“We haven’t found the animal control folks particularly quick to respond,” Josh replied. “Billings is too damn far away.”
Corey adjusted his hat and looked toward the carcass, walking to it as he spoke. “I’ll be happy to give you my humble opinion. We’re just trying to reach out to you ranchers, like we promised.”
Josh pointed but didn’t move from the spot where he’d anchored. “That’s another victim of your folly.”
Corey stooped to look, ignoring the putrid odor. “You’re not talking about my wolves now, are you?”
“You bet I am.”
Corey grinned like a politician and pulled a pair of plastic gloves from his back pocket. “They’re America’s wolves, Joshua. They belong to everybody.”
“You can tell America to come take ‘em back.”
Corey slipped on the gloves, carefully positioning each finger into place like a surgeon. He probed around the wound and with Montgomery’s help, rolled the carcass about to examine further.
“When did this happen?” Corey asked, his eyes fixed on the fatal wound.
“A couple of days ago at most,” Josh replied.
Corey reached with his right hand over to his left and yanked the glove away, then stood and removed the other. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Joshua, but what you’ve got here is either an angry neighbor who was clumsy at wielding a dull axe or a cougar kill on your hands. This is certainly not the work of a wolf.”
“How do you reach a cockeyed conclusion like that?” Josh asked.
“Straightforward. No bites on the legs or hindquarters and—”
“That don’t mean nothing.”
“And its belly hasn’t been ripped open. The attacker went straight for the throat.”
“That don’t mean a damn thing.”
“Your big llama males can defend themselves from a lone coyote or wolf, Joshua. But they don’t have any chance with a cougar.”
Josh unbuckled the sheath that hung from his belt and pulled out a hunting knife. He shuffled in Corey’s direction.
Jesus! Dieter stood and quickly backed away. Corey had a side arm holstered on his hip and Dieter waited for him to draw.
The chief park ranger held his ground as Josh bent down and cut deep into the neck of the carcass, peeling away tissue to reveal bone. “Take a look at this.” He pointed with the tip of the blade where he’d carved.
Corey lifted his chin and set it. The joints of his jaw twitched and he scratched the back of his neck. Dieter moved forward and crouched to get a better view.
“You see any puncture marks here?” Josh asked. “I’ve seen plenty of cougar kills in my day, Mr. Corey. Even watched them sneak up on their prey and attack. Cougars, just like their cousins, the lions and tigers, go for the nape of the neck—not for the throat. It just ain’t their instinct.”
Josh used his hands on his head to demonstrate. “They pierce the skull or spinal cord like a butcher knife. When have you ever heard or seen anything about a cougar grabbing a victim by the throat?”
“They attack with the sole purpose of killing, don’t they?” Corey asked. “So what if they go for the nape of the neck or the throat or the crotch for that matter?” Corey was determined not to allow a jackass rancher get the best of an expert who’d studied wildlife throughout his career.
Josh shook his head. “They attack from the rear ‘cause their inbred strategy is to blind-side their victim. These animals have a blueprint stored in their marrow. Nothing’s done helter-skelter in the wild, Mr. Corey. Nothing.” He shook the carcass with his fist buried deep in the fur over the backbone. “There’s no teeth marks on the back of this neck or the skull.” He pulled out a dirty plaid handkerchief and wiped off the blade, then looked hard at Corey. “This was no cougar kill and you damn well know it.”
Dieter glanced at Molly. She returned a veiled smile, as if what they were witnessing was nothing but good entertainment.
“If it was a wolf kill,” Corey said, “we’d see that llama torn to pieces by the pack.” The chief park ranger wasn’t going to be outdone by the likes of a trapper. “Why would we see a body with only its throat ripped open?”
Josh shrugged and threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why would a cougar attack and just take off?”
“They’re easily spooked. Much more so than a pack of wolves. The big cat could’ve made his kill and then got scared away.”
His gut curled up in knots, Dieter couldn’t hold back any longer. He’d witnessed such stonewalling by law enforcement in Philadelphia. What progress had they made on finding Fran’s killer? What kind of priority was the PD giving the hunt for the beast?
“Have there been other wolf kills reported outside park borders?” Dieter asked.
Corey jerked his head toward him. “Yes, Dr. Harmon, there have been. When we do get valid claims, the ranchers are compensated.”
“How so?”
The look that Corey shot back at him was one of keep your mouth shut, asshole, this is none of your business. Corey paused before he answered, a pause calculated to relay that message. “Up to five hundred bucks per head. That is, if it’s proved to be a wolf kill.” He re-adjusted his hat and placed his thumbs back inside his belt. “And I’ll tell you this—there’ve been a lot more reported than confirmed.”
“How many wolf packs are in the Park?” Dieter asked.
“Six, last official count. We do keep track, you know.”
“What about here on the western border?”
Another calculated pause, this time a lip pucker was added for effect. “None are anywhere near Colter, if that’s what you’re getting at. Most are radio-collared. We use telemetry and flyovers to keep track of them.” He turned away and looked at Josh. “I didn’t come here to get into a debate. I just volunteered to come out and give you my opinion.”
“We ‘preciate you driving down from Mammoth,” Josh said. “Just wish you had more experience with wildlife. To understand them, you’ve got to live among ‘em.”
Without answering, Corey rolled back his shoulders and stood for a moment contemplating the scenery. He then stuck out his hand to shake with each of them as if from a sense of duty. All of the earlier feigned pleasantries had disappeared.
After the two rangers pulled away, Molly spoke first. “Helluva nice guy, huh, gentlemen?”
Dieter was stunned by the entire performance of the chief park ranger. “That’s what you call a public servant?”
“It’s the kind of response,” Molly said, “we’ve grown accustomed to around here.”
“How do you appeal?” Dieter asked.
“Those wolves transferred into the Park,” Josh replied, “are Jack Corey’s kinfolk. You don’t appeal his verdicts. Least not without risking the wrath of God.” He waddled with the hint of a limp as he led Dieter and Molly across the field to his living quarters.
The steel-gray trailer stood on a cinderblock foundation with yellowed Venetian blinds hanging in a large picture window, one strip bent in the middle and another missing. As Dieter walked inside the floor gave way with each step. An open counter of hunter green linoleum separated the compact kitchen from the homey living room that had the musty smell of age. A tall lamp sat on a side table, its base a woodcarving of two bears sitting back to back. A bronze post ran up between the bears and disappeared into a lampshade.
A holstered revolver hung from the wall in one corner. Josh pointed to it when he noticed Dieter’s stare. “Blackhawk Colt forty-five.”
“Is that thing loaded?” Molly asked.
“Safety’s on,” Josh answered and flung a hand in the direction of a low couch.