keep under wraps their other illegal activities as well?
“The mutilations are too advanced and deliberate,” Donny said. “Especially for a bunch of teenagers tripping on drugs. How would they figure out how to drain the blood? And erase footprints? I’d sooner believe UFO guys like Stotter than think a bunch of kids were able to pull that off.”
“I have to agree,” Lucy said. “About a year ago I was asked to do a necropsy on a mutilated steer. The incisions were precise as were the organs they chose to extract.”
Suddenly her hands were still. She stood up straight and looked from Maggie to Donny and back. “Actually I remember thinking at the time that the incisions looked as though they had been cauterized. It would certainly explain why there’s no blood. Now that I think back, it reminded me of laser surgery.”
The three of them stared at one another.
“I think I need to go upstairs and talk to Dawson Hayes again,” Maggie said. “There’re too many strange questions left unanswered.”
Donny walked her back to the rental car. He needed to retrieve his jacket and she wanted to grab hers before going back up to see Dawson, having learned that the cold invaded as soon as the sun went down. They were discussing what trace evidence Donny would send with the State Patrol technicians headed back to Lincoln. Neither of them noticed the cracked windshield until they opened the Toyota’s doors.
“What the hell?” Donny was the first to see the fist-size rock on the hood.
Maggie couldn’t believe it. Instinctively her head swiveled and her eyes darted around the parking lot as if she would still be able to locate the culprit.
“I thought the heartland was supposed to be a friendly place.”
“People are edgy about this case.”
“So why take it out on me? I’m trying to solve the crime.”
“Maybe somebody doesn’t want it solved.”
“Then why aren’t they threatening you?”
“It’s against the law to threaten a State Patrol officer.”
“It’s against the law to threaten a federal agent.” Maggie heard the frustration spilling out in her voice.
“It’s easier to blame an outsider. They know I’m not going anywhere. They probably think they can convince you to pack up and go home. Don’t take it personally.”
“Are you serious?” She grabbed the rock and held it up. “You don’t want me to take
“You get used to it after a while,” a man said from behind them.
Maggie spun around again. She hadn’t noticed the stranger who must have come out of one of the buildings. He stood beside a Buick station wagon parked behind the Toyota. Maybe he had been waiting inside his vehicle for them.
“Name’s Wesley Stotter.” He put out his hand to Maggie.
“Stotter,” Donny said. “The UFO guy?”
The man shrugged. “I guess some people call me that. I prefer the term ‘paranormal investigator.’ ”
Immediately Donny winced. Maggie looked from one man to the other for an explanation.
“You’re the one getting the ranchers all riled up about alien spaceships mutilating their cattle.”
Stotter was about Maggie’s height, thick-chested, bald-headed with violet-colored eyes and a well-manicured silver beard that made him look more like a history professor than a UFO nut.
“I saw something in the forest last night that I think you two might be interested in hearing about.”
“You were there last night?” Maggie was interested now.
“I tried to come up through the back entrance. A bright beam of light stopped me about halfway up.”
“You mean you stopped to watch the lights?” Donny didn’t sound convinced.
“No, I said it stopped me. Literally. Shut down my car’s entire electrical system.”
THIRTY-SIX
Wesley Stotter knew they would be skeptical. Most law enforcement officials dismissed whatever he had to say, but what if something he saw could help their investigation? So he stuck to the facts as he told State Patrolman Fergussen and Agent O’Dell about his drive up into the forest last night.
“What are you doing out here in the Sandhills?” Fergussen wanted to know. “I thought your radio show was based in Denver.”
Stotter couldn’t help but be impressed that the man actually knew a little something about him.
“Chasing lights in the sky.”
He watched the two investigators exchange a glance.
“I’ve been examining cattle mutilations for years now,” he explained. “You’ve had a string of them recently. Seven, to be exact, within twenty-three days.”
Fergussen crossed his arms and shook his head, but now Agent O’Dell seemed interested.
“You think the lights have something to do with it?” she asked.
“When you’ve looked at dozens of cattle mutilations you can’t deny the similarities. Seeing lights in the night sky before or after is common.”
“And that leads you to believe alien spacecrafts are involved?”
He studied her for a moment, not sure if she was playing with him or genuinely interested. Up until this point Fergussen had asked all the questions while O’Dell busied herself with a salad she had piled high from the hospital’s cafeteria.
They had found a table in the corner where no one could hear them. Fergussen had picked up a sandwich. Stotter grabbed a doughnut and coffee. O’Dell was the only one devouring her food. Stotter was a bit surprised at her appetite. He knew they had just come from viewing the autopsies of the dead boys.
“Not necessarily alien,” he finally admitted.
“That’s right,” Fergussen said. “You’ve got the ranchers all up in arms believing some conspiracy with black ops helicopters is responsible for killing their cattle.”
“The government’s been secretly testing bovine parts for years, although I doubt they’d ever admit it. Back in the ’80s they snatched up thyroid glands, paying meat-processing plants and butchers top dollar. Nobody knew what the hell they were doing with them nor did anyone care.
“Then all of a sudden Uncle Sam was done and the processing plants were flooded with bovine thyroid glands. So what did they do with them? They ground them up with hamburger until tens of thousands got sick with something called thyrotoxicosis.”
O’Dell stopped with her fork in midair and asked Fergussen, “Is that true?”
Fergussen stared at him without answering.
Stotter realized he needed to be careful. He couldn’t go off on tangents like he did on his radio show. Most people didn’t want to hear this stuff. It was one of the reasons the government got away with what it did.
“Consider the parts that are consistently taken in almost every single cattle mutilation,” Stotter tried again. “Jaws are stripped to the bone. Reproductive organs, tongues, digestive tracks, all removed. The blood completely drained. Think about it. The jaw has saliva glands. The digestive track absorbs and collects traces of chemicals or toxins. Even the ears act as a filter. If you were doing tests on animals and didn’t want anyone to know, you’d remove all the bodily fluids and all the pieces that might hold clues that could give you away.”
“So they use a helicopter to snatch a cow up out of a herd,” Fergussen said, arms still crossed and Stotter could see he didn’t believe him. “Where exactly do they perform all these tests? In the air?”
“Have you ever heard of a mobile slaughter unit?” He could see Fergussen had. O’Dell shook her head. “The USDA provides these state-of-the-art butcher shops on wheels. They’re part of a farm initiative, an outreach program for rural areas.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I’ve seen the mobile slaughter units in the same areas that have had cattle mutilations.”
“Coincidence,” Fergussen said, only now he grew impatient, sitting up, ready to cut this short. “So which is it, Stotter? Government conspiracy or alien spaceship?”
