Thomas Prescott Superpack (50 page)

Chapter 41

Kim and I chatted for another ten minutes, then I borrowed his Blackberry and put in a call to Hans. After a couple minutes, the portly medical examiner came on the line.

“Ahlo?”

“Hans, it’s Thomas.”

“Thomaz, zo nice to hear your voize.”

I could hear him chewing and said, “What are you eating?”

“How’g you know?”

“Easy. You’re always eating.”

He laughed.
“Dis is true. Egg zalad zandwich.”

My stomach rumbled.

I said, “Listen, I need a favor.”

“Zure thing.”

I told him what I was after.

. . .

I walked to the enormous library across the street and found an empty computer. I Googled “Ellen Gray” and clicked on the web page I’d browsed a couple weeks prior. I scrolled down the page until I came to her priorities and clicked on
Caring for Washington Ranchers and Farmers.

The first couple paragraphs concerned the Washington Ranchers Society and their annual fund-raiser, then there were links to legislation that affected ranchers and farmers.
Of the three ballots measures listed, I clicked on “Ballot Measure 217.”

A small write-up confirmed what Kim had said: Ballot Measure 217 was a repeal of Bill SE 1670, which, if passed, would allow the introduction of the gray wolf to Washington.

A hyperlink was marked “Wolf Speech” and I clicked on it.
A media window popped up and a clip buffered, then began playing.

Governor Ellen Gray was behind a podium.
A giant sign behind her read, “
Vote NO on 217
.”

The camera panned to the audience.
I hit pause. The frame went still. The majority of these people were holding signs that read, “Vote YES on 217,” or, “Let the Wolf Return.” One sign read, “Stop Playing God With our Wolves.” Quite a few of the people were wearing shirts that read, “Defenders of Wildlife.” It was almost identical to the picture I’d seen the first time I’d researched the governor at the library. I’d thought these people were there to support the governor, but in actuality, they were there to protest.

I hit play.

Ellen said, “
We are here today to call attention to the economic impact wolves would have on our great state.
”

There was some heavy booing.

One person yelled, “Give us back our wolves!”

I heard a couple jeers, and I could also see that there were a few supporters intermixed with the protesters.

After some light introductory remarks, the governor said, “
In 1995 the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service began wolf recovery efforts in Idaho with the release of fifteen wolves. The Idaho wolf population has steadily increased to an estimated 661 in 2007.

I could hear some soft cheering in the background.

“
In 1996, after the first fiscal year of the wolves’ reintroduction, Wildlife Service expenditures were an estimated $16,000 in state funds for addressing wolf-related issues and conducting predation investigations and wolf-control actions.

“In 2001, these expenditures had risen to over $150,000, almost a thousand percent increase.
In 2007, these trends continued and wolf expenditures had risen to nearly $1.5 million. If these trends continue, by 2020 these expenditures will rise to over $100 million dollars.”

For the most part, everyone was quiet
.

She took a breath and said,
“Nearly 30 percent of all farms and ranches in Washington are within a fifty-mile radius of the North Cascades and Olympia National Parks. With the close proximity of these ranches, costs in Washington would far exceed those of Idaho, threatening the very livelihood of many ranchers
.
Even if annual losses are as low as 10 percent, this 10 percent may seem insignificant, but in this time of very tight agricultural margins, that amount of added costs is critical.”

A thundering applause arose from the supporters.

The governor waited for quiet, then said
, “I’d like to introduce Barry Steadmore. He owns a ranch in Montana.”

A man in jeans and a plaid shirt stepped to the podium.
He had black hair swept across his forehead, almost like this was the first time he’d styled his hair
.
He said, “
I own a ranch, or I guess I should say, I used to own a ranch near Bozeman, Montana.”

He spoke for a couple minutes, talking about how Bozeman-area ranch families have taken heavy hits to their bottom line due to wolves killing and maiming their cattle.
Over the course of three years, wolves killed nearly 15 percent of his annual cattle production, and just recently, not six months earlier, his land was seized by the government.

He ended with, “
Ranchers are losing their calves. Wolves are killing them. The ranching economy bears an unfair portion of the costs. If America wants wolves back, why are we paying for it
?”

Again, heavy applause erupted from Governor Gray’s supporters.

