Rant of Ravens (9 page)

“He’s an opportunist,” Charles said. “I don’t know why Miriam agrees to deal with him.”

“Because he knows more about raptors than I might forget,” Eric said. “He’s helped us out a few times, and Miriam feels she owes him.”

“He’s a money-grubbing capitalist.”

“Am I missing something?” Rachel asked. Charles shifted in his chair, crossing his arms and clamping his mouth shut like a petulant child.

“Mike’s negotiating with the Bureau of Land Management for a special land-use permit for the Twin Owls area,” explained Eric. “He wants to operate a year-round climbing camp.”

“Can’t he just use the rock like anyone else?”

“
Ja
, except he wants to expand his operation. He wants to run the rock like a ski area, offering instruction, employing climbing patrols, that sort of thing. He plans to designate beginner, intermediate, and expert areas, and make sort of an outdoor climbing gym.”

“What does any of that have to do with Aunt Miriam?”

“Nothing, except that years ago, she granted him a temporary easement to tie his driveway into Raptor House Road. It’s the current access to Twin Owls, and some people think”—he shot a pointed glance in Charles’s direction—“if she rescinds Mike’s easement and converts Raptor House Road back to a private drive, it would prevent Mike from obtaining the BLM land-use permit.”

Was that why Lark had been so adamant that Miriam needed to stop allowing the public access to Rocky Mountain National Park through Bird Haven? And how would rescinding the easement affect the land status in relation to the stipulations in Uncle William’s will?

“Lumpy Ridge is open for climbing use now, isn’t it?”

“That’s just it.” Eric pulled a small map of Rocky Mountain National Park from his back pocket and pointed to Lumpy Ridge. “Right now the park closes this area to climbing during the raptor nesting season. We think there’s at least one active peregrine nest on Twin Owls.”

“If Mike gets permission to open his camp,” Lark explained, “the nesting pair will be driven out.”

“As if the BLM bureaucrats care,” Charles said with a snort. “If Johnson waves enough money under their noses, they’ll give him whatever he wants.”

“I agree.” Harry spoke for the first time since they’d started brainstorming. “The only thing that’ll stop Mike is someone hitting him hard in the pocketbook, like Miriam shutting down access so he’s forced to find an alternate route.”

Forest paced the floor. “I have a different approach. I’m sponsoring a bill in Congress this year that would restrict access to federal lands providing habitat for endangered wildlife.”

“As EPOCH members, we all agree some regulation
is
critical to maintaining wildlife habitat,” stated Gertie. It was the first time Rachel agreed with her. “It’s the level of regulation needed that’s open for debate. Naturally, Mike Johnson vehemently opposes the whole premise.”

“Everyone agrees that maintaining our wilderness boundaries is crucial to preserving an environment for our wildlife, Forest.” Charles leaned forward. “The Nettleman Bill is great in that it restricts commercial use, allows area closures based on wildlife activity, and bans expeditions into the wilderness in certain habitat areas. Where it falls apart is the policy on backcountry permits.”

Forest stopped pacing. “Not everyone agrees with you on that.” He turned to Rachel. “You see, under my bill only a limited number of
guided
excursions will be allowed, and only a limited number of guide permits will be issued triannually. Environmental impact is curtailed by requiring all backcountry visitors to use guide services, and all guides to donate a percentage of their annual profits to the Park Service for upkeep of the National Park System.”

“But it means none of us can go birdwatching in the backcountry without guide services,” complained Andrew. Opal nodded.

“That may be,” Forest agreed. “But on a national level, the Nettleman Bill has been well received among environmentalists and animal rights activists alike—
educated
people who realize that damage done to our wildlife habitat is damage to our heritage.
Educated
people willing to sacrifice individual gratification for the sake of humanity. The time has come when society as a whole must throw a monkey wrench into the gears and stop the pillage and rape of our natural resources. How? By stopping advancement into our wilderness areas.”

“Thank you, Forest.” Gertie clapped her hands loudly. “Now hush up and sit down.”

