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“This is the way back to the trailer,” said Tammy.
“Uh huh, but we’re not going there. We’re going to turn off on a county road and go to a ranch.”
“I don’t want to go near the trailer park. Tibor might see me with you.”
“That’s not going to happen, Tammy, and we’re not going there. I’m being careful.”
“He’s gonna be mad when he finds me, Travis. Mad enough to kill both of us. You know that, right?”
“Uh huh. I’m sure of it. But I’ve got the situation under control. Trust me, Tammy. I’m not going to let Tibor hurt you again.”
Tammy looked at the road ahead, her eyes full of fear and uncertainty. She knew that trusting me was a risk, but she didn't have a choice. She had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to. I was her only hope.
Thorn Ranch. Oilmont.
Following the directions Thorn gave me on the phone, we arrived at his ranch about twenty minutes later. We drove in the lane and I parked the squad. “Here we are.”
Tammy gazed out her window. “Lots more snow out here.”
“Lucky for them.”
Thorn was waving to me from the front porch of his house. A long, low rancher made of pine logs. He came dashing towards me as I was getting out of the squad, all worked up, waving his arms, and talking fast.
“I’ll show you where the body is out back, Sheriff. Bears must’ve dragged him out of the bush.”
“Stay here, Tammy. I’ll take the dogs with me.”
Thorn stiffened up when I mentioned the dogs. “I don’t like dogs.” He was unshaven and bundled up in a huge bulky parka with a fur-lined hood. Looked like a mountain man—a short one. He had yet to look me in the eye and I took that as a sign.
Why doesn’t he want me to let the dogs out? What are they going to find?
“Stay with Tammy.” Max and Sarge both sat down on the back seat looking a little unhappy that I wasn’t letting them out of the truck.
I followed Thorn around behind his house. He had a wide plowed space in front of his garage and his barn where he parked his truck and a car that probably belonged to his wife, if he had one.
The frigid air smelled heavily of cattle and cow shit, and there were a lot of them munching on hay under a lean-to attached to the side of the barn.
Not educated on cattle breeds, I had to say Thorn had a mixture. None of the cattle in his herd were the same.
He pointed to a body—or a good chunk of it—lying where he maintained a bear, or a wolf had dropped it.
I thought about it. Not a wolf. Had to be a bear or a cougar. Cougar wouldn’t have risked going that close to his house. Bear was the only option—if I was buying his story—but I wasn’t.
Head, shoulders, and torso intact. Limbs torn off or chewed. Eyes pecked out by vultures. This guy had been dead for a while.
“I didn’t touch him,” said Thorn.
I knelt down and searched for ID. Found his hunting license in the pocket of his frozen jacket. “You mentioned a rifle. Where is it?”
“He’s lying on it. See the leather strap over his shoulder?”
If he’d been dragged a long ways by an animal, that rifle would be long gone. This is bullshit. A put up job.
“Uh huh. Yeah, there it is. I didn’t see it for the snow.” I held the license in my hand for a minute to thaw it out so I could open it. I didn’t want to tear the paper. “Christopher Concordian from Conrad. Ring any bells?”
“Nope. Not one.” Thorn snapped out his answer quickly. He was way too ready to say he didn’t know the victim.
I called Doctor Olson and invited him to join me at the Thorn ranch and he said he’d be along in about an hour or so.
