Carving Knife

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  “Livestock mutilation?” Seth asked. His voice and eyebrows rose with surprise. “You want me to solve the mystery of livestock mutilation?”

  “Are you aware that there are more than ten thousand documented cattle mutilations a year?” Brent asked.

  “I am aware that some people say that,” Seth said. “The actual statistics are . . .”

  “Then you’re just the right man for the job.” Brent gave an annoying nod. “You see, Chief, he’s . . .”

  “The FBI did two full-scale investigations into this very topic,” Seth said.

  “In the mid-1970s, yes, I’m aware of that,” Brent said. “But even you have to know that those reports are fraught with fraud. Now I know you old guys . . .”

  Brent looked from the Chief to Seth.

  “ . . . believe in the authority of the FBI, but . . .”

  “Did you listen to Art Bell’s paranormal radio program on your way home from Grand County?” Seth asked.

  “Who?” Brent asked. “I’d like a fresh pair of eyes on this cattle-mutilation thing.”

  Unsure of what to say, Seth looked at the Chief.

  “Are you saying you can’t do it?” Brent’s voice mimicked a taunting schoolyard bully.

  “I’m saying that it’s been done,” Seth said.

  “If it’s been solved, why is there no agreement on the cause?” Brent asked.

  “Because you’re looking for one answer to cover a lot of different questions,” Seth said. “What causes the animals to die? What removes their organs? What about the blowflies? Why do some animals appear to have been dropped from a great distance? Different questions have different answers. This is a natural phenomenon, a syndrome if you will, not a simple case of a cause-and-effect problem. Every case is unique and uniquely similar, at the same time.”

  Brent looked confused. He opened his mouth to say something before noticing the wall clock behind Seth. He glanced at the Chief and stood up.

  “Get it done,” Brent said.

  The State Attorney stalked out of the room, leaving the door to the Chief’s office open. They heard the distinct rumble of his voice, followed by, “I’m sorry, Mr. Davies, but I don’t think my husband would like that very much.”

  The State Attorney laughed. A few minutes later, the Chief’s personal assistant appeared in the doorway.

  “He’s a . . .”

  “Psychopath,” Seth said.

  “It’s true,” the Chief nodded.

  “An asshole,” she said, with a shake of her head. She closed the door.

  “What was that about?” the Chief asked.

  “What?”

  “Art Bell? Grand County?”

  “He stopped by the homestead for a booty call with Ava’s elder sister. Ran into Switch,” Seth said. “Does Davies even have a half-sister?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” the Chief said.

  They laughed.

  “Well?” the Chief asked.

  “Well what?” Seth asked. “I’ll call Everest and tell him to put on some shorts or go out at night.”

  Seth shrugged.

  “You could have called Everest yourself,” Seth said.

  “I told Davies you would take the case to keep him from assigning you to . . .” the Chief stopped talking.

  “Cattle mutilation,” Seth finished his sentence.

  “You’ve seen it before?” the Chief asked.

  “Every drought cycle,” Seth said. “I was six or seven the first time I saw a mutilated cow. I’d have to check, but the first documented case is in the 1600s. Guy named Charles Ford documented cases at the turn of the century. Hell, even Alexander Hamilton reported losing a cow to aliens in 1897. Of course, he said later it was a story for the ‘Liar’s Club.’ Still, it’s been around a long time.”

  The Chief nodded.

  “You don’t have an interesting case for me?” Seth asked.

  “Naked bagpiper,” the Chief shrugged.

  “Why is Davies so interested in me?” Seth asked.

  “No idea,” the Chief said.

  “I guess that’s the real mystery, isn’t it?” Seth asked.

  The men shared a look. The Chief took a breath, and Seth looked away.

  “You have what you need?” The Chief asked.

  “Sure,” Seth said.

  “Let me know if you need anything from me,” The Chief said.

  Seth started toward the door. He turned around.

  “Can I have world-class forensic help?” Seth asked.

  “You mean Ava,” the Chief said. “Can I stop you?”

