Carnosaur Crimes (29 page)

Chapter 38

“Life is as the flash of the firefly in the night, the breath of the buffalo in the winter time.”

Blackfoot

Ansel lifted her head and almost groaned aloud. Her neck was stiff, whether from her body-bruising adventures or from sleeping in a hospital chair, she couldn't say. Opposite her and next to her father's bed, Pearl snored softly in another chrome and vinyl monstrosity that passed for furniture. They'd spent the night together on what could be the start of a death watch.

A full day had passed since Reid, Ranger Eastover, and her crop-dusting brother had rescued her. After passing out on the prairie and then taken into Reid's ministrations on the ride out of the Badlands, she'd recuperated quickly with food, water, and a few hours of sleep.

By the time Reid had driven her to the McCone County Hospital, she'd heard that a CAP rescue team had found Parker alive despite the dangerous wash-out. He was flown to a hospital in Glasgow and healing nicely after the shotgun pellets had been surgically removed from his thigh. His future looked much better than hers.

Tears filled Ansel's already red and gritty eyes. As she had endured the trek out of the box canyon, so had Chase battled for life in ICU and now lay unconscious. His weakened state had exhausted his body's strength reserves, and his condition was critical. Doctor Wellman had told her that if her father survived the first seventy-two hours, his chances of recovery would be good.

Still Ansel hardly recognized her father, a helpless spirit encased in damaged flesh that neither moved nor communicated. Tubes and catheters, beeping machinery, and strange smells filled the tiny room. Curtains drawn across the glass panels did little to dispel the aura of an encroaching catastrophe being monitored with microscopic scrutiny. He absorbed oxygen. He consumed nutrients. He eliminated wastes. All the scientific and biological parameters that she'd learned were the hallmarks of organic life were here, but meant nothing.

For the first time, all of her scientific expertise failed her. There was no medicine for rejuvenating a weakened soul slowly slipping away. No tool for stitching the mind to the body so it couldn't separate. No equation for controlling time and altering the past. Though she'd been an innocent and traumatized young girl when her mother passed away, this was horribly different. Being a worldly, self-sufficient adult didn't mean crap when confronted with the lifeless husk of her father.

“You're up,” said Pearl. She roused from her slumber, stretched painfully, and cast an anxious glance toward Chase.

“He's the same,” Ansel said. She leaned forward and cupped Chase's cold, calloused hand into her sweaty palms. “You're going to be all right, aren't you Daddy? I'm so sorry I yelled at you. I was being mean and spiteful. Don't leave me,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

“Ansel, he knows all that, and there's nothing you could do to make him not love you.”

“I just want him to realize that I'm here.”

Pearl stood and brushed a long lock of Chase's silver hair from his blue hospital smock. “We're both here, you old cow-poke. The ranch is fine. Seth is on top of everything. And it's raining, Chase. A regular gully-washer. No need to fret.” She glanced toward the door. “Ansel, Reid's here.”

Ansel looked over her shoulder. Reid, fully suited, stood in the door holding a folder and brown bag. The last time she'd seen him, he was wearing civilian clothes and carrying enough guns to fight a battle. She stood, massaging her neck. “I'll be right back.”

Reid moved away from the door as she approached. By some mutual, unspoken cue, they both migrated past the nurse's station and out the ICU unit into the main corridor.

“Hi, Reid. What's up?”

He passed her a large brown bag. “First, here's some stuff retrieved from the ravine. Your hat, purse, jewelry, and a few possessions that survived the flood. How are you?”

“I'm fine.” The bag wasn't very heavy. At least she had her jewelry back.

“And Chase?”

Ansel frowned. “Not good. They're pumping him full of pain killers, blood thinners, and oxygen. I need to get back.”

“I know. I wanted to catch you up on things. We found the bodies of Dixie LaPierre, Hillard Yancy, and Cyrus Flynn. Of course, Dixie died from snake venom, but Hillard and Cyrus drowned in the ravine. We also recovered the burned bodies from the FBI chopper.”

