The Zoo Crew (Zoo Crew series Book 1) Read online

  Beside the tractor stood an old rancher in a pair of khaki workpants and a flannel shirt. The guy kicked at the ground, but never raised his eyes to look at anybody.

  Kirby was certain he'd never seen the man before.

  On the other side of the barn were two deputies. One was bent at the waist, regurgitating everything he'd eaten in the last three days into the weeds. The other was standing beside him, staring into the distance, trying not to do the same.

  Spore unhooked his thumbs and walked across the driveway towards the open barn door. He could hear movement inside and as he got closer, his nose began to pick up a peculiar scent.

  Not the expected smells of hay and manure and livestock. Something much more visceral.

  Something a lot like charred flesh.

  A pang stabbed deep into his stomach as a third deputy stepped from the barn and met him halfway across the lot. He was dressed in the same brown uniform as the two men off to the side. In addition, he had a red bandana tied across the bottom half of his face.

  "Thanks for coming," the deputy said. He slid the bandana down around his neck to reveal a face that was a little pale, but holding it together.

  With some grey around the temples, this wasn't his first crime scene.

  Kirby waved off the comment. "What have we got?"

  The deputy, a rangy man named Anson, motioned towards the rancher. "This is Bruce Meigs, owner of the P-Bar-M Ranch. Got a call from him this morning that said someone had been doing something out in his barn."

  Spore waited for further explanation. It didn't come. "Someone doing something?"

  Anson opened his mouth to speak. Closed it just as fast. He raised the bandana back over his face and motioned Spore to follow him inside.

  Together they crossed through the sliding door into the barn. The bright sun from overhead disappeared behind them, plunging them into darkness. It took a full minute for their eyes to adjust.

  It was a minute Spore barely survived. The smell of burnt skin was so strong in the air, it almost sent him running back outside.

  "What the hell is that smell?" Spore muttered. He reached into his back pocket and produced a handkerchief. Pressed it to his face.

  Already he could feel snot running down into his thick moustache.

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Anson said. "But that's not all. Take a look at this."

  He led Spore over to the center of the room and shined his flashlight down at the concrete. On the ground was enough blood to feed a family of vampires for days.

  It was clear it had been there for some length of time. It was already crusted black. Sawdust and bits of hay were imbedded in it.

  "Human?" Spore asked.

  "No way of knowing yet," Anson said. "I have samples to take to the lab once we're done here."

  "Yeah, at this point, all blood looks the same."

  Anson nodded.

  "Anything else?" Spore asked.

  "Odd, but no," Anson said. "No further signs of a struggle. No bodies. Nothing."

  "Hmm," Spore said, motioned them both outside.

  Once they could breathe again, he led Anson over to his cruiser. "What have we got on this Meigs guy?"

  "Very clean," Anson said. "Third generation rancher, all in the Bitterroot Valley. Ran his sheet before I came out."

  "How'd he find it?"

  "Comes out here once a week to feed stock. Went inside to grab his water hose, almost stepped in it."

  "Any idea when this happened?"

  Anson shook his head. "This is summer pasture. He only comes out once a week. Says it wasn't here last Wednesday."

  "Still a pretty large window," Spore said.

  "Yep."

  Spore pursed his lips and wiped his hands along the front of his shirt. The sun was bright overhead, but not hot. Still, his palms were sweating.

  "Listen," Spore said, "stay here and get this place processed. Before we go jumping to conclusions, make sure this wasn't a bear attack or something."

  "Yes, sir."

  "In the meantime, I can drop off those blood samples at the lab on my way in town."

  "Sounds good," Anson said and jogged off to his own cruiser.

  A moment later he returned with a handheld cooler and extended it to Spore.

  Spore nodded to him and tossed the cooler and his hat both onto the passenger seat. With his chin he motioned towards the two deputies still bent over by the side of the barn. "And get those damn newbies out of here. It's embarrassing."

  Anson smirked. "Aye aye, Sheriff."

