Tyrannosaur Canyon

'Sure this is the place?'

'It was right here, at the mouth of this canyon.'

'Another canyon, maybe?'

'No way.'

Wilier could see with his own damn eyes that the canyon was wall-to-wall empty. The moonlight was so bright it was like noon.

'Well it isn't here now. They're no tracks, no body, no blood-nothing.'

'There was a body here, Detective.'

'Time to call it a night, Mr. Broadbent.'

'You're just going to give up?'

Wilier took a long, slow breath. 'All I'm saying is, we should come back in the morning when things look more familiar.' He wasn't going to lose his patience with this guy.

'Come over here,' said Broadbent, 'looks like the sand's been smoothed.'

Wilier looked at the guy. Who the hell was he to tell him what to do?

'I see no evidence of a crime here. That chopper is costing my department six hundred dollars an hour. We'll return tomorrow with maps, a GPS unit-and find the right canyon.'

'I don't believe you heard me, Detective. I am not going anywhere until 1 ve solved this problem.'

'Suit yourself. You know the way out.' Wilier turned, walked back to the

chopper, climbed in. 'We're out of here.'

The pilot took off his earphones. 'And him?' 'He knows the way out.' 'He's signaling you.' Wilier swore under his breath, looked out at the dark figure a few hundred

yards off. Waving, gesturing.

'Looks like he found something,' the pilot said.

'Christ Almighty.' Wilier heaved himself out of the chopper, hiked over. Broadbent had scuffed away a dry patch of sand, exposing a black, wet, sticky layer underneath.

Wilier swallowed, unhooked his flashlight, clicked it on.

'Oh, Jesus,' he said, taking a step back. 'Oh, Jesus.'

5

WEED MADDOX BOUGHT a blue silk jacket, silk boxer shorts, and a pair of gray

slacks from Seligman's on Thirty-fourth Street, along with a white T-shirt, silk socks, and Italian shoes-and put them all on in the dressing room. He paid for it with his own American Express card-his first legitimate one, printed right there on the front, Jimson A. Maddox, member since 2005-and stepped out into the street. The clothes drove off some of the nervousness he'd been feeling about his upcoming meeting with Corvus. Funny how a fresh set of clothes could make you feel like a new man. He flexed the muscles of his back, felt the rippling and stretching of the material. Better, much better.

He caught a cab, gave the address, and was whisked uptown.

Ten minutes later he was being ushered into the paneled office of Dr. Iain Corvus. It was grand. A blocked-up fireplace in pink marble graced one corner, and a row of windows looked out over Central Park. The young Brit was standing at the side of his desk, restlessly sorting through some papers.

Maddox halted in the door, hands clasped in front, waiting to be acknowledged. Corvus was as wound up as ever, his nonexistent lips tight as a vise, his chin jutting out like the bow of a boat, his black hair combed straight back, which Maddox guessed was the latest style in London. He wore a well-cut charcoal suit and a crisp Turnbull and Asser shirt-collar buttoned down-set off by a bloodred silk tie.

Now here was a guy, Maddox thought, who could benefit from meditation.

Corvus paused in his sorting and peered over the tops of his glasses. 'Well, well, if it isn't Jimson Maddox, back from the front.' His British accent seemed plummier than ever. Corvus was about his own age, mid-thirties, but the two

men couldn't be more different, from different planets even. Strange to think that a tattoo had brought them together.

Corvus held out his hand and Maddox took it, experiencing the crisp shake that was neither too long nor too short, neither limp nor aggressive. Maddox suppressed a welling of emotion.

This was the man who got him out of PelicanBay.

Corvus took Maddox's elbow and guided him into a chair in the little sitting area at the far end of the office, in front of the useless fireplace. Corvus went to his office door, said something to his secretary, shut and locked it, and then sat down opposite him, restlessly crossing and uncrossing his legs until he seemed to get it right. He leaned forward, his face dividing the air as cleanly as a cleaver, his eyes shining. 'Cigar?' 'Gave 'em up.' 'Smart fellow. You mind?' 'Hell no.'

Corvus took one from a humidor, clipped the end, lit it. He took a moment to draw a good red tip on it, then lowered it and looked at Maddox through a turning veil of smoke.

'Good to see you, Jim.'

Maddox liked the way Corvus always gave him his full attention, speaking to him like an equal, like the stand-up guy he was. Corvus had moved heaven and earth to free him from prison; and with one phone call he could put him back in. Those two facts aroused intense, conflicting feelings that Maddox hadn't yet

sorted out.

'Well,' said Corvus, sitting back and releasing a stream of smoke.

Something about Corvus always made him nervous. He withdrew the map from his pocket and held it out.

'I found this in the guy's pack.'

Corvus took it with a frown, unfolded it. Maddox waited for the congratulations. Instead, Corvus's face reddened. With a brusque motion he flipped the map onto the table. Maddox leaned over to pick it up.

'Don't bother,' came the sharp reply. 'It's worthless. Where's the notebook?'

Maddox didn't answer directly. 'It was like this ... I followed Weathers into the high mesas, but he shook me. I waited two weeks for him to come back out. When he did, I ambushed him, killed him.'

There was an electric silence.

'You killed him?'

'Yeah. You want the guy running around to the cops, telling everyone you jumped his claim or whatever you call it? Look, trust me, the guy had to die.'

A long silence. 'And the notebook?'

'That's the thing. I didn't find a notebook. Just the map. And this.' He took the metal box with the switches and LED screen out of the bag he was carrying and laid it on the table.

Corvus didn't even look at it. 'You didn't find the notebook?'

Maddox swallowed. 'Nope. Never found it.'

'He had to have had it on him.'

'He didn't. I shot him from the top of a canyon and had to hike five miles to get to the bottom. Almost two hours. By the time I reached him someone had gotten there first, another prospector, hoping to cash in. A guy on horseback, his tracks were all over. I searched the dead man and his donkey, turned everything inside out. There was no notebook. I took everything of value, swept the site clean, and buried him.'

Corvus looked away.

'After burying Weathers, I tried to follow this other guy's tracks, but lost him. Luckily the guy's name was in the papers the next day. He lives on a ranch north of Abiquiii, supposedly a horse vet by profession, name of Broadbent.' He paused.

'Broadbent took the notebook,' Corvus said in a monotone.

'That's what I think, and that's why I looked into his background. He's married, spends a lot of time riding around the back country. Everybody knows him. They say he's rich-although you'd never know it from looking at him.'

Corvus locked his eyes on Maddox.

'I'll get that notebook for you, Dr. Corvus. But what about the map? I mean-

'The map's a fake.'

Another agonizing silence.