Then she remembered that she might never see Gumu paint again. She might never see him again at all. Or Neema. Or Kanoni.
Unfortunately, anyone could peruse eBay. She had no way to get a list of users who had seen the videos or paintings. She didn’t even have a list of people who had bid on the artwork. She knew only the final buyers, and that list was depressingly short and contained no local addresses. Still, she printed it to share with Matt.
A soft tail brushed her cheek. She reached up to stroke the little monkey. “Tell me it’s not hopeless, Pepito.”
She couldn’t wait to reunite Maria Constello with her marmoset. If only someone, somewhere, felt the same way about Grace McKenna and her gorillas.
* * * * *
Finn sat in his recliner, sipping a cup of coffee, trying to wake up his brain enough to focus on the missing gorillas. He and his cat Lok were playing their usual game of fetch. Finn threw a green beetle wall-walker toy at the patio door. Lok followed the arc of the toy’s flight, and then sat at the bottom of the glass door, watching intently as the sticky beetle slowly crawled down the glass on its sticky feet.
Through the sliding glass door, Finn watched Cargo romp enthusiastically through the flowerbeds as he chased an orange butterfly, trashing some lily-looking plants planted by his former in-laws. The plants had been growing buds, but they’d probably never bloom after his dog was through bouncing on them.
Rein in your girlfriend.
Who the hell was Greer to talk to him like that? The comment made him wonder if Greer beat his wife and kids to keep them in line. Besides, Grace wasn’t exactly his girlfriend. Was she? Girlfriend. Why hadn’t society ever come up with a less ridiculous word for adults?
And even if she was his girlfriend, he had even less control over Grace than he did over his pets. She’d sounded pretty snarly yesterday, implying that he wasn’t doing enough. And then sending him the photo of the bonobo.
Lok leapt up and batted the beetle off the glass. He brought the toy back, jumping into Finn’s lap. It was pretty cool to have a cat that fetched. He remembered how bad he felt when Lok had disappeared for a few days last year.
“I thought I’d find your guts strewn across the lawn by coyotes.” He stroked Lok’s orange head. “Or you might be dying in a ditch after you got hit by a car.”
Memories flashed through his head: Neema asking Grace for a game of chase, Neema leaning her head against Grace’s in sympathy, Neema and Gumu painting. Of course Grace was distressed. She’d lost three charges, three research subjects, three friends. But if she’d only been willing to sound the alarm right away, they might have been found by now. It was damn near impossible to mount a secret search for anything.
He scratched Lok under the chin. “How about you fetch me an idea on how to find three gorillas?”
He threw the toy again, and Lok launched himself from his lap. The plastic beetle landed with a satisfying smack on the patio door.
Since no ape corpses had shown up yet, the gorillas might be still alive. It was painful to imagine the gorillas stuck in a cage. Especially if it was forever. Neema and Gumu and Kanoni might be animals, but they were very smart animals. In his mind’s eye, he could see Neema signing out out out. Gumu throwing himself against the bars. Kanoni crying like the baby she was.
The image of the imprisoned bonobo loomed up in his imagination. Shit. No wonder Grace was on a campaign to confront exotic animal dealers. The whole idea pissed him off, too, but the trade was mostly legal. And he had no reason to believe the Smiths had taken the gorillas.
He was still betting on Tony Zyrnek’s involvement. Picking up his phone from the end table, he looked up the number for Monroe Correctional Complex, and called to ask for the phone records he wanted.
“That’ll take awhile,” the clerk told him. “I’ve got a lot of requests in front of yours.”
“How about just one call, then?” He rattled off the Zyrnek number, time, and date.
She hesitated. “I’m not supposed to do requests out of sequence.”
“There’s a box of chocolates in it for you,” he wheedled.
She laughed. “All conversations are recorded here, Detective. You know I can’t accept that.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“Just this once, Detective Finn. And only because it’s a reasonable request and you sound like a nice guy. Hang on.” Elevator music started in mid-song as she placed him on hold. She was back in less than a minute. “Jarvis Pinder placed that call.”
