Rant of Ravens Page 9

  Lark pushed herself out of her chair. “I think I know where I can find some.”

  “You people aren’t serious?” asked Gertie, crossing her arms across her chest and plumping her bosom.

  “Dead serious,” replied Forest. “We’re bound to come up with some new ideas on where Miriam is, or on who might have taken the birds and why. It’s sort of a mini think tank,”

  “I say it’s worth a try.” Charles’s blue eyes dared any of them to disagree. Rachel felt a rush of gratitude at his insistence. Regardless of her feelings about his relationship with Miriam, it was obvious he cared a great deal about her aunt.

  The largest sheet of paper Lark could dig up was the back of a calendar page. She taped it to the patio door, dug a large red pen out of a drawer by the kitchen phone, and handed Forest the marker. He handed it to Rachel.

  “Do you mind doing the recording? I think better on my feet.” He paced, pivoted, and said, “Okay, someone toss out an idea.”

  “I’ll start,” Rachel offered. She wrote Miriam, white gyrfalcon, peregrines, and missing in the center of the paper.

  “Great. What else comes to mind?” Forest asked. “Anything. How about thoughts on motives?”

  “Money,” Charles said.

  “Ransom,” Cecilia said.

  Rachel scribbled the words at the top of the page. Miriam had confided that all of her money was tied up in Bird Haven. She was land rich and cash poor. Maybe on paper she was worth more than the birds, but no one, including herself, could access the money.

  “Escape,” Gertie said, as though reading her mind.

  “Really, Gertie!” Dorothy whispered something to Cecilia. Rachel wrote down the word.

  “How about danger?” Rachel asked. Even if Aunt Miriam hadn’t been kidnapped, she might have seen something, or discovered something that had driven her into hiding. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she tried to get word to her? And how had she gotten wherever she was? Her car was still parked out front.

  Eric scraped back his chair and walked to the edge of the patio. “It sounds like you think Miriam’s guilty of something, Gertie.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Rachel fought back another onslaught of tears. “Do you think we could stay focused?”

  “Gyrfalcon and peregrines make me think of falconry,” Andrew said. Opal nodded.

  “Propagation,” Eric said.

  “Mike Johnson,” Lark said.

  Rachel wrote his name on the paper. She had learned last night that Johnson was the owner of Black Canyon Creek Ranch, the spread just east of Bird Haven. He owned four thousand acres of land and catered to the serious outdoor adventure types. A master falconer, he wielded a lot of power in Elk Park.

  “He’s an opportunist,” Charles said. “I don’t know why Miriam agrees to deal with him.”

  “Because he knows more about raptors than I might forget,” Eric said. “He’s helped us out a few times, and Miriam feels she owes him.”

  “He’s a money-grubbing capitalist.”

  “Am I missing something?” Rachel asked. Charles shifted in his chair, crossing his arms and clamping his mouth shut like a petulant child.

  “Mike’s negotiating with the Bureau of Land Management for a special land-use permit for the Twin Owls area,” explained Eric. “He wants to operate a year-round climbing camp.”

  “Can’t he just use the rock like anyone else?”

  “Ja, except he wants to expand his operation. He wants to run the rock like a ski area, offering instruction, employing climbing patrols, that sort of thing. He plans to designate beginner, intermediate, and expert areas, and make sort of an outdoor climbing gym.”

  “What does any of that have to do with Aunt Miriam?”

  “Nothing, except that years ago, she granted him a temporary easement to tie his driveway into Raptor House Road. It’s the current access to Twin Owls, and some people think”—he shot a pointed glance in Charles’s direction—“if she rescinds Mike’s easement and converts Raptor House Road back to a private drive, it would prevent Mike from obtaining the BLM land-use permit.”

  Was that why Lark had been so adamant that Miriam needed to stop allowing the public access to Rocky Mountain National Park through Bird Haven? And how would rescinding the easement affect the land status in relation to the stipulations in Uncle William’s will?

  “Lumpy Ridge is open for climbing use now, isn’t it?”

  “That’s just it.” Eric pulled a small map of Rocky Mountain National Park from his back pocket and pointed to Lumpy Ridge. “Right now the park closes this area to climbing during the raptor nesting season. We think there’s at least one active peregrine nest on Twin Owls.”