To Rachel, Forest sounded like a People for the Ethical Treatment of the Earth advocate. Not that she was against PETE per se, just that radicals on either side of the fence frightened the hell out of her. A similar faction called the Earth Liberation Front recently claimed responsibility for fires at Vail causing twelve million dollars’ worth of damage before the opening of the season. ELF threatened more attacks as long as Vail put forth continued plans for ski area expansion into possible lynx habitat.

Forest sat down with a parting shot. “Mike Johnson wants to see the Nettleman Bill shot down.”

“Of course he does,” Lark said, “though you’d think the lummox would realize that he stands to make a truckload of money when he snags one of the guide permits. Either way, he comes out a winner and the rest of us lose.”

It was easy to see that Lark didn’t care much for Mike Johnson, and that she didn’t agree with the provisions of the Nettleman Bill. Rachel wondered how the rest of them felt. Andrew had pegged it right. If the bill passed, it would certainly limit EPOCH’s birdwatching treks into the backcountry. They might even be forced to hire Mike Johnson as a birding guide. Push them hard enough, and EPOCH might come to stand for Environmentalists Plotting Overt Crimes for Habitat.

Rachel opted to backtrack. “Someone Johnson said was a falconer. Does he have a propagation permit?”

Lark narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“From what Eric told me, the peregrines’ greatest value is to someone needing new breeding stock, right?”

“
Ja
, but falconries are heavily regulated in Colorado,” Eric said, seeming to follow her train of thought. “They’re subject to spot checks at any time. Johnson would be taking too big a risk if he kept stolen birds in his mews.”

“Mews?”
Birders should come with glossaries
.

“Cages,” Gertie explained.

“Then Johnson has the facilities to keep birds.”

“Not really.” Eric leaned back and crossed his legs. “A master falconer is limited to three birds; therefore he needs only three cages. If his birds are lost or they die, he can’t take more than three birds from the wild in replacement. And he’d have to obtain special permits to take those.”

“Peregrines aren’t legal,” Harry said.

“Mike could purchase birds,” Eric continued, “but then they’re registered and banded. He’s not stupid enough to steal birds and try to house them, too.”

“No, but he’s arrogant enough to try it temporarily,” Lark said.

She sounded like she had firsthand knowledge of Mike Johnson. Rachel made a mental note to ask her more about him when they were alone.

“Who conducts spot checks, Eric?” Harry asked.

“Ian Ogburn, U.S. Fish and Wildlife.”

Harry pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and knuckled them into place on his nose. “Do you have his number?”

“
Ja
, out in the truck.”

Eric left to get the number, and Rachel glanced around at the birdwatchers. Their body language was clear. Forest slouched in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. Harry scratched notes on a small spiral pad. Andrew and Opal whispered with Cecilia and Dorothy. Lark sulked, and Gertie studied them all with the same open curiosity Rachel was exhibiting. Charles stared into space, his legs crossed, an unreadable expression etched on his face. Rachel decided he was either plotting sabotage or worrying about Aunt Miriam.

“I have just one more question,” Rachel said. “Based on what Eric said, why would a man of Johnson’s standing take the risks involved in stealing the falcons?”

Lark answered. “The man caters to eccentricity. His clients are all rich guys who know what they want, the cost be damned. Mike Johnson’s what I’d call a risk junkie.”

That sounded a lot like someone else Rachel knew. Her gaze wandered toward the Raptor House, and an image of Roger wavered at the edge of the meadow. She closed her eyes tight. She had more important things to think about.

Like the fact that Aunt Miriam was missing.

When Rachel opened her
eyes, the apparition materialized. Only it wasn’t Roger. Instead, a Clark Kent look-alike with a skimpy goatee strode toward her, holding up a copy of the
Elk Park Gazette
.

“Way to go, Rachel Stanhope,” he said as he reached the patio. “You’re front page news.”

“Who are you?” Rachel demanded.

“Kirk Udall,
Birds of a Feather
magazine, at your service.” He flashed white teeth. “I thought you’d be happier to see me. Actually, I was hoping you’d decided to trade me back rubs.”

Rachel snatched the paper from his hand, torn between smacking him with it as if he were a naughty puppy and reading the headline. “Let me see that.”

