The Only Clue

by Pamela Beason

  “We’ll have to do that interview tomorrow. I gotta take this,” he told her, found the cell phone on the seat beside him, and hit the Flash button to switch over.

  “Burglary,” Greer announced. “This is the third incident. Looks like we got ourselves some pros.”

  “I heard about the first two.” The detective going off duty from the early shift—Perry Dawes, in this case—filled in the one coming on in person, if time permitted.

  “Good, you’re up to speed. Rodrigo’s on evidence right now; he’ll meet you at the address.” He rattled off a house number about six miles away.

  “On my way.” It was a relief to focus on a case that had nothing to do with secret missing gorillas or mythical dogs.

  * * * * *

  The burglary victims were Daryl and Bonnie Dupree, a retired couple. Their house was one of hundreds of the same ranch style, vinyl-sided homes of the Vista Village development across from a large farm and orchard. To the left of the Dupree house was a vacant lot, to the right a nearly identical house. The only distinguishing aspect of the Duprees’ home was a large RV parked off to the side of the two-car garage. It was a windy, mostly treeless area. The only charm was the view of the nearby mountains.

  On seeing Finn, Daryl cocked his head. “I remember you from the TV last year. You’re that gorilla guy, aren’t you?”

  Finn sighed. Why did everyone remember the gorilla connection and not the fact that he’d solved a kidnapping case? He guessed he should be grateful that the locals no longer referred to him as the detective whose wife ran off with the professor.

  After a quick group examination of the smashed window in the back door, Rodrigo set about taking photos and lifting prints while Finn interviewed the Duprees at their kitchen table.

  “Any idea who might have done this?” Finn asked.

  They both shook their heads, then Daryl used his fingers to tick off the reasons they couldn’t think of a likely suspect. One, they weren’t rich by any means; two, they hadn’t hired any temporary help recently; three, none of the neighbors seemed suspicious; and four, the migrant worker housing across the road was currently vacant.

  “I don’t know how the burglars guessed we weren’t home,” Daryl groused.

  “We’re always here, except for a handful of days when we go off to visit friends,” Bonnie added. “We didn’t even tell anyone, since we took the dogs with us.”

  “You normally park your RV out front?” Finn asked.

  “Except for when we take it camping,” Bonnie said.

  Finn let the implication soak in.

  Daryl got the point first. “Well, if I don’t feel dumber than dirt.” He passed a hand over his bald crown. “Guess I’ll park the rig out back from now on or rent a space somewhere.”

  The Duprees were organized, giving him a neatly printed list of the stolen items. Chainsaw, miter saw, cordless drill, two gold class rings, half a bottle of old Oxycontin tablets (left over from Bonnie’s knee surgery), a Colt pistol, and a Remington shotgun.

  Finn gritted his teeth at the last two items. “Were the firearms locked up?”

  Bonnie’s expression slipped from angelic grandma toward peeved schoolmarm. “There’s no point in having guns if you can’t get at them quick, right? The pistol was hidden under some magazines in my bedside drawer, and the shotgun was under the bed on Daryl’s side.”

  Rodrigo appeared in the kitchen doorway, fingerprint kit in hand. “Next?”

  The homeowners stood. “Come on.” Daryl pointed down the hall. “Maybe you can get prints from the jewelry case or the bed table.”

  As he waved Finn and Rodrigo past him into the bedroom, Daryl commented, “Should have taken the guns with us, I guess.”

  “At least we still have the Glock.” Bonnie turned to Finn. “It was with us in the camper.”

  Two more weapons added to the street, one to go. “Keep an eye on that Glock,” he recommended. “Burglars who score guns often come back looking for more.”

  The lights were still on in the house next door, so after dismissing Rodrigo, Finn knocked and chatted briefly with the neighbor. The rain, thankfully, had stopped for the moment, and although the moon and stars were still obscured, the evening seemed a little less dismal. Or at least less damp.

  “I didn’t see or hear anything unusual,” the man told him. “Only thing going on was a little activity over there on Saturday evening.” He briefly tilted his head to indicate the migrant worker housing across the road.

