They were still hot, but Laura turned and looked at Angie beyond the police tape.
Suddenly, the Durango homicide detective saw where she was, and he went nuts shouting: “What the hell are you doing? This is a crime scene, not your personal Holiday Inn!”
Angie remained focused. She pulled something from the side of the door with a pair of tweezers, and she stood up. She dropped the item into the palm of her left hand and stepped under the police tape, approaching the group. She held the item between her index finger and thumb and stared at it.
It was a claw.
It was about four inches long, dark brown in color, and only slightly curved.
“Oh, my God,” Laura Matzenauer said. She was the only person besides Angie who understood what it meant.
“What is it?” Dan Gardner said.
Angie looked from the claw to the Dan’s eyes. Jonas Frommer stepped over and looked at it, too.
“This is not a black bear claw,” Angie said.
“What is it?” said the man from the Durango Herald.
“Black bear claws are black,” Angie said, “one to two inches in length, and really curved so that the animal can dig and climb trees.”
They all stood there in the snow, looking at the claw at Angie’s fingertips. It was nearly straight, substantially longer than one or two inches, and brownish in hue. Everyone gathered around her. The claw was slightly longer than her index finger.
She said, “It’s a grizzly bear claw.”
Sixteen
“There is no killer bear in those mountains,” Mayor Frank Dalton said, pointing. He stood behind a podium in front of the downtown Telluride courthouse. A group of twenty reporters stood at the base of the steps, readying to ask him questions. What the public would never know was that eighteen of the twenty reporters had been flown into Telluride from around the state at Abraham Foxwell’s expense.
Foxwell’s people had contacted a dozen and a half reporters from around the state and flew them into the Telluride first thing in the morning. Most of the reporters were staying for free at the New Sheridan Hotel, again at Foxwell’s expense. Of course, this kind of thing was not unusual for press releases and publicity announcements.
It didn’t guarantee that the reporters would cast their stories favoring Foxwell’s interests, but it sure didn’t hurt. The reporters got three free nights at the posh historic hotel, all expenses paid, including lift tickets and two nights’ dinner at Allred’s perched at ten thousand five hundred feet.
“How do you explain what happened to those kids?” one reporter asked.
“I’ll leave that up to the investigators,” Dalton said. Behind him atop the courthouse’s steps, several of his people stood close by. Many of them were goons who worked for the men connected to the newly proposed ski resort Foxwell planned to build. Everybody knew everybody. It was one big happy family, made mostly of men. “But this slander that some crackpot biologist who can’t even get a job teaching at a four-year college is only that, slander.”
“What about the claw?”
“I haven’t seen any claw,” Dalton said. “And to be quite honest, I don’t put much weight in anything Angie Rippard claims to have found. She has a history of stirring up controversy around extravagant claims. She was fired from a job at the University of Arizona because of her intense desire for self-promotion, even at the risk of public safety.”
“You’re saying her story is fabricated?”
“She’s a desperate woman,” Dalton said, “driven by a desperate governor who voted against reintroducing grizzlies just two years ago, and now because she wants to shut down our proposed resort, she decides that grizzly bears are exactly what she wants in these mountains! She wants it so desperately she’s fabricated this entire bear story with the help of a crackpot biologist who can’t even get a job in the United States of America.”
Dalton came across as sincere and passionate, earthily frightening, and a man of the people. When not wearing glasses, he looked a little like Ulysses S. Grant. He was a good orator, and the reporters took notes feverishly, flashing camera bulbs every few seconds.
“The truth of the matter is Governor Janet Creed is a flip-flopper who sides on one side of the issue one year, when it suits her needs, then sides on the other side of the issue, the next year when that suits her needs.” Frank Dalton composed himself. He looked out at the group of reporters, making eye contact with each and every last one of them. He seemed to calm himself, then said, “Why don’t you go ask Janet Creed what this is really about?”
“How do you mean, Mayor Dalton?” a lone voice asked.
“This isn’t even about grizzly bears,” he said. “This isn’t about real estate. This isn’t even about the loss of jobs that Janet Creed’s position on this matter would cause if it were realized. This is really a personal matter. You guys are all reporters. Do your homework, and you’ll find that Janet Creed has a history of trying to stop men like Abraham Foxwell from getting a fair shake in the state of Colorado.
“It’s a personal matter just as sure as I’m standing here,” he said. “Janet Creed doesn’t care about grizzly bears. Why would she veto legislation to reintroduce the animal if she did? She doesn’t care about the working class folks between Durango and Silverton, people who would have jobs if this resort was built. She doesn’t care about them. She’s so wrapped up inside herself and her fear that she won’t get reelected next year that she’s concocted this grizzly bear story.
“I’ll bet my life on it; there is no grizzly bear in the San Juan mountains,” he said. “What we probably have is a pack of wolves that got hold of those kids, or at the very worst, a black bear that was rabid and has probably already died.”
One reporter asked, “Have you ever given thought to running for Governor, Mayor Dalton?”
Dalton smiled, feigned mild embarrassment, and looked modest.