  “If Mike gets permission to open his camp,” Lark explained, “the nesting pair will be driven out.”

  “As if the BLM bureaucrats care,” Charles said with a snort. “If Johnson waves enough money under their noses, they’ll give him whatever he wants.”

  “I agree.” Harry spoke for the first time since they’d started brainstorming. “The only thing that’ll stop Mike is someone hitting him hard in the pocketbook, like Miriam shutting down access so he’s forced to find an alternate route.”

  Forest paced the floor. “I have a different approach. I’m sponsoring a bill in Congress this year that would restrict access to federal lands providing habitat for endangered wildlife.”

  “As EPOCH members, we all agree some regulation is critical to maintaining wildlife habitat,” stated Gertie. It was the first time Rachel agreed with her. “It’s the level of regulation needed that’s open for debate. Naturally, Mike Johnson vehemently opposes the whole premise.”

  “Everyone agrees that maintaining our wilderness boundaries is crucial to preserving an environment for our wildlife, Forest.” Charles leaned forward. “The Nettleman Bill is great in that it restricts commercial use, allows area closures based on wildlife activity, and bans expeditions into the wilderness in certain habitat areas. Where it falls apart is the policy on backcountry permits.”

  Forest stopped pacing. “Not everyone agrees with you on that.” He turned to Rachel. “You see, under my bill only a limited number of guided excursions will be allowed, and only a limited number of guide permits will be issued triannually. Environmental impact is curtailed by requiring all backcountry visitors to use guide services, and all guides to donate a percentage of their annual profits to the Park Service for upkeep of the National Park System.”

  “But it means none of us can go birdwatching in the backcountry without guide services,” complained Andrew. Opal nodded.

  “That may be,” Forest agreed. “But on a national level, the Nettleman Bill has been well received among environmentalists and animal rights activists alike—educated people who realize that damage done to our wildlife habitat is damage to our heritage. Educated people willing to sacrifice individual gratification for the sake of humanity. The time has come when society as a whole must throw a monkey wrench into the gears and stop the pillage and rape of our natural resources. How? By stopping advancement into our wilderness areas.”

  “Thank you, Forest.” Gertie clapped her hands loudly. “Now hush up and sit down.”

  To Rachel, Forest sounded like a People for the Ethical Treatment of the Earth advocate. Not that she was against PETE per se, just that radicals on either side of the fence frightened the hell out of her. A similar faction called the Earth Liberation Front recently claimed responsibility for fires at Vail causing twelve million dollars’ worth of damage before the opening of the season. ELF threatened more attacks as long as Vail put forth continued plans for ski area expansion into possible lynx habitat.

  Forest sat down with a parting shot. “Mike Johnson wants to see the Nettleman Bill shot down.”

  “Of course he does,” Lark said, “though you’d think the lummox would realize that he stands to make a truckload of money when he snags one of the guide permits. Either way, he comes out a winner and the rest of
us lose.”

  It was easy to see that Lark didn’t care much for Mike Johnson, and that she didn’t agree with the provisions of the Nettleman Bill. Rachel wondered how the rest of them felt. Andrew had pegged it right. If the bill passed, it would certainly limit EPOCH’s birdwatching treks into the backcountry. They might even be forced to hire Mike Johnson as a birding guide. Push them hard enough, and EPOCH might come to stand for Environmentalists Plotting Overt Crimes for Habitat.

  Rachel opted to backtrack. “Someone Johnson said was a falconer. Does he have a propagation permit?”

  Lark narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “From what Eric told me, the peregrines’ greatest value is to someone needing new breeding stock, right?”

  “Ja, but falconries are heavily regulated in Colorado,” Eric said, seeming to follow her train of thought. “They’re subject to spot checks at any time. Johnson would be taking too big a risk if he kept stolen birds in his mews.”

  “Mews?” Birders should come with glossaries.

  “Cages,” Gertie explained.

  “Then Johnson has the facilities to keep birds.”

  “Not really.” Eric leaned back and crossed his legs. “A master falconer is limited to three birds; therefore he needs only three cages. If his birds are lost or they die, he can’t take more than three birds from the wild in replacement. And he’d have to obtain special permits to take those.”

