Wolves

by Cary J. Griffith

  “I guess,” Angus shrugged, then switched off the room light. A little too quickly, the Sheriff thought.

  In Williston’s office there was no PC. No computer equipment anywhere. A few file drawers that might contain something, but when he opened them they were largely empty.

  “What you looking for?” Angus asked.

  “Just trying to get a sense of what’s in the place.”

  “Nothin‘ but paper in those drawers.”

  And so it was. Other than rifling through the old man’s dresser drawers the Sheriff didn’t see anyplace Williston might have stowed a flash drive, CD, DVD or any other client files. He couldn’t be certain, but he was beginning to think everything might have turned to ash with the rest of the old man’s law office. With regard to the digital video, one could hope. With regard to the incriminating files, the Sheriff knew Jeff Dunlap would be disappointed.

  By the time they returned to the front room, Svegman and Sam were coming out of the barn.

  “I guess we’re done,” the Sheriff commented.

  Angus watched Sam and Svegman approach. Sam was talking to Svegman, as though tutoring the young CO on some of the finer points of investigating wolf kills. Svegman listened attentively.

  He wasn’t a kid, Angus thought about Sam Rivers. The new Clayton pissed him off.

  Sam came up to the house and into the front door, stamping his feet. Svegman followed and did the same.

  Angus was ready to get out to the cabin. He could use a little remedy. Or a lot. And Williston and the others would be interested in his update.

  “Damn cold out there,” Sam said, shaking it off. “I guess I forgot just how cold it could get up here,” he smiled at the Sheriff.

  “We’re in some kind of snap, for sure,” Sheriff Goddard remarked. “The Bank said twelve below.”

  “What about the wolf kill?” Angus asked, blunt, ready to be done with business.

  Sam glanced over at the CO. He pulled off his mittens and blew into his hands, trying to warm them. “What about it?” he asked, turning to Angus.

  “Wolves done it,” Angus affirmed. It wasn’t a question.

  Sam looked at him. “Seems so,” he said. “But it’s peculiar. They killed all three animals and left plenty of food behind. That, and it happened in a barn. I can’t quite figure it.”

  “What’s to figure?” Angus asked.

  Sam stared at Angus. He remembered this front room. It was spare, with an old sofa next to the wall. The sofa was new, at least that much had changed. There was an easy chair to the right of the front window. Behind Angus was the walkway into the small kitchen, the room he had stumbled out of 20 years earlier, bruised, bloodied and barely alive. Back down the hallway was the rear door, and to the right of the rear door the old man’s infamous office, a forbidden place. Along the hallway wall hung several different frames depicting the Winthrop family heritage. He had made enough surreptitious visits to that office to have found the old man’s secret hiding place. He wondered about it now. He ignored Angus Moon, blew on his hands and finally said, “plenty.”

  There was a flight of stairs beyond the old man’s office, up to the second floor bedrooms, one of them his. Along the wall he was surprised to see the Winthrops’ pictorial history restored. There was the news account of his great grandfather’s death from wolves, and beyond it, photo after family photo of slaughtered wolves, some containing entire packs. Before he left, Sam had shattered every frame.

  “Plenty what?”

  Standing in the old house and seeing the wall and old photos made Sam remember plenty. Seeing the barn was interesting, too. He had spent many boyhood hours in the place, including assembling a pack with winter survival gear, at least enough to escape into the northern wilderness. It was all so long ago, but his visit left him feeling more curious about the place and he knew he’d have to return. Ghosts, he thought. A lot of spirits with whom he needed to converse.

  “Damn odd they nosed their way into a barn,” Sam repeated, returning to consider Angus.

  “I told you the door was cracked.”

  “I believe you said ‘unlatched,’ Angus,” Sam corrected.

  Angus didn’t appreciate the clarification. “Fuckin‘ open,” he said, low and even.

  Sam grinned. “It’s still curious.”

  “They were followin‘ their noses,” Angus explained. “Pushed the goddamn door open to get at ’em. You ever been hungry?”

  “Sure. Not enough to push open a barn door with my nose and kill three feeder calves. But I’ve been plenty hungry.”

  Diane was pissed and the Sheriff tired, but Sam thought they both grinned.

  “I’m just saying it’s a little bizarre. One for the books.”

  “I don’t know about no goddamn books,” Angus said.

  True enough, Sam knew.

  “What about the money?” Angus asked, turning his attention to Svegman. Steve Svegman withered in front of the woodsman’s gaze.

  “Full reimbursement,” Svegman answered. “I don’t think we saw anything to presume it was something other than wolves. Did we, Sam?”

  Sam paused. He liked having some kind of say in an occurrence that might benefit Angus Moon. “For now, no,” he said. “But if you could keep the place untouched, Angus. That’d be helpful.”

  “This is no goddamn business of yours.”

  Sam remembered the old hunter’s way. Angus liked to raise his voice. A flash of his temper was usually enough to dissuade others.

  The Sheriff interceded. “Like I said, Angus. The State can solicit whatever assistance it needs from capable experts, especially the USFW, and particularly in matters of wolf kills, given their sensitive nature.” He turned to Sam. “Seen anything, Sam, to prevent Steve here from working up the reimbursement forms?”