The man stepped off the stage and the governor returned.
The camera panned to the audience and I noticed that a good portion of the protesters had lowered their signs. You could see it on their faces: seeing the actual effects on this simple man had impacted them.

The governor stepped to the microphone and said, “
My sole purpose today is to remind everyone that while we all have an opinion on wolves, ranchers are the ones that are dealing directly with the impact of their presence. I just want everybody to understand that there is a cost involved with the reintroduction of wolves. And I urge you to vote NO on Measure 217 come November.
”

The clip ended.

I noticed the date in the bottom right corner: 10/25/2009.

Ellen had given this speech the last week of October last year.
And the repeal failed to pass. I had a feeling she would have given the same speech this year, had she not been killed. But she had been, and the repeal passed. And wolves had returned to Washington state.

. . .

The deli was called The Pickle. It was six blocks down the street from the Seattle Police Department Headquarters.

I spotted Hans sitting in the back booth.
He looked to be about two-thirds of the way through his sandwich.

I slid in the opposite side of the booth and asked, “Didn’t you just eat?”

His mouth was full, but he puffed his cheeks into a sort of smile.

“Did you do what I asked?”

He garbled, “I did, I did.”

“And?”

He wiped a large drop of mustard from the side of his mouth and said, “The resultz are quide aztounding.”

“Cut the accent crap Hans.”

He nodded and said in perfect English, “Sorry. The results are quite astounding.” He could control his accent when he wanted to. I mean, the guy grew up in Detroit.

He continued, “I cross-referenced the teeth marks on Ellen Gray with a number of different submarine animals.”

I hadn’t told him much, just that I wanted him to run the bite marks from Ellen Gray’s body through his mainframe and come up with a match.

He started back in, “I’d actually taken an impression of two of the bites during the autopsy.
I hadn’t looked into it much deeper than that, just assumed it was a killer whale or a barracuda or something. I figured when you have a hole in your forehead, it doesn’t much matter what’s been nibbling on you.”

“Right.”

“Anyhow, the curvature of the teeth didn’t match any fish in the system. These teeth were big and different sized. Most fish have small teeth, roughly the same width and diameter throughout. Save for sharks. I thought perhaps it might have been a smaller species of shark simply because in many places the tissue was ripped from the body as opposed to bitten.”

“Go on.”

“So, I scanned the impression plate I’d made. Loaded it into the computer databases and ran it against our known animal index.”

I said, “I bet I know what came up.”

“Do you now?”

“
Canis lupus
.”

He laughed and said, “Right.
Ellen Gray had been attacked by a wolf.”

. . .

I asked Hans to keep a lid on this for a couple days. He said he would and I thanked him and left.

I thought it was time I had a chat with the Professor.

Chapter 42

As I drove to the North Cascades, a rather fuzzy picture started to come into focus.
I couldn’t believe it’d taken me so long to piece it altogether. It’s funny, you make all these small notations:
The river empties right into the Sound.
She was hiking in the North Cascades
.

You record these small snippets of conversation:
She detested wolves.
He had a doggy.

You make all these little chalk marks:
Right, she’d been attacked by a wolf.
I don’t know what he’d do if the repeal hadn’t passed
.

They mean utterly nothing all by themselves.
But when grouped together, they tell a story. Or in this case, a murder.

I looked at the picture sitting on the seat beside me.
At the library I’d done a quick Google of the Professor. He wasn’t hard to find. These nutjobs never are. His name was Theodore Koble. Grew up on a houseboat out in the Sound in the early 70’s. Received his doctorate in Animal Behavior from Seattle Pacific University and went on to teach the very subject at the very university.

In 1993, he’d taken a research trip to Canada to study wolves.
Apparently, he had fallen in love with them, even—get this—after he was attacked by one of the wolves and his trachea and larynx were ripped from his neck. Barely survived. But after surgery, he spent the next fourteen years living with the wolves.

 
I picked up the picture I’d printed of him and stared at it. It was a close-up of him standing in front of a chalkboard.

According to the article, the birth defect Koble suffered from was called a congenital hemangioma.
Taking up the better part of the left side of the Professor’s face was a reddish-purple birthmark. It looked like an ink stain running down the length of his nose, blanketing his left eye, the edge of his mouth, his entire cheek, and running down into his collar. 

