The Dinosaur Hunter(69)

“Where should we take him, Mike?”

It looked like everybody wanted to keep me in charge so I said, “Lay him out on one of your picnic tables.” I figured if it was good enough for me, it was good enough for Ted Brescoe who, of course, was the dead body. “And call the state police. Tell them they don’t need an ambulance. A pickup will do.”

Earl went off somewhere while his stout sons carried Ted to one of the tables, there to lay him down. One of the fishermen came over to me where I was sitting on the grass, my head down. “You gonna be OK?” he asked.

I raised my hand and waved and he went away. After a bit, I managed to get to my feet. It was time to take a closer look at Ted. But before I could study our BLM agent’s remains, I was intercepted by Earl. “I called the state, Mike. They said they’d send somebody from Billings. They said it would take at least four hours to get up here so they’re sending the paramedics in Jericho to pick him up.”

“All right,” I said. “After I look at Ted, put him somewhere cool until they get here.”

Earl gave me a funny look. “Ted? This isn’t Ted. I don’t know who it is.”

Well, that fried it. What we had was some drunken cowboy or fisherman who’d pitched off the dock in the night. But then I thought, wait a minute, didn’t those fishermen tell me his throat had been cut and his head bashed in? As I got closer, I still didn’t know who our body was until at last I saw his shaved head and the gold earring in his ear. Toby! “Man,” I said, “I figured you to be the killer, not the killee.”

Toby didn’t answer but his sliced throat told its own story. I lifted up his head and observed the back of his skull, which had a dent in it. It looked like maybe a hammer was the weapon. Lowering his head, I searched his pockets, finding his wallet. His driver’s license, issued by the state of Nevada, identified him as Sergei Tobovski and gave his address as a street in Reno. Even his photo on the plastic card looked threatening. “Now, who would dare attack you?” I wondered, then kept searching. There wasn’t much, just some car keys. I looked in the parking lot and saw a white Hyundai sedan, probably a rental car and probably Toby’s. I looked some more and found a folded up and very soggy paper. When I unfolded it, I discovered it was actually a notice that read:

This range improvement project brought to you by the Green Monkey Wrench Gang. No address—we’re everywhere. No phone—we’ll be in touch.



Earl was watching me. “You didn’t kill him, did you, Mike?”

“No, Earl,” I said, “and I don’t have a clue who did, either. The only person who deserved killing last night was Ted Brescoe. That’s why I thought the body was his.”

“Ted’s in room thirteen,” Earl said. He looked at me. “You’re not going to beat him up again, are you?”

“I didn’t beat him up before. Well, not by myself, anyway.”

I walked over to the motel, which was actually a string of doublewides. I climbed up on the deck attached to unit number thirteen and knocked on the door. To my astonishment, Tanya opened it. “Mike,” she said. She was dressed in a white terry cloth robe.

It took me a moment to gather myself. “I was told Ted Brescoe was here,” I finally managed to croak.

“And here I am,” came the answer from the couch. Ted Brescoe, alive and well, stood up and strutted to the door.

I looked at Tanya. “Well,” I gulped, stupidly. “What do you know?”

She raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

“Need a word, Ted,” I said. “Outside.”

Tanya moved out of the way. Ted came outside and I asked, “Where were you last night?” It was a dumb question but it was the best I could do, considering the circumstances.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.

“A man was murdered last night,” I said, dully. “You know anything about that?”

“Why would I?”

I ignored that for now. “It was Cade Morgan’s friend, a man who called himself Toby.”

“Don’t know him. Ain’t got no business with Cade Morgan. He gave up the Corbel leases as soon as he bought the property.” He studied me. “Hey, you don’t look so good. You upset because of this Russian whore? Shit, Mike, a hundred dollars is all it takes. Go ahead. You can have my sloppy seconds.”

I hit him. I hit him real hard. I hit him so hard I knocked him clear off his feet and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Then I kicked him. After that, I reached down and picked him up and knocked him down again. Tanya opened the door and dragged me off him. “Get me a knife, Tanya,” I said. “I’ll cut his throat and throw him into the lake. Maybe they’ll think there’s an epidemic.”