Gentlemen," County Attorney Robey Hersig said, "let's convene the first-ever strategy meeting of the newly formed Northern Wyoming Murder and Mutilations Task Force."
Sheriff Barnum said, "Jesus, I hate that name."
It was 10:00 A.M. on Wednesday, four days after Tuff's body and the body of Stuart Tanner had been found. There were seven people seated around an oval table in the Twelve Sleep County courthouse, in a room usually used for jury deliberations. The door was shut and the shades were pulled.
Joe sat at the far end of the table from Robey Hersig, and for an instant they exchanged glances. Hersig, Joe thought, already looked slightly frustrated and the meeting had barely begun. Hersig and Joe were friends and fly-fishing partners. When the governor said he wanted a representative from the Wyoming Game and Fish Department on the task force, Hersig had fought for Joe's inclusion, much to Joe's, Barnum's, and even the governor's objections. The governor wanted a biologist on the task force, for forensic and scientific expertise, and Barnum wanted anybody but Joe- just because. Joe had told Hersig he preferred to work on his own, but a call to Joe from his district supervisor Trey Crump made it clear he would be the G amp;F's representative on the task force.
The task force itself was Governor Budd's response to calls to his office in Cheyenne from both the statewide news media and business interests in Twelve Sleep and Park Counties, where the murders had taken place. Brian Scott, who did a statewide radio broadcast out of KTWO in Casper, had begun a tongue-in-cheek "Mutilation Moment" update on his morning show, where he breathlessly read the body count of wildlife, cattle, and humans and contrasted it with the lack of response from the governor's office. With his reelection campaign looming in less than a year, the governor reacted to the pressure quickly, announcing the creation of the task force. He did so after his chief of staff called Robey Hersig and Hersig confessed that the Sheriff's Department was stymied in their investigation. Knowing Barnum, Joe assumed that the sheriff viewed the formation of the task force as a personal slap in the face.
As Hersig circulated agendas and manila folders, Joe surveyed the room. In addition to Joe, Hersig, Barnum, McLanahan, and the Park County Sheriff Dan Harvey, there were two men from the outside whom Joe had met before: Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigation (DCI) agent Bob Brazille and FBI Special Agent Tony Portenson. Seeing Portenson again made Joe's mouth go dry.
While Brazille was affable behind a jowly, alcoholic face, Portenson was dark, pinched, and had close-set eyes and a scar that hitched up his upper lip so that it looked like he was sneering. Portenson had already been seated when Joe entered the room, and had offered no greeting. Instead, he'd stared at Joe as if they shared a conspiracy.
"As you all know, Governor Budd has promised a swift resolution and justice in regard to these crimes," Hersig said by way of introduction. "It's our job to make that happen. I've given you each a file of what we've got so far, and I hope you'll take a moment to review it with me."
Joe had already begun. In the file were copies of the incident reports written by the Sheriff's Department on the Hawkins cattle as well as on Tuff Montegue's body. His own preliminary necropsy report on the moose was in the file as well, and Joe was a little surprised that Hersig had obtained it from headquarters without mentioning this to him. There were dozens of pages of crime-scene photos that had been printed out in color and black-and-white, as well as maps of Twelve Sleep and Park Counties with circles drawn where the crimes had occured. A preliminary autopsy report was included from Park County on the body found there, as well as the autopsy report on Tuff Montegue. Both bodies had been shipped to the FBI laboratories in Virginia for further examination. Clippings from both local and national papers on the murders and cattle mutilations were also in the file.
It came as no surprise that the autopsy and necropsy descriptions were very similar, whether of the moose, cattle, or men. Skin had been removed from faces. Tongues, eyes, and all or part of ears had been removed. Udders were removed from female cattle. Genitals were gone, and anuses had been cored out. Cuts were described as "clean and made with surgical precision."
The exception, Joe noted with a start, was in the autopsy report for Tuff Montegue. In his case, the cut on Tuff's face was described as a "notched or serrated mutilation cut similar to serrated cuts near the genitals and anus."