How ironic that Cyrus had drowned in the end, Ansel thought with a shiver. She rubbed her hands along her arms. “Did anyone find Outerbridge's briefcase?”

Reid nodded. “Yeah, it was stuck in the debris outside the ravine. Got the computer disk safe and sound. It's been sent to the FBI. Who knows what was on it that everyone was trying to destroy. They'll be tracking down poaching ring and mafia drones for years.”

“I just want to get back to my life.” Ansel gazed toward the ICU. “If it's not too late.”

“There are still some details my department has to deal with.” He opened the folder and pulled out a large photo. “You deserve to see this. The museum poacher.”

Ansel took the photo, their hands touching briefly. Even as mentally weary as she was, the contact held an emotional impact. She quickly withdrew her hand and glanced at the computer-generated portrait. Artistically speaking, it was very lifelike and expressive. She noted the name and address digitally imprinted along the bottom edge.

“Nice job. This Doctor Birch is very good.”

Reid's face looked half pleased and half flustered. “He's a twenty-three year old named Noble Dawes. Comes from the Crow Indian Reservation near Hardin.”

Parker's tribe. Ansel reviewed the drawing carefully. “You've identified him already?”

“Yeah, the tribal police phoned me late last night. Ever see him before?”

“No. Any information on him?”

“Not much. He doesn't have a rap sheet. Still don't know if he fits into the FBI case.”

“You sound like you don't think he's part of the poaching ring.”

“I have my doubts.”

“Why?

Reid shrugged. “Gut feeling. Have you talked with Parker?”

Surprised at the question, Ansel passed him the photo. Was he going to start some jealous tirade again? And jealous over what? She crossed her arms. “Once. He called to tell me he'd survived the ravine flood by climbing up on a boulder blocking the wash that was higher than the storm surge. His gunshot wound is healing.”

“I was wondering if he said anything about the FBI's next move to you.”

“Reid, I'm not someone the FBI confides in, and you know it. Stop two-stepping around me in order to ferret out my love life. I'm not in the mood.”

Reid roughly pushed the photo back into the folder. “Gee, that's funny. I thought I came all the way from Mission City to do my job by following up on what you might know.”

“I know when I'm being belly-roped,” she countered., then walked away.

“He's no good for you, Ansel,” Reid said under his breath.

She pivoted around and glared at him. “What did you say?”

Reid faced her squarely. “I see his type all the time in law enforcement. He's a social drifter. Oh, he's flashy and personable, and got that macho, federal fly-boy job, but he'll never settle down. Never commit to anything.”

“Just like you, Reid?” She used her ebony gaze to pierce through him. “He may not be the perfect man, but he's a man. He knows when he wants to kiss me and does it damn good.”

“Are kisses all you've given him?”

Ansel bristled. “That's none of your business. Stick to your job, remember?”

Reid's expression darkened into a bitter scowl. “Screw it. I don't give a damn what you do with your life.” He whirled away and stomped toward the elevator, never looking back.

As Ansel watched him, an instantaneous wave of regret enveloped her. He'd been brazen to question her about Parker, but why had she said that to him? It had been cruel and deliberate, a childish retort meant to pummel his ego. Her temper was her major character flaw, but lately it had been totally out of control. She'd give anything for a strong drink right now.

She started after him, willing to eat crow with mustard if that's what it took to get back in his good graces. She hadn't taken three steps when the cell phone in her jean pocket rang. Worried that a distant relative or friend was trying to reach her or Pearl for information about her father's condition, she halted and dug it out.

“Hello?”

“Miss Phoenix. It's Noah Zollie.”

For a moment the caller's name meant nothing to her. Then her brain cells jump-started. The lawyer. “Yes?”

“I hope I'm not calling at a bad time,” he said carefully.

Ansel lightened her tone as she stared helplessly down the hallway where Reid had disappeared. “No. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. I suppose you're calling about Dad.”

“Your father? Not at all. I called concerning some interesting information about the Big Toe museum contract. Has something happened to Chase?”