“Who would Pinder be to Tony or Jonathan Zyrnek?”
“Never met Jonathan, but Tony is a real sweetheart. He was released about twelve weeks ago. We still miss him around here. He used to keep us entertained with his stories and songs.”
Yep, the guy was an entertainer, all right. Good at spinning yarns.
“Tony Zyrnek was Jarvis Pinder’s cellmate for the last three and half years; my guess is that Pinder misses him, too. Tony isn’t in any trouble, is he?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to talk to Pinder.”
“I’ll put your name on his visitor’s list. Your first opportunity is tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” Monroe was nearly a three-hour drive from Evansburg, but tomorrow was his day off. “Can you tell me who else is on Pinder’s visitor list?”
“Just a sec.” He listened to a minute of a sappy instrumental tune before she was back. “Leon Shane, Heather Clayton, Mary Lou Pinder, Herbert Pinder, DeeDee Suarez.”
Finn copied down the names. “Thanks. The chocolates are in the mail.”
Heather Clayton, the gorgeous woman Tony Zyrnek introduced him to. Now wasn’t that interesting? Finn moved to his office, set aside his paintings, and fired up his computer. Using his remote login, he accessed the department’s database. Pinder, Jarvis Montane, 36, had been convicted of possession of several kilos of cocaine with clear intent to sell. The guy also had earlier selling convictions for a variety of drugs as well as a couple of more minor arrests for possession.
Zyrnek’s association with Jarvis Pinder and Heather Clayton seemed suspicious—some kind of unholy trinity there. But he didn’t see any immediate connection of Pinder and Clayton with the gorillas. He decided to drive to Grace’s to brainstorm with her.
Without the gorillas, her compound seemed deserted. The white cat was the only life form in sight, sprawled across the picnic table in the sun. He knocked on the door of Grace’s personal trailer. “It’s Matt.”
“Come in,” she yelled.
She sat in front of her computer. The light from her workspace lamp reflected in her weary eyes. She wore a V-necked shirt, and her neck was swollen and red, with long deep scratches etched into puffy flesh.
“Oh, sweetheart. That looks like it hurts.” He pulled the collar of her shirt away from the wounds.
A black furry thing on the other side of her neck shrieked and leapt to the top of the bookshelf.
Finn stumbled back, hooked a toe under the desk leg, sat down hard on his ass and smacked backwards onto his spine. It hurt.
Grace burst into laughter, putting her face in her hands and bending over in her chair.
Finn pushed himself to a sitting position, glad he wasn’t wearing his gun. Falling on that would have hurt a lot more. The creature stood on its hind feet on top of the bookshelf, black hair frizzed out in all directions, clasping its furry tail in its tiny hands, and fiercely displaying even tinier pointed teeth. It screeched at the top of its tiny little lungs like a psychotic squirrel. The noise was amazingly loud for an animal that could easily fit into his shirt pocket.
After a couple of minutes of uncontrolled giggling, Grace finally sat up and wiped her hands over her face, rubbing streaks of tears that trailed down her cheeks. “Are you okay, Matt?”
Still smiling, she stuck out a hand to help him up.
He took it and rose to his feet, rubbing his backside. “Just thought I’d stop by to amuse you. I suppose I should be used to this sort of thing b
y now.”
He pointed at the screeching ball of fur and teeth. “What is that?”
She stood up and cupped her hands around the animal, then brought it gently to her chest. Its excited shrieks diminished to a nervous chatter. “This is Pepito. He’s a pygmy marmoset.”
“Where’d you get him?” Although why might be a better question.
“That animal dealer I mentioned. The 9-1-1 call.”
“You bought him?” Why would anyone pay good money for a flea-sized screech toy?
She just sat there, cuddling the miniature monkey with one hand and stroking its tiny head with the other.