  Spore did a three point turn and maneuvered his cruiser back towards Missoula. He waited until the barn disappeared in his rearview, then flipped open his cell-phone.

  A thin, nasal, female voice answered on the first ring. "Yes?"

  "There might be a problem."

  "We don't deal with might here Sheriff. You know that. Is there, or isn't there?"

  "There is not," Spore said, sighing. "But I am calling as a courtesy to request people clean up there messes in the future."

  The woman didn't ask for further elaboration. "It was a one time thing."

  "I know," Spore said. “I was there.”

  "Is it under control?"

  "Yes."

  The word was just out before the line went dead.

  "Bitch," Spore muttered. He swung the cruiser in behind an Exxon station and pulled to a stop alongside the dumpster out back. In three short steps he hopped out and emptied the contents of the cooler into it.

  He was back on the road less than thirty seconds later.

  Chapter Seven

  You're late.

  Drake got the text message and smirked. Typed out a response.

  Picnic tables.

  A moment later the double doors leading from the rear of the Saint Michael's cafeteria burst open and Sage emerged.

  "How long have you been out here?"

  "Just a few minutes," Drake said. He was perched atop one of the tables with his bare feet resting on the bench seat. Beside him was an unmarked pizza box. "Didn't want dinner to get cold."

  Sage walked across the grassy expanse between them and bypassed the pizza. Instead she went to Drake and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Hey there," Drake said, returning the hug. "So a trip to the Firetower is what it takes to get some love around here these days?"

  Sage released the hug and punched his shoulder. "I always show you love. I just didn't get a chance to this morning."

  "I see," Drake said. "Hungry?"

  The dinners had started about a year before, every Wednesday night.

  When Sage was first hired on at St. Michael's she had drawn the second shift. Far and away the least desired timeslot in the building. Half a day spent with bosses looking over your shoulder. The other half spent inside while everyone else is enjoying their evening.

  Most people endured twelve months on the second shift. Sage was now approaching two full years. Some speculated it was so she would be available to run with the Zoo Crew every morning, though she had never admitted it.

  To help ease the pain of never seeing a free evening, Drake started meeting her for dinner every Wednesday. Sometimes he brought food. Sometimes they bought whatever the cafeteria was serving.

  Always, they talked and laughed a lot.

  "I'm always hungry for pizza," Sage said, peeling back the lid and grabbing a slice. "Why are we outside? Missing the Montana evenings?"

  "Not as much as I was missing the Firetower," Drake said, following her into the pizza box. "And my girl."

  Sage gave him a quizzical look.

  Drake responded by pursing his lips and making a two-note whistle. On cue, a bulldog emerged from the bushes across the courtyard. Short and squat, she was red brindle in color with a splash of white down her face and front paws.

  Sage laughed. "You brought Suzy Q with you to the hospital. Of course you did."

  "Of course I did," Drake echoed. "Besides, there was no way this girl was going
to let me out of her sight. I may have to take her to court with me tomorrow."

  Sage chuckled again. "I bet. Old girl missed her man. I still don't know why you didn't just take her back with you."

  Drake tore off a chunk of crust and tossed it to the dog. "She never would have survived the Nashville heat. It was triple digits most of the summer."

  "You have air conditioning," Sage replied.

  Drake exhaled and finished his slice. "It wouldn't have been fair to her. I was working a ton. Finishing up stuff at the house the rest of the time."

  Sage nodded. "How is all that coming along?"

  "It's done," Drake said. He offered no further explanation. Reached for more pizza instead.

  In front of them, Suzy Q sniffed the ground in a circle. Her loud breathing and snorting filled the empty air space.

  "And around here?" Drake asked. "Wild and crazy summer?"

  Sage made a face at his blatant change of subject, but let it pass. "Eh. Ajax and I hit the water a time or two, but it isn't the same without you and Kade around."

  Drake eyed her. "Not quite what I was referring to."

  Starting on her second slice as well, Sage shrugged. "You didn't hear? That crashed and burned. No survivors. Search called off."