“I’m just a small town mayor,” he said, “who wants to protect the people who voted for him. I don’t have any political ambitions beyond this town. I was born here. I was raised here. And I’ll die here.
“Janet Creed, on the other hand, wasn’t even born in the state of Colorado. She’s from ‘parts unknown.’” The crowd of reporters chuckled. “And I guarantee you she’ll leave us behind just as soon as national political opportunities arise. That’s the kind of woman she is.”
Seventeen
“You feel like crashing a party?” Deputy Jonas Frommer said, looking up from the tiny video screen on his cell phone.
Angie looked at him across the booth from her. Two half-full beer bottles stood atop the table, and a lively country western tune played from the juke box over in the corner. There was a good crowd at the bar inside the downtown Telluride tavern at eight forty-five. Angie’d managed to get a two-hour nap on the drive back up from Durango, washed up and dressed at her cabin while Jonas made some calls from his patrol car, and by the time they’d entered the bar thirty minutes ago, a gentle snowfall had begun falling over the downtown streets.
“What do you mean?” she said.
Jonas turned the phone so she could see the video display screen.
“I just got a text message of a party’s address up at Turkey Creek Mesa,” he said. He clipped the phone back on his belt. “It’s an exclusive estate. The mayor’s likely to be there, as well as most of the power behind Foxwell’s resort.”
“How would we get in?” Angie said.
Jonas grinned. “I’m an officer of the law.”
• •
Two guards stood by the gate that marked the entrance to the twenty-eight-acre estate. From the gate, it was a half-mile drive through the snowy, wooded landscape up to the mansion, but the guards were not impressed by Jonas’s badge or patrol car.
“I’m sorry,” one said, “if you don’t have an invitation, you can’t come up.”
Jonas looked at him from the driver’s seat of his marked patrol car, and for an instant, he thought about turning on
his siren, blue lights, and getting out of the car to write the guy a citation. He restrained himself.
“Look,” he said. “I’m an officer of the law.”
“Do you have a warrant?” the second guard said. He stepped over to the driver’s-side window with a long black Maglite held from near his shoulder, pointing down through the front window.
Another car pulled up behind the patrol car. Angie glanced in the side-view mirror and saw that it was a white limousine.
“No, I don’t have a warrant,” Jonas said, “but I’m here on official police business.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guard said. “I’m going to have to ask you to move aside.”
Angie leaned forward and said, “Mayor Frank Dalton invited me up.”
“Can you just move the car over to the side?” the guard said.
Jonas began to get angry but steered his patrol car over to the right. The limousine pulled past, the guards checked with the driver, then the electric gate opened and the limousine proceeded onto the estate. Jonas felt the urge to flip on his patrol lights and follow the limo up, but he did not. The gate closed, and the guards stepped back over to his patrol car, his window open. A flurry persisted.
“And what is your name, ma’am?” one guard said.
“Angie Rippard,” she said. “Dr. Angie Rippard.”
The second guard heard this and stepped back out of earshot. He held a walkie-talkie to his mouth and looked out to the west. Neither Jonas nor Angie could hear what he was saying.
“What is your official police business?” the first guard said.
“I don’t have to answer that,” Jonas said. “Look, if you guys give me any more flack, I’ll have every deputy in the county up here, and we’ll shut your party down.”
The guard looked in the window without comment. A response came over the walkie-talkie of guard number two’s radio, and he stepped over to the window.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s no Angie Rippard on the guest list or the temporary list.”
The first guard said, “Unless you have a warrant, you’re not allowed onto the property.”
Another car’s headlights appeared from the road, and the guards stepped away from the patrol car.
It was another limousine, a sleek black one. The guards checked with the driver, and a moment later, the gate opened. The car drove through.
“These people operate above the law,” Jonas said.
“Well, maybe it’s not such a good idea,” Angie said.
“Oh, this is bullshit,” Jonas said. He started to turn his patrol car around, but then one of the guards—the one with the walkie-talkie—waved him over. “What?” Jonas said.
“We just got a call,” he said. “It seems that someone recognized your name, Dr. Rippard. You can go on up. Attendants have been notified that you’re arriving. Just follow their directions once you get up to the house. They’ll valet.”
Jonas glanced across at Angie and frowned appreciatively as though to say, Not bad. The gate opened by remote, and Jonas drove on through.
• •
Angie saw Mayor Frank Dalton through a crowd of people standing in the billiard room. He was with a group of four over near a huge Victorian-style window ten feet wide by thirty feet tall. She could see a horse-drawn sleigh outside on the lawn pulling guests over the snowy landscape.
Jingle friggin’ bells, Angie thought.
Dalton glanced at Angie Rippard, but it appeared not to register with him who she was, and he continued his conversation. There were two billiards tables in the room, several leather smoking chairs, and a four-piece stringed quartet. Angie noticed the giant bookshelves between the great windows in the room, and she and Jonas stepped to the bar and ordered drinks.
“Any idea who he’s talking to?” Angie said.
Jonas sipped his drink, looked over the group, and said, “Seems like I’ve seen the redhead before.”
Angie looked at her casually. She was dressed in a black dress.
