Death Takes a Gander (17 page)

“He suffered from food poisoning?”

“It appears that way. According to the sheriff, the kitchen boy at the club ended up at the hospital the same afternoon.”

By “kitchen boy,” Kramner had to mean Radigan’s son. “Is he okay?”

“He’s got a bellyache.”

The important thing was it played to her theory that the bird poisonings and the two locations were interrelated. Angela skipped through the events of the previous four weeks. Ian’s death, Eric’s accident, the Drummond food poisoning, and the potentially fatal plane crash all had one thing in common—sick birds.

“Are they running tests on the meat?”

“We sent the samples to the lab this morning.”

Her brain flashed on the swan at Barr Lake. “Sir, did they ever run tests on the swan we found the night Ian died?”

Kramner swiveled his head like an owl, staring at her while he paced. “I don’t think so, why?”

“Because this is the third ‘accident’related to waterfowl poisonings in nearly as many weeks. It’s too coincidental.”

“‘
Coincidence
—the remarkable happening of similar events by chance,’” he quoted.

“Unless they weren’t by chance. What if all the events were intentional?”

That stopped him dead in his tracks. “You give me one good reason why someone would kill another human being over a flock of Canada geese.”

“I’ll give you a million.” Angela produced the sample vials from her pocket and held them out. “Before he died, Ian was investigating a number of waterfowl poisonings in the Barr Lake area.”

“That’s old news.”

“I think he figured out how the geese were being poisoned.” She pushed the vials toward Kramner. He reached for the plastic containers and held the brackish liquid up to the light.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” he asked.

“If you mean, do I think Charles Radigan has something to do with this? Yes.”

“He’s a powerful man, Dimato.”

“The partial report on the geese die-off in Elk Park shows the deaths may have something to do with the development of a biodegradable shot. Covyduck, the vet who handled the necropsy, says the new shot emulates lead and that the formula could be worth millions, provided it’s not toxic to the environment.”

“And you think it is.”

“I do.”

“Which makes the formula worthless.” He shook the vials, then set them on his desk.

“You have to admit, it makes for a secret worth keeping.” She pointed to the samples. “Those came out of the wetlands at the Barr Lake Hunt Club. I’ll bet money the shot inside matches the shot from the geese in Elk Park.”

“Are you having tests run on the shot?”

“Yes.” She felt a flicker of hope. “Chuck Radigan is hiding something, sir. I think Ian got too close. He talked with Eric before he died, then Eric reads Covyduck’s report and ends up pushed through the ice.”

“And Coot? Do you think that was intentional too?”

“I don’t know.” It seemed hard to believe Radigan would risk harming his own son. “But if our plane had gone down, we wouldn’t have those.” She pointed to the vials.
And I wouldn’t be around to keep forcing the issue
.

“So you’re suggesting Radigan poisoned the pilot?”

“It’s possible.”

“What about his son?”

“That had to be an accident.”

Kramner rocked back and forth on his heels. “Are these samples legal?”

“Yes, sir, they are. Radigan gave his permission. Ask Lark Drummond.”

“It’s still a reach, Dimato.” He clasped his hands behind his back and headed for the window. “Can you physically connect Chuck Radigan with Elk Park?”

“He competed in the fishing tournament with his grandson.”

“Was he signed up before the geese ended up on the ice, or after?”

Her stomach tightened. “Before, sir.”

“And what about the lead you found scattered on the ice?”

She explained why the sinkers couldn’t have caused the poisoning. “There wasn’t time. We think someone scattered them to throw off the investigation.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ Dimato? I thought you and I were working this investigation.”

Angela felt her face flush. “I’ve been talking with Lark and some of the EPOCH members.”

Kramner pursed his lips. “Okay, what about the person you saw collecting geese off the ice? What was that all about?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet, sir.”

Kramner made a few more laps, and Angela waited.

“It seems like you have a few loose ends to tie up,” he said at last. “But, for argument’s sake, let’s say your theory’s correct. Other than these three samples, do you have any proof?”

“There is some circumstantial evidence.” She explained how they had come up with the migration pattern of the geese and located the Barr Lake Hunt Club, and reminded him about the necropsy samples Covyduck sent to the lab. “If the shot matches, and the vegetation and soils match, I think we could make a case.”

“Maybe a thin one.”

“Bernie Crandall is running fingerprints on two small vials believed to be containers for the fishing sinkers we found. Eric had them in his pocket. He’d picked them up from among the debris left on the ice from the night of the goose rescue operation. If we get a match there, we could have a strong case.”

Kramner looked skeptical.

“It’s thin,” she admitted. “But I’m still building it.”

He pivoted, then stopped. The second hand on the clock made half a sweep. “I’m sorry, Dimato. You’re off the case.”

