I cut off the sales pitch. “What I’m interested in are the medicines you were providing Danny Lone Elk.”

“Were?”

“He’s dead, and it’s a possibility that he was poisoned. What were you providing him with?”

He nodded his head—must’ve been a habit. “I was giving it to him for his ulcers; it was the Chinese stuff, which is what I sell to a lot of my patients because it’s cheaper than the American stuff. I mean, that’s where I get most of the drugs I provide.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair and tugged on his ponytail. “Look, Sheriff, I don’t offer dangerous drugs; I leave that to the real pill pushers.”

“Were you giving him anything that might’ve contained mercury?”

“No. Look, Sheriff, I don’t know anything about Danny’s medical history, so—”

“That’s why we have the whole legal prescription medicine thing, so that the doctors and pharmacists can get together and come to a consensus on what’s safe to give a patient.” I leaned my back against the interior wall of the trailer. “What about his daughter, Eva?”

“What about her?”

I glanced at my fingernails, perfecting my nonchalance. “Joe, if I get bored with this conversation I’m going to take you over to the Big Horn County jail and hand you over to my good friend, Sheriff Wesley Best Bales.” I waited as he fought with himself. “I understand it’s fish and Tater Tots on Fridays.”

“I um . . . Hey, it’s legal in Montana.”

I gestured toward some of the bags on the conveyer belt. “Medical marijuana?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m no expert, but it looks like lawn clippings.”

“It’s synthetic marijuana, but you need a carrying agent.”

“Lawn clippings?”

He nodded his head again. “Lawn clippings, yeah.”

“This is that stuff made in China?”

He studied me. “Hey, yeah. You know about it?”

“Enough to know that it’s made from legal substances so that customs can’t do anything about it. Every time the government makes it illegal, the chemists just change the chemical formula and make a new drug.”

He smiled. “Perfectly legal.”

“Perfectly dangerous. Nobody’s monitoring this stuff; it’s part weed, part cocaine, part crack, part LSD and nobody knows from shipment to shipment what those percentages are.”

“Hey, man, it’s still legal.”

“Eva Lone Elk lives in Wyoming where it is not legal at all.”

He picked at a hole in his jeans. “Oh, man, are you really going to bust me on this?”

“Not if you tell me what else you’re prescribing for her.”

“Chinese Cymbalta—it’s just an antidepressant and cheap.”

“I’ll make you a deal.” I pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward the back, pausing a moment for him to stand and join me. “You drop the prescription drugs altogether, and I’ll turn a blind eye toward your illegal bullshit business . . .”

“Buffalo shit, man. It’s sacred.”

I draped an arm over his shoulder and led him to the rear of the trailer, where we stood over the others. “And if I get wind of you continuing to write medications for people or selling this robo-weed, I’m turning you over to the DEA, the Pharm Board, Montana Division of Criminal Investigation, and anybody else I can think of. You got me?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

We watched as Robert kept an eye on the half-dozen young men and reached down to pick up a few of the darker bags they had been stuffing into the packing boxes. “What in the hell is this stuff?”

Joe Free Bird spoke up in full sales pitch mode. “Medicinal Bi’Shee poultices for spiritual and physical well-being.”

Bob picked up the nearest bag and read about the all-natural ingredients, making a quick assessment. “Bullshit.”

I patted him on the back as we climbed down. “Nope, but you’re close.”

9

“You know . . .” Bob opened the ziplock bag and sniffed. “I think I’ve been had.”

“Good thing it was a free sample.”

There was a break in the series of cloudbursts that were marking the day, and Robert got out and joined his partner. We all began walking toward my office. “You can leave your potpourri in the squad car, and then we can burn it if it gets cold—frontiersmen used to do that with buffalo chips back in the old days.”

There was a large black Lincoln parked at the curb behind the other Lola, Henry’s Baltic-blue ’59 Thunderbird convertible, and I wasn’t the only one to notice the state plates as we drew near. Bob closed up his bag and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “Uh oh.”

As we got closer, the tinted back window whirred, and Joe Meyer called out to me merrily, “Where the heck is the sheriff of this damn county, anyway?”

“He was in Montana.” I straddled a puddle on the sidewalk and, leaning down, could see two large young men in the front and the elderly statesman seated in the back with a pile of folders in his lap. “What, you brought your homework with you?”

He adjusted his glasses, followed by a helpless gesture, and looked at the piles of paper. “Don’t ever let them talk you into being an attorney general, Walt.”

“I never wanted to be an attorney, let alone the guy who leads them into battle.”

He laughed and looked past me at the two men on the sidewalk. “My goodness, it’s the Bobs.” He leaned forward. “I’ve got two of your younger and less experienced cohorts in here; is there any way I could get you to assist them in exploring the culinary splendor of the Busy Bee Café?”

Robert looked at his partner. “What do you say, Bob?”

The other highway patrolman leaned in. “Are they buying?”

The Wyoming AG nodded his head. “Sure, lunch is on the state.” I started to straighten when he said quietly, “Can we talk?”

“You bet.” As Joe’s watchdogs joined their fellow troopers on the sidewalk, I glanced at the thunderheads gathering in the sky again, cracked open the door of the Town Car, and slid into his mobile office. I pulled the door closed behind me and turned to look at him. “Joe, my son-in-law died on duty last night in Philadelphia, so I am in a horrible mood and looking to take it out on somebody. I just thought you should be aware of that fact before we start this conversation.”

“Walt.” He folded up the papers. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” Giving me his undivided attention, he put the documents aside. “How’s Cady?”

“She had just gotten here with the baby. She’s distraught but doing as well as can be expected, I guess.”

He nodded and patted the folders and looked out his own window. “Well, that pretty much takes the wind out of my sails. I came up here to read you the riot act, but now that just doesn’t seem appropriate.” He watched me, but I said nothing, continuing to stare at the black leather on the seat in front of me—safer that way.

“The kid’s a little headstrong . . .”

I grunted. “I assume you are referring to the acting deputy United States attorney and not to Cady or Lola?”

Joe took off his glasses and looked at the back of the seat with me. “It’s true that he hasn’t been confirmed yet, but it would be nice if you two could work together.”

“Well.” I paused, but then good sense abandoned me and I spoke my mind. “This is a publicity stunt so that man can make a name for himself, and I don’t have time for it, especially not now.”

“We’re talking about fossil remains with a street value of over eight million dollars, and as they say, a million here and a million there . . .”

“Pretty soon you’re talking about some serious money.” I leaned back in the seat and looked out at Saizarbitoria and Double Tough, who were walking by, peering in the tinted windows. I wondered idly what sort of eyeball DT was sporting today.