She scanned the headline.
Body Found in the Thicket
was inked in 42-point type. And an ingenious staff reporter must have downloaded Rachel’s head shot from the Images Plus website, because her picture was pasted in the center of the layout. The caption read,
Summer resident, Rachel Stanhope, stumbles over murder
.

“Read it,” Gertie said.

Rachel skimmed the copy silently. The first half recounted the events of Thursday evening. The second half moved into the realm of speculation.

L
OCAL RESIDENT
M
IRIAM
T
ANAGER’S THE PRIME SUSPECT IN THE MURDER, AND SHE IS REPORTED TO BE THE LAST PERSON TO SEE DONALD BURSAU ALIVE. IT IS BELIEVED THAT BURSAU, AN INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER FOR
B
IRDS OF A
F
EATHER
MAGAZINE, WAS IN TOWN RESEARCHING A STORY ON
T
ANAGER’S LATE HUSBAND
, W
ILLIAM, THE RENOWNED ORNITHOLOGIST WHO HAD CALLED
E
LK
P
ARK HOME SINCE THE LATE
1970s.

Several paragraphs detailed Uncle Will’s childhood, his graduation from Northwestern University, his subsequent move to Elk Park, and his career highlights.

J
UST HOURS AFTER A VISIT TO
B
IRD
H
AVEN,
D
ONALD
B
URSAU RETURNED TO
E
LK
P
ARK, AND CHECKED OUT OF HIS ROOM AT THE
D
RUMMOND
H
OTEL.

Rachel glanced at Lark. Why hadn’t she said anything about Bursau’s staying at the Drummond? Rachel had assumed he was staying at one of the cheaper hotels. Her gaze drifted back to the newspaper.

A
SUBSEQUENT SEARCH OF THE PREMISES TURNED UP NO CLUES, BUT SOURCES CLOSE TO THE POLICE INVESTIGATION CONFIRM THAT
B
URSAU’S CAR WAS DISCOVERED ABANDONED IN
R
OCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL
P
ARK LATE THIS AFTERNOON.
T
HE TRUNK CONTAINED LUGGAGE, COMPUTER EQUIPMENT, AND AN EMPTY COMPUTER DISK BOX.
F
URTHER INVESTIGATION SHOWED THAT SEVERAL FILES STORED ON THE COMPUTER HAD BEEN OVERWRITTEN AROUND THE TIME OF DEATH.

“Are you going to read it out loud, or not?” Gertie asked. She stepped forward and extended a hand to Udall. “You must be the reporter they’ve sent to replace Mr. Bursau. I’m Gertie Tanager, the daughter of the man you’re doing the exposé on.”

Rachel shoved the paper between Gertie’s fingers, making it awkward for the reporter to shake her hand. “They say something about ‘the members of a local bird club,’ and talk about Miriam, Will, and Charles. Why don’t you read it for yourself?”

Udall grinned. “Guess you didn’t expect to see me so soon. After your phone call, I decided there must be more of a story here than I’d realized.”

“You’re saying murder isn’t enough?” Rachel sized him up. Dressed like an L.L. Bean model, Udall looked like a nature nut to her. Maybe he cared only about nonhuman species.

“The murder raised a few eyebrows, but there are a lot of people connected to a lot of other stories who might have wanted Bursau dead.”

Charles turned to Gertie. “What do they say about me in that article?”

“You’re noted as being Daddy’s oldest friend,” Gertie said. “But I can’t believe they didn’t mention the rest of us. We were all there, every last one of us, except for you two.” She gestured toward the Hendersons, who were donning their jackets.

“We need to be going,” Opal said. Rachel thanked the couple for their efforts to locate Miriam, and escorted them out through the house. By the time she returned to the patio, Eric had come back with Ian Ogburn’s number and he, Udall, and the others were busy dissecting the article. And they were all calling Udall “Kirk.”

Eric gestured at the newspaper. “This doesn’t look good.”

Rachel agreed, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss it in front of Kirk Udall. If Bursau was the Geraldo of the bird world, who was to say Udall wasn’t the Jerry Springer?