“Yes. He suffered a heart attack two days ago. I'm here at the McCone ICU.”

“My goodness. I'm so sorry. Please give Pearl my deepest sympathies. How are you two holding up?”

“We're just waiting and watching. What about the museum contract?”

Noah clucked his tongue. “Oh, I don't want to bother you. Call me when you're ready to discuss it.”

Ansel looked out a wide plate glass window overlooking the front parking lot. Through the streaky, water-splattered barrier, she saw Reid shooting between the cars two stories below as he dodged the rain. He held the folder over his head, and his navy jacket flapped like a cape.
You can run but you can't hide. I'll find you.

“Please, tell me now, Noah. I don't know when I'll be able to call again.”

“Well, the museum contract is standard as far as BLM lease trusts go, and the execution looks solid and perfectly legal. I'm afraid that there's no way for the town council to contest the land tenancy clauses incorporated into the lease as presented, and the BLM has laid down the conditions upon which the contract can be terminated by them with great clarity. They are within their federal rights to divest themselves of the lease if they so choose under the auspice that the town council is unable to maintain the necessary protection and security for national antiquities.”

Reid's white sedan pulled out of the parking lot. Ansel ran her fingers through her hair and angrily spun away from the window. “So there's nothing we can do to stop the closing of the museum and the seizure of the fossil tracks?”

“I wouldn't say that,” Noah replied. “I've found a flaw in another legal document attached to the property. That's why I'm calling.”

Ansel's indignation cooled, and a small tingle of hope vibrated through her body. “What?”

“The Dover ranch covers approximately three-thousand acres comprised of parcels acquired at different dates and under different circumstances. The BLM land leased to the town council, which contains the museum and tracks, encompasses one-hundred and sixty acres. I've found a defect associated with the original Land Patent for that parcel. It's a lucky fluke that we can capitalize on if the town council wishes to forestall a lease foreclosure for a bit. In any event, this issue should be addressed at some point as it affects some of the heirs.”

That tingle of hope blossomed into a full-fledged optimism. “You mean Chester Dover's children?”

Noah grunted. “Well, his children would be affected indirectly, but not to their benefit. Mr. Dover bought the land in 1950 through a Real Estate contract. He held a Warranty Deed on the property only. That's a state-generated document and is merely a ‘color of title' which is the semblance or appearance of title, but not an ownership title in fact or in law. I'm talking about a Land Patent issued by the government which is permanent after its issuance to the bearer and his heirs forever. Most people don't know this, but a Land Patent is the only perfect title to land available in the United States. Your father inherited the Arrowhead through his family's original Land Patent, you know.”

“No, I didn't. So who got the original patent for the museum acreage?”

“The patent was issued under the General Allotment Act of 1887 as part of a federal decree giving permission to reservation Indians to select pieces of land forty to one-hundred and sixty acres in size for themselves and their children. A Crow Indian named Robert Dawes received partial ownership of the land with the government, which held it in trust for twenty-five years. After that specified time as required by Indian homesteaders under the Allotment Act, Dawes bought the land outright through a fee ownership contract in 1914. That's when he received his Land Patent for the property.”

Ansel hitched in a breath. She'd just stumbled upon the reason why Noble Dawes had tried to steal the dinosaur tracks. It was motivated by an old land dispute involving a relative.

“Are you all right, Ansel?”

“Yes. Just surprised. How does this help us?”

“Since Dawes held the original Land Patent, he could keep the property for as long as he liked, pass it on to his heirs or sell it. For whatever reason, he chose to sell the acreage to a man named Lincoln Abernathy who in turn owned the parcel until it was sold again to Chester Dover in 1950. I found the BLM paperwork that shows Abernathy to be the holder of an amended Land Patent spun off of the Dawes sale, but that document just didn't look right to me so I investigated further. Somehow the Abernathy Land Patent got unilaterally amended in 1915 by the county surveyor solely on the surveyor's affidavit and without the required re-survey of the parcel. I suspect that there was a concerted attempt to make Abernathy appear as the original Land Patent owner and not Dawes.”