“Locked up.” The doc’s voice was firm as he pulled at his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “DCI sent back the official report on Danny Lone Elk.”

“Now why do I not like the sound of that?”

“All indications are that Danny died of mercury poisoning.”

I glanced at the other men in the room, but they seemed as concerned as I was. “Mercury poisoning?”

The doc nodded. “Yes. If you’ll remember, I remarked on the flesh shedding at the fingertips?”

“Other symptoms?”

Isaac recited: “Tremors, emotional changes, insomnia, impairment of peripheral vision, headaches, lack of cognitive function—all the things that Danny had been suffering from that lately might’ve been misconstrued as alcoholism.”

“The rattle.” They all looked at me. “The turtle rattle that Danny kept getting out and placing on his chest when he took his naps—it had a strong smell to it, and I remember Dave Baumann saying that the things were dangerous because of the residual chemicals that remained from the museums cleaning them. He mentioned mercury, specifically.” I happened to catch Henry’s eyes as they played out through the dark past the windows. “What?”

He turned to look at me. “Fish.” He stood, placing his fingertips on the surface of the glass. “High levels of methylmercury can be retained in fish and shellfish.”

I stared at him. “Are you saying that Danny ate enough fish that he—”

“Well, in Danny’s case not exactly fish.” He turned to look at me. “Turtles.”

“Oh, hell.” I thought about it. “Didn’t Randy say that Eva fixed their dad turtle soup all the time?”

“She did, but still, where is the mercury coming from?”

I watched as Isaac thumbed up his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, a habit when in deep thought. “Forty percent of mercury poisoning in the U.S. comes from power plants, but once again, there’s nothing like that in the area.”

I thought about the conversation I’d had with the Hardin hippy. “Turtle food.” They all looked at me. “The herbalist/pharmacologist up in Hardin told me that he sold turtle food to Danny by the truck-load.” I turned to the Cheyenne Nation. “What do turtles eat?”

He smiled the thin-lipped smile, the one that cut paper . . . or red tape. “Fish.”

“Most of that crap that Free Bird is selling is illegal Chinese stuff, and I’m sure it’s probably laced with mercury because it’s too bad to sell to humans.”

Bob shrugged. “So you think his death actually was an accident?”

“I am not sure, but if somebody knew about the mercury in the feed and subsequently the turtles in combination with the sacred rattle . . . Eva?”

I looked at the Bear. “You think?” I turned to Isaac. “Doc, I need my clothes—now.”

As he hurried out, I spoke to the assembled posse. “So, as near as I can tell, Taylor and Jennifer have a thing and Uncle Enic is helping them along.” I looked at the Bobs. “Can you guys get down to the Lone Elk place and arrest everybody who is down there?”

They spoke in unison. “Charge?”

“What, since when do you guys need a reason to arrest somebody?” I threw out the first thing that came to mind. “Probable cause.”

Bob turned to Robert. “I love probable cause.”

Robert nodded and looked back at me as they went out the door. “Me, too. So, not that it’s any of our business, but where are you two going?”

“Looking for the starstruck lovers and their guardian. I think I owe Enic a pop in the jaw . . .” As the HPs exited, I turned back to the Cheyenne Nation. “Where are Trost and the FBI?”

Henry folded his hands in his lap. “They were boxing up more of Jen, but it is late and they gave up when they could not get Jay to run the forklift in the rain.”

“It’s a manhunt—isn’t that what the FBI does best?” I pressed my fingers against my right eye, which seemed to want to pop out. “Wait, did you just say it was late?”

Henry looked at his wristwatch. “Close to eleven; Mr. Hall and Mr. Delude found you just before dawn and you have been unconscious all day.”

“Oh, no.”

Henry frowned. “Yes, you cannot move in your holding cell. From what I understand, Trost has been in negotiation with the DOJ to have Jen stored in the official depository in Bozeman.”

“What the hell is he thinking?”

The Bear shrugged. “I guess he has his sights set higher than the Big Empty.”

“I’m calling Joe Meyer.” I glanced around for a phone but could see only the internal one for the ICU. “As soon as I get my damn pants.”

 • • •

There were some emergency clothes in my office, which was good because the director of the Cheyenne Conservancy and the chief of the Northern Cheyenne tribe, along with their bodyguard, were waiting for me.

I re-dressed and limped back into the dispatcher/receptionist area. Henry was sitting on the bench with Brandon White Buffalo and Lonnie Little Bird, Lolo Long sitting on Ruby’s desk, her long legs dangling. “Sheriff.”

“Chief. What’s up?”

She gestured toward the old man, who smiled. “I’m thinking there’s something you should know. Um hmm, yes it is so.”

“What’s that, Lonnie?”

“There was a meeting a few months ago with the tribal council, and those meetings, they get long, so I sometimes fall asleep. Mm, hmm.” He shook his head. “Which is how I got elected chief I suppose; I was asleep and couldn’t defend myself . . .”

“What about the meeting, Lonnie?”

“What?” He looked at me, his mouth moving in an attempt to continue the conversation, but not quite sure what it was.

“The meeting?”

“Oh, yes . . . There was a meeting. Mm, hmm, it is so.”

I stood there looking at him for a spell but then finally turned and glanced at Chief Long, who obliged me by reminding him, “The girl, Lonnie.”

His head rose back with his mouth open, the thought re-forming. “The girl, yes, there was a girl. She came to the first meeting and stood by the door, but then they got her a chair to sit on in the next one, and then by the time we got to the last meeting she was sitting with us at the table during the negotiations.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“Danny, the negotiations with Danny about the Cheyenne Conservancy and the dinosaur.”

“Yep, but who was the girl?”

“The girl with the camera. Mm, hmm. Yes, it is so.”

Lolo added in explanation, “The paleontologist, Jennifer Watt.”

“She filmed all three of the meetings?”

Brandon sat forward, his giant hands linked under his chin. “It’s true. I remember that there was a blonde woman at the meetings, filming. Evidently she and Danny were very good friends, and he had her film everything.”

“Yes.” Lolo shrugged. “I didn’t think anything about it, but then she went missing along with Taylor and I thought it might be pertinent.”

I looked at Henry. “We need to find those two and get those files. Any word from McGroder on the computer?”

“Not that I know.”

I glanced back at Chief Long, figuring she probably knew the answer to such things. “How much can you save on one of those cameras?”

“Small, digital?”

“Yep.”

“They record onto a memory card, so it’s according to how big that is. If one file gets filled it will just flip over to the next.”

“Remembering that she films everything, enough so that the files from that meeting could still be in her camera?”

“I would think so.”

I turned to Henry. “All right, we’ve got the two starstruck lovers and their trusty companion; as my go-to guy on all things tracking, where would they be?”

“On the ranch—it is the only place where they would be safe.”

“Well, that’s only fifteen thousand acres—how would you suggest doing that?”

“Omar and his luxurious Neiman Marcus helicopter.”

My stomach flipped. “Tonight?”

“I thought you had gotten enough sleep.”

“Flying.” I listened to the rain pelting the roof of the old Carnegie library. “In this weather?”