Mesozoic Murder by Christine Gentry Page B

plowed through several years of Capos’ financial records: pay stubs, canceled checks, and bill statements. After Capos left the Cooperative, he’d closed his bank accounts and made a point of paying off outstanding debts, including bank loans, credit card bills, and insurance policies.
    Capos had received no unemployment benefits, disability payments, retirement pensions, or welfare aid. It was doubtful that Capos had acquired a long-lost inheritance, or hit it big on the Powerball, Dorbandt mused. How did he pay the bills off so quickly, or survive without income for the last year and a half?
    Dorbandt’s gut told him Capos had been up to something before he died. Pretty Boy smelled dirty. Without a paper trail, it would be harder to learn what the botanist had been up to, but not impossible.
    His second interview with Karen and her boyfriend had been interesting. King didn’t hide the fact that he had hated Capos because of the way he treated Karen. King was wound tighter than a tick in dog hair. Would he pop if his anger became too much? Did he have access to strychnine?
    Adding to his problems, McKenzie had given him another pep-talk. McKenzie wanted leads. McKenzie wanted a suspect. McKenzie wanted his lead butt to shine like Fort Knox gold on television sets across the county. McKenzie’s message boiled down to one nugget of advice: produce or vamoose.
    Dorbandt eyed his desk with distaste. It looked like a dust devil had passed through it. Papers were strewn in matted clumps. His computer system had disappeared beneath a tower of pulp. Stacked cartons surrounded his desk, box tops pimpled with Styrofoam coffee cups, soda cans, and candy wrappers. Somewhere lay a clue.
    He pawed through the paper avalanche and picked up the Pangaea Society roster. Something else to work on. The personal info he’d gleaned about Anselette Phoenix was anemic, and uneventful. He did learn about the new Opel Center that the society was involved with and briefly wondered if that might play a role in the murder.
    The background checks on the seminar kids were the same. Lydia Hodges and Tim Shanks lived in Mission. Shane Roco lived in Big Toe. They attended Bowie College and were excellent students. None had a criminal record. Even Feltus Pitt had lived a life that looked as straight as an arrow.
    The phone rang. Dorbandt dropped the email sheets on a Montana Electric and Gas bill. The device shrieked again, but he couldn’t see it. He grabbed a pile of papers, dumped them on the floor, and scrambled for the receiver.
    â€œDetective Division. Dorbandt.”
    â€œHey, Reid. Dave Jackson.”
    Dorbandt smiled. He liked Jackson, a diamond in the rough when it came to employees at the Missoula toxicology lab.
    â€œThanks for returning my call. I have some questions about the Capos case.”
    â€œFire away.”
    â€œWhere does strychnine come from?”
    â€œThe strychnine used on Capos was made from seeds of a tree called Strychnos nux vomica,” Jackson replied. “It’s processed by the heating and powdering of seeds, then distilled into a concentrated form. Commercially prepared strychnine is the only kind imported into the states. It comes from India.”
    â€œWhat’s the poison look like?”
    â€œA potent, transparent crystal or a white, crystalline powder. Both have a very bitter taste.”
    Dorbandt leaned back in his chair. “How potent?”
    â€œStrychnine is ninety to one hundred percent pure poison in composition. Two raw, ground-up nux vomica seeds are equal to sixty grains that will kill you if ingested. By comparison, only two-thirds of one grain of concentrated strychnine can.”
    â€œAnd strychnine can be eaten or injected?”
    â€œIt’s more versatile than that. Strychnine can be eaten, injected, absorbed through the skin or eyes, and inhaled. All with varying effects, depending on dosage and mode of introduction into the central nervous