Robey stood up, approached a whiteboard, and uncapped a red felt-tip marker. He wrote birds.

“Gentlemen?”

No one spoke. Great, Joe thought.

“Maybe it’s some kind of cult,” McLanahan said finally. “Some kind of satanic cult that gets their jollies by collecting animal and human organs.”

Under birds, Hersig wrote cults on the board.

“Or just one or two sickos,” Sheriff Harvey said. “A couple of lowlifes who like headlines and attention. They started with the moose, then moved on to cows. Then they took a giant step to humans.”

Hersig wrote disturbed individuals.

“Not that I agree with any of this,” McLanahan said, sitting back in his chair and stretching out with his fingers laced behind his head, “but I’ve heard some things around town. Hell, I’ve heard ’em in the department.” McLanahan didn’t see Barnum shoot a glare at him for that, but Joe did. “One theory is that it’s the government. CIA or somebody like that. The thought is that they’re testing new weapons. Maybe practicing some counterterrorism tactics.”

“Maybe it’s the FBI?” Barnum said, smiling at Portenson.

“Fuck that,” Portenson replied sharply. “We’ve got enough on our plate.”

“Another theory I’ve heard is that it’s Arabs,” McLanahan said. Joe snorted, and the deputy turned slightly in his chair to scowl at Joe. His voice rose in volume as he spoke. “There was a report of a white van filled with Middle Eastern–looking men in town during the past week, Mr. Pickett. No one knows why they were in town.”

Since there was little color in Saddlestring other than Mexican ranch hands, Indians from the reservation who occasionally shopped in town, and only two black citizens, Joe wasn’t surprised that a van containing dark-skinned people would result in calls to the sheriff. But still . . . Arabs? Terrorizing Wyoming? Regardless, Hersig wrote arabs on the board.

“What about that bear?” Barnum asked, turning to Joe. “Longbrake saw a grizzly and Montegue was chewed up. Maybe we’ve got a crazy-ass bear on our hands that likes to eat faces and dicks? Maybe years of animal lovers coddling bears has turned one of them into a murderer.”

“I think the killer Arab theory makes more sense than that,” Joe said. Barnum angrily slapped the table. “I would like to know why Joe Pick-ett is on this task force. He’s a pain in my ass.” There, Joe thought. It was out.

“Because Governor Budd wanted a Game and Fish representative,” Hersig answered coolly. “And if I recall, Joe has been involved in some real big cases in this county.”

“Bring it on, Sheriff,” Joe said, feeling his neck get hot. “Let’s get this on the table right now.”

Barnum swiveled in his chair and acted as if he were about to argue but he apparently thought better of it. Instead, he glared at his coffee cup.

To divert this unexpected turn in the discussion back to the subject at hand, Hersig wrote government agents and grizzly bear on the board. “Maybe a virus of some kind?” Brazille offered. It was the first time he had spoken during the meeting.

“There’s one more, and all of you know it,” McLanahan said, slowly sitting upright. “But since no one wants to say it, I will.”

Hersig was writing even before McLanahan said the word.

Aliens.

We’ve even got some guy calling the department offering his expertise in extraterrestrials mutilating cattle,” McLanahan smiled. “He says he’s got experience in the ‘field of the paranormal.’ ” “Who is it?” Hersig asked.

“Some guy named . . .” McLanahan searched his spiral notebook for a moment, “Cleve Garrett.”

Joe sat up. That was the name Dave Avery had mentioned. The “expert” who had shown up in Helena.

“Apparently, he’s in town because he heard about the mutilations. He came down from Montana and set up shop at the Riverside RV Park.”

“Have you talked with him?” Hersig asked. “Are you kidding?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Joe volunteered. “He’s yours!” McLanahan laughed.

“You get the nut cases,” Hersig said, assigning the job to Joe.

Joe briefed the room on what he had learned from Dave Avery. He noticed that even Barnum’s eyes got wide when he heard that other mutilations had taken place in Montana the winter before. And he saw Brazille and Barnum write the word “oxindole” in their files as he told them about it.

“We’ll need that in a report, Joe,” Hersig said. “I’ll write it up.”

Hersig said, “Agent Portenson, can you request that chemical analysis of the blood and tissue be done on the two human victims in Virginia to determine if there is oxindole or anything else unusual in their systems?” “I’m sure they’ll cover that,” Portenson said. “But yes, I’ll make the request.”

fter the meeting had finally drawn to a close Joe walked across the parking lot from the county building. He was confused. He needed time to sort out all he had heard today. The puzzle had, in his mind, suddenly mushroomed into something bigger and murkier than it had been before. Portenson’s explanation—if that’s what it was—had unsettled him. As he approached his pickup, he looked back at the county building. Portenson stood in the doorway with Sheriff Barnum. They were having a heated discussion, but Joe was too far away to hear what it was about. Joe watched as Portenson and Barnum stepped closer to each other, still talking. Suddenly, Portenson turned and pointed at Joe. Barnum’s face turned to Joe as well.

What were they saying? Joe wondered.

Portenson left Barnum in the doorway and made his way across the parking lot.

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