To make sure, Joe thumbed back through the reports. The notes of "serrated cuts" were unique to the Tuff Montegue autopsy. It could just be an aberration, Joe thought, or a mistake. The county coroner did not do many autopsies. He spent more time in his fly-shop than the one-room morgue. Joe planned to ask about the discrepancy once the discussion got started.
There was something else. Or, rather, the lack of something else. There was no mention of oxindole, Joe noticed.
"Let's start at the beginning," Hersig said, sliding Joe's report on the moose from the file.
Under Robey Hersig's direction, the task force methodically reviewed the reports in the file. It was decided early on that the aspects of the investigation would be divided up among the principals; Sheriffs Barnum and Harvey would concentrate on the murders that took place within their counties, Agent Portenson would facilitate communication access between the local authorities and the FBI, Brazille would coordinate with the governor's office and Joe would follow up on the wildlife mutilations and "anything out of the ordinary." When Joe heard Hersig say that, he winced. Hersig smiled back.
"Reports will be shared with my office, and we will serve as the communications center," Hersig said, looking hard at each person at the table. "Nothing will be withheld from this office. Territory doesn't matter, jurisdiction doesn't matter. We're all on the same team here."
FBI Special Agent Tony Portenson seemed to have an agenda of his own, and Joe couldn't yet determine what it was. Portenson paid cursory attention to Hersig, reviewing the documents in the order Hersig referred to them, but periodically rolling his eyes and staring at the ceiling. Joe wished Portenson wasn't there, because Portenson brought back dark memories of the death of his foster daughter the winter before, as well as the death of a federal-land manager. When Joe looked at Portenson, he imagined that the agent was there to observe him, to possibly catch him at something. Joe vowed to be careful. Trouble was, Joe actually liked Portenson.
Sheriff Dan Harvey of Park County didn't seem to agree that the attacks that had happened in Twelve Sleep County had any bearing on his interest, which was investigating the death and mutilation of the older man found near his cabin on the same night Tuff Montegue was killed.
Because Joe knew only a few sketchy details about this aspect of the case, he paid special attention to the Park County report. The sixty-four- year-old victim was named Stuart Tanner. He was a married father of three grown children and CEO of a Texas-based water-engineering firm that had contracts in Wyoming doing purity assessments for the state Department of Environmental Quality and the CBM developers. Tanner's family had owned the cabin and mountain property for over thirty years, according to people in Cody who knew him, and Tanner preferred staying at his cabin rather than at a hotel while doing work in the area. He was physically fit and enjoyed long hikes on his property in all kinds of weather. It was presumed that he was on one of his walks when he died, or was killed. His mutilated body was found in a meadow in full view of a remote county road. Someone had seen the body and reported it by calling the Park County 911 emergency number. The preliminary autopsy listed the cause of death as "unknown."
As Hersig moved to the case of Tuff Montegue, Joe interrupted. It was the first time he had spoken.
"Yes, Joe?"
He turned to Sheriff Harvey. "The report doesn't indicate predation of any kind. Did you see any?"
"You mean like coyotes or something eating the body?"
Joe nodded.
Harvey thought, stroked his chin. "I don't recall any," he said. "I wasn't the first on the scene, but my guys didn't mention any animals and the coroner didn't say anything about that, either."
Joe nodded, sat back, and turned his attention back to Hersig.
Tony Portenson cleared his throat. "Before we go off in too many directions, I've got something here that might give you all a great big headache."
From a briefcase near his chair, Portenson withdrew a thick sheaf of bound documents. Like a card dealer, he slid them across the table to all of the task force members.
Portenson said, "This stuff isn't new, cowboys."
Joe picked up the one-inch-thick binder and read the title: SUMMARY INVESTIGATIVE ANALYSIS OF "CATTLE MUTILATIONS" IN WYOMING, MONTANA, AND NEW MEXICO.
The report was dated 1974.