  “And what activity was that?” Finn asked.

  “I came out to have a smoke out on the porch because I had a carpet cleaner finishing up inside. Usually we just get one car parked over there—kids making out, but this time I saw two cars. Then, after a few minutes a white van swung in there and a couple guys got out and got into the cars and then they all took off.” He lifted a shoulder. “I figured it was kind of a weird place to do a park and ride shuffle, but whatever.”

  “Can you describe the vehicles?”

  “Can’t say I paid too much attention. The van was white, one of those utility kind with no windows in back, and the other two were old and kinda dark colored. The two cars took off up the road.” He pointed toward the mountains. “And the van took off toward the highway.”

  “When was this?”

  “The carpet cleaner left around a quarter past six. He was loading up when I saw everyone drive off. But they never came back here, at least as far as I know. Do you think those cars are important?”

  “Probably not.” Finn handed him a business card. “But let me know if you see them again, okay?”

  “Jeez, that’s a shame, the Duprees getting ripped off like that. I’ll spread the word around the neighborhood to be on the lookout.”

  Finn drove across the road to the migrant worker camp and walked around, shining his flashlight into the buildings. They were basic shacks, outfitted with plywood bunk bed platforms, tacky tables, and rusty folding chairs. Nothing more. Only the central building, which had water and electrical lines leading into it, was locked. He didn’t see anything that seemed related to burglary.

  * * * * *

  It took him until nearly one a.m. to write up the report and do other paperwork at the station before he could call it quits for the day. He slid into his car and then called Grace. No answer. “Guess our rendezvous is postponed,” he said to her voicemail. “Rain check?”

  Of course there was no response, and after a couple of seconds he said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Together, we’re going to figure this out, Grace.”

  In his home mailbox, among the usual bills and ads, Finn found an envelope from his ex-wife. He tossed the mail onto the table as he waded through the typical assault from his hungry dog and cats.

  He fed Cargo and Lok and Kee, then took out a bottle of beer and sat down at the table. The return address on the envelope was Gwen Mankin Black in Spokane. Now his ex was going by Gwen instead of Wendy?

  What the heck did she want this time? She had forfeited her share of his measly salary when she married her boy toy a year ago. She left Finn the animals and the house, and he’d be damned if he was going to share any of it with her.

  After he’d popped the top from the beer and taken a sip, he opened the envelope. Inside was a card with a photo of Wendy holding a red, wrinkled newborn. ANNOUNCING Aidan Alexander Black.

  He set the card on its edge, leaning it against the growing stack of junk mail to recycle. The baby boy had dark hair and eyes, like Wendy. At least he didn’t look like Gordon Black, the guy she’d run off with.

  Finn was now pretty sure she’d orchestrated their move from Chicago to Evansburg to get closer to her old flame. A better place to raise a family, she’d said; close to her parents. He’d given up his job and his condo with a view of the lake. And then she’d taken off only a few months after they’d moved here.

  She had a lot of nerve, sending him a birth announcement for the kid that should have been his. And she didn’t even
live in Evansburg anymore but had moved to Spokane, so the baby wouldn’t have his grandparents in his daily life after all.

  His ex and her new baby boy stared at him. Wendy had established a whole new identity for herself.

  “You may have Aidan in your life, Gwen,” he snarled at the photo, “But I have gorillas. Not many people can top that.”

  Of course, it was debatable how many people would want gorillas in their lives. And right now it was debatable whether there would be gorillas in his future.

  * * * * *

  Just after midnight, Jon and Grace split up to do a last tour through the dark forest that bounded her research compound. The beam of his flashlight soon faded through the trees, but she heard him shouting for Neema and Gumu as he moved northward while she moved south, turning now and then to flash her headlamp in all directions. It was difficult to tell if the rain had stopped. Branches overhead steadily dripped cold water down her neck.

  The big male gorilla was unlikely to come to the sound of his name. But if Neema was out there listening, she might. “Neema!” she shouted. “Neema! I have a lollipop for you.”

