HYBRID: A Thriller

by James Marshall Smith

  Evidently Nathan Dietz didn’t have many friends in that part of Montana. Park Service investigators said they had no trouble in locating informants who pointed fingers at him. His reputation for fishing over the limit, hunting out of season, and bagging more illegal game than anyone in four counties had caught up with him. The investigators said that Dietz complained to too many people about the government wolves. He carped about them breeding, then leaving the Park and killing his goats and sheep. He boasted often if he ever saw one “that would be one less goddamn wolf to worry about.”

  Montgomery pointed to a mailbox at the head of a dirt road winding back into the trees. DIETZ was painted in black on the side of the steel box atop a wooden post.

  “Loaded?” Corey asked.

  Montgomery patted his holstered revolver and nodded.

  SIXTEEN

  Corey stomped on the accelerator and spun down the dirt driveway, trying to give the SOB who lived there a reason to confront them with a weapon. Even better, to shoot at them.

  People who fired on park rangers were the lowest of criminals. Having a chance to fire back at a poacher was, to Corey’s mind, a great chance to take revenge on those bastards who always received the lightest of fines and rarely a sentence.

  The truck spun to a stop in front of a shack with a sagging tin roof. The windows were either too grimy to see through or boarded up. On one side of the dilapidated structure a half re-painted Ford with tail fins rested lamely on blocks. A propane gas tank nestled among the tall weeds that surrounded the sorry excuse for a dwelling.

  Montgomery rushed for the trees to make his way toward the back. Corey stepped onto the porch as a granddaddy beagle with visible ribs slinked from underneath the shack and labored to give off a threatening bark. A man wearing a red plaid and soiled shirt with the sleeves torn off opened the front door. Sporting week-old whiskers, he appeared to be in either his late fifties or his mid-seventies, depending on which angle you studied him from. He glared at Corey, then flipped onto the ground a cigarette that was smoked down to the grime on his long scraggy fingers.

  “Are you Mr. Dietz? Corey asked. “Nathan Dietz?”

  “S’ppose I am,” the man replied with a hoarse voice and matching attitude. He turned his head to cough before ambling over to the side of the porch and spitting into the breeze in a way designed to amaze the uninvited guests with his range. “And who the hell might you be on my property?” He coughed again.

  “I’m Chief Jack Corey with the National Park Service.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “You’re under suspicion for killing one of the Park wolves.”

  Dietz tried to laugh but was stymied by another coughing fit. “And what if I did?”

  “These wolves are a species protected by the US government. Killing one is a felony.”

  Montgomery walked out from behind a tree onto the porch. Dietz whipped a pack of Lucky Strikes from his shirt pocket, hammered out a cigarette, and speared it between his lips. He squeezed a pack of matches from the same pocket and lit up, blowing the smoke directly downwind toward the trespassers.

  Corey said, “I would appreciate it, Mr. Dietz, if you didn’t blow smoke in our faces.”

  “To tell you the truth, I would appreciate it if you got the hell off my porch and went home.” He found it tough to complete a sentence without coughing. “Then my smoke wouldn’t get anywheres near you now, would it?”

  “Do you own a thirty-thirty?” Montgomery asked.

  Dietz took a slow draw on the cigarette and turned his head to the side this time to exhale. “I ain’t saying I do and I ain’t saying I don’t.”

  Purple streaks sprouted across Corey’s neck. “I take it you won’t mind if we look around.” He yanked a piece of folded paper from his front pocket and held it up to Dietz’s face. “We have a search warrant, Mr. Dietz. I’d be happy to call in the sheriff to help me enforce it. His office is standing by.”

  Montgomery smiled to himself. The local sheriff didn’t have a clue they were in his county. If he did, he’d have jumped at the chance to order them out of his jurisdiction pronto. Corey hadn’t followed or even considered protocol.

  “You want to show us your gun collection, Mr. Dietz?” Montgomery asked.

  “What makes you think I collect guns?”