His words numbed her. She figured once she presented the facts he’d reconsider.

“From my chair, all you’ve accomplished is to stir up a hornet’s nest,” he continued. “I received a phone call from Washington this morning. Linda Verbiscar went public with your aerial stunts and inferred on national television that the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is investigating Charles Radigan.”

“We are,” Angela said.

“Radigan’s lawyer contacted the director. Do you have any idea who Charles Radigan is?”

“He’s a local businessman.”

“He’s a powerful man. What do you know about his company?”

She felt the heat rise in her face. “Not much.”

“You should have done your research, Dimato.”

“I will. Just let me—”

“No.” Kramner moved back behind his desk. “Face it, Dimato. You’re lucky you still have a job. Your judgment in this matter is clouded.”

Succinct and to the point. But the bottom line was, Kramner didn’t like the press.

“Maybe, but my eyesight is twenty-twenty.”

He didn’t argue, but surprise caused his eyes to widen behind his thick lenses.

“With all due respect, sir, I think I’ve earned the right to follow through with this investigation.”

“We’re done here.” She started to argue, but Kramner held up his hand. “You are not ready to be on your own, Dimato, and a birdwatchers’club full of amateur sleuths does not make a team. Your actions indicate you need direct supervision in the field, and, unfortunately, I’m a man short. And besides, we can’t afford anymore
accidents
.”

She chose to ignore the insinuation. She couldn’t force him to make the connections anymore than she could ignore them. Her strategy now had to be in convincing him she was close to solving the case.

“If you’ll just run the samples—”

The intercom buzzed, and Kramner punched a button on his phone. “I’ll take it from here, Dimato.”

His tone was dismissive. She moved toward the door.

“And if you find out I’m right?” she asked.

“All the more reason to have you riding a desk. You’ll be safer there.”

The Elk Park Town
Board met the third Wednesday of the month, and the town hall was crammed full of people out for blood. Chairs overflowed with parents and grandparents, their coats nestled on their laps, sour expressions pinching their faces. Kids, who should have been home with babysitters, wrestled in the aisles. And several teenagers, more interested in flirting than listening, lounged on the windowsills. The last time there had been a turnout like this was when Mayor McNamara had been recalled.

Bruised and battered from Tuesday’s ordeal, Lark tucked herself securely into a corner at the back of the room. From there, she had a clear view of the proceedings but was close enough to the doors for a quick getaway. Across the room, Mayor Jane Lindor and eight board members sat fidgeting in stiff-backed chairs, sandwiched between a row of cafeteria tables and a bank of flags.

Lark could empathize. She’d sat on their side of the tables before. She didn’t envy them. Too often those in attendance wanted resolutions outside of the law.

“This looks official,” Angela said, slipping into the tiny space between Lark and the door.

Lark experienced a momentary sense of panic over having her escape route cut off, then forced a smile. “Are you here for the show?”

“No,” Angela said, patting her gun holster. “I’m here to escort you to safety should things turn ugly.”

Lark started to laugh, then reconsidered. Her ribs ached, and there was too much truth in the comment. “Thanks.”

Angela flashed white teeth. “Looks like all the players are here.”

“And then some.” There were more people in the room than attended church in Elk Park on Christmas Day.

Mayor Lindor banged a gavel on the table.

“Let’s get started.” The noise level dropped only slightly, and she pounded again. “I said, quiet! We’re ready to start.”

The crowd fell silent.

Someone coughed. Someone else sneezed. Then the mayor set down her gavel and picked up a sheet of paper.

“The first item on the agenda is the town treasurer’s report.”

There was a collective groan from the gallery.

“But… ” Her gravelly voice carried over the rumble. “Since you’re all here for the items at the bottom of this list, I’m going to dispense with normal procedure and move right to new business.”

A wave of approval undulated through the room.

“The board has received a petition requesting the town secure a permit from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service for removal of the remainder of the Elk Park geese.”

“I make a motion we do it,” Frakus yelled.

“Second,” someone hollered near the back.

The buzz in the room grew, and Mayor Lindor slammed down the gavel. “I have a motion on the floor. And a second. Is there any discussion?”

The room erupted. People shouted comments from all sides. Lark shrank back against the wall and tried to make herself look small.

“One at a time,” yelled the mayor. “Brett?”

The room quieted again. Everyone turned to look at Brett Bemster. A Tiger Woods wannabe, he was decked out in corduroy slacks, a light-blue oxford shirt, and a navy-blue sweater vest. A yellow cashmere scarf was twisted around his neck, clashing with the olive tones in his skin. His face—tanned to the texture of shoe leather from too many days at the Brown Baby tanning salon—glistened with sweat. Blotting the shine off his brow, he played to the crowd.

“The geese are a health risk.”

“They are dirty,” said a woman near Lark, someone she had never seen before.