  Neema called the suckers on a stick tree candy; they were her favorite treat. If Neema could hear her, if Neema was capable of moving, the promise of a lollipop might bring her. Grace stopped walking and held her breath, listening to the dark woods. All she heard were drips splattering the shoulders of her jacket and plopping onto the ground all around her.

  Was she deluding herself? Was it wishful thinking that the gorillas might have escaped? Gumu was defensive with strangers and terrifyingly strong. If a man had tried to tackle him, Gumu could very well have prevailed and then led his family to safety. He was a huge animal, too. If the blood in the barn was Gumu’s, it might not represent a lethal loss for an ape his size, but if the blood belonged to Neema, or Kanoni... No, she couldn’t let her mind go down that black tunnel. “Neema! Kanoni! Lollipop!”

  After ninety minutes, she returned to the compound exhausted, hungry, and depressed. After sunset, the temperature dipped here in the foothills of the Cascades. Gorillas were as susceptible to colds and pneumonia as humans. Maybe even more so. Especially gorillas who were used to sleeping indoors.

  She pulled on a dry sweatshirt, and then busied herself cutting vegetables and fruit into a tub. She was laying them out on the food shelf alongside the barn when Jon reappeared from the woods, chafing his bare arms against the chill. His lips were tightly pressed into a straight line, and he shook his head. “No sign of them. Think it’s a wild goose chase?”

  “It’s too soon to think that.” She’d rather envision the gorillas in the woods than imprisoned. Or worse. The image of Spencer’s contorted body flashed across her brain. She tried to push that scene out of her mind, but succeeded in replacing the horrific memory with an even worse possibility: Neema bleeding to death from a stab wound, Kanoni crying helplessly by her side. She pinched herself through the sweatshirt sleeve to bring her thoughts back to reality. “I’ll leave the gate and the barn door open in case they come back.”

  Jon ran dirty fingers through his long hair as he peered through the gate out into the grassy courtyard. “You’re not afraid of attracting bears?”

  “Raccoons, probably. Maybe an opossum.” She’d seen both of those in the yard at one time or another. “Bears?”

  “You should check the news once in awhile, boss. This whole area’s under a bear watch.”

  “Really?” She hadn’t seen the news for several days. But she hadn’t seen a bear, either. “Guess I’ll take the chance.”

  She picked up the empty tub and started for the yard.

  “Grace?”

  She turned. Jon stared at the ground and scuffed a toe in the dirt. He looked like an overgrown three-year-old trying not to cry. “I really thought the gorillas were okay last night.”

  She walked back to him, touched her fingers to his shoulder. “I know you did. I thought they were okay, too. It’s not your fault. Get some sleep. If they’re not back tonight, we’ll start looking again in the morning.” She looked at her watch. “Later this morning, I mean.”

  When she returned to her personal trailer, Grace checked her phone. She knew Matt meant his voicemail to be reassuring, but instead, it annoyed her. Of course their rendezvous was off. How could he even think that it was a possibility when her gorillas were missing? Still, she liked that word together, although she wasn’t sure what it meant to him right now. She texted him, saying she had searched the woods but found nothing and wanted to compare notes tomorrow. Then she nuked a bowl of soup and ate it in front of her television set, where she learned what Jon had been talking about.

  On their round-the-clock local station, a woman holding a toddler was saying, “I heard a racket outside and there was a big black bear on the deck. It ate my dog’s food. Then it ripped down my bird feeder.”

  The boy beside her smiled big for the camera and chirped, “It was real scary!”

  The scene moved to the newscaster at a studio desk. “Homeowners are spotting more black bears in their yards this spring than ever before. Experts cite our late spring snowfalls and cooler than usual weather. Many of the plants the bears feed on are not yet abundant, and so hungry bears are wandering into urban areas. The state department of Fish and Wildlife urges residents to store garbage cans and food for pets and livestock inside buildings.”

  The picture changed to show a Fish and Wildlife employee in the woods standing alongside a culvert trap. “Efforts are underway to trap and remove problem bears as soon as possible. Property owners are reminded that it is not bear hunting season. We encourage citizens to use proven best practices with all wild animals. Lock up your garbage; lock up your pet food. If you see a bear, please call us so we can protect both you and the bear.”

