Mesozoic Murder by Christine Gentry Page A

will. I have a feeling that Detective Dorbandt won’t give up until the killer is found.”
    â€œLydia told me that she’d come by to see you, too.”
    Surprised that Lydia had mentioned the visit to Tim and unsure how much the girl had told him about Nick’s phone conversation, if anything, Ansel said, “It’s nice to have such supportive students. Now what can I help you with?”
    â€œOh, I want to get a doctorate in paleozoology. I’ll have to leave Bowie College and go to Montana State, but I’m really excited about it. Since you graduated there, I wondered if you’d write me a letter of recommendation to submit with my admission application?”
    â€œI’d be glad to. It’s a tough paleontology program, but it’s one of the best in the country. When will you need the letter?”
    Tim’s grin widened even more. “As soon as possible. I want to start the fall session, and I need to have all the academic paperwork sent out within the next few days.”
    â€œI’ll write the letter when I get back tonight. Since I have your address on your seminar sign-up sheet, I’ll mail it to you tomorrow.”
    â€œThat’s really nice of you, Miss Phoenix.” Tim stood. “I won’t hold you up. Thanks so much. This is really fantastic.” He moved toward the door with long strides.
    Ansel followed as he opened the metal portal and retreated, cowboy boots pounding down the concrete steps. “Bye, Tim.” He half-turned and waved before hopping into his battered station wagon. A thought flitted through Ansel’s mind, and she rushed through the door. “Wait, Tim,” she called, but it was too late. The brown oil-spewing behemoth pulled away.
    â€œDammit,” she hissed.
    She’d wanted to ask him what ever happened to the crime scene film inside his camera. Did he still have it or did Dorbandt confiscate it? If Tim developed the roll, she wanted to see the pictures, as disturbing as they might be. Maybe there was a clue hidden somewhere in the topography around Nick’s body. She was willing to try any lead, any farfetched idea that might point a finger to the killer.

Chapter 8
    â€œThe brave man yields to neither fear nor anger, desire nor agony. He is at all times master of himself.”
    Ohiyesa, Santee Sioux
    â€œI can’t take this.” Dorbandt threw down the paper. It fluttered to his desk and settled on a large pile of documents awaiting his attention.
    He was tired. Yesterday afternoon he’d gone to Glasgow to interview Karen Capos and Alexander King again. Then he’d worked late finishing up reports on Capos’ apartment and car. Afterward he’d spent the night tossing and turning, his mind replaying the day.
    Back at his desk this morning, he’d reviewed the meager forensic reports trickling in from the state crime lab before poring over confiscated bundles of Capos’ personal records and finances.
    So far the forensic results were discouraging. Capos’s old, partially degraded fingerprints were found on his clothes and personal effects. The fresh fingerprints appearing on his glasses only confirmed Anselette Phoenix’s story. No other prints were present.
    Toxicology had sent the liquid chromatography results. Testing on Capos’ brain, lungs, spinal cord, and liver corroborated Howdun’s conclusions that strychnine was the cause of death. No other drugs or alcohol were found in Capos’ system.
    Since Capos’ faxed employment records were brief, Dorbandt had made a follow-up call to his ex-supervisor. He had learned from Dr. Barclay Stoopsen that the Cooperative was an agricultural lab conducting studies on range land degradation caused by grazing livestock. Capos had been well liked by fellow employees. His work had been exemplary until a few months before he quit. Something had happened, and Dorbandt knew he had to dig deeper.
    So far, he’d