He abruptly realized what she hadn’t told him. “You stole him, didn’t you? That’s why they were shooting at you.”
“I freed him.” She pushed the furball into a cat carrier on the corner of her desk, then pressed a few keys on her computer and pointed to a newspaper article on the screen. “And I’m going to return him to his rightful owner.”
After scanning the article, he could understand how returning the marmoset to Maria Constello was a righteous move. He could understand how Grace identified with the girl. But the exotic animal trade was big business, full of dangerous animals and even more dangerous people. He looked at her. “Tell me you’re not going to go around the country stealing animals now.”
She didn’t reply.
“Grace, there’s already one wacko out there who hates your guts. And now you’ve made another enemy. Or two more, counting the wife. And by the way, I looked at your van. All you’ve got is holes. The bullet went through the other side. That evidence is somewhere along the highway.” He held out his hands to show the futility he felt.
She continued to pet the tiny monkey. “What will happen to those scumbag Smiths?”
“You seem to be holding all the evidence.” He sat down heavily in her guest chair. “It’s your word against theirs. The Smiths have lived on that property for nineteen years without any trouble.”
“Without getting caught, you mean.” She leaned toward him, her eyes blazing. “They were keeping at least two animals in unbearable conditions, Matt. Pepito was stolen; I’m betting the bonobo was, too. They might know something about the gorillas. Put them under surveillance, or do a sting or something.”
He clenched his jaw. What about no evidence and no case did she not understand? If there was going to be surveillance, it would be him sitting out there for hours. In his spare time. And the Smiths would now be on high alert for strangers loitering or asking about animals for sale.
“At least talk to them,” Grace pleaded.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He switched subjects to fill her in on what he’d been doing to investigate Tony Zyrnek.
She started shaking her head before he’d finished. “I told you that it can’t be him.”
He sighed. “I know you like Jon. I know you trust Jon. I know Jon trusts Tony, or at least says he does. But we have no reason to trust Tony. The man’s got a record, and he has motive, means, and opportunity.”
* * * * *
When Finn reported for his shift, Miki was sliding a pink phone call slip into his IN box. “Just missed it,” the young civilian tech told him. “An officer from Renton for you.”
Finn returned the call.
“I went out to notify that Whitehead family about the car crash you reported,” the officer told him. “Nobody was home, and it looks like nobody has been for awhile. The neighbors said Mr. Whitehead lived there alone, but they hadn’t seen him for a week or more. The mailbox was full of mail.”
“All of which fits with him lying out there dead in the woods.”
“Looks like it. We’ll try to locate some relatives, but I thought you should know.”
“We’ll keep the body on ice.” Finn thanked him and hung up, then called the morgue. They weren’t happy about keeping the corpse longer.
Detective Sarah Melendez rolled her chair from her desk to his, preparing to swap information before she left for the day.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Another burglary, a stolen car, and a couple of fake hundred dollar bills at the grocery store. The reports are in your email, along with the names of pawn shops I checked off the list.” She pushed off his desk with a foot and rolled back to hers. “FYI, I saw your boy Zyrnek last night at the roadhouse.”
“Jon Zyrnek?”
“Anthony. I remembered his name from your log sheet because he’s a fairly new parolee. Plus, I know his PO. Are you talking to Zyrnek about the burglaries?”
“Talked to him about several things,” Finn said noncommittally, not wanting to bring the mythical Weimaraner into the conversation.
“He was with a young woman. Long dark hair, olive skin. Very pretty.”
“I can guess who that is,” Finn said. The luscious Miss Clayton, obviously a good friend of Tony Zyrnek, and the gal on convict Jarvis Pinder’s visitor list.
Melendez looked at her watch. “I’m clocking out early today—dentist appointment.”
“Have fun.”
He booted up his computer and ran Heather Clayton’s name through the database. Heather Lynn Clayton, born Heather Lynn Pinder. So Heather was a relative of Jarvis Pinder, the convict, Tony Zyrnek’s cellmate. A sister?