  "Ouch," Drake said, wincing. "My condolences."

  "Oh yes, very tragic."

  "Last week when we talked you said it was rocky. I didn't realize that meant combustible."

  "Got worse as the summer went on. I think the idea of you all returning, and my constant talking about it, had him wound pretty tight. Started trying to suggest I bow out of the Crew."

  Drake stopped eating for a moment and turned to face her. "You're kidding me."

  "Like I said, fiery crash," Sage said, finishing off her pizza.

  "Understandably so," Drake said. "Sorry to hear that."

  "It happens," Sage deadpanned. "Happened to you just last winter."

  "That it did."

  Sage slid her gaze up from Suzy Q to Drake. "I should be getting back inside."

  "Already?" Drake asked. "Feels like we just sat down. We've got a lot more ground to cover."

  "Time flies," Sage said, smiling as she bent to scratch behind Suzy Q's ears.

  "You want the rest of this pie? I'm sure there's some staff in there that will take it off your hands."

  Sage rose to full height. "Just like I'm sure there's a gamer at home that would take it off yours."

  "Already have one in the truck for him," Drake said. "I mean, he did watch my dog this summer."

  "Well, in that case," Sage said, accepting the box as Drake stood and gave her another hug.

  "See you Friday?"

  "I'll be there," Sage replied.

  "I'll be there first," Drake said with a smile. He whistled once more and smacked the side of his leg.

  The sun dropped a little lower over the horizon as the two sides went in opposite directions.

  Sage and the pizza back inside. Drake and Suzy Q back towards the parking lot.

  Chapter Eight

  Of all the shit Drake put up with over the summer, wearing a tie was the worst part.

  The entire thing felt like an exercise in tedium. Seventy-five of the eighty hours he worked each week were spent inside a windowless office. There were four other employees total. Three middle-aged men and one older woman.

  He wasn't trying to impress any of them with his appearance. They damned sure weren't trying to impress him.

  The other five hours a week he spent talking to his clients. On Death Row. He would have had a better chance of fitting in with a biker vest and two full sleeves of ink.

  Again, tedium.

  Thursday morning Drake returned from his run to the unhappy reminder that on his first real day back, he had to put the monkey suit back on. He stalled as long as he could.

  Watched Ajax demonstrate the new project he was working on. Took Q for a walk. Watched the clock tick on towards nine before relenting and getting dressed.

  Solid charcoal Brooks Brothers suit. Black pinstriped dress shirt. Patterned tie.

  It was all a little rumpled from the trip out, but he didn't care. Besides, in Montana, even with the wrinkles he would be the best dressed guy in the room.

  The parking lot was a little less full than it had been the day before. Without the mandatory pre-game speech from Weston hanging over their head, most students stayed far away until the absolute last second they had to report.

  Drake knew the feeling.

  He pulled his shoulder bag with laptop and legal pad from the front seat and made his way to the clinic room. Tucked away in the basement of the newly renovated law school, it had been upgraded from the size of a closet to a mud room.

  Five desks were spread around the space. Two on either side for students. One on the back wall for Professor Lauer.

  Not that there was any chance of five people ever working being seated at the same time. No way they would all fit.

  Greg and Wyatt were both already there when Drake arrived. They had chosen the two desks on the right side of the room and were reclined in their chairs talking.

  Drake's earlier assessment proved to be true. Greg was dressed in a pair of faded slacks, short sleeve shirt and tie loosened at the collar. Wyatt in a polo and khakis.

  Montana courtroom attire.

  Wyatt made a show of checking his bare wrist as Drake dropped his bag down on the opposite desk. "Well now, with seven minutes to spare. You're getting better."

  Drake peeled his suit coat off and laid it atop his bag. "Remind me how it is you guys are early? Do you like being here all the time?"

  Greg shrugged. "There are worse places to be."

  "Like where?" Drake asked, dropping down into a chair and stretching his legs out in front of him.

