The Bovine Connection (3 page)

             
A
ngelica turned off the light and closed her office door. As she turned, she caught sight of Andrew walking toward her. She was exhausted and had hoped to sneak out of the building unnoticed.

“Do you want to grab dinner tonight at the Bistro?” Andrew whispered.

He then stepped in closer and narrowed his eyes as he observed Angelica, recalling her unusual mood earlier.

“I can’t tonight, I have to work,” Angelica said softly as she lowered her satchel to the floor and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “Sorry I was edgy earlier… I’ve been having bad dreams lately… I didn’t get much sleep, and then the therapy session with my doctor this morning. Anyway, I need to pack for my flight to Montana tomorrow.”

Andrew frowned, curious and maybe a little miffed… “What’s in Montana?”

“A cattle mutilation…” Angelica began, and then fell silent.

“What… You gotta be kidding? Why are you covering it?” he asked, tilting his head and staring directly into her tired eyes.

Angelica looked away from Andrew with a curious, yet reflective expression as she pursed her lips. “Don’t know,” she mumbled. Angelica looked back at Andrew. “It’ll do me some good to get away. Do you mind if we catch up later?” Angelica smiled sincerely, and then walked away briskly leaving Andrew still standing there confused.

             
A
fter an exhausting commute home, Angelica pulled her 528i white BMW up alongside the curb and parked. The old historic streetlights were flickering against the twilight sky, emitting a soft golden glow. She walked up the moss-covered brick steps surrounded by flawlessly hedged boxwood shrubs and unlocked and opened the front door, heavily painted black from a century of redo’s.

Her modernly renovated two story colonial townhome in the quiet Waterfront neighborhood of D.C. was close to the Capitol and the Smithsonian.

Angelica walked into the dark den and dropped her satchel at the desk. She gradually made her way through the kitchen, lit up by the streetlight from outside, to the butler pantry to pour a Macallan 18 year old single malt Scotch. She didn’t see any reason behind diluting a perfectly good Scotch with water.

The ice cracked as she dropped one cube into the golden liquid to let it breathe. After learning from the talkative man at the liquor store that the whiskey was aged in old sherry barrels, it immediately became her nightly sleep aid.

Angelica walked over and turned on the light in the kitchen. The walls were painted Sage Blue… a soft, modern color she had seen at the Restoration Hardware store. The kitchen was bare, free of clutter, with only a Keurig coffee maker, a set of knives in a wooden block and a large bamboo cutting board.

The white granite with specks of grey and brown countertops was pared stylishly with white cabinets standing out against the dark walnut stained hardwood floor. It was simplistic and elegant, the way Angelica liked things.

Continuing her nightly routine, Angelica opened the stainless steel refrigerator. With carrot juice, imported cheese, olives, Pinot Grigio and a takeout container being the only options, she opted for the two-day-old take-out container of Greek pasta salad.

After opening and smelling it, she took the risk. Grabbing a fork along with her Scotch, she pushed the refrigerator door shut with her elbow while turning and walking back into the den, kicking her nude heels off behind her.

At her turn-of-the-century St. James style black desk, she turned on the clear glass lamp and took a bite of her cold dinner, dripping oil down her chin. Angelica quickly wiped below her bottom lip with the side of her palm. She then picked up the glass of single malt and took a sip, feeling the liquid run down her throat and warm her chest. Angelica pulled her ponytail loose, letting her hair fall around her face.

She had an unsettling feeling she was being watched. Noting the silence in the house, she glanced around to look into the dark spaces barely illuminated by the glow of the kitchen light. Angelica took a deep breath and turned back around.

Feeling exhausted, she wanted to go on to bed, but she leaned over and rustled through the papers trying to locate her laptop from her satchel. The squeak of her chair resonated through the silence as she rose back up and placed it on her desk. Angelica Google searched the words, “Elberton, Montana.”

Several sites appeared of cattle ranches for sale and rustic lodges for weekend getaways. At the top of the screen was a strip of photos: one of a town square right out of the Old West. Other photos were of a whitewater river running along pine woodlands, and scenic scenes of endless flat land against the snow-tipped Rocky Mountains.

After opening a few websites, she realized Elberton was an old mining town with a rich history. She learned that Montana had attracted a heavy tide of emigration in the late 1800’s after the discovery of gold and silver.

Angelica relaxed into her chair and sipped her Scotch as her mood lifted, researching the history of Elberton. The thought of getting out of the city she had become enclosed in was starting to sound more and more appealing.

After looking through several lodge websites and--not to her surprise-- she decided on the most expensive: Elk Lodge right outside of town along the Elk River. The lodge was situated at the portion of the river that turned into a creek, with knee-deep water, clear and swift. Well-known for its fly-fishing, it appeared to Angelica that there wasn’t a more perfect place to stay in or around Elberton, to suit her taste.

Looking through the website photos, Angelica began to envision herself there, relaxing in the mornings on her room’s balcony and admiring the exquisite pine-covered Rocky Mountains off in the distance.

After booking her room online, she wandered back into the kitchen and poured another Scotch. Her eyes were heavy. Angelica yawned as she turned out the light in the butler pantry and grabbed her glass.