  “Peregrines aren’t legal,” Harry said.

  “Mike could purchase birds,” Eric continued, “but then they’re registered and banded. He’s not stupid enough to steal birds and try to house them, too.”

  “No, but he’s arrogant enough to try it temporarily,” Lark said.

  She sounded like she had firsthand knowledge of Mike Johnson. Rachel made a mental note to ask her more about him when they were alone.

  “Who conducts spot checks, Eric?” Harry asked.

  “Ian Ogburn, U.S. Fish and Wildlife.”

  Harry pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and knuckled them into place on his nose. “Do you have his number?”

  “Ja, out in the truck.”

  Eric left to get the number, and Rachel glanced around at the birdwatchers. Their body language was clear. Forest slouched in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. Harry scratched notes on a small spiral pad. Andrew and Opal whispered with Cecilia and Dorothy. Lark sulked, and Gertie studied them all with the same open curiosity Rachel was exhibiting. Charles stared into space, his legs crossed, an unreadable expression etched on his face. Rachel decided he was either plotting sabotage or worrying about Aunt Miriam.

  “I have just one more question,” Rachel said. “Based on what Eric said, why would a man of Johnson’s standing take the risks involved in stealing the falcons?”

  Lark answered. “The man caters to eccentricity. His clients are all rich guys who know what they want, the cost be damned. Mike Johnson’s what I’d call a risk junkie.”

  That sounded a lot like someone else Rachel knew. Her gaze wandered toward the Raptor House, and an image of Roger wavered at the edge of the meadow. She closed her eyes tight. She had more important things to think about.

  Like the fact that Aunt Miriam was missing.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Rachel opened her eyes, the apparition materialized. Only it wasn’t Roger. Instead, a Clark Kent look-alike with a skimpy goatee strode toward her, holding up a copy of the Elk Park Gazette.

  “Way to go, Rachel Stanhope,” he said as he reached the patio. “You’re front page news.”

  “Who are you?” Rachel demanded.

  “Kirk Udall, Birds of a Feather magazine, at your service.” He flashed white teeth. “I thought you’d be happier to see me. Actually, I was hoping you’d decided to trade me back rubs.”

  Rachel snatched the paper from his hand, torn between smacking him with it as if he were a naughty puppy and reading the headline. “Let me see that.”

  She scanned the headline. Body Found in the Thicket was inked in 42-point type. And an ingenious staff reporter must have downloaded Rachel’s head shot from the Images Plus website, because her picture was pasted in the center of the layout. The caption read, Summer resident, Rachel Stanhope, stumbles over murder.

  “Read it,” Gertie said.

  Rachel skimmed the copy silently. The first half recounted the events of Thursday evening. The second half moved into the realm of speculation.

  LOCAL RESIDENT MIRIAM TANAGER’S THE PRIME SUSPECT IN THE MURDER, AND SHE IS REPORTED TO BE THE LAST PERSON TO SEE DONALD BURSAU ALIVE. IT IS BELIEVED THAT BURSAU, AN INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER FOR BIRDS OF A FEATHER MAGAZINE, WAS IN TOWN RESEARCHING A STORY ON TANAGER’S LATE HUSBAND, WILLIAM, THE RENOWNED ORNITHOLOGIST WHO HAD CALLED ELK PARK HOME SINCE THE LATE 1970s.

  Several paragraphs detailed Uncle Will’s childhood, his graduation from Northwestern University, his subsequent move to Elk Park, and his career highlights.

  JUST HOURS AFTER A VISIT TO BIRD HAVEN, DONALD BURSAU RETURNED TO ELK PARK, AND CHECKED OUT OF HIS ROOM AT THE DRUMMOND HOTEL.

  Rachel glanced at Lark. Why hadn’t she said anything about Bursau’s staying at the Drummond? Rachel had assumed he was staying at one of the cheaper hotels. Her gaze drifted back to the newspaper.

  A SUBSEQUENT SEARCH OF THE PREMISES TURNED UP NO CLUES, BUT SOURCES CLOSE TO THE POLICE INVESTIGATION CONFIRM THAT BURSAU’S CAR WAS DISCOVERED ABANDONED IN ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK LATE THIS AFTERNOON. THE TRUNK CONTAINED LUGGAGE, COMPUTER EQUIPMENT, AND AN EMPTY COMPUTER DISK BOX. FURTHER INVESTIGATION SHOWED THAT SEVERAL FILES STORED ON THE COMPUTER HAD BEEN OVERWRITTEN AROUND THE TIME OF DEATH.

