. At last he found the power switch and flicked it, pointing the front end toward the floor. The meter clicked occasionally but didn’t go wild.

  “Looks okay,” Heller said. “What’s the deal?”

  Odie sighed. “Never mind, just bring the package here.”

  Samson had joined Reid. “The outside is wood siding like the front, but there’s a wide steel door that locks from the inside. You could drive a small forklift through there if you had to.”

  Heller walked forward and scanned the steel door from top to bottom. The meter clicked more than it had in the hall, but it wasn’t consistent. “What’s in there?”

  “Could be some dinosaur fossils containing high levels of uranium,” Odie confided.

  “Want us to open it?” Heller asked.

  Reid looked at Odie. “Just for a second? If it’s too hot, we’ll close the door right away. According to Ansel, any time of exposure under a minute isn’t lethal.”

  “I guess, but I’m standing back,” Odie replied.

  “Let’s go for it,” Samson intoned.

  Reid nodded. “Give me the counter. I’ll handle the door. You guys bust it and get back.”

  Reid and Odie moved down the hall to give the deputies room to work. The uniforms took handle positions on either side of the solid, four foot long metal device with a flat plate on the front. The first strike bounced off the door like it had never been dealt, but the officers pounded away at the center of the portal with fierce determination. The hallway resounding with a deafening reverberation of metal against metal. The white paint chipped off. More slowly the area around the lock b
uckled inward. Sweat poured down the deputies’ faces and Reid called them to a halt.

  “Let’s take a breather and get some fresh air.”

  They took a five minute break and then were back at it. The deputies removed their heavy black vests beforehand. They pounded away at the door for another ten minutes, then gave up, near exhaustion. The door was severely warped, and the door knob gone, but it refused to open.

  Odie, despite his earlier apprehension, yanked off his suit jacket and picked up the ram in his pumped, herculean arms, then single-handedly hammered the door with incredible power. Five blows later, the deadbolt bent inward and the steel barrier yielded. It rammed against the inside wall as if a tornado had flung it.

  The interior was pitch black and warm. The smell of old rock, fresh plaster of Paris, and rotting meat wafted into their faces. Heller pulled a small flashlight from his belt, flicked it on, and handed it to Reid. “You know what that smells like,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  Odie moved quickly away so Reid could take a reading at the door frame. The meter needle spiked across the dial and clicked loudly at fifty rem. It was high, but not deadly. He flashed the light around.

  All of the men peered into the gray-walled room which contained stacks and stacks of small and large plastered casings of all sizes and reached halfway up the eight-foot high walls. The casings were marked with magic marker. Reid noticed a large white form on the floor to his right. It was marked “Allosaurus skull. Vernal, Utah.” Above it on the quarter-inch thick steel wall was a thermostat. It was set at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, but without electricity, the steel room had heated up substantially.

  The only out-of place item in the room was the incongruous, zippered black plastic suit bag lying on the floor in the middle of the room. From it came the overwhelming stench of death.

  A man-sized lump filled it. Reid took a step inside.

  “No,” said Odie with concern.

  The meter spiked another ten rem. Still bearable. Not Cullen, he prayed. “I’ve got to know,” Reid replied as he moved quickly into the room and bent down.

  The meter clicked louder at seventy rem. He pulled back the zipper and the smell of decay roiled at him. Cullen’s defrosted face, looking serene despite it’s countenance of beginning decay, lay before him. Reid held his breath and moved the zipper downward, saw the blue shirt drenched with blood, then the monstrous, gapping chest wound with burnt edges. He thought of Cyrus’ remark about gut-shooting deer.

  Bile rose in his throat. He stood toward the back of the room and the Geiger counter spiked wildly, shocking him back to reality. The rem hit over a hundred, then fell down twenty points as he skittered toward the door.

  Alarmed, Odie shouted,“Get out of there.”

  In seconds Reid was out of the room, pulling the door closed with fingers along the door edge. It would no longer fit in the frame, but it did stay closed.

  “It’s Cullen. Shotgun blast to the chest.” He looked at the deputies. “I want an amended APB our for Cyrus Flynn. He’s considered armed and dangerous. This time it’s felony murder. I want Code 10-61 on everything. Limited radio communication with no details. Notify the office by phone to send an ME and forensics team out here pronto. If the feds find out the fossils are here, they’ll bust in and take over. I want first crack at this.”

  “Yes, sir,” Heller answered. “We’re on it.” They left the house, battering ram in tow.

  Odie shook his head. “Poor Sheriff Flynn. How long you think he’s been here?”

  “I saw the wound. When we found the shotgun shell wad, it was already too late.”

  “If Cyrus was messing with these bones all the time, he could be a walking dead man. He was sick when we were here, but I figured it might be drugs or a virus bug. You think he knows about the radiation?”

  Reid sighed. “We’ll find out. Let’s finish the walk-through. We still have the basement.”

  Reid and Odie went down into the dimly lighted lower level and simply perused the area. The whole basement smelled like roasted nuts, and they knew they were onto something. Since the house was now a crime scene, they were careful about disturbing things. However, they easily spotted the open boxes containing the ingredients and glassware supplies used to manufacture methamphetamine. Plus a box of syringes. All of this accounted for the basement’s smell.