  “Probably not,” Seth said. “Crime Scene analysis?”

  “You mean Ferguson?” the Chief asked.

  “Are you offering?” Seth asked.

  “Can I stop you?” the Chief asked.

  “Probably not,” Seth said. “Veterinary?”

  “Why not?” the Chief asked.

  “Seems expensive,” Seth said.

  “He’s the one pursuing it.” The Chief shrugged.

  Seth nodded. He left the Chief’s office to go find Ava.

  THREE

  Rather than risk the elevator, Seth jogged down the stairs. He stepped onto the sidewalk at the same moment State Attorney Brent Davies drove past. Brent’s mouth was open, and he appeared to be yelling at someone via his Bluetooth headset. Seth watched the traffic camera’s flash as Davies ran the light and made his way downtown. Seth walked across the plaza to Denver’s sparkling-new, high-tech Forensic Lab building. He took the elevator to Ava’s office.

  Ava’s father had used his influence to place her as the head of a third-shift forensics lab. Like Éowyn, Ava had been removed from the lab and fired from the Denver Police Force. A few months later, the Denver Police opened the new building, converted the forensic labs to a civilian-run facility, and Ava was quietly rehired as a civilian. Trained by the FBI, Ava was in the process of creating what she called “The Best Damned Backup Lab” to rival the FBI’s own forensic backup lab.

  Seth stopped at the hallway door and pressed the bell to the lab.

  “Hey,” Nelson, Ava’s bodybuilder tech specialist said when he opened the door to let Seth inside. “Ava’s just finishing the weekly FBI check-in.”

  “Anything good this week?” Seth asked.

  “You sound hopeful, O’Malley,” Nelson said. “What did the Chief want?”

  “Cattle mutilation,” Seth said.

  Nelson groaned. Seth nodded.

  “You get forensics approval?” Nelson asked.

  “I did,” Seth said.

  “Cool,” Nelson said. “I have a stack to get through this morning, but I’ll pull everything I can find this afternoon. You want the cases, too?”

  “That would be great,” Seth said.

  “Email okay?” Nelson asked.

  “Thanks,” Seth nodded.

  “We’ve got your back,” Nelson said. “We’re the BFBL.”

  Seth squinted.

  “We’re still arguing over ‘Damned’ vs. ‘F . . .’” Nelson started.

  “Seth!” Ava cut Nelson off.

  Seth smiled at the sound of her voice. She was tall and athletically built. The last year had given her a distinct trauma-induced seriousness that all but vanished when she looked at him. He felt like a schoolboy in the glow of her smile. He reached out his hand, which she took. She led him back to her office.

  “What did the Chief say?” Ava asked.

  “Everest got caught by your friend Brent Davies,” Seth said.

  “Everest the naked bagpiper?” Ava laughed. She went around to her desk to log off her computer.

  Seth nodded.

  “Ats da all-ta-toode, O’Malley,” Seth imitated Everest’s Scottish accent.

  “The boys need to breathe,” Ava added.

  They laughed.

  “Buy me a coffee?” Ava asked.

  “Sure,” Seth said.

  He slipped his arm over her shoulder, and they walked to the vending mac
hines in the hallway. Food wasn’t allowed in or around the labs. The vending area was the lifeblood of the building. He took out a roll of quarters and fed the coffee machine. She pressed the button for a mocha coffee.

  “What else?” Ava asked.

  “What do you mean?” Seth asked.

  A paper cup dropped into place, and the machine began grinding through the process of making her coffee. Seth nudged her aside so a lab assistant from the bone-extraction lab could get a sticky bun out of the machine next to them.

  “Did you catch a case?” Ava asked.

  She smiled. Seth was always happier when he was working on a puzzle. Mysteries spurred his piano composition and that, in turn, made Seth calmer and more centered. Overall, a new case was the best thing that could happen to him. He gave a slight nod to acknowledge her thought.

  “Sort of,” Seth said, before stepping forward to claim Ava’s mocha from the clutches of an investigator from the blood-typing lab. The investigator apologized for the near theft, before digging around in his pockets for change. Seth handed the mocha to Ava and fed the machine for the investigator’s coffee. Ava and the investigator smiled.