Mob mentality struck, and the crowd coalesced.

“That’s right,” Bemster said. “They’re pooping in the water.”

“Not to mention what else,” Angela whispered.

Lark choked and shook her head. No sense feeding the frenzy with sarcasm.

“That’s not true,” challenged Gertie, standing up in the second row.

“Shut up, Gertie,” a voice in the back yelled.

“That’s right,” shouted someone else. “Sit down.”

“Booooooo.”

The crowd joined together, and the knot in Lark’s stomach tightened. Mob mentality frightened her. Even when she was leading the mob, like she had been the other night. When passions were aroused, a crowd took on its own energy. This group rallied in fear.

“You’ll all have your turn,” Mayor Lindor said, pleading for order. She glanced at the sheriff’s men near the doors behind her.

Was she looking for help, or did she plan on bolting?

Brett flipped his hair and started again. “Canada geese are medically proven to cause disease. Studies show their crap contaminates the water supply, putting us all at risk.”

“That’s a lie.” Gertie’s round face was flushed. Despite the boos, she climbed up on her chair. “There have been numerous studies done, and there’s not one drop of evidence that the fecal matter of geese causes illness. Not one.”

“It’s still gross,” the woman near Lark said.

Frakus stepped forward into an aisle. “That’s not true, Gertie. Why, in Seattle, we were issued annual U.S. Fish and Wildlife permits to round up and kill geese based on health risks. Now you tell me, why would they sanction extermination if there wasn’t some proof? And now we have sick geese.” He glanced around to see who was with him.

The majority of citizens in the room seemed to have jumped on board. Lark wished Angela would say something. She could explain to these folks that killing the flock wasn’t a solution to the problem. Humans were the problem. The geese weren’t diseased. They were sick because of human exposure.

“I can tell you this,” Frakus said, taking a parting shot. “It cleaned up our parks.”

“Aren’t there alternatives to killing them?” asked a teenager near the windows.

Good for you
, thought Lark.

“Trust me, nothing else works,” Bemster said. “I’ve paid Lou Vitti thousands of dollars to keep the birds off the golf course, to no avail. The town’s been shelling out for over a year. Since… ”

Lark waited for him to indict himself by bringing up the bludgeoning incident. Instead, he switched gears.

“Suffice it to say, to keep on paying Vitti would be throwing good money after bad. The geese stay away while the dogs are around, then they come right back.”

“That’s because they’ve only gone as far as the lake,” Frakus said.

Andrew Henderson lumbered to his feet, taking an impressive stance. “We don’t have many resident geese here. The sick geese are transients. They came in with the storm.”

“We have enough geese to cause this town a problem,” Frakus countered. “All the more reason I say we do something now. If we don’t intervene, you can bet they’ll multiply.”

“There are other methods we can use to reduce the numbers,” piped up Harry.

Lark hadn’t noticed him sitting down front, but she felt a surge of relief he was here. He was the next best thing to Eric. Maybe the townsfolk would listen to him.

Gertie bobbed her head, while Petey Hinkle tried pulling her down off the chair.

“Give us some examples,” Mayor Lindor requested.

“The most effective way is to replace their eggs with fakes to reduce reproduction,” Harry said. “Essentially, you’re tricking the birds into thinking they have a full brood until it’s too late in the season for them to lay more eggs.”

“Why not try that?’ shouted a man near the doors.

Heads started nodding. Lark felt encouraged. Up until that moment, it had seemed like the EPOCH members were paddling against the tide.

“Because it’s costly,” Frakus said. “And it takes time. We have a problem now, and we’ll have a bigger problem in the spring.”

“We can train volunteers,” Gertie said. “We don’t have to pay anyone.”

“It won’t do any good,” Bemster said. “The geese are worse than rabbits. Besides, Vitti’s tried everything. He put out fake owls, scarecrows, Mylar balloons. He even sprayed the grass with methyl anthranilate.”

Mayor Lindor frowned. “Which is… ?”

“Grape soda flavoring,” Bemster explained. “Supposedly the birds loathe the stuff. Trust me, it might have stopped ’em from eating, but not from dumping.”

Lark leaned over and whispered to Angela, “Have you ever witnessed a kill?”

The agent shuddered, clearly disturbed by the thought. “It’s never been high on my list of things to experience.”

“Mine either. I’ve read too many articles.” The most graphic one had described how officials lured the geese into fenced areas, then herded them down a narrow shoot and into a pen where they were chased, grabbed, and gassed to death.

“And there’s another plus,” Frakus said, addressing the crowd like a prosecutor in closing arguments. “The town can donate the meat to charitable causes.”

There was an audible, collective groan. Then Kip, the director of the local homeless shelter, shouted, “Don’t do us any favors, Frakus,”

“Are you hoping to kill off the needy too?” someone else asked.

