Carnosaur Crimes by Christine Gentry Read Free Book Online

hair was gone. Dorbandt handed the photos back to Combs as Flynn asked, “What about personal effects?”
    Combs swiped a bear paw hand across his brow. “Nothing left. Maybe the feds got clues from the truck. I did find some interesting information in the x-rays, though.”
    The sheriff pulled out another sheet. “He had a T10-T11 spinal cord injury, multiple rib fractures, a tension pneumothorax, and was missing his spleen. He also had a claw-foot or curled toes because of a Lisfranc fracture of the right foot. The bone injuries looked like they’d healed on their own. The surgical incision was several years old. Our perp was relatively young, but he’d sure taken a pummeling.”
    â€œThink he was beaten?” Dorbandt asked.
    â€œNo. His injuries are common to somebody who’s been thrown from horses or bulls several times. Maybe a rodeo rider or a horse trainer. The spinal injury and the ruptured spleen probably happened when he fell off an animal. The ribs and chest problems could come from falling against a bucking animal or striking body parts while on the way to the ground. A Lisfranc fracture involves the dislocation of the tarsometatarsal joint in the middle of the foot. It happens when there’s a high-energy blow to a boot or a twisting fall where the foot gets trapped in the stirrup and a person is hung-up during a fall. Maybe even dragged.”
    Dorbandt’s stomach turned. He’d once seen a fourteen-year-old boy without protective gear illegally riding a bull at a rodeo event. The kid struck his head against the bull’s head with such force that he suffered a traumatic brain injury, a spinal fracture, multiple nasal fractures, and remained unconscious for sixteen days. He was transferred to an acute care facility. He’d last heard that the boy remained in a persistent, vegetative state. So far, protective gear designed for bull or bronco riding hadn’t been recommended or even developed by rodeo organizations.
    Dorbandt jumped in. “You want me to check the local rodeos and ranches to see if the perp worked nearby, right?”
    â€œSorry. I think Flynn should do it. He’s more familiar with the Big Toe locals.”
    â€œI’ll get right on it,” the Chief said.
    Combs looked at Dorbandt. “I have another assignment from the Coroner’s Office for you. Since I am the Chief Coroner, the feds can’t bitch about interference with their case.” He showed Dorbandt a block-toothed mouth full of white enamel. “I want you to visit a forensic anthropologist associated with the University of Technology who does facial reconstructions.”
    Flynn shot Dorbandt a sympathetic look. “Oh, oh. Guess you drew the short straw, Detective.”
    Dorbandt stared at Flynn, then turned toward Combs. “What’s going on?”
    â€œYou’re transporting the perp’s head to Billings,” the sheriff said.
    A range of emotions surged through Dorbandt’s body. Disbelief. Disgust. Resistance. Surrender. “Can we do that legally? Just lop off the head and cart it around?”
    â€œIf it will ease your mind, the head fell off during the autopsy,” Combs clarified. “And, yes, the Medical Examiner has total control over what means are used to identify a victim and the cause of death. Doc Tweedy prepared the papers authorizing delivery of the head to the facial recontructionist an hour ago. I’m not signing the death certificate until I’m sure it was an accident.”
    â€œI agree,” added Flynn. “You saw the cutter, Lieutenant. Those self-propelled, concrete machines retail around three to five grand. The night vision goggles run up to fifteen-hundred dollars. I doubt he was alone in this get-rich-scheme to rip off tracks.”
    â€œExactly,” Combs agreed. “I’ve heard some whispers that the FBI sniffed around Lacrosse because they’re chasing a Montana