  The two exchanged a look. "And here we thought a summer spent in the coal mines of legal defense might have brought you around on being a lawyer."

  "I was a little bit south of the coal mines, if you get my drift," Drake deadpanned.

  They didn't get his drift.

  "Hell," Drake finished for them. "I was in hell. I even preferred going to Death Row and meeting with my clients over sitting in that damn cubicle writing briefs."

  Wyatt chuckled. Greg gave a look of faux sadness. "Does that mean you don't have tons of stories for us about late nights and southern women?"

  "Had plenty of late nights and southern barbecue, but not women," Drake said. "Besides, weren't you supposed to have the ladies scouted out for me this morning?"

  Greg extended a finger into the air. "Yes!" He spun around and took up a sheaf of wrinkled papers from his desk. "Alright, here we go. I'm skipping over our class for obvious reasons."

  "They've already shot you down," Wyatt said.

  "Many times," Drake added.

  "Moving on to the second year class," Greg said, his voice slightly louder. "Sadly, we saw one very eligible lady obtain a left hand ring this summer and another take a walk down the aisle. In total, that leaves us with just Sarah Werner, Callie Nystrom, and a whole lot of nothing."

  "I hope you have daughters one day," Drake inserted.

  "And for the part you've all been waiting on, the fresh meat. This year's 1L class skews young, with very few have rings. Also, many are from out-of-state, meaning the odds of long term attachments are minimal."

  "So what you're trying to say is?" Wyatt prompted.

  "There will be no better time to strike," Greg said with complete authority. "No less than eight viable options. Low hanging fruit, there for the taking."

  He and Wyatt both exchanged an enthusiastic high-five.

  Drake sat and shook his head at them. Neither one stood taller than five-seven. Greg had bright red hair and a paunch while Wyatt had severely thinning brown hair and knock-knees.

  How either one thought the first-years were low hanging fruit was beyond him.

  How he had become friends with the two of them, at times, was an even greater mys
tery.

  "But wait, he's not done yet," Wyatt said.

  "There's more?" Drake asked. "New professor?"

  "Even better," Greg said. "Transfer student."

  "The two Weston introduced yesterday?"

  "If by two you mean beauty and the beast, yes," Wyatt said.

  "I don't have all the details yet, not even her name, but I will soon," Greg said.

  Drake said nothing. Instead he cocked a half smile and rubbed his forehead. It was just a few minutes past nine, but already it was starting to hurt.

  At least this was all that stood between him and the weekend.

  "Ava Zargoza," a voice said from the door.

  The unexpected sound snapped Drake's head up. He turned to see a young woman standing with her hand on her hip, a cloth sack in her hand.

  "And I am not a transfer student," Ava said. "I was forced here. There's no way I would have chosen to come to this shithole."

  Greg and Wyatt both remained motionless. Their mouths sat agape. Across from them, Drake studied the newest arrival.

  She was dressed in a navy blue sheath dress with a matching business jacket. Peep-toe shoes. A string of pearls around her neck.

  At least he no longer felt overdressed.

  Disdain rolled off of her in waves. Drake was unsure how much she had heard, but any of it would be enough to explain the hostility.

  "And let me help you out on those details," she continued. She focused her dark eyes on Greg. "None of you have a chance in hell with me. End of story."

  The color drained from Greg and Wyatt's faces in unison.

  Drake thought for a second they both might cry.

  Luckily, Professor Lauer showed up in time to end the icy encounter before any serious blood was drawn.

  "I see we're all here and ready," he said, sliding past Ava and into the room. He walked straight across to the desk reserved for him on the back wall. Picked up a thin file and tucked it under his arm. "I trust everyone here knows each other?"

  Greg and Wyatt both remained frozen, mortified looks on their faces. Ava studied her toes.

  "We've met," Drake said.

  "Excellent!" Professor Lauer said. "As much as I would love to provide a little bit of background this morning, the hearing starts in twenty-five minutes. Shall we?"