. . .

At some point on the drive, I checked my rearview mirror and noticed a black sedan keeping pace a quarter mile behind me. I wondered how long they’d been following me. In all probability they had been with me since I left my house this morning, so they knew I went to the capitol building. Did they know I met with Kim? I had to assume they did. 

I thought about turning around, but if I hadn’t been arrested yet, I wasn’t sure I’d be arrested at all.
Or maybe, Ethan wanted me to get as deep into the shit as possible before he made his move. He’d already arrested me once and that hadn’t worked out in his favor.

The only thing that worried me was that Ethan would put together the connection between Ellen Gray, Riley Peterson, the North Cascades, the Professor, and wolves.
I didn’t want him to get credit for the bust. Old habits die hard. But, I had a hard time believing he would put two and two together. I mean, the guy could barely figure out how to work a Powerade bottle. Plus, I could always tell him I was paying my respects to Riley. No one could question this.

I went over a small hill and pulled to the shoulder.
Thirty seconds later, the black sedan flew by. I waited. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississ—

The brake lights flashed and the car pulled to the side.

I laughed, threw the car in drive, and flipped off the two goons as I passed.

.
. .

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife building once again appeared vacant. As I was parking in the dirt lot, a Jeep pulled in and parked not far from me. An extremely large black man stepped out. He was wearing the same tan outfit Riley had been when we met, as well as a brimmed hat. He had a remarkable likeness to Smokey the Bear. I suspected this would be Herb.

I stepped from the car and approached him.
He had a toothpick dangling from the left corner of his mouth. He was one of the few black men I’d ever seen with freckles. He muttered, “What can I do for ya, chief?” He had a thick accent. Cajun meets Scottish. William Wallace meets Mardi Gras. I really wanted him to say, “Only you can prevent forest fires,” just to see what it sounded like.

I didn’t particularly want him to know who I was, but I did pass on my condolences as to his partner’s passing.

He didn’t ask how I knew her or who I was.
He just started talking about Riley. How great she was. Always smiling. Always acting mad when he ate her food, but he knew she packed it just for him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she didn’t pack those lunches for him. He still seemed pretty broken up about her death. This would make two of us.  

Finally he said, “If you’d scuse me, I’ve got some paper to push.
Just me to do it all now.”

I asked, “Do you mind if I take one of the sleds for a spin?”

“Those are government property.”

“Yeah, that’s what Riley said.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Riley take you out on one of the sleds?”

“Sure did.”

He shrugged.
“Hell, if she trust you, I trust you. Keys are’n the ‘nition.”

I told him the sled was in good hands.
He nodded, but I don’t think he cared if I drove the sled into the river. After we shook hands, he headed into the building and I made my way over to the snowmobiles. I plopped down on one of the two-seaters and I hit the red starter button.

The route to the den was easy enough and the tall fence came into view after ten minutes.
I crept to the edge of the tree line and cut the engine. The wolves were out in the open about two football fields from the small field house.

A handful of the wolves weren’t doing much, standing stoic, gazing across the whiteness, but about half were playing, wrestling around.
It took me a moment to register that one of the wrestlers was a man.

He was dressed in the same white snowsuit, same white beanie pulled down over his face.
Professor Theodore Koble. I watched for a good five minutes as this idiot rolled around with these wolves.

From this far away you would have thought it was a man playing with his dogs.
I waited for one of the wolves to go Siegfried and Roy on him, but it never happened. It would appear he was one of them. Or the pack had accepted him as such.

I drove the snowmobile up near the fence.
The wolves stopped playing and stared in my direction. The Professor was on his hands and knees doing precisely the same. I had little doubt this man, or wolf, werewolf, or whatever this guy thought he was, killed both Ellen Gray and Riley Peterson. I waved him over.

He reluctantly stood, strapped on his cross country skis, and made his way over.
Even if he thought he was a wolf, he was still in charge of this project and had to play the part of human every once in awhile. At least for another week, until they released the wolves. Then I had a feeling no one would ever see this whack job again.

He skied up to the fence and stopped.
The wolves never took their eyes off him. Not for a second. Only the Professor’s eyes and mouth could be seen, the red plague visible over his left eye and a bit of his mouth. His left eye, a white oasis in a sea of red, carried a pink cast.