  “Just a hunch, sir.”

  Dietz hesitated, then led them into his living room where a pride of cats scattered away. Along one wall a polished oak gun rack held four rifles and three shotguns—the only organized place in the house. Two of the rifles were .30/.30 caliber, one a Winchester and the other a Smith & Wesson. After a quick survey of other rooms, Corey asked to see the shed behind the house.

  “Nothing out there but tools,” Dietz replied. “Besides, I got a doctor appointment in town.” He snatched a cheap watch out of his pocket and checked the time. “I’m gonna be late.”

  Cough.

  “Now I don’t mind if you gentlemen want to come back later. You can do all the questioning you want then. For now, I’m right sorry—”

  “I don’t give a damn about your doctor appointment,” Corey snapped. “We’re going to search your shed. Understand me?”

  He glowered back at Corey, uncertain how to react, then moseyed to the kitchen sink and spat into it. Wiping at his chin, he led the way out of the house while lighting up another cigarette.

  Montgomery struggled with the knob on the shed door.

  “It’s locked,” Dietz said between puffs. “Don’t know where the key might be.”

  “Not a problem,” Corey replied. “Got an axe in the back of my pickup. Comes in handy at times like this.”

  “Hold on.” While the cigarette clung to the side of his mouth, Dietz dug out a ring of assorted keys from his pocket. As if by magic, he found the right key and managed to open the door. “I hope this don’t take long. Hate to keep the doctor waitin’.”

  The odor of mold and grease spewed from the dark interior of the shed. Rusted hand tools, decades old, hung from the walls. Some lay on the workbenches among used cans of paint and solvents.

  “You got any light in this place?” Corey asked.

  “Nope. Don’t come ‘round here much.”

  Montgomery discovered it first. He nudged Corey and pointed to the animal hide nailed to the far wall.

  Corey strolled to it, scratching at his neck as he walked. “Where did this come from?”

  “Oh, that piece of rubbish? Bought it at a flea market down at Cooke City. Long time ago. Don’t remember exactly when it was.”

  Corey leaned over the workbench to inspect the head of what was once a beautiful wolf. He stroked the soft fur as if petting a newborn puppy and caressed the snout as he fingered the sharp incisors, gently pressing his forehead against the hide.

  Dietz coughed. “Didn’t pay that much for it, I think it was—”

  “Why did you have to shoot it?” Corey asked, almost a whisper.

  Montgomery stepped toward Corey.

  “I didn’t shoot nothing. Hell—”

  Before Montgomery could get between them, Corey grabbed Dietz’s ragged shirt collar with both hands and rolled his fingers into tight fists. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t shoot my wolf, you Godforsaken son-of-a-bitch!”

  Montgomery reached out for Corey’s arm, but too late. Corey rammed the lower back of the startled man against the jagged edge of the workbench.

  Montgomery struggled to get both arms around Corey’s shoulders.

  Corey snatched Dietz around the neck and squeezed until Montgomery jerked him away.

  Turning scarlet and then purple, Dietz bent over and coughed. “My back!” he squealed.

  “Okay, Mr. Dietz,” Montgomery said. “We’re taking in this hide and two of your rifles. Even just having a wolf hide in your possession is a crime. You should know that.”

  “My back is broken!” Dietz rubbed his tailbone with the palm of one hand, groaning.

  Corey picked up
a hammer with a narrow claw and slammed it down on the workbench. “Tell it to the judge.” He continued to pound the hammer as if playing a drum, a funeral tempo. “On the other hand, I can explain to him how difficult it is to wrestle with a suspect who’s swinging one of these at me.”

  Dietz took deep rhythmic breaths and glared back at him.

  Corey continued to hammer. Dietz stood erect and stumbled for the door, shaking his head, no doubt with a newfound respect for the law.