Granted, the missing computer disks, assuming there were ten there, and the overwritten files pointed to motive. Someone wanted something kept under wraps. But who? Aunt Miriam? Given the fact that Bursau’s investigation had focused on Bird Haven and Uncle Will’s alleged illegal activities, there was no doubt that Sheriff Garcia would leap to that conclusion.

“Will someone explain what this means, ‘several files stored on the computer had been overwritten’?” Dorothy underlined the words with a pink-tipped finger.

Rachel sat down on one of the stools. “It’s one way of erasing files from a computer hard drive. Given the right tools, a deleted file can be retrieved. But on an overwritten file the existing information is written over, making it virtually impossible to recover.”

“Why would the killer go to all that trouble?” Lark asked. “Why not just steal the computer, or trash it?”

Good question
. Rachel considered possible reasons and came up with one. “Because the killer didn’t overwrite the files.”

“Then who did?” Dorothy asked.

“Bursau might have done it himself for some reason. Maybe he thought someone was trying to steal them.” Rachel fingered a strand of her hair. “What kind of a guy was he… Kirk?”

“Anal, totally. I’d bet he backed up his files—”

“On the missing computer disks!” blurted Charles, perking up a little.

It made sense to Rachel. “Bursau was frightened. He warned Aunt Miriam to be careful. I’ll bet he thought he was in danger, too.”

“He was right,” Udall said.

“So what are you guys saying?” Lark asked. “That Bursau stored the information on disks and cleaned his hard drive?”

“It’s a possibility,” Rachel said.

“I’d say it’s safe to assume the killer now has those disks,” Kirk said.

“Oh
please
,” Rachel drawled, adopting one of Gertie’s lines. “For all we know the killer’s still looking for them.” That might have been what she’d heard in the bushes the night she’d found Bursau’s body—the killer searching the area for the missing disks days after the murder.

Harry looked at her over the top of his glasses. “What type of files would use a whole set of disks to store information?”

“Photographs.” Rachel had figured that out almost immediately. She worked with graphic files day in and day out, storing most of her own on zip drive disks. Saving pictures on a hard drive slowed down the machine, making it harder to use certain programs. “Digital pictures eat a lot of bytes.”

“We know Bursau received a call from Bird Haven on Monday, before he checked out of the hotel,” Lark said. “The question is from whom?”

“It seems safe to assume—”

Rachel shot Kirk a scathing glance. “That it was one of us, or Mike Johnson arranging to meet him—”

“In order get their hands on the disks,” Lark finished.

“Oh, my,” Dorothy said. “Who would do that?”

The killer
. Rachel combed her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “Sheriff Garcia would say Aunt Miriam.”

“That’s pure speculation,” Forest said. “For all we know, the person called to offer him more information.” He looked pointedly at Gertie.

Charles cleared his throat. “Miriam told me she was going to call Bursau.” His voice was barely audible. “She wanted to buy his silence in regard to Will.”

Rachel stepped toward him. Eric placed a restraining hand on her arm.

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier, Charles?” she asked.

He shot Rachel a defiant glare. “I gave Miriam my word I’d keep quiet. I tried to talk her out of it. I told her not to call. I was, I still am, convinced that reporter was trying to blackmail her.”

Rachel glanced at Kirk Udall. The man had one heck of a poker face.

Quiet blanketed the patio. Lark sloshed coffee into a mug. Finally she broke the silence. “Okay, let’s say Bursau agreed to meet Miriam, give her the disks, and erase his computer files. She had time to pick them up on her way to The Thicket Monday night. Remember, she drove down alone. Rae stayed home that night.”

Cecilia pulled a tissue from her purse and blotted her upper lip. “This is getting serious.”

Getting? One man is dead and Aunt Miriam is missing, and she thinks it’s
getting
serious?

“Where do you suppose the disks are now?” asked Udall.

Leave it to him to ask the obvious question
.

“Maybe Miriam stashed them somewhere in the house.”

Or maybe she took them with her when she left
.

Eric slid his chair back. It screeched on the patio stones. “If someone knew Miriam had the disks, they might have tried searching the cages to find them.”

“Or maybe they wanted to hide them somewhere,” Harry said, dusting his hands together.

“Or maybe someone just killed two birds with one stone,” Rachel said.