She said, “She’s somebody.”
The redhead looked at Dalton and smiled as though tired of him. Angie sipped her drink and watched the billiards game for a moment.
Jonas said, “I’m going to try to find a restroom. Don’t get into trouble, okay?”
Angie nodded. Jonas looked into her eyes, then turned and waded back through the crowd. Angie nodded at an older baldheaded man who looked warmly at her.
Suddenly, someone touched her on the shoulder. Angie turned and saw a wiry fellow with glasses.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “Are you Dr. Rippard?”
“Yes,” Angie said.
“Mayor Dalton would like to have a word with you, if you have a minute.”
Angie glanced across the room at Dalton, who finally looked up and acknowledged her.
“You are to go over and speak with him in approximately one minute,” the guy said.
“Okay,” Angie said.
“And you are to address him as ‘Mayor Dalton’.”
“Who are you?” Angie said.
“I am Mayor Dalton’s personal assistant.”
Angie frowned but nodded. She waited a moment, then started to step forward toward the group. The young man grabbed her arm.
“Not yet,” he said.
Angie looked at the man’s grip on her arm. Then, she saw two people to whom Dalton had been talking smile, chuckle and leave the group conversation. Dalton seemed cordial.
“Now,” the assistant said, and he released her arm.
Angie waded through the crowd toward Dalton, who looked up, saw her, and acted as though he had not seen her all along.
“Dr. Rippard,” he said. “What a surprise. However did you get into our party?”
“Good evening, Mayor Dalton,” Angie said.
Several people standing nearby glanced at her.
One silver-haired lady said, “This is the notorious Dr. Rippard we’ve heard about of late?”
Angie smiled. “None other,” she said.
The group of women scowled at her.
Three actually turned and walked pointedly away. Dalton smiled an oily smile, put his arm on her shoulder, and said loud enough for those close by to hear, “How did your grizzly bear search go today?”
Angie said, “There was no search. We couldn’t reach an agreement between the Forest Service, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and the Colorado Department of Wildlife about how to proceed.”
“How unfortunate,” he said. Then, he said as though confidentially, “You don’t really believe there’s a grizzly bear up here?”
Like a magic trick, Angie produced the bear claw on cue. Several heads from nearby groups turned and saw the claw, and Dalton’s face scrunched up as though someone had farted.
“This is a grizzly bear claw,” she said.
“That could be bought off of the black market.”
Angie said, “This came from the door of the SUV that the kid’s from Durango were driving.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Dalton said.
Several of the powerful people standing close to Dalton now turned and pointed at the claw. They whispered, and Angie spoke to Dalton but addressed them all.
“See a black bear claw is about half this long,” she said, “usually about one to two inches in length. And a black bear’s claw is sharply curved, which enables a black bear to dig and climb trees. And a black bear claw is usually black, not brown like this claw.”
More people from around the room looked up. Dalton could feel himself losing control of the situation. Even the billiards game stopped, and the players turned and looked at the claw that Angie held up. Everyone whispered and pointed, realizing who she was and what was happening. Cigar smoke filled the air.
“What is that claw?” someone asked.
Dalton scowled at the person.
“This claw,” Angie said, “is over four inches long, longer than my finger by about an inch. See? Notice how it i
s straight, not sharply curved. This enables the animal to which this claw belongs the ability to dig, but not to climb trees. It would just scrape down the sides. Like this. . .” Angie demonstrated on the book shelf to Dalton’s right. Dalton smirked. “The straightness and strength also makes it a powerful tool when striking or attacking its prey. You see, folks, Mayor Dalton here does not believe that grizzly bears roam the San Juan mountains, and after all, Mayor Dalton is an honorable man—”
“Don’t believe her,” Dalton said.
Everyone chuckled.
He said, “She’s just trying to rile up everyone, the same way she did in Arizona a few years ago.”
“And Mayor Dalton is an honorable man,” Angie said. “You see honorable men have their community’s best interests always in the foreground of their minds, and after all, Mayor Dalton is an honorable man. He decides the wisest path for his community, selflessly serving the interests of Colorado, putting their safety ahead of his own financial gain and political ambitions because Mayor Dalton is an honorable man.”
Suddenly, a gasp went up from the crowd. Someone had swung at Angie from behind, hit her, and knocked her to the ground. The grizzly bear claw hit the hardwood floor and skidded through the crowd’s legs. Angie was stunned.
Then, Deputy Frommer must have struck the person who had hit Angie because a fight suddenly broke out. Angie was on her hands and knees scrambling to reach the bear claw. There was a crash of glass from back near the pool tables.
Dalton shouted, “Get them out of here!”
A powerful hand reached down and grabbed Angie’s left leg, and she kicked backed furiously. She saw the claw!
Quickly, she scrambled between everyone’s legs and reached the claw. Then, someone kicked her hard across the head, and everything grew hazy for a moment. She rolled over. The fight had spread pretty quickly, and everybody was trying to get a shot in on somebody. It sounded nasty.
Dalton screamed, “Lowlife redneck scum!”
It sounded like a pool stick cracked across someone’s head.
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