"I found this when the bureau was asked to assist on this investigation," Portenson said, a little wearily. "Somebody in our office remembered seeing it back in the archives."
Joe flipped through the binder. The report had been typed on a typewriter. There were dark photographs of cattle, much like the newer ones he had just looked at in the file Hersig had assembled. There were pages of necropsy reports, and transcripts of interviews with law enforcement personnel and ranchers.
"Shit," McLanahan said, "this has all happened before."
"Not exactly," Hersig said quickly. Joe guessed that Hersig didn't like the way Portenson had taken over the meeting and surprised him with the reports. "There's no mention of what I've found about wildlife or human mutilations here."
Portenson conceded the point with a shrug, but did it in a way that indicated that it didn't matter.
"So what was the conclusion of the FBI?" Barnum asked. "Or do I have to read this whole goddamned thing?"
Portenson smiled. "A forensic investigative team at Quantico devoted three years to that report. Three years they could have been working on real crimes. But your senators and congressmen out here in the sticks insisted that the bureau devote precious time and man-hours to a bunch of dead cows instead."
"And?" Sheriff Harvey prompted.
Portenson sighed theatrically. "Their conclusion was that this cattle- mutilation stuff is a pile of horseshit. Let me read…" He flipped open the report to a page near the back he had marked with a Post-it. "I quote: '… It was concluded that the mutilations were caused by scavenging birds, pecking away at exposed soft tissues like eye, tongue, rectum, etc. The smoothness of the "incisions"-note the quote marks around that word, fellows-is produced as a result of postmortem gas production in the cattle's bodies that stretched the tissues…' "
Portenson looked up from the report and his upper lip hitched into a sneer. "So how did the cattle die?" Joe asked.
To answer, Portenson found another marker in his report and turned the page.
" 'The cows examined died of mundane causes, such as eating poisonous plants.' "
Joe sat back and rubbed his face with his hands. Birds? That was what the FBI concluded? Birds? The report made him angry, as well as Porten- son's delivery of it. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
Hersig broke it. "I guess I don't see how a thirty-year-old report and our crimes here-including the deaths of two men-have anything to do with each other."
Portenson shrugged. "Maybe nothing, I grant you that. But maybe you all need to step back a little and take a deep breath and look at the whole situation from another angle. That's all I'm saying."
"What other angle?" Brazille asked.
Portenson slowly looked at each person seated at the table. Joe noticed the brief hardness in Portenson's eyes when they fell on him.
"Let's say that the cattle died naturally. Maybe they got a virus, or ate some bad plants. Hell, I don't know shit about cows. But let's say that happened. So the cows died. Birds found them and started pecking at the soft stuff, like the report says. It could have happened that way here, gentlemen. After all, the carcasses weren't really fresh when they were found.
"But in this atmosphere of near hysteria, a cowboy falls off of his horse in one county and an old man dies of a heart attack in another county. That's a strange coincidence, but that's maybe all it is: a coincidence. People die. Two men dying in the same night wouldn't be a very big deal in any American city. No one would even make a connection. Only out here, where the deer and the antelope play and hardly any people live, would it be a big deal.
"So the cowboy gets pecked on a little while he's on the ground and then he gets mauled by Joe Pickett's grizzly bear. And the other guy gets found by birds and other critters that start eating on him. So what?"
Portenson stood up and slammed his report shut. "What you may have here, boys, is a whole lot of nothing."
During a break, Joe stood in the hallway with Hersig as the others used the restroom, refilled their coffee cups, or checked their messages. Hersig sagged against the wall near the doorway to the deliberation room. He winced and shook his head slowly.
"Portenson's report sucked all the air out of the room," Hersig said morosely. Joe said evenly, "It's not birds."
"I don't know what to think," Hersig sighed. "Are we jumping to wild conclusions here, like he said?" Joe shook his head.
"It's going to be you and me, Joe."
"I came to the same conclusion," Joe said.