  “We should leave before you end up getting coffee for the whole building,” Ava said in a low tone.

  Seth set the remnants of the roll of quarters on the machine and followed her to a quiet corner with a window-wall looking out over the city and the Rocky Mountains.

  “What sort of case did you get?” Ava asked.

  “Livestock mutilation,” Seth shrugged.

  Ava winced.

  “Nelson’s going to pull what he can for me,” Seth said. “But until there’s a new case, it’s mostly reviewing old cases.”

  “You think there’ll be a new case?” Ava asked.

  “There’s always one or two in the spring,” Seth said. “Gives me a quiet month or two to . . .”

  “Drive Maresol crazy?” Ava smiled.

  Seth laughed.

  “What are you going to do today?” Ava’s eyebrows pinched with concern.

  “Track down Everest,” Seth said. “Look through a few files.”

  “You’ll be all right?” Ava asked.

  Seth grinned. She smiled at his grin. For the better part of the last year, they had spent every day together. Seth was recovering from a mysterious toxin he’d picked up trying to stop the serial killer, Saint Jude, and Ava was sorting through the wreckage her father had made of her life. She’d started working only a few weeks ago, and then spent the last five days playing arm-candy to his prodigy-piano-composer-for-the-Queen. She wasn’t used to them being apart.

  Sighing, she leaned forward. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Ava?” Nelson asked from somewhere behind Seth.

  Ava stepped back. She glanced at Seth before looking for Nelson.

  “We’ve got a big one coming in,” Nelson said.

  Ava nodded. She gave Seth a peck on the lips and left for her lab. Nelson held the lab door open.

  “I sent you what I could find easily,” Nelson said. “That should give you a place to start. I’ll send more if I find anything.”

  Nelson smirked and went into the lab. Smiling, Seth headed toward the stairs. He was standing on the corner of Fourteenth and Cherokee when an unmarked police car pulled up. The passenger window rolled down.

  “Buy me breakfast?” Seth’s friend Captain Ferguson asked.

  “I think it’s your turn,” Seth smiled.

  “When is it ever my turn?” Ferguson asked. The passenger door opened. “I’m a poor public servant. You’re my rich friend. Buy me breakfast and I’ll take you home.”

  “Deal,” Seth said and got in the passenger seat.

  “Did you really catch a cattle-mutilation case?” Ferguson asked, as he entered traffic.

  “Not one case,” Seth said. “Every livestock mutilation case that has ever happened in the state of Colorado. You know they’re unsolved.”

  Ferguson laughed and drove to Sam’s No. 3, their favorite breakfast place.

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  FOUR

  Seth leaned back from the large mahogany barn door that served as his desk. He glanced at the chair he’d set out for his best friend Mitch and turned to face the whiteboard hanging on the wall next to the door. He had spent the better part of the last hour posting police images of poor mutilated beasts onto the large whiteboard. The photos were gruesome.

  Most of the images showed cattle, sheep, and horses missing reproductive organs, anus, bodily fluids, and at least one eye. A few had their lips and ears removed with what looked, to Seth and almost everyone else, like surgical precision. Tongues were cut in a straight line behind the animals’ clenched jaws. He didn’t have to look at the veterinary reports to know that the animals were alive when most of the cutting had been done.

  There were no human footprints to or from the carcasses. No animal prints either. A few of the animals looked as if they had been dropped from a great height, and others appeared to have been set down with great care. Some had oval or circular incisions on their bodies that were only hide deep, while others had the hide stripped from their jaws. He got up to look at each picture in turn.

  The animals had been drained of blood, and no blood was found under or around the scenes. In a couple of rare cases, a rancher found an area a few hundred feet away where it looked like the animal had been bled. Seth rubbed his chin and stood up.