  Reid walked over to the water heater where a small Pyrodex bowl sat on top. Circular white crystals stuck to the insides. “Looks like two or three grams once it’s scraped out.”

  Odie grinned from giant ear to giant ear. “Enough for twelve doses. He’s cooked himself another long stint in the slammer with this alone.”

  A moment later, Samson came down the rickety basement steps, a cell phone in hand. “Lieutenant, Sheriff Combs wants to talk to you.”

  Reid grabbed the device. “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Reid, I just heard. Hell of thing about Cullen. That son-of-bitch nephew will get a sodium theopental cocktail if I have anything to do with it. Did you find the gun?”

  “No, sir. Haven’t found any guns or ammo. We just got a small quantity of Sidewalk Meth and the supplies for making it. Another couple of nails in the coffin.”

  “Keep up the good work, Lieutenant. I have some other news. Just got a call from the FBI in Glasgow. Seems Agent Outerbridge’s helicopter is overdue.”

  A chill coursed along Reid’s spine. He looked at his wristwatch. It was almost five o’clock. All this time, he’d assumed that Ansel was at the hospital tending to her father. He hadn’t wanted her to go with Parker, but he knew her reasoning was based on getting to McCone the fastest way possible. Still he could have made other arrangements for a sheriff’s chopper to take her to McCone County if he’d had to, and if she’d given him an hour to set it up. He would have found a way to legitimize the action to Combs and Mckenzie.

  Reid kept his voice calm and nonpersonal. “What do they think happened?”

  “Seems the Feds got a call from the U.S. Air Force Rescue Coordination Center on the east coast. They’re the U.S. authority that receives notification when a satellite control center gets a serial number for an aircraft distress beacon transmitted to them from a satellite flyby. The satellite center got a fleeting signal from a beacon, but it died before they could get a location. A second confirmation flyby later didn’t pick up any signal.

  “Since the Air Force contacts a local rescue unit to go out and search, they try to avoid false alarms, most of them from beacon malfunctions. It’s normal for them to call people who may know pertinent flight info first. The federales can’t reach the task force by aircraft radio or cell so they want to speak with you about Outerbridge’s departure. Call them. Ask for Agent Ralph Edison. Here’s his number.”

  Reid scrambled for his notebook and pen as Combs read off the digits. “I’ll call them.”

  “Find out more details, and let me know what they say when I arrive,” Sheriff Combs announced with enthusiasm. “Looks like the feebees got hung up somewhere, and that’s perfect timing for us.” He disconnected a second later.

  Odie noticed Reid’s shocked expression. “What was that all about?”

  Reid took a deep breath and swallowed before answering. Odie, if anybody in the department, knew how seriously he looked after Ansel since saving her life the year before. He handed the phone back to Deputy Heller, who discretly left the basement.

  “The FBI copter flying Ansel to the McCone County hospital may have gone down.”

  “Man, that’s bad news. Where is it?”

  “They don’t know. I’ve got to talk to the FBI.” Reid pulled out his phone. “I’m also leaving after this call. When Combs arrives, cover for me.”

  Odie scowled like an ogre. “Christ, how am I supposed to do that?”

  Reid attempted a wane smile. “Tell him I’m chasing a lead on Cyrus.”

  “What lead?”

  Reid took Odie’s manila envelope. “This dinosaur claw. I’ve got to check something fi
rst, but I think I know where it came from.”

  Chapter 33

  “Misfortunes do not flourish on one path, they grow everywhere.”

  Pawnee

  Ansel watched helplessly as Parker took his gun from the holster and set it on the ground in front of Dixie. His stare was one of chilly appraisal. None of this made any sense to her. She’d never related to Dixie, but had never suspected the woman was dangerous.

  Cyrus had been listening too, and he called out, “Hey, let me over. Don’t leave me here, lady. I was sent to help you.”

  “Now what, Dixie?” Parker demanded. “You join your buddies who tried to shoot you down in a chopper? They’re either very stupid or very pissed at you.”

  Dixie lost her smile and leveled the Magnum at his head. “I’ve got Outerbridge’s briefcase. They won’t do anything to me.” She stepped forward and grabbed up Parker’s gun. “Honey, you’d better get Parker to shut up.”

  Ansel swallowed. The only weapon she had in her possession were the scissors in the medical kit inside her purse, but they had been badly dulled by her bark-stripping activities. Dixie had control over everything now: guns, cell phones, maps, GPS unit, emergency beacon, clothes, and Outerbridge’s locked briefcase. God knew what was in there.

  Ansel held up her hand in a calming motion. “Just go on your way, Dixie, and leave us. Without food or water, we won’t last more than another day and a half out here. Your problem will be solved. It would look better if we died in the Badlands anyway. You’d be clear of a murder charge and could tell the FBI any story you wanted.”

  Parker grinned. “So what’s your real story? If you’re not with the poachers, you must be with the mafia.”

  “Lady,” screamed Cyrus. “Get me out of here. I’m not feeling good. I’m sick.”

  “Stupid doper,” Dixie complained under her breath. “You can rot there for all I care,” she screamed back. Then she focused on Parker again. “Neither. I’m leaving, and if you try to follow me, I’ll kill you. It’s that simple.