C Box - Trophy hunt

Joe thought oxindole, but said: "What was it?"

Garrett started to answer, pulled back, and said coyly, "I'll save the results for the task-force meeting."

"So we're playing games here?"

"I don't play games. I just don't want to show all of my cards until we're in an official setting and I've been given some standing in the task force."

Joe nodded. "Go on."

Garrett continued, "Some of the trace chemicals discovered were absolutely unknown to our scientists. You understand? Unknown! Poisons or sedatives not of this world were found in the brain tissue of Montana cattle. Not only that, but the incisions had been performed by ultrahigh- temperature laser instruments-instruments available only in leading surgical hospitals, not in the field. Certainly, this type of procedure could not have been done in the elements outside of Conrad, Montana."

Joe was intrigued. He looked up, needing a break from the photos, which, in their quantity alone, were numbing.

"So what did you determine?" Joe asked.

Garrett sighed. "What we determined was that we were too late to do proper on-site analysis. We kept waiting for fresh incidents in Montana, but they never came. We were very disappointed. Our scientists were begging for fresher tissue to study before natural decomposition occurred. But whatever had mutilated the cattle had moved on."

"Here to Twelve Sleep County," Joe said.

"YES!" Garrett shouted, nearly upsetting the table. His sudden exclamation sounded like a gunshot in the silent room. "Now we're right in the middle of it, right where it's happening. Not only cattle and wildlife, but perhaps, for the first time, human beings! This is why I need to be on the task force. Why I need to be involved, and to be kept informed. You people have a resource here," he thumped his chest, indicating himself, "that you can't ignore, that you shouldn't ignore. Look at the equipment in this laboratory. Can you even imagine a more fortuitous circumstance?"

Joe looked up. "I can't speak for the task force."

"From what we can determine," Garrett said, plowing ahead as if Joe hadn't spoken, "wildlife and livestock mutilations aren't random at all. What we're beginning to believe is that the mutilations are ongoing, and perpetual, and have been for at least forty years."

"You lost me," Joe said.

"You lost yourself" Garrett snapped. He had been getting more and more animated as he spoke, and was now highly agitated. His hands flew about as he spoke and his eyes, if possible, had become even wider.

"What we're saying is that the mutilations are like the worldwide circulation of the flu bug. They never really stop, they just keep moving around the earth. There are blank spots in time-years, in fact-where there are no reported incidents, but that's because we don't have information from places like Africa or the Asian continent or Russia. And we certainly don't have data about the hundreds-or thousands-of incidents that are never even discovered or recognized for what they were. Do you know what this means?"

"What's that?" Joe asked, knowing he sounded doltish.

Garrett rose and leaned forward on the small table. His damp palms stuck to papers and files, puckering them. "It could well be that beings are conducting full-time research on our planet. Whether they're doing it for genetic or physiological reasons, we don't know. But they're digging rather aggressively in our own Petri dish, trying to discover, or confirm, or create something."

Garrett let his words hang in the air, obviously hoping that Joe would understand their significance

"If they're here now, we have the best opportunity we've ever had of contacting them directly. We can let them know we're on to their little game, and maybe offer to assist them. Perhaps we can start to build trust, exchange ideas. What is happening out there right now may be one of the most important opportunities to happen in our lifetime!"

Or not, Joe thought.

"What about the human victims? Where do they fit into your theory?" Joe asked.

Garrett stifled a smile. Actually, a mad grin, Joe thought.

"This is where things get interesting," Garrett said, his voice nearly a whisper. "They've obviously stepped up their research in one bold stroke."

"Why now?" Joe asked. "And why two men, for that matter?"

Garrett shook his head. "That I can't quite figure out, although I have some ideas on it. One of my ideas you're not going to want to hear."

He said it in a way that led Joe to believe that Garrett couldn't wait to continue. Joe responded by raising his eyebrows.

"At least one of the two men was killed by other means," Garrett said quickly for maximum impact.

Joe felt his stomach churn. He would have to get out of the trailer soon, he thought.

"What makes you say that?"

Garrett raised his hands, palms up. "From what I understand, the two men were killed at least fifty miles apart on the same night. Both were mutilated in similar fashion to the cattle and wildlife. But one of the men was dragged from the murder scene and fed on by a bear and the other was found in pristine condition." Joe nodded. "Obviously, something is wrong here. One of the primary characteristics of cattle and wildlife mutilations has been the lack of predation. I've got hundreds of photos to prove it. But a predator fed on the corpse of one of the murdered men only hours after he was killed. Doesn't this strike you as odd?" "Yes," Joe admitted. "There's more, much more." Garrett said, his hands flying around like doves released from a cage. "Yes?" "I'll save the rest for the task-force meeting." Joe noticed something different in the room, smelled something, and turned his head. The door at the end of the room near the sinks was ajar. He hadn't heard it open, but the odor he smelled was cigarette smoke. As he watched, the door pushed open and a woman stepped through it. She was young, pale, and thin, with straight, shoulder-length blond hair parted in the middle. She wore all black-black jeans, Doc Martens boots, long-sleeved turtleneck. Her lips were painted black and her dark blue eyes were bordered by heavy mascara. She is not beautiful, Joe thought. Without the statement in black, she would be unremarkable. Garrett turned as well, angry. "Deena, what have I told you about letting smoke in here with my expensive equipment?" Deena fixed her eyes on Joe, and when she answered she didn't shift them. "I'm sorry, Cleve. I heard loud voices, so I…" "Please shut the door," Garrett said sternly. As if talking to a child, Joe thought. Joe looked back. Her eyes and expression were remarkable in their lack of content. But it seemed as if she were trying to connect with him in some way, for some reason. "Deena…" Garrett cautioned.

"Bye," Deena said in a little-girl voice, and stepped back through the door, closing it.

Joe looked to Garrett for an explanation. Garrett, again, looked agitated. His dramatic monologue had been interrupted.

"Deena's been with me since Montana," Garrett said, his eyes icy. But Joe noticed a flush in his cheeks, as if he were embarrassed to have to explain anything. "She's a hanger-on, I guess you'd call her. My line of work attracts people who are a bit on the edge of the rest of society. I'm doing what I can to help her out with her journey."

"Is she even seventeen?" Joe said coldly.

"She's nineteen!" Garrett hissed. "More than legal age. She knows what she's doing."

Joe simply nodded, then pushed his stool back.

"What, you're leaving?"

"I've heard enough from you for today, I think."

Joe stood, picked up his hat, and turned for the door. Garrett followed.

"I think I know what's happening out there, Mr. Pickett. I'm so close to it I can almost shout it out! But you've got to give me access to the task force and your findings. I need to see the case files, and the investigative notes. And you must make sure I'm notified immediately in the instance of another discovery."