The birders glared.

“Sorry, no pun intended.” Rachel looked down at her hands and played with her fingers.
Here’s the church, here’s the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people
. Only in this case it was a barn. “Bursau was doing a story on bird trafficking, right? So doesn’t it stand to reason that the bird traffickers wanted both the disks and the birds?”

Dorothy fidgeted with her tissue. “Why on earth would Miriam get herself involved in something so dangerous?”

“To protect Will,” Cecilia declared. “I would do almost anything to protect my Jim.” That was saying a lot, considering her husband had been missing in action for over forty-seven years.

Harry coughed.

Lark stirred her coffee, licked the spoon, then pointed it toward the other birders. “That’s probably why Kirk’s friend Bursau exited stage left, and checked out with no advance notice.” She cast a guilty look at Rachel.

Rachel decided to let her wallow in it.

“Then who shot him?” Eric asked.

“Who cares?” Lark responded. “The point is, if Miriam had what she wanted, she had no reason to kill the guy.”

“Unless he planned to report what he knew anyway,” Kirk said. “Maybe she figured Bursau was lying.”

Rachel glared at him. “We’re operating under the assumption that Aunt Miriam is innocent, Kirk.”

“Duly noted.” He gave a rakish smile that tugged at her resolve to remain annoyed with him.

“How many disks does a box of computer disks hold?” Harry asked. “Assuming it was full.”

“Usually ten,” Rachel answered.

Lark’s head came up. Her spoon clanged on the counter. “If Miriam has even one of the disks…”

Rachel locked eyes with her. “Then she’s got a clue to Bursau’s killer.”

Lark nodded. “Which means—”

“Your aunt Miriam’s got herself in deep doo-doo,” Udall said.

After a cursory search of the Raptor House and Bird Haven turned up nothing, the discussion petered out around three o’clock. Miriam had been missing nearly twenty-four hours. Rachel watched the others prepare to leave with growing apprehension. She didn’t want to wait for word from Aunt Miriam all alone.

The consensus of the EPOCH members was that whoever’d killed Bursau had most likely come after Miriam. The hope was that she had something the killer wanted, and there would be some type of ransom request, or else that she had fled and was hiding out. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she called?

Fear for Miriam’s safety and a need for company drove Rachel into town for dinner. Two chocolate milkshakes and bellyache later, she drove back to Bird Haven, checked the voicemail, and went to bed.

Hours later, she woke with a start. Her heart pounded, sweat beaded her brow. She reached to touch the pillow beside her, then remembered where she was.

Something was wrong!
She pushed back the comforter and sat up. What had wakened her? She didn’t remember having a bad dream.

The wind gusted outside, stirring the trees. A branch tapped against the windowpane. She exhaled. Just another new sound to contend with.

In New York she’d learned to tune out the noise—the blare of horns, the squeal of tires, the clatter of construction, and the endless prattle of voices on the street outside her window. And, until two months ago, Roger snoring softly beside her in bed.

In Elk Park, she was learning to sleep alone and to contend with the sounds of silence—quiet so intense she heard pine needles brushing glass, wood snapping with temperature changes, and the voices of her soul. She’d been here only six nights, but already she’d learned to differentiate ranch house noises.

A floorboard creaked.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened. That was the sound of someone walking—upstairs. There was someone inside the house!

Maybe Aunt Miriam had come home. Rachel swung her legs over the side of the bed. Miriam was a light sleeper, and she paced the floors at night. Rachel heard her whenever she stepped into the hall and creaked down the stairs for hot chocolate.

But she would have seen Rachel’s note. If it was Miriam, why hadn’t she wakened Rachel when she came in?

She jammed her feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers, and pulled a robe over her flannel nightshirt. It was just a little before two o’clock. Whoever was prowling around upstairs didn’t belong there.

Rachel eased open the bedroom door, forming a silent prayer that it wouldn’t squeak and that whoever was in the house was someone she wouldn’t mind meeting in a dark alley. She inched her way slowly down the hall, feeling her way by trailing her fingers along the rough-board wall. Pine scent assailed her nostrils. Her heart throbbed in her ears.