“Remember the Drummond!” shouted a man near the back.

The mantra was taken up, and a hundred faces turned to look at Lark. She forced herself to keep staring at Frakus.

“What happened at the Drummond is an isolated situation,” he said. “Caused by using the livers of sick geese to make paté.”

Lark pressed herself into the corner. Surely the townspeople knew she hadn’t authorized use of the geese.

“It weren’t just the livers,” Kip said. “And it weren’t isolated. We didn’t serve no livers, but I had to close the shelter down because of those geese.”

Lark drew herself out of the shadows. People at the shelter were sick?

Angela also pushed forward. “Did you collect the geese off the ice?”

From the manner in which Kip shrank back, Lark wished she could see Angela’s face.

“That’s right,” he said, bolstering his courage. “We were legal. Frakus called and donated the meat to the shelter.” Kip shot him an accusatory glance. “Only, he forgot to tell us it was contaminated.”

Lark’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. In all fairness, Frakus might not have thought the meat was bad. But more to the point, if Kip was the person Angela had spotted picking geese up off the ice, where had Ducharme gotten the livers to make the paté?

The meeting degenerated into a shouting match, and Frakus came under full attack. Lark took momentary pleasure in his plight, then signaled to Angela she was leaving. The special agent bobbed her short, dark curls and followed her into the parking lot.

“Wow!”

“Do you realize what just happened in there?” Lark whispered, afraid that speaking aloud might somehow jinx this latest development.

“Frakus got caught trying to kill off the homeless population?” Angela asked.

“Get serious. It means that Ducharme wasn’t the one collecting geese off the ice.”

Angela scrunched up one side of her face. “Not necessarily. For all we know, he could have collected the geese the same way.”

The momentary crush of defeat caused Lark’s lungs to deflate, and she sucked in a breath. In order to save the Drummond, she needed to prove she and her staff were not responsible for the poisonings. Maybe it was time to start grasping at straws.

“What if Frakus had given Ducharme permission as well?” she asked. “Then Frakus—or the town—would be responsible for the poisonings, right?”

Angela looked doubtful. “Maybe, if Frakus admitted giving permission. That’s a big
if
.”

They reached Lark’s truck. She climbed in and rolled down the driver’s-side window.

Angela rested her arms on the sill. “Plus you’d need Ducharme to testify. The fact he took off plays against you.”

Lark slumped back against the seat. “That does look bad, doesn’t it?”

She meant it as a rhetorical question, but Angela answered with a question of her own. “What if Ducharme bought the geese?”

“From Kip?”

“From anywhere. Wouldn’t most places assume they could bill the Drummond?”

Lark’s head snapped up off the headrest. They’d searched for a bill or receipt and touched base with their food distributors. She’d checked. Velof had checked. Heck, even Bernie Crandall had taken a whack at it.

But what if Ducharme had opened a new account with a new company? Maybe the paperwork hadn’t arrived. Or maybe it had. Maybe it was sitting in her inbox.

Angela followed Lark to the Drummond.

The hotel, inviting in its holiday attire, projected a festive mood. Evergreen boughs draped the eaves, pinned with red bows and wrapped in bright twinkle lights. Music pumped through tiny Bose speakers drifted across the veranda, lulling the night.

By contrast, the lobby seemed somber.

“Things have been a little quiet around here,” Lark said, nodding to the desk clerk and leading the way back to her office.

Quiet
was an understatement.
Dead
seemed a better fit.

Unblemished by fingerprints, the opulent furnishings gleamed with an unnatural sheen; the red wool carpet showed vacuum marks, and music echoed off the sculpted ceiling. The only movement came from the sleepy desk clerk and the eyes of the paintings, which seemed to track their movements, hungry for interaction.

Lark pushed open the office door and waved Angela to a seat.

“It’s either here or it isn’t,” she said, pointing to the inbox on her desk. She picked up the stack of papers and handed half to Angela.

Water bill. Electric bill. Gas bill. All astronomical figures. But no bill for the birds.

“It’s not in my stack,” Angela said, setting it back on the desk.

“Damn,” Lark said, tossing the last of the papers back on the pile. Tears made her eyes glisten. “I was so sure we’d find something.”

Angela wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. “Let’s go at this from a different angle. How many places supply wild game to restaurants? There can’t be that many.”

“There’s more than you think.”

“All we need to do is find the right one.”

Lark pulled out the yellow pages, and Angela dragged her chair around the desk.

“Try under food distributors,” she said.

“First let’s try under game.” Lark flipped pages. “It says to look under meat processing or meat wholesalers.”

The meat page contained two columns of names. Angela counted thirty-eight meat wholesalers, one meat broker, and fourteen meat-processing facilities.