This time I went ahead and laughed. “From what?”

He made the next statement as if it were manifest obvious. “Whoever of the 2,483 citizens of the county must’ve murdered Danny Lone Elk.”

I leaned back in my chair and tried not to display the expression I reserved for people who attempted to tell me how to do my job. “At this time, I have no credible information leading me to believe that Danny’s death is anything more than accidental.”

He carefully unfolded his trench coat. “You’re living in a dream world; that collection of bones that was found on his land is worth way more than the eight million dollars paid for similar finds, and that kind of money tends to get people thinking bad thoughts—even your people.” He continued to study me and then changed tack. “You have a very high profile here in the state.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a profile, high or low.”

“Well, I’m pleased to tell you that you do and that kind of thing can be instrumental in getting things like this done.” He waited a moment and then leaned on my desk. “And since I’ve dismissed my cadre of highway patrolmen, I still need a detachment for use as bodyguards.”

I picked up my hat, carefully straightened it on my head, and got up. Looking down at him, I enjoyed the advantage and smiled. “I’ve got just the person.”

 • • •

“And what if I don’t want to follow fucking Skip around?”

“I thought about having Double Tough keep an eye on him.”

“That’s not funny.” She leaned against the counter of the gift shop inside the High Plains Dinosaur Museum. “How ’bout if I just act like I’m guarding the acting deputy attorney?”

“Fine by me.” I watched McGroder and his staff examine and document all the parts of Jen’s massive head, roughly the size of a sofa, on an assortment of clipboards and forms under the close observation of Trost. Her namesake stood by with her ever-present video camera, recording the FBI men and the acting deputy attorney. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

“Excuse me?”

I gestured toward Jen and the camera. “‘Who watches the watchmen?’ From the Roman poet Juvenal, usually associated with the philosophies of Plato and political corruption.” I gestured toward Trost. “He seems to think there might be an attempt of violence upon his person.”

Vic folded her arms, the portrait of disgruntled. “Well, he’s right about that.”

“I figured you’d be the best at letting me know what his intentions are.”

She watched the ministrations of the Department of Justice. “You don’t think they’re going to try and pick that thing up, do you?” She looked at the shelves of plastic T. rexes and then back to me. “So, as I remember, according to Mrs. Tony, my sixth grade science teacher, these things had a brain the size of a walnut.”

Jennifer’s voice carried over to us, confirming she could hear what we were saying. “Actually, they were the smartest of all the dinosaurs, with the mature animals having a brain about the size of a coffee can—maybe as smart as modern-day alligators.” She pointed at the VistaVision-like murals on the walls that pictured embattled dinosaurs and exploding volcanoes. “But they had surprisingly powerful sensory apparatus with a binocular range of fifty-five degrees, better than hawks, and a visual acuity ten times greater than an eagle’s.”

Vic thought about it. “So, she’d see you a long time before you’d see her?”

“She’d see you almost four miles away, but she’d smell you long before you saw her or she saw you. Tyrannosaurs had huge olfactory membranes and probably the greatest sense of smell of all the dinosaurs.” She reached over and picked up one of the toy T. rexes and held it out to my undersheriff. “There’s a lot of argument over whether Jen was a scavenger or a hunter, but there’s evidence that they might’ve even been cannibalistic.”

Vic took the plastic dinosaur and flicked a fingernail along the serrated teeth within the gaping jaw. “What do you 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 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.”