"Shit." Hersig said, rolling his eyes. He had made no secrets about his own political ambitions. He wanted to be thought of when Governor Budd replaced the soon-to-be-retiring state attorney general. If the investigation floundered, so would his chances of moving to the capital, Cheyenne.
"I do admire you, Joe," he said. "You don't have much of a dog in this fight, but you seem to be the only guy in that room who wants to figure out what happened. The others are concerned with protecting their turf."
"I wanted to work on my own, anyway," Joe said. "Looks like I'll be doing that."
Hersig smiled. "That wasn't exactly the idea, you know."
"Yup," Joe said. "What does Portenson want?"
Hersig folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "That I can't figure out."
"Me," Joe said. "I think he wants me."
"Think he's got a hard-on for you and Nate Romanowski because of that bad business last winter?"
"Maybe so."
Robey Hersig was the only man who knew enough about the circumstances surrounding the death of Melinda Strickland, a federal land manager, to legitimately suspect that Joe knew more about it than he let on. But Hersig had never asked Joe anything about the incident, and Hersig's silence in the matter told Joe everything he needed to know about his friend's suspicions. Justice had been done, and Robey asked no questions.
When they got back to work, Hersig asked the members of the task force for additional theories on the crimes. He addressed the group. "We know what the FBI concluded thirty years ago, and we can't discount that. But I think we'd be doing a disservice if we didn't consider other possibilities. So fire away, gentlemen. The ideas can be off the wall," Hersig urged. "Nothing is too crazy. Remember, it's just us in this room. Who or what is killing and mutilating wildlife, cattle, and people in our county?" " Your county," Sheriff Harvey corrected, "the wildlife and cattle in my county are just fine, thanks." Robey stood up, approached a whiteboard, and uncapped a red felt-tip marker. He wrote BIRDS. "Gentlemen?" No one spoke. Great, Joe thought. "Maybe it's some kind of cult," McLanahan said finally. "Some kind of satanic cult that gets their jollies by collecting animal and human organs." Under BIRDS, Hersig wrote CULTS on the board. "Or just one or two sickos," Sheriff Harvey said. "A couple of lowlifes who like headlines and attention. They started with the moose, then moved on to cows. Then they took a giant step to humans." Hersig wrote DISTURBED INDIVIDUALS. "Not that I agree with any of this," McLanahan said, sitting back in his chair and stretching out with his fingers laced behind his head, "but I've heard some things around town. Hell, I've heard 'em in the department." McLanahan didn't see Barnum shoot a glare at him for that, but Joe did. "One theory is that it's the government. CIA or somebody like that. The thought is that they're testing new weapons. Maybe practicing some counterterrorism tactics." "Maybe it's the FBI?" Barnum said, smiling at Portenson.
"Fuck that," Portenson replied sharply. "We've got enough on our plate."
"Another theory I've heard is that it's Arabs," McLanahan said. Joe snorted, and the deputy turned slightly in his chair to scowl at Joe. His voice rose in volume as he spoke. "There was a report of a white van filled with Middle Eastern-looking men in town during the past week, Mr. Pickett. No one knows why they were in town."
Since there was little color in Saddlestring other than Mexican ranch hands, Indians from the reservation who occasionally shopped in town, and only two black citizens, Joe wasn't surprised that a van containing dark-skinned people would result in calls to the sheriff. But still… Arabs? Terrorizing Wyoming? Regardless, Hersig wrote ARABS on the board.
"What about that bear?" Barnum asked, turning to Joe. "Longbrake saw a grizzly and Montegue was chewed up. Maybe we've got a crazy-ass bear on our hands that likes to eat faces and dicks? Maybe years of animal lovers coddling bears has turned one of them into a murderer."
"I think the killer Arab theory makes more sense than that," Joe said.
Barnum angrily slapped the table. "I would like to know why Joe Pickett is on this task force. He's a pain in my ass."
There, Joe thought. It was out.
"Because Governor Budd wanted a Game and Fish representative," Hersig answered coolly. "And if I recall, Joe has been involved in some real big cases in this county."