  The photos were organized chronologically. He took a picture of the board with his phone and started to reorganize the photos by injury. The animals missing strips of hide from their jaw were posted on the left. The animals with hide-deep oval cutouts went on the bottom right. Ones that appeared to have been dropped from a great height went on the top right. He continued for a few minutes and stepped back.

  When nothing shook loose in his head, he took a picture of the board with his phone and started reorganizing the photos by the location where the animal was mutilated. He had organized about twenty photographs by their location in the San Luis Valley when he recognized the pasture where a few of the cattle had been mutilated. He set the stack of photos on his desk and went to find his housekeeper, Maresol Tafoya.

  He was halfway down the staircase when he noticed that she was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his chocolate Labrador Clara’s leash in her hand. Clara was sitting next to Maresol.

  “Ready to go?” Maresol asked in her thick Hispanic accent.

  “Go?” Seth raised his eyebrows and trotted down the rest of the stairs. “What have I forgotten?”

  “You came downstairs to ask me about Luis’s mutes,” Maresol said.

  “Mutes?” Seth squinted to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about. “Does Luis have cattle mutilations?”

  Maresol laughed.

  “I’ll drive,” Maresol said.

  “We’re going . . .?” Seth asked.

  “To Luis’s ranch,” Maresol said. “It’s been a long time since I visited, and you want to talk to him about the mutilations.”

  “What about . . .?” Seth started to ask.

  “Ava called,” Maresol said. “They’ve got a big case. She’s working late. She said she tried to tell you, but your phone was off. Again.”

  “I just took a picture with it.”

  Seth looked down at his new smartphone and scowled. Ava had bought him this phone before they’d left for England. Maresol jerked the phone from his hands. She fiddled with it and put it back in his hand.

  “Turned the ringer off,” Maresol said, before she walked through the den and into the backyard.

  Grinning, he followed her out the back. Maresol was his first big expense after selling his second symphony. He’d hired her to help his mother with the house more than four decades ago. She’d supported him through the depths of addiction, heartbreak, desperate grief, and the joy of babies, weddings, and real happiness. Never lovers, they had shared every up and down this life had dish
ed out. He waited for Clara to finish her business before following Maresol to the driveway.

  “I’ll drive.” Maresol pointed to her new silver Mercedes Sedan. “You drive like an old man.”

  He chuckled and helped Clara into the back seat. He got into the passenger seat. This was the first time he’d ridden in the car since he’d bought it for her for her birthday last month. He’d just managed to click his seatbelt in place when she backed up out of the driveway into the street. A car honked, and she waved.

  “He had two last summer,” Maresol said.

  “Mutilations?” Seth asked.

  “Si,” Maresol said, and turned right on Montview. “You remember last year’s drought?”

  “Sure,” Seth said.

  “He and the neighbor, they use the same high pasture,” Maresol said. “Luis’s cattle were mixed in with that Abram Miller’s cattle.”

  Maresol sniffed at the Amish cattle farmer’s name. Her family had lived in Colorado for nearly five hundred years. Like many native Coloradans, she wasn’t comfortable with the large Amish communities quietly buying up Colorado’s farmland. Seth nodded.

  “Only Luis’s were . . .” Maresol pointed up and gestured as if the cattle had been sucked up into the sky.

  “What do you mean?” Seth asked.

  “Luis’s cow.” Maresol raised the fingers of her left hand from the top of the steering wheel. She pulled to a stop at the corner of Montview and Colorado Boulevard. “Miller’s cow.”

  She gestured with her right hand at the top of the steering wheel.

  “Luis’s cow was a mute,” Maresol said. “The Amish cow was not taken. Same pasture.”

  As if that should mean something, Maresol nodded.

  “And that means?” Seth asked.

  Maresol turned left onto Colorado Boulevard.

  “That means the alienígena don’t like Amish cows,” Maresol said.

  “But they like Luis’s cattle,” Seth said.

  “Exactly,” Maresol said. “Not only Luis’s, others in the valley. But not the Amish.”

  Maresol shook her head.

  “No Amish cows,” Maresol said. “Not anywhere throughout the whole valley.”

  “That is odd,” Seth said.