  “Nope,” he said. “But it would be good to keep it open because others in the USFW and DNR will be interested, might want to have another look. And Steve will need to set some traps. What’s left of those calves might make good bait.”

  “I’ll complete the paperwork as soon as I get back to the office,” Svegman offered.

  “I can set my own traps,” Angus said. “Or shoot ’em if they come back.”

  Sam considered it. He knew Angus was equal to trapping the animals, if they returned; had probably already done it in the wild, illegally. “I suspect Steve can issue you a shoot on site permit, if that’s what you want.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Steve can include it with the reimbursement form.”

  The accommodation seemed to settle Moon, which disappointed Sam Rivers. He would have preferred him riled before asking his next question.

  “Just one more thing. You said the wolves came in last night?”

  “Yeah,” Angus said.

  “From the looks of it those calves have been dead for more than 24 hours.”

  Angus Moon’s face flushed, at least as much as could be seen beneath his grizzled countenance. His dark eyes flashed at Svegman, then the Sheriff.

  “Might have been the other night,” he shrugged.

  “The night of that big storm?” Sam asked.

  Angus flashed again, uneasy. “Thas’ right.”

  “So you haven’t been out here for 48 hours? You haven’t tended to these calves in two days?”

  “Snow was too high,” he said, irritated. “Goddamn couldn’t get nowhere!”

  “So you were stuck at your place?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “And I’ve got a bad memory. How far away from here do you live?”

  Angus waved off the question. “What the hell difference it make? Everyone knows that storm was the worst in these parts. I live close enough,” he finally answered. “But not close enough to make it over in a storm like that one.”

  “How
far is it, Angus, exactly?” This time is was the Sheriff asking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been out to your place?”

  “Five, six mile,” he said. “Far enough.”

  “And yesterday,” Sam said, “after the plows started clearing the roads, you still didn’t come check on these animals?”

  “I was busy,” Angus said.

  Busy doing whatever he was doing the night of the storm. When he wasn’t at home. And Sam knew it.

  “So they’ve gone untended for two days?” Sam asked, wanting to be sure.

  “That’s right. Two fuckin‘ days. Not that it makes any difference.”

  “I think he’s just trying to understand what happened,” the Sheriff said. “We all just want to know what happened here and when.”

  “Goddamn wolves what happened!” Angus said.

  The Sheriff flashed a look at Sam Rivers that told him they’d pushed the man enough. He turned back to Svegman. “Steve’ll get you those forms, won’t you Steve?”

  “Sure.”

  Angus Moon didn’t answer, just nodded.

  The Woodsman was pissed, Sam thought, a state of being Sam appreciated. Sam sensed Moon didn’t want to see any of them again, if he could manage it.

  “Then I guess we’ll be heading out,” the Sheriff offered, turning toward the door.

  Sam took his time getting into his mittens. “If you get lucky and catch something, keep the carcass for us, will you Angus?”

  Angus only scowled and nodded with a short jerk of his head.

  Sam finished getting into his coat, then stepped into the cold, preferring it to the tight interior of the house. Diane stepped out behind him. Then Svegman and the Sheriff. At his jeep Sam and Diane turned to look back toward the house. Angus was standing in the front window, watching.

  The farmhouse and the immediate area surrounding it was a communications black hole. No cell phone reception. Poor media signals, Sam remembered. The poor TV reception from his childhood jump-started his reading. He’d read all of Jack London and everything he could find on wolves. Until he moved out, books were his only recreation. He appreciated outdoor adventures, westerns, survival stories, anything having to do with woods or wilderness.

  Diane was staring straight ahead, mute. It made Sam remember Maggie in a similar state, which became more numerous toward the end. She’d wanted to discuss whatever issue pissed her off, but he preferred dodging the issue. He never chose to open the door. Not even a crack.

  “What is it?” he asked. Maybe he’d try something different.

  “I’m wondering why the hell you invited me out here?”

  “I thought you’d be interested.”

  “But you moved to restrict my story when you could have kept quiet.”

  “Look, Diane. There are two things going on here. First, I needed to do that kill review without Moon observing our methods. And second, until we know for certain that it was a wolf kill you shouldn’t write anything about it.”

  “What the hell else could it be?!”

  “I don’t know what it was. Something. There was plenty of evidence of wolves, but wolves wouldn’t do this.”

  They drove a little longer in silence. After a while they reached blacktop and Sam’s cell phone went off.

  “Rivers,” he answered.

  “Dean Goddard,” the Sheriff said.

  “Sheriff.”

  “I guess you know Angus Moon is still a son of a bitch.”

  “I noticed.”

  “And I guess you noticed I don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks. If I had more men I’d have him tailed.”

  “I kind of figured, Sheriff.”

  “I’m willing to back you up on this delay in cleanup. But if Angus starts making calls to the Cattleman’s Association, or one of those ranching outfits, we could be in for a little heat. Up here we have a pretty active organization. And Agriculture still has plenty of power.”

