Read Online Dry Bones: A Walt Longmire Mystery by Craig Johnson - Free Book Online

think?”
    “Jen herself has multiple tooth marks on her remains, evidence that some other tyrannosaurs were feeding on her alive or dead—for all we know, they may have even been family members.” The young woman’s face was remarkably expressionless. “I think they ate whatever they wanted, alive or dead.”
    She went back to filming the FBI as Vic turned to glance at me.
    “What?”
    “I’m just thinking of that turtle that pissed on you yesterday morning.” Her eyes followed after Jennifer. “She didn’t seem very forgiving.”
    “I don’t think it was a very forgiving world sixty-seven million years ago.”
    Vic tossed the toy back into the bin. “Judging by what’s been going on around here lately, it hasn’t gotten that much better.” She studied me for a few moments, and I knew what she was going to ask. “So, what kind of visions were you having yesterday morning?”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “I’ve seen you freeze up like that before, so what did you see?”
    I shushed her as Baumann approached—he looked a little worse for wear having jousted with the state, the FBI, and the Northern Cheyenne within forty-eight hours. He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “I can’t believe they’re doing this.”
    “I can’t believe you already had the head excavated and didn’t tell me about it.”
    He emitted a glottal stop and then forced the words from his mouth. “I didn’t think it was that important.”
    “Where were you shipping it, Dave?”
    “What are you implying?”
    “I’m implying that Jen’s head is in a shipping crate with your return address on it but no outgoing address, and I’m interested in where she was headed, no pun intended.”
    He crossed his arms, evidently trying to discern if I was on his side or theirs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    “Try me.”
    “NASA.”
    Wanting to make sure I wasn’t missing a high plains acronym, I asked, “The National Aeronautics and Space Administration?”
    Vic looked at him. “What the hell—you were going to put Jen in orbit or something?”
    “We wanted to do a CAT scan of the skull, and NASA is the only place with a machine big enough for the job; they use it to look for flaws in space shuttle engines and the like.”
    I gestured toward the FBI men. “Would I be correct in the assumption that you were trying to get it out of here before these guys showed up?”
    Baumann looked a little uncomfortable. “Of course not.”
    “In hopes that dealing with a more scientifically oriented branch of the federal government might be better than dealing with the FBI or the U.S. Attorney’s office?”
    His eyes widened as I spoke, but his response was definitive. “No.”
    I put my arm over his shoulder and steered him further into the gift shop, where images of a toothsome generic
T. rex
adorned shirts, lunch boxes, posters, miniature pith helmets, and other assorted tchotchkes. “Dave, I just got through having an abbreviated pissing contest with Mr. Trost, where I made it clear to him that I was on the side of the people of my county.” I released my hold on him, and he turned toward me, primed to interrupt; I held a finger up to his face. “And that is going to prove difficult if the people I’m attempting to protect, and that includes you, are not forthcoming with all the information they have.”
    “I’m not doing anything illegal.”
    “Maybe not, but it looks illegal and you better start thinking about that, because this situation is going to end up in federal court, and appearances, though deceiving, can lose you a case and a dinosaur.” I held out a hand. “You mind if I have a look at the warrant?”
    He pulled it from the back pocket of his khakis and handed it to me.
    I read: “As a violation of the Antiquities Act of 1906, all the fossil remains of one
Tyrannosaurus rex
dinosaur skeleton (hereafter referred to as ‘Jen’) and other fossil specimens taken from the excavation site on the property