  None of her gorillas had ever seen a bear, and it was a pretty good bet that no northwest bear had ever seen a gorilla. If confronted, Gumu would launch into a threat display, thumping his chest and rushing the bear. Neema would probably run. How would a hungry black bear respond?

  Snow, the cat that Neema claimed as her own, climbed into Grace’s lap and curled her paws under her body. Grace scratched her under the chin. The cat closed her green eyes and purred. Tonight the sound did little to soothe Grace’s jangling nerves.

  Should she have sounded the alarm immediately and set off the search for the gorillas? Matt thought so. But the county council would come crashing down on her like a spring mudslide, accusing her of endangering the community. They’d close down her research facility. The college would cancel her funding. With no budget and no place to go, she might lose the gorillas.

  She bit her lip. Maybe she’d already lost them. Maybe she’d signed their death warrants by not calling the authorities.

  Last time Neema and Gumu had escaped, they’d roamed the forest for four days before she’d tracked them down. No matter what Matt said, she’d give herself at least four days to locate them. Ninety-six hours. Setting the cat aside on the couch, she got up to mark the calendar. She made a big X through today’s date. And then she saw a note she’d scribbled the square four days down on a Thursday: County Agricultural Inspector.

  That was another condition of her county permit; that her facility be inspected once a year “to determine the health and safe living conditions of her livestock.” And of course the college had scheduled their board meeting so they could factor the inspector’s report into their decision.

  What if the gorillas weren’t back in four days? If she asked for a postponement, the inspector would want to know why. Feeling even more desperate, she turned off the television, and went outside to call the gorillas one more time. The only response from the woods was the haunting cry of a great horned owl.

  Chapter 6

  Meat. Danger. Run. With Kanoni on her back, Neema ran through dark night and then day, moving far from the meat smell. Now it was dark again. She stopped beside a stream, bending down to drink the cold water. Kanoni copied, sl
urping loudly and splashing with her hands.

  Neema was hungry. She wanted yogurt; she wanted red fruit; she wanted cabbage. A long green yellow worm crawled across the ground. She put it in her mouth and chewed. She pulled some leaves from a bush and ate them. A plant with long green branches tasted better, so she ate most of it.

  She sat between the roots of a big tree and pulled Kanoni to her breast to nurse. She was tired. She had been in the trees before, but always with Gumu or Grace. Gorilla big here, gorilla baby, she signed to herself.

  Kanoni pulled away to watch her hands move. She whimpered and stretched her arm up to pat Neema’s lips with her small cool fingers. Dark here, Neema signed. Sad. She wanted Gumu. Grace. Food. Blankets. Her white white soft cat. Gumu’s orange white black warm cat.

  Gumu! She hooted. Bird noises. Was Gumu meat for always? She stared into the dark trees around her. Where was safe? She pulled pine cones and twigs up around her legs and curled up against the tree with Kanoni in her arms. Small animals moved in the trees and on the ground. Neema grunted to let them know she was bigger. She curled over her baby and waited for the sun.

  Birds came with the sun. Crows made noise in the trees. One landed near. Kanoni chased it while it hopped, then ran back when the bird flapped away. Sitting in front of Neema, Kanoni signed Go.

  Bird go, Neema signed, then hungry. She and Gumu found apples in the trees before. She liked apples. Pushing Kanoni onto her back, Neema walked through the trees, sniffing for apples.

  Ahead, she smelled food. Sweet. Good. And something dirty, like mouse turned meat. She followed the smell to a metal tunnel. Food was inside. Kanoni slid from Neema’s back onto the grass. Food, Neema signed. Kanoni stared and sat playing with her toes, afraid of the strange tunnel. Food, Neema signed again.

  She climbed in. It was a small round room, barely big enough for a gorilla. A fish hung on a wire. Dirty mouse meat smell. She turned away from it. The bread smelled better, but it was hard, wrapped in a net, tied to the window wire. Honey was in the pail. Neema picked that up, pulled against the rope tied to the handle.