Returning to her desk, she typed in the search engine “cattle mutilation reports in Elberton, Montana.”

Feeling a sharp pinch in the arch of her foot, she leaned down to work out a cramp beginning to form and causing her foot to curl up. As she continued to massage at the cramp, she came across an article concerning the military and UFO sightings. Angelica quickly pulled her hand up, lifted her glass, and took another sip as she leaned in curiously.

Monday, April 19, 2013; Matthew Tillman from the Elberton Tribune Reports, Military Connection to Strange Lights in Sky over Animal Mutilation Sites. “Although the government officials at the Newton Air Force Base have declined to comment, many witnesses have come forward with their stories. The same strange lights have been spotted over Newton Air Force Base near Elberton, Montana as seen in areas of animal mutilations on local ranches. According to UFO investigator, Paul Colbeck, the lights also appeared near the Newton Air Force Base on the very night the Keller ranch mutilation occurred. ‘I believe the military is involved and working with these other worldly visitors.’ Colbeck says.”

“Interesting,” Angelica thought aloud.

At the beginning of any investigation, Angelica always kept an open mind no matter what information she gathered. This was one of the traits that made her an accomplished investigative journalist. However, this article stretched her discipline. She contemplated whether there could be any validity to the researchers’ claims. Could it be possible that UFOs were behind these events? She quickly caught herself and laughed… It is entertaining and would make for a great story. But just not possible… There has to be another explanation, she thought. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she realized the Scotch had started to kick in.

Angelica leaned down and grabbed the file from her satchel. After opening it, she noticed a report from University of Colorado Head of Veterinary Bio-Medical Sciences, Dr. Walter Goolrick. She rested back in her chair and with the Scotch still in her palm she read…

“In the case of March 6, 2013 in Elberton, Montana, I do not believe scavengers or predators to be the cause of death due to the nature of the incisions and extraction of internal organs. There had been removal of extensive tissue along the head, neck, abdomen, and anus. There had also been extraction of ocular tissue from the eyes and careful removal of tissue from the ears. The tongue and several muscles were extracted. The types of cuts on the carcass were surgical in nature, and the incisions were done with precision. The lack of bleeding suggests the possible use of an instrument producing acute heat, thus cauterizing almost immediately the edge of the wounds. It is my opinion that these types of wounds are quite uncommon and not of natural causes.”

The doctor made it sound as if the culprit had a high level of intelligence and technology to go along with it. “Who the hell would show up on a cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere and mutilate a cow?” Angelica murmured and shook her head in disbelief. “Perhaps a sick individual with a medical background and supplies from a hardware store,” she concluded.

Her mind drifted back to her college days. Her favorite dissertation was on the legendary “Jack the Ripper” cases in London. Her mind went back to the gruesome pictures she uncovered while researching the case.

“Surgical … intelligent … calculated … still unsolved,” she reflected. She had remained fascinated with the old news reports of the Ripper cases while interning at the
Post
. However, in this case, these were defenseless animals roaming lonely pastures, not women walking the seedy backstreets of London. She paused and considered it entirely likely that the Ripper viewed his prostitute victims in much the same way. Angelica locked that thought away in the back of her mind. A line of reasoning that could be useful later on, she concluded.

Angelica sat the glass of Scotch on her desk and wrote down a few notes. The way she always got to the truth was much like a doctor determining a diagnosis. First, rule out the obvious, then work your way from there. If it’s not a run-of-the-mill disease, you dig deeper. She scribbled down her theories… natural predators, scavengers, devil worshippers, disputes between ranchers, hoaxes. Angelica then picked up her cell phone. Perplexed by the eyewitness statement given by the rancher, Jack Keller, she had read earlier at her office and Dr. Walter Goolrick’s report, she called Gail.

“Gail, it’s Angelica. I’ve been reading through the file, and the report from the Bio-Med doctor at the University of Colorado is very intriguing.”

“Yes.” Gail sounded half asleep. “Carl had those sent over yesterday. You’ll want to check with the local authorities for more statements once you get there. I’m sure you noticed before this recent mutilation, there was a mutilation reported in Elberton back in March of this year, and another one reported in 2000. It’s apparently a hot spot.”

“Yes, that is interesting,” Angelica murmured and then yawned. “I should get some rest. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow sometime.” Angelica said as she stood up from her chair.

“Go get some beauty rest. You looked exhausted today… No offense.”

“Yes, you’ve already said,” Angelica mumbled sarcastically. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” Gail whispered and hung up.

The sleep disruptions were wearing on her, mentally and physically. She yawned once more and turned off the desk lamp, and with just a little left of her Scotch in hand, she headed off to bed wondering what the hell to pack for a trip out West.

             
W
ithout warning, Angelica was jolted awake by what sounded like a door slamming shut. The room was dark. She noticed the time on the clock was three thirty-three in the morning.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she pulled her covers up to her neck and anxiously watched her bedroom door. Angelica was sure the sound came from inside her townhouse. She expected the sound of footsteps outside her room. The walls felt closer, the ceiling, lower. As a single woman in a dangerous city, unusual sounds in the night had a tendency to take on a life of their own. Lying in her bed, frozen with fear, she waited anxiously. The footsteps never came.