McFarland folded her arms across her chest and gripped her chin with one hand. “Why is that typical?”
“Temporary storage. The bear planned to return to finish off the carcass. Had to hide it from scavengers in the meantime.”
Montgomery started to speak, but Corey used his eyes to shut him up.
McFarland asked, “So you would say that this attack had an entirely different signature from the one of the photographer?”
“Precisely.”
She turned to face Montgomery directly. “Bantz, what about the other hiker, a Miss Loudermilk, I believe. What did she say happened?”
Montgomery kept his side vision trained on Corey as he spoke. “I wasn’t able to get much out of her. She was still sedated and just muttered, really.”
“Did she say anything about a wolf?”
“I… believe so.”
“Who knows what she meant,” Corey spoke up. “We had a bear attack on a hiker, Greta. That’s always the danger in backcountry.”
McFarland lowered her head and massaged her temples. “Good God Almighty, Jack,” she said under her breath.
“Sorry?” Corey asked.
Without answering, McFarland turned to the director of the Oregon forensics lab. “Well, Dr. Wallace, I hope you’ve brought us some data that can help us out here.”
“As a matter of fact, we have more than we expected to have by now.” He quickly summarized what he and his team had accomplished during the week. They had the attacking animal’s saliva from the wounds inflicted on the victims. They had also recovered strands of hair from the fatal neck wound of the photographer and in many cases from the livestock deaths. The lab isolated the DNA from the samples to pin down a single hybrid as the culprit, a cross between the Tosa Inu breed and a North American gray wolf. To complete the investigation, in the previous two days his team analyzed DNA in the stored blood samples from all of the original wolves transported into Yellowstone from Alberta.
“So for us, it was just a matter of matching the foreign trace DNA found in the wounds of the victims,” Dr. Wallace said, “with DNA from the stored blood from all of the wolves.” Wallace clearly fancied himself as the detective meeting with everyone in the parlor after solving the crime. “And I’m pleased to tell you that we succeeded in getting a perfect match with one of the wolves.”
He grabbed a thick folder from his attaché and pulled out of it an eight by ten photo that he passed around the table. It showed a wire cage resting on snow and inside it, an ebony black wolf. Nothing notable about the animal, except for a silver stripe along its chest.
“That’s the killer,” Dr. Wallace said. “The picture was taken just after capture in Alberta. Wolf number 25M. The male belonged to the Soda Butte pack, the first pack released into the Park.”
“It looks like a normal wolf to me,” McFarland said.
“According to his records,” Wallace replied, “mainly those from the teeth, it was eleven months old when captured. Only a pre-teen in dog age. Yet at one hundred twenty-eight pounds, it was the largest wolf in the pack.”
“Why didn’t the biologists see a red flag at the time?” McFarland continued.
Dr. Wallace held his open palms out and shrugged. “Other than observing that it was big for its age, there was absolutely nothing unusual. You can see from the picture that its dominant characteristics are those of a wolf. But its genetic makeup leaves no doubt—absolutely none—that 25M is a hybrid.”
McFarland peered at Corey. “I take it that you can locate the whereabouts of 25M from the radio transmissions on his collar?”
Corey quickly rifled through the stack of papers he’d brought to the meeting while McFarland tapped an index finger on the table. It took only a minute for Corey to hold up a double-sided sheet of paper that listed every wolf radio-collared and the frequency of its transmitter. “It’s right here on the chart.” He slid his finger across the paper. “That wolf—25M—transmits at 152.38 megahertz.”
“The superintendent wants this taken care of,” McFarland quickly responded. “You need to get search and capture underway.”
“With all the visitors coming in over a holiday weekend,” Corey said, “I’ve had to pull in a dozen extra rangers. And that’s just to direct traffic. We don’t have the manpower to—”
“Listen to me carefully, Jack. I am ordering you to track down the wolf this weekend. Even if you and Montgomery have to go it alone.”
Looking embarrassed for a colleague, Dr. Wallace averted his eyes.
Take a deep breath, Jack.
Corey sat up straight. “Okay… and when we locate this creature, we’ll bring in a chopper and get rangers on the ground. I’ll page you.”
“You can call me directly,” McFarland said. “I’ll be right here. And remember the regional Boy Scout outing at Indian Creek. I’m told a hundred Scouts or more will be there. What are your plans for that?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Corey replied. “The incident happened on the far side of the Big Horn Pass. That’s a good fifteen miles or more from their campground. There’s no reason to get the Scouts all worked up.”
“Is that your only recommendation to the superintendent?”
“We could take other precautions.”
“Like?”
“Like closing the Fawn Pass trail.”
McFarland leaned back in her chair to think it over before replying. “I’ll give the superintendent your advice. It’s his decision, but he’s out of town. I’ll try to reach him.”
Montgomery watched amused as it all played out. He’d seen it all in action before. McFarland got what she wanted out of Corey and if anything goes wrong—no matter the size of the problem—she could point the finger at him. And where the hell was the superintendent when it all hit the fan? He’d already gotten out of Dodge for the long weekend.
After the meeting, Montgomery followed Corey into his office.
Corey slammed shut the door and immediately turned and shoved Montgomery against the wall. He pinned back his shoulders and mashed his face into Montgomery’s. “For the last time, Bantz, when we’re in front of her, let me do the goddamn talking. The next time you pipe up—”
“She asked me a question, Jack.”
Corey released his grip and twisted away. “I don’t give a shit what she asks you.”
“I kept telling you about the wolf tracks—”
“It was a Grizzly kill. Plain and simple.”
“But the bear could’ve smelled the blood and come in after the wolf attacked.”
“Why the hell are you making such a big deal out of this, Bantz?”
Montgomery waved at the Park map on the wall. “If we don’t close off the entire northwest quadrant, I think we should at least give the Scouts a warning.”
“You trying to be some kind of hero? Still after my job, you little prick?”
No, he didn’t want Corey’s job or anything more to do with Yellowstone after the weekend. He wasn’t trying to act like a savior for the Scouts, the Park visitors, or for Greta McFarland. He was doing what he was hired to do eight years before. No longer any need to waste his breath. All he had to do was make it through the weekend. He’d had enough. The wild card was Corey.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Where do you plan to take your overnighter, Mr. Farmington?” Jack Corey asked. He’d agreed to meet up with Leonard Farmington in the afternoon at Yellowstone’s Indian Creek campground.
The two men sat on benches at opposite sides of a picnic table. Wearing his tan outfit full of regalia, Farmington had introduced himself as the scoutmaster for the Gallatin District. He’d added that he was also the leader for a Boy Scout troop in Colter. The way he spoke, along with his hand-waving mannerisms, suggested a long history of organizing Scout activities. A trail map lay spread out on the picnic table.