Death Takes a Gander Read Free Page B

His chicken scratch was worse than that of any doctor, lawyer, or engineer, and there seemed to be no method of organization—no dates, no case references, few names. In short, she figured it would take a crack decoder months—no, years—to unscramble the mess. How Ian had compiled his cases and earned such respect was beyond her.
    Again, the answer seemed to fall in line with Kramner’s assessment. Ian kept track of details in his head. According to his wife, he had a photographic memory. He jotted things down, but once written he never looked at the piece of paper again.
    Okay, thought Angela, he may have filed everything in memory, but he amassed a pile of notes. He had to have some system for retrieval. Picking up a piece of paper from his desk, she studied it, then retrieved another. There had to be a common denominator. Her eyes blurred the words. She blinked and focused.
    Animals .
    Angela reached for another piece of paper. That was it! Every piece of paper referenced an animal. If she sorted the collection by type and taped them onto 8 1/2 x 11-inch sheets of paper, she could bind the collection in spiral notebooks by category.
    It took her two days to accomplish the task. If the chicken scratch mentioned an animal, it went in the corresponding notebook—fish with fish, bird with birds. The most recent notes—the pieces at the top of the pile—went into the books toward the front. The pieces farther down went toward the back. Little by little, piece by piece, she applied method to the madness.
     
    “Impressive!” Kramner said when she’d finished, turning one of the notebooks in his hands. “Did you unearth any information to further your theory?”
    “In relation to Ian’s death?” She hated admitting defeat. “No, sir.”
    Kramner’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t think so.” Setting the notebook down on his desk, he paced toward the window. “I take it you want back out in the field.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You do understand, without a field supervisor I can’t assign you much?”
    She nodded, feeling her pulse quicken. A case was a case.
    “I do have something I could use your help with.”
     
    Never speak ill of the dead .
    Or what? she wondered. They’ll come back to haunt you? What if you never actually spoke? Could the dearly departed read your mind?
    “Don’t even think about it,” Angela said aloud, chasing back Ian’s specter. His death had haunted her for weeks. If she’d gotten out to Barr Lake sooner, he might still be alive. Of course, the same could be said had he trusted her and told her what he was up to.
    And that was why Kramner had assigned her the duty of checking fish at a local tournament. Not because Ian possessed him to do so. But because Kramner didn’t trust her either.
    Angela glanced at her watch. Five thirty a.m. She was on time. So where was John Frakus, the director of the Elk Park Chamber of Commerce, the man in charge of this show?
    Pulling her keys from the ignition, she dropped them into her pocket and reached for her gloves. Except for her truck, the Elk Park Visitors Center parking lot was deserted. Two streetlights bathed the area in a yellow glow, highlighting one set of tire tracks in the six inches of fresh snow. Hers.
    Maybe she should check out the building? It was possible he’d come in from the other side.
    The center was a large two-story building with a huge wraparound deck covered with benches and snow. In front, an oversized sculpture of a Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep highlighted a circular entrance. In back, the deck jutted out over Black Canyon Creek.
    Angela tried the doors on both sides. The building was locked up tight. Above her, wind-pummeled trees shook snow from their branches like dogs shedding water, and she dove for the eaves. Then the wind died, and a high-pitched honking shattered the dawn.
    That’s odd . To her way of thinking, geese normally honked in oboe tones. These were definitely honking in clarinet.
    Angela headed