  After packing up the wolf hide and rifles, Corey and Montgomery backed out of the driveway with the evidence under a tarp in the truck bed. Nathan Dietz watched the departure, crouching on the ground by the porch and puffing on a cigarette with one hand while the other crept down the rear of his trousers massaging his lower back.

  As they drove back to headquarters, Montgomery couldn’t help but notice the sassy grin his boss flashed from time to time.

  “You don’t think he’ll try to file a complaint on us, do you?” Montgomery asked.

  “Complaint for what?”

  “I don’t know, maybe about getting a little roughed up?”

  “If I had wanted to rough him up, he’d be out cold right now. But I don’t really care if he does try to complain. His word against ours. Who’s going to believe a word that crosses that bastard’s lips?”

  Montgomery nodded and pretended to smile. “By the way, has the superintendent been around lately?”

  “Thank God, no. McFarland neither.”

  That wasn’t a good sign, Montgomery thought. Having neither the Park’s superintendent or his deputy Greta McFarland checking in with Corey was a bad omen. One or both of them should be keeping up with the progress on Operation Wolfstock. They should be finding out directly from the Chief Park Ranger’s mouth what he’s hearing from the locals, what he’s finding out on the road. With them not staying in contact on a regular basis with Corey suggested that there could be plenty going on that Corey wasn’t aware of. It was likely they were intentionally leaving Corey out of the loop. Isolating him because they had other ways of getting info, other plans. Montgomery could get trapped in the middle. He wasn’t about to put up with that along with the constant agony of keeping Corey out of trouble, a thankless task. It was all beginning to weigh on him. More and more he was wondering whether it was worth it.

  “It seems our problems around the western border are growing,” Montgomery said.

  Corey sighed and stared at the passing scenery. “You mean Colter?”

  “Especially there. Just wondering if the superintendent’s doing anything about it.”

  “Gilmer’s been on top of it from the day the body on the Madison was found.”

  What? “But I thought you weren’t going to brief him.”

  “He got wind of it quick enough. That same day he called the forensics lab in Ashland. They flew in that evening.”

  “He called the wildlife lab in Oregon? The fed investigators?”

  Corey stared back at him. “That’s what I said.”

  Montgomery couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Superintendent had suspected wolves in the death of the photographer from the get-go?

  “They’ve had a team snooping around for days,” Corey added. “We’re going to meet with them tomorrow. Behind closed doors at Lamar Valley.”

  “Shouldn’t I be there?”

  “Thought I told you about it.”

  Corey had never breathed a word to him about such a meeting.

  “In any case,” Corey said, “you’d better be there—just keep quiet about it.”

  “What about that dead photographer?” Montgomery asked. “Have you heard anything from the autopsy?”

  “Nobody’s filled me in yet.”

  “What will we do when word gets out?”

  Corey twisted his head around to face him. “Who said word’s going to get out?”

  “For one, that new vet in town . . . Harmon,” Montgomery said. “I’m sure he’s asking questions.”

  “Don’t worry about Dr. Harmon. He’s being dealt with.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Dieter picked up his pace. He’d never told Amy to keep his children out of the water, but he assumed she had enough common sense to ask him before taking them swimming anywhere. He jogged away from his parked truck along the path toward the Little Bears’ home, an elaborate hand-hewn log house that overlooked Hebgen Lake.

  When Michael and Megan saw their dad, they waved with an enthusiasm that he hadn’t seen in them for a very long time. Amy stood waist high in the clear lake water. From her puzzled stare, he knew she sensed his mood.

  Rusty was running into and out of the shallow water, splashing and chasing a stick Michael threw. When Megan ran toward her dad, Dieter grabbed a beach towel from the grass. He wiped the water from her back as she laughed and shook her head to spray the water from her hair into his face. Michael remained planted in the water alongside Amy.

  “Come here, Michael,” Dieter called out without smiling.

  Michael meandered toward him with his arms wrapped around his chest and shuddering from the breeze. Amy followed and picked up a towel to dry her long hair while ignoring Dieter.