She was thirty-two years old, divorced with no parenting plan or alimony agreement, nothing but a speeding ticket and a couple of parking violations. He called the work number listed on her records, reaching her at the counseling office of the local college. She agreed to meet him at her apartment after work. Finn thought it was odd that she didn’t even ask why he wanted to interview her.
* * * * *
Heather Clayton lived in a tidy condo complex across the street from the rundown apartments where Sierra Sakson and Caryn Brown rented. When Heather answered the door at five-thirty, her expression was apprehensive, but she acted friendly enough as she invited him into the living room of her townhouse. She wore a beige skirt and silky blue blouse that hugged her curves.
After offering him coffee, she left him alone for a minute in her immaculate living room. The color scheme was deep blue and orange-gold. Even the candy in the bowl on the coffee table matched, wrapped butterscotch and blue mints and orange-red packs of gum. The complementary colors were much livelier than the browns and off-whites Wendy had left him with. He abruptly realized why his energy level sank the instant he walked in the front door of his own house. Crap, his home life was beige. What kind of an artist was he not to have noticed that before?
Heather returned and handed him a mug. “How can I help you?”
“How did you meet Tony Zyrnek?”
“You’re asking about Tony?” She sat down opposite him on the couch, smoothing her skirt down with her hands. “I thought you might be here about my brother.” She gave him a wary look. “Do you know who my brother is?”
“Jarvis Pinder.” He took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and bitter. Probably reheated from this morning’s pot.
“Okay, then.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I used to see Tony sometimes on visiting days when I was talking to Jarvis. We’d all be in the visiting room together. At separate tables, you know, but you can see everyone. I always thought Tony looked like a nice guy. And Jarvis used to talk about him, too.”
“So you know Tony from the prison.”
She nodded. “Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think? I hope Jarvis will get one, too. One of these days.”
Personally, Finn thought the world would be a better place if Jarvis Pinder never saw the outside of prison again. “What did Jarvis tell you about Tony?”
She pursed her full lips as she thought for a minute. “Just day-to-day things, like how Tony loved to read and that he liked to play Scrabble or chess instead of poker, stuff like that. Jarvis thought Tony was a kind of an egghead, but a good roommate.”
“Cellmate,” Finn corrected.
She shrugged.
“How long have you and Tony been
dating?”
“We’re not dating.” She pushed her hair back from her neck. “I didn’t even know Tony lived here until I ran into him at the Roadside Tavern last Sunday. I was there drowning my sorrows because my boyfriend...” She worked her jaw around, swallowed, and then continued, “My boyfriend, Tyrone Linero, left me.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Tony was nice. Sympathetic, you know, not trying to hit on me like a lot of guys would. Since then, he fixed me dinner at his place two days ago.” She met his gaze. “Well, you know that; you were there.”
Finn’s face grew hot at the memory of Zyrnek’s smart-ass Weimaraner song.
Heather didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “And then Tony and I met again last night for drinks.” She frowned prettily as she said, “Why are you asking all this? I know it’s routine to hassle all parolees, but Tony’s really a good guy.”
Finn wanted to challenge her assertion that cops were in the habit of harassing parolees, but he couldn’t imagine how that would shift the conversation in any useful direction. “Is it true that your brother once had an ocelot?”
She squinted at his abrupt change of topic. “An ossa-lot?” Then, a second later, “Oh, that’s a kind of jungle cat, isn’t it? That was a long time ago, but yes, he sent me pictures of it. Spotted, right? Pretty, but why would you want one? Wouldn’t it shred your furniture?” She gazed at her pristine blue furnishings.
“Probably.” Finn wondered what Lok and Kee were up to at the moment.
“Jarvis had snakes, too. I never understood why he liked those creepy animals. He had a tarantula when we were kids.” She shuddered, somehow managing to make the movement appear graceful.
The Only Clue Page 13