  “Are you going to read it out loud, or not?” Gertie asked. She stepped forward and extended a hand to Udall. “You must be the reporter they’ve sent to replace Mr. Bursau. I’m Gertie Tanager, the daughter of the man you’re doing the exposé on.”

  Rachel shoved the paper between Gertie’s fingers, making it awkward for the reporter to shake her hand. “They say something about ‘the members of a local bird club,’ and talk about Miriam, Will, and Charles. Why don’t you read it for yourself?”

  Udall grinned. “Guess you didn’t expect to see me so soon. After your phone call, I decided there must be more of a story here than I’d realized.”

  “You’re saying murder isn’t enough?” Rachel sized him up. Dressed like an L.L. Bean model, Udall looked like a nature nut to her. Maybe he cared only about nonhuman species.

  “The murder raised a few eyebrows, but there are a lot of people connected to a lot of other stories who might have wanted Bursau dead.”

  Charles turned to Gertie. “What do they say about me in that article?”

  “You’re noted as being Daddy’s oldest friend,” Gertie said. “But I can’t believe they didn’t mention the rest of us. We were all there, every last one of us, except for you two.” She gestured toward the Hendersons, who were donning their jackets.

  “We need to be going,” Opal said. Rachel thanked the couple for their efforts to locate Miriam, and escorted them out through the house. By the time she returned to the patio, Eric had come back with Ian Ogburn’s number and he, Udall, and the others were busy dissecting the article. And they were all calling Udall “Kirk.”

  Eric gestured at the newspaper. “This doesn’t look good.”

  Rachel agreed, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss it in front of Kirk Udall. If Bursau was the Geraldo of the bird world, who was to say Udall wasn’t the Jerry Springer?

  Granted, the missing computer disks, assuming there were ten there, and the overwritten files pointed to motive. Someone wanted something kept under wraps. But who? Aunt Miriam? Given the fact that Bursau’s investigation had focused on Bird Haven and Uncle Will’s alleged illegal activities, there was no doubt that Sheriff Garcia would leap to that conclusion.

  “Will someone explain what this means, ‘several files stored on the computer had been overwritten’?” Dorothy underlin
ed the words with a pink-tipped finger.

  Rachel sat down on one of the stools. “It’s one way of erasing files from a computer hard drive. Given the right tools, a deleted file can be retrieved. But on an overwritten file the existing information is written over, making it virtually impossible to recover.”

  “Why would the killer go to all that trouble?” Lark asked. “Why not just steal the computer, or trash it?”

  Good question. Rachel considered possible reasons and came up with one. “Because the killer didn’t overwrite the files.”

  “Then who did?” Dorothy asked.

  “Bursau might have done it himself for some reason. Maybe he thought someone was trying to steal them.” Rachel fingered a strand of her hair. “What kind of a guy was he… Kirk?”

  “Anal, totally. I’d bet he backed up his files—”

  “On the missing computer disks!” blurted Charles, perking up a little.

  It made sense to Rachel. “Bursau was frightened. He warned Aunt Miriam to be careful. I’ll bet he thought he was in danger, too.”

  “He was right,” Udall said.

  “So what are you guys saying?” Lark asked. “That Bursau stored the information on disks and cleaned his hard drive?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Rachel said.

  “I’d say it’s safe to assume the killer now has those disks,” Kirk said.

  “Oh please,” Rachel drawled, adopting one of Gertie’s lines. “For all we know the killer’s still looking for them.” That might have been what she’d heard in the bushes the night she’d found Bursau’s body—the killer searching the area for the missing disks days after the murder.

  Harry looked at her over the top of his glasses. “What type of files would use a whole set of disks to store information?”

  “Photographs.” Rachel had figured that out almost immediately. She worked with graphic files day in and day out, storing most of her own on zip drive disks. Saving pictures on a hard drive slowed down the machine, making it harder to use certain programs. “Digital pictures eat a lot of bytes.”