Carnosaur Crimes (25 page)

“Flynn? The copter must have come back and dropped him off to flush us out. Now we know that they're poachers. We've got to hurry. The pilot will be waiting for us on the other end if Flynn gets back to him and tells him we got away.” Parker turned to reach for his duffel bag, but it was gone. Ansel followed his strident gaze.

Dixie stood several yards away. Parker's unzipped bag lay at her feet. Pointing Outerbridge's Magnum at both of them with one hand and clutching the agent's brief case with the other, Dixie displayed her usual toothesome smile.

“Either of you Lovebirds move and you'll be feeding the buzzards.”

Chapter 32

“There is a hole at the end of a thief's path.”

Lakota

“I heard that Captain McKenzie gave you a FLEAT enema when you got back from Billings this afternoon,” Odie said. He steered the dusty sedan toward Cyrus' house.

Reid grimaced at the parodied acronym used by officers which described a “Federal Law Enforcement Ass Thrashing.” Agent Broderick had complained to McKenzie about their public match-off, and his boss had gleefully run a goal with it up his end zone, so to speak.

Mckenzie's Imperial Commandments were predictable. Thou shalt never pull a stunt like that again with a BLM official. Thou shalt never bring personal grievances into homicide investigations. Thou shalt be condemned to a suspension hell without pay if thou disobeys any of the above.

The fact that he'd found Cullen Flynn's vehicle, connected Cyrus to the sheriff's disappearance, exposed Jessie Frost as a poacher, and learned the truth about Operation Dragon and the mafia connection hadn't figured into McKenzie's gratitude factor.

“I'm steeping in my own regrets,” Reid said. “Can't you tell?”

“Well, at least you'll enjoy the next few hours.”

Reid cast a pleased glance at Odie as they rode up the dirt driveway. A deputy sheriff's car followed behind. He'd waited for this moment for the last two hours The search warrant in his left hand, authorized by Judge Elizabet Ottey, empowered him to take some constructive action. The paper allowed him to locate Cyrus' car and to search it, as well as to search the residence for any evidence which might give them information about Cullen's whereabouts.

It hadn't hurt that Frost was cooling his heels in a Billings hospital after surgery to remove the bullet in his shoulder and had a criminal record as well. Though the stockyard foreman wasn't talking, his association with operation director Carigliano, who in turn was linked to mafia contacts, made the possible threat to Cullen Flynn's life even more pressing. Judge Ottey was Cullen's friend and after reading Reid's request for a search affidavit, she signed the warrant in less than a minute.

The drive was empty. The windows were firmly shut. “Nobody home,” Odie surmised.

“No surprise. Guess who rents this house to Cyrus.”

“Frost?”

“Close. Carigliano. We need to find a gun or drugs. Let's toss it good.”

Reid and Odie went up the disintegrating steps. The deputies trailed behind wearing bullet-proof vests and carrying their guns ready. After knocking on the door and announcing their intentions to enter with a search warrant, Reid turned and nodded at the uniforms.

A stocky young officer, still smaller than Odie and ironically named Samson, stepped up and gave the doorknob plate a couple of good kicks. The ugly green door whipped open and slammed against the interior. A putrid smell composed of rotten food, a backed-up toilet, and other unidentifiable smells flew at them like a hot, invisible wall.

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 buckled 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.”