From inside, McCoy told them to come in.
Robo trotted over to the sheriff before doing a quick scent-scan of each of the chairs. Rick Lawson was seated at the table with McCoy, a laptop in front of him.
McCoy looked at Cole as he approached. “I’ve updated the bulletin and activated volunteers to search trailheads west of town.”
Cole placed the dog bed on the floor. “Robo has become more agitated in the past half hour. I’m hoping the routine here might help him rest.”
He called Robo to the cushion and told him to lie down. The shepherd obeyed for a few beats before popping back up. In a tone that would leave no room for misunderstanding, Cole told him to stay. He eased back down on the cushion, watching Cole with a worried eye. Cole sat in the chair beside him and began a firm, circular massage on the dog’s shoulders and back.
Carrying her laptop, Stella entered the room and took a seat at the table. “Cole, tell us more about this drug Thianil. Where could someone get it?”
“From a veterinarian. It’s a schedule two narcotic, so it would be regulated. A vet could dispense it to his clients. And with a prescription, a client could get it from a vet supply store, but in both cases it would probably need to be special ordered. The nearest vet supply store in this area is fifty miles away in Willow Springs. For that matter, so is the nearest vet, other than me.”
“Could someone steal it?”
“Sure, but he’d have to know which veterinarian or supply outlet might have it on hand. I’m sure that not everyone stocks it. And those that do keep it locked up.”
“Do you keep it?” Lawson asked.
“Never heard of it before tonight.”
Lawson tapped the keys of his laptop. “I’ll set up a search in the NCIC database for theft of veterinary drugs, see if I can turn up anything.”
“What’s the NCIC?” Cole asked.
“National Crime Information Center. It’s a system maintained by the FBI. Local jurisdictions provide input for wanted or missing persons, stolen property, violent crimes, that sort of thing. I’ll set this for both Colorado and California entries.”
“I contacted Detective Hastings in Hollywood on his cell phone,” Stella said, her attention focused on her computer screen. “Woke him up. He’ll check in with his narcotics division about Thianil use and drug thefts in that area.”
McCoy stood and turned a dry erase board on wheels so that it faced them. A photo of a handsome, dark-haired man wearing a grease-stained coverall and aping for the camera, his hands inside a car’s engine, had been labeled William Cobb and pinned to the top. Cole swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.
“Let’s do a quick rundown on William Cobb and look for commonalities that might help us find Mattie,” McCoy said.
Cole scanned the words written on the board, thinking it helped to see the information compiled in one place. The words “Labs Pending” at the bottom of the column struck him.
“Labs from William’s autopsy should be screened for thiafentanil oxalate,” Cole said.
“Requested,” Lawson said, as he tapped the keyboard of his laptop.
He focused on the column headed “Persons of Interest,” reading first those listed under a west coast subcategory: Tamara Bennett, girlfriend; Joseph Quintana, employer; gang friends; and Old Friend of the Family, unknown person.
“What’s the status on these west coast persons of interest?” he asked.
McCoy answered him. “The girlfriend, employer, and gang friends have all been cleared. The Old Friend of the Family is a ghost as far as we can determine. Nothing solid on that.”
“But that might be our guy.”
“It’s possible.”
Cole continued to massage Robo and felt rewarded by the dog’s response—he now lay quietly, his head lowered to rest between his front paws, his eyebrows twitching as he fought sleep.
He scanned the list under the “Local Persons of Interest” subheading which read: Gibson Galloway; Ed Lovejoy, sheep project; Tucker York, sheep project; shooter of bighorn ram, unknown; and Bret Flynn, near locale. Riley’s dad. Cole remembered when he’d brought his horse to the clinic for sutures, bringing to mind the possibility that he’d been up on Redstone Ridge on Sunday.
“What about the local people?” Cole asked.
Stella brought him up to speed. “Ed Lovejoy can be eliminated for the ram and Mattie, and he has no known connection to California for William. Tucker York worked in California wildlife management five years prior to moving here, no alibi for the ram, and denies knowing William.”
“No response to my attempts to reach him tonight,” McCoy said.
“And most likely to have access to Thianil,” Cole added with an even worse feeling about York. “Who is this Gibson Galloway?”
McCoy answered. “Mattie arrested him on Saturday night. From Bakersfield, California and denies knowledge of William Cobb. Threatened Mattie during the arrest Saturday night.”
Stella spoke up. “She and I interviewed him yesterday. Says he was in Kansas during the time period for William’s death, but alibi remains unconfirmed. I suggest we send Deputies Garcia and Johnson to bring him in for questioning. And let’s get a warrant to test his rifles for a match with our slug and casing.”
“Agreed.” McCoy reached for his cell phone to set things in motion.
Cole came back to Bret Flynn. “Flynn’s daughter Riley is staying at my house. She said he’s tending bar in Hightower until two.” He glanced at the plain-faced clock on the wall. “It’s almost that time now, and he should still be at the Hornet’s Nest.”
Stella tapped the screen of her cell phone, evidently finding the number. “I’ll make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be.”
“Where does he live?” Lawson asked.
Cole heard Stella ask for Flynn while he answered Lawson’s question. “He and his daughter live west of town, just beyond the city limits. His wife died about six months ago, and they moved here from Los Angeles.”
Lawson raised a brow. “California—has anyone interviewed him yet?”
“Not yet,” McCoy said. “Another one who didn’t reply to a message today.”
“Would he follow that westbound highway that we have on surveillance to get to his home?” Lawson asked Cole.
“He would.”
Stella disconnected and came back to the table. “Flynn’s not there. He was scheduled for work tonight, but he called in sick.”
“What kind of vehicle does he drive?” Lawson asked, rising from his seat.
Cole tried to recall but hadn’t paid attention. “I can’t say. It was dark when he came to my clinic, but I know he has a pickup and trailer.”
“Close enough,” Stella said. “Let’s go see if he’s at home.”
He looked down at Robo, who’d finally fallen asleep. He hated to wake him, but they needed the dog’s special ability to indicate if Mattie was on the Flynn premises. Hoping that the dog’s power nap had been enough to reset his nervous system, Cole stroked him gently and said his name. Robo’s eyes popped open, coming into focus within seconds as he gazed up at Cole.
“Let’s go, buddy,” he said. Robo heaved to his feet and headed for the door.
Cole and Stella took the K-9 unit while McCoy and Lawson drove the sheriff’s Jeep. Robo stood in the back, his eyes focused on the windshield, and Cole noticed with relief that he had stopped panting and bouncing around the cage. The brief sleep had done him some good.