  He spoke without looking at her as he toweled off Michael. “You really should have asked me about taking them into the lake.”

  She tied a knot in the towel wrapped around her waist. “May I ask why?”

  “I suppose I should’ve told you that they haven’t had swimming lessons. We didn’t have any opportunity for that in our old neighborhood in Pennsylvania.”

  “That’s why I was giving them lessons.”

  “You want to see me go underwater, Dad?” Megan shouted, aiming for the lake and ready to run back into the water.

  “No, honey. You and Michael go on up to the house and change into dry clothes.”

  Both scrambled away as Rusty barked but stayed by Dieter’s side. As soon as they were out of earshot, Amy spoke. “Let’s face it, I haven’t worked out very well for you this summer, have I?”

  “Of course, you have . . . don’t be silly. You’re taking this way too seriously.”

  “But you want me take it seriously, don’t you? That’s why you made a scene. Once again, I’ve stepped out of bounds. This time I’ve even placed your kids in danger. Correct?”

  I’m not going to get into that right now. “My children are all I have in this world, Amy. They’re everything to me.”

  She stared back at him, a hard expression he’d never seen from her.

  “Look,” he said. “Maybe I’m a little edgy today. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”

  He held out an open palm and she gave it a half-hearted slap and matching smile. “Okay, let’s forget about it, Dieter. Dad’s preparing a feast for all of us this afternoon.” She turned and started for the house.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped and looked back.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened to me.”

  “What happened when?”

  “After you brought the kids up here, I was out running around and stopped at the Madison. Hiked upstream and found a body.”

  “A body?”

  “A dead hiker. I called the sheriff’s office and they sent out a deputy.”

  She sat down in the grass and folded her legs in front of her. “My God, Dieter. You’re not talking a murder, are you?”

  “I don’t really know. They’re going to do an autopsy.”

  “A murder’s unheard of around here. Please tell me you weren’t waiting for me to find out about it on TV?”

  “I should have called you, Amy. I’m sorry again. But there’s one more thing you should know.”

  She cocked her head to one side.

  “I’m considered a suspect.”

  “A suspect?” Her lower jaw hung on the word.

  He quickly explained that since he’d discovered the body and there was no other obvious evidence, anyone who found it would be a suspect—standard operating procedure
. He’d get it all straightened out with the sheriff’s office. But the longer he talked the more he realized she wasn’t listening to his words. Her eyes were bouncing around trying to grapple with the crazy thought that she was providing nanny services to a killer. The more he talked the more defensive he sounded to himself. He was babbling, trying to sound innocent. Hell, he was innocent.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?” he finally asked.

  She shot him that look of come on now! “That’s a silly question and you know it. Of course I believe you. I just can’t imagine how they even considered—”

  “Please, Amy. Forget about this, too, for now. Forget about all of this. Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I’m a little rattled today.”

  She agreed to keep his plight to herself. After reminding him of the planned visit to the powwow that evening, she stood and walked back toward the house while Dieter stayed behind. Rusty rushed to Dieter’s side with a wagging tail and a stick between his teeth. He stooped to put his arms around the dog’s neck and rub his fur.

  Amy was right; he shouldn’t have been so angry about the kids in the lake. He had botched that miserably. Everything was moving too damn fast.

  EIGHTEEN

  Molly rested her arms on top of the split-rail fence and hitched her foot up onto the bottom log. It wasn’t the welcome she’d expected. A padlocked chain snaked through the rusted gate at the Loudermilk ranch.

  A sign nailed to a post seemed to shout:

  Absolutely NO Trespassing

  NO Soliciting

  Katherine Belle Loudermilk had been apologetic again when she spoke on the phone the evening before. Her husband was never one for social grace, she’d said while Molly listened politely. Katherine Belle sounded genuine in the invitation for her to stop over at their ranch with measurements to discuss new window treatments and to look at fabrics. From everything Molly had heard, these women not only did good work, they were cheap. A winning combination.