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of one Danny Lone Elk, including all papers, diaries, notes, photographs, and supporting materials relating to the excavation of said ‘Jen,’ are to be confiscated from the premises.” I looked up at him. “Basically it says that you’ve stolen U.S. Government property, and somehow, at the same time, Northern Cheyenne tribal property.” I handed it back to him. “Dave, as much as I ever hate to say this, I think you’re going to need a lawyer.”
    I glanced back at the crate and could see Vic and Jennifer engaged in a heated conversation.
    “Because I fucking said turn it off, that’s why.”
    I stepped next to my undersheriff, and Jennifer turned the camera to film us. “Miss, do you mind turning that thing off for a minute?”
    She ignored me and continued filming. “According to the law in thirty-eight states, including Wyoming, I am allowed to film law enforcement personnel as long as I am not interfering with your duties.”
    “Yep, but . . .”
    She refocused the lens to get a close-up of me, and I turned and looked at the museum director. “Dave?”
    He stepped toward her. “Jennifer, really . . . They’re on our side.”
    “We don’t know who’s on what side, Dave. I just want to make sure we have plenty of evidence so that we cover our collective ass here.”
    He leaned in to her and spoke in a low voice. “There’s no need . . .”
    “The hell there’s not; you saw what happened to the negotiations with Danny Lone Elk. If I hadn’t videoed it . . .”
    I turned and looked at her. “You have film of the negotiations with Danny?”
    “I do.”
    I glanced at Baumann, who seemed as surprised as I did, and then back at her. “Film of him accepting the thirty-seven thousand dollars for the fossil remains?”
    “It’s in the video files on my computer, which, by the way, I’m not giving to you.”
    I turned back to Dave. “How did you pay Danny?”
    “In cash—it was all he would take.”
    “I don’t suppose you got a receipt?”
    “Well, he was going to write me one, but you know how Danny was; he just hadn’t gotten around to it.”
    I reached out and tapped the camera in Jennifer’s hands. “You realize that recording, then, might be the only evidence you have of having paid Danny.”
    He turned to her. “We need that footage.”
    She shrugged and continued filming. “I can get it.”
    I reached out for the camera again, but she stepped back and kept it on us. “Look, Jennifer, I’m trying to help here, but I’m not going to do it on the Sid Caesar
Show of Shows
, okay?”
    “The what?”
    I turned back and looked at Dave, and he stepped between us. “Jen . . .”
    As he began speaking to her in hushed tones, McGroder came over with his clipboard, stuffed it under one arm, and gestured toward the scientists. “Trouble with little Miss Zapruder? We have a lot of interaction with people carrying phones and stuff; you know you can ask them to step back to a reasonable distance for their own protection, right?”
    “And how far away is that?”
    “Officer’s discretion; I’m thinking a quarter mile, county line . . .”
    “Did you guys get what you needed?”
    “We have, but now we need a safe place to store the fossils, including the thousand-pound head.” He looked at me. “A secure place.”
    On an epoch-like scale, what he was proposing dawned on me like the beginning of time. “You’re kidding.”
    “No, I’m not.” He tapped the clipboard with the end of his pen. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a loading dock at the jail?”
    “No.” I thought about how I wanted to play this, thinking that keeping Jen’s head close at hand might be one of the best ways to establish someone’s ownership. “But we do have one of those extrawide utility doors leading into the holding area from the street in the back.”
    “You think this crate will fit through it?”
    “I don’t know—is it wider than forty-eight inches?”
    “With my luck,