It was impossible not to feel a bit of sympathy for the guy.
But my sympathy glands were a bit fatigued and I couldn’t muster much.

I said, “Are you Professor Koble?”

He nodded.

“Can I ask you a couple questions?”

He nodded.

“Can you speak?”

He shook his head and made a coughing sound. I took the combination as a no.

I hopped off the snowmobile and trudged to the fence.
We were only inches from one another. “Okay, then you stand there and you listen. I know you killed Ellen Gray and I know you murdered Riley Peterson. And I don’t give a shit what’s growing on your face or that you think you’re a fucking wolf.”

He didn’t move.

“I know how it all played out. You’ve been pushing to have these wolves reintroduced for the past three years and each year you fell short. Why? Because Governor Ellen Gray strongly opposed wolves. Did you know why? Because one of your buddies over there ate her little fucking brother. Yeah, slaughtered him right in front of her. That’s why your repeal never passed. And you knew with Ellen in the picture the bill would never be overturned. Never had a chance. But you tried to convince people that wolves were harmless. You even took one with you when you went to Pike Place Market.”

He made no reaction.

I felt my voice rise.
“You know what I think? I think you’ve secretly been bringing wolves here for years now. That’s why the governor would come here every Sunday. She was spotting for any sign of wolves. She just knew. So when you saw her, you knew what you had to do. You put a bullet in her forehead, then you let your friends munch on her, then you threw her body in the river. This starting to sound familiar to you?”

I thought I saw the tug of a smile on his lips.
Or maybe it was a snarl. If there hadn’t been a fence between us I would have knocked his birth defect off his face.

I took a breath and said, “With the governor out of the way, there was no one to protest the repeal, no one to call attention to the ramifications of wolves on the local ranchers and surrounding communities.
And what do you know, the repeal passed.

“After you got the go-ahead, it dawned on you that somehow, some way, this would be traced back to you.
And if it was, it would be so long wolves. So you decided to frame her husband for the murder. You grab the tranquilizer gun, follow Adam from his office, shoot him, rough him up, steal his keys, take his yacht out. You’re familiar with boats; you grew up on a boat. And you knew if Ellen’s body ever does surface, it will have been carried out by the raging river and will surface somewhere in the Sound.”

I leaned into the fence, the cold steel pressing deep into my cheek.
“But you didn’t count on me and when you saw me that day, you knew that I was closing in on you and that I was going to put a stop to you and your little wolf factory. So you decide Riley has to go and you figure you’ll frame me for her murder. Ellen’s dead, Riley’s dead, and I’m going away for two lifetimes. Is that right? Is that how you planned it out?”

He didn’t move.

“Well, it didn’t work.
‘Cause here I am. And you’re the one who’s gonna be locked in a cage for two lifetimes, buddy. That’s right, shitbag, locked up. A caged animal.”

He remained impassive.
 

I wondered what he was thinking.
Was he thinking about living in an eight-foot by six-foot cell the rest of his life? Could he survive?

I looked at this frail man who’d had, if not a horrible life, a hard one, and decided he wouldn’t last an hour.

My options were limited.
I could hop the fence, but he was on skis and I wouldn’t stand a chance. If I had the forethought to bring a gun I would be at the advantage, but I didn’t see the guy just putting his hands behind his back and surrendering. He was, at least in his deranged brain, a wild animal, so there’s no telling what he would do. I could see him tame one second, then latched onto my neck the next. But in order to pull off Ellen Gray and Riley Peterson’s murders, not to mentions Adam’s and my framing, he also needed to be cold and calculating.

It dawned on me that I was glad there was a fence between the two of us.
Professor Koble was a different scary than I’d ever come across.

A deep, hollow echo broke me from my reverie and both the Professor and I turned.
The wolves, all eleven of them, were back on their haunches, howling at the spirits above, or maybe they were calling to their buddies who roamed freely.

I looked back at the Professor.
He was gone. Skiing back to the pack. As the Professor neared, the howling subsided.

The pack jumped up and started for the trees, the Professor just a step behind on his skis.

It took a moment for it all to register.
For the gravity of what I’d just witnessed to sink into the bloodstream, to be sucked into each and every cell in my body. Riley had also said the wolves howl to call the pack together.

The wolves had been calling to the Professor.