"Bring it on, Sheriff" Joe said, feeling his neck get hot. "Let's get this on the table right now."
Barnum swiveled in his chair and acted as if he were about to argue but he apparently thought better of it. Instead, he glared at his coffee cup.
To divert this unexpected turn in the discussion back to the subject at hand, Hersig wrote GOVERNMENT AGENTS and GRIZZLY BEAR on the board.
"Maybe a virus of some kind?" Brazille offered. It was the first time he had spoken during the meeting.
"There's one more, and all of you know it," McLanahan said, slowly sitting upright. "But since no one wants to say it, I will." Hersig was writing even before McLanahan said the word.
ALIENS.
We've even got some guy calling the department offering his expertise in extraterrestrials mutilating cattle," McLanahan smiled. "He says he's got experience in the 'field of the paranormal.'" "Who is it?" Hersig asked. "Some guy named…" McLanahan searched his spiral notebook for a moment, "Cleve Garrett." Joe sat up. That was the name Dave Avery had mentioned. The "expert" who had shown up in Helena. "Apparently, he's in town because he heard about the mutilations. He came down from Montana and set up shop at the Riverside RV Park." "Have you talked with him?" Hersig asked. "Are you kidding?" "I'll talk to him," Joe volunteered. "He's yours!" McLanahan laughed. "You get the nut cases," Hersig said, assigning the job to Joe.
Joe briefed the room on what he had learned from Dave Avery. He noticed that even Barnum's eyes got wide when he heard that other mutilations had taken place in Montana the winter before. And he saw Bra- zille and Barnum write the word "oxindole" in their files as he told them about it. "We'll need that in a report, Joe," Hersig said. "I'll write it up." Hersig said, "Agent Portenson, can you request that chemical analysis of the blood and tissue be done on the two human victims in Virginia to determine if there is oxindole or anything else unusual in their systems?" "I'm sure they'll cover that," Portenson said. "But yes, I'll make the request."
After the meeting had finally drawn to a close Joe walked across the parking lot from the county building. He was confused. He needed time to sort out all he had heard today. The puzzle had, in his mind, suddenly mushroomed into something bigger and murkier than it had been before. Portenson's explanation-if that's what it was-had unsettled him.
As he approached his pickup, he looked back at the county building. Portenson stood in the doorway with Sheriff Barnum. They were having a heated discussion, but Joe was too far away to hear what it was about. Joe watched as Portenson and Barnum stepped closer to each other, still talking. Suddenly, Portenson turned and pointed at Joe. Barnum's face turned to Joe as well.
What were they saying? Joe wondered.
Portenson left Barnum in the doorway and made his way across the parking lot.
Joe stepped around the front of his pickup to meet him. He felt a flutter in his stomach as he did. Portenson obviously had something to say.
"The sheriff and I were just agreeing that it would be best if you took a backseat in this investigation," Portenson said.
Joe didn't hide his annoyance. "I don't know what your problem is," Joe said. "The FBI was exonerated last year. You guys did an investigation of yourselves and determined that you were a bunch of heroes."
Portenson grimaced. "Officially, yeah. Unofficially, it's different on the inside with my fellow agents. I'm a fucking leper. Because I helped you and didn't support my brethren."
"You did the right thing."
"As if that had anything to do with anything. Tell that to my office, okay? I'm going nowhere fast. I don't want to be stuck here for the rest of my career. I really don't."
"Unless you redeem yourself to get promoted out of here," Joe said. "Unless you do something big."
"Like if I figure out how you and your pal Nate Romanowski were involved in the suicide of a federal-land manager." Portenson said the word "suicide" with dripping contempt. Joe said nothing. He knew this would always hang over him, always weigh him down. And it should, he thought, it should. He tried to think of something to say. "Birds?" Joe asked. "What?" "Do you really think birds are the answer to the mutilations?" Portenson got close to Joe, his face inches away. Joe could smell coffee and tobacco on his breath. "It's as good as any other theory in that room and better than most of them." "It wasn't birds," Joe said.