  “I appreciate it, Sheriff. And for the record, I agree. This just bears a little more investigation. I’m going to FedEx some hair samples to the USFW Forensics Lab in Ashland, Oregon. If I call in a favor I should be able to get the results by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What results?”

  “DNA analysis. We’re stockpiling a database of wolf DNA samples. I’m not expecting anything other than Great Plains gray wolf DNA, but it’s worth double checking.”

  “Great Plains wolf? I thought they were timber wolves?”

  “Timber wolves are in Canada and Alaska. What we have here in the Midwest are Great Plains gray wolves. But I have to tell you I saw some anomalies that made me wonder what they were, exactly. Judging from those prints and the remains, some of those animals looked damn big. I’m just curious, and it doesn’t hurt to add the data to our files.”

  “I appreciate it, but I don’t think we should sit on this mess any longer than 24 hours. Ranchers get wind of this and there’ll be a feeding frenzy in St. Paul. And the last thing we need is one of the local papers running a photo of that slaughter. Right now it appears to be pretty well contained. I’d like to keep it that way. And one other thing,” Goddard added, pausing so it would register.

  Sam noted the change in tone.

  “Next time don’t bring the press.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to know if there was some other reason for her presence. But we’re straight shooters up here, Rivers. So in the future before you pull a stunt like that you better let me in on it, before I’m hip deep in wolf shit.”

  “Point taken, Sheriff.” Diane was still staring out the window, pissed. “I owe you.”

  The Sheriff agreed. “How’s she taking it?”

  She was listening, but Sam guessed she could only hear his side of the conversation. “About as well as can be expected.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “We can’t keep this out of the press forever. But if Diane runs it first and we can manage the photo that runs with her story, it would be a whole lot better than the alternative.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Good. Now what did you make of the change in Moon’s story, about when it happened?”

  Sam thought about it. If he told the Sheriff about knowing Angus Moon was out in that storm, he’d have to tell him how he knew, which would make his own story about when he arrived in Defiance a lie. “Not sure why he lied about it. Other than he was shirking his responsibilities. Or maybe he let them alone for two days and couldn’t tell they’d been dead for 48 hours. But that doesn’t make sense either, because a woodsman like Angus Moon can read carcass as well as any Indian from the last century.”

  “OK.”

  “Along with everything else, a little odd.”

  Up ahead, as they cruised down the blacktop toward town, a small clutch of ravens were pecking at a deer carcass. And that’s when Sam remembered. Something else had bothered him about the kill, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it.

  “One other thing,” he said. “There were no ravens.”

  “Ravens?”

  “Ravens and wolves have been symbiotic for thousands of years. Not always, but usually. Ravens follow the packs, some speculate to clean up after the wolves have finished gorging. Native Americans believed ravens led the packs to wounded or sickened animals. Wherever you see wolves, you usually find ravens.”

  The Sheriff thought about it. “No way ravens would get into that barn.”

  “True enough, Sheriff. But I didn’t see any roosting on the roof or in the nearby trees. And I didn’t see any sign of them. If they’d been following the pack at least some would hang around a kill that size.”

  They discussed the next 24 hours, when Sam might return to the house to have another look in the barn. Right now Sam didn’t know if he would re
turn, at least with Sheriff Dean Goddard. It was good just knowing he had the option. And the carnage was excellent bait, if the animals grew hungry. They agreed that by tomorrow at this time they’d let Angus clean it up, maybe visit for one more examination of the scene.

  Sam drove the remaining miles in silence. At the edge of Defiance he glanced at his watch. It was after 4:00 p.m.

  “I think I’m heading back to the hotel. I need to bag it for a couple hours, because after dinner I’m heading back out to the old man’s place. Take a closer look. Not in the barn. In the house. And it won’t be burglary, since I don’t plan on stealing anything. And technically not breaking and entering, since I’ll have a key. If we got caught, the most they could get us for is trespassing.”

  “A key?”

  “There was a key on the lintel above the front door. I could just make out the edge of the metal. It’s where the old man used to keep a spare.”

  Diane turned, curious. He had her attention. “And what about Angus Moon?”

  “There’s an old logging road that comes up through the trees across from the farm. I’ll take that to within a quarter mile of the place. Then I can approach it in the dark; see if he’s still around. But I don’t think he’ll be there. Angus seemed in a hurry to get rid of us. And I don’t think it was just me. I think he was going somewhere. The man never took off his boots or his coat.”

  “I noticed,” Diane said. She’d also felt curious about the place. When Angus Moon had gone into the kitchen to fetch her water, he kept one ear cocked in Dean Goddard’s direction, jumpy about the Sheriff’s perambulation through the rest of the farmhouse. As soon as he’d given her a glass of water, without so much as a courteous glance in her direction, Angus was off to find the Sheriff. It was interesting.

  “Why would you be going back out to the farmhouse?” she asked.

  He considered the comment. He didn’t want to mention ghosts. But another pair of eyes might be useful, keeping watch while he searched through the old rooms. “It’s been a while and I have a hunch nosing through that old place might be...,” he paused, thinking about it. “Might turn up something. Just a hunch.”

  “You weren’t there, but Angus wasn’t exactly comfortable having Sheriff Goddard take another spin through those rooms.”