The Only Clue

by Pamela Beason

  Finn’s leg throbbed. He was having a hard time focusing on Zyrnek’s zigzags. “So what if they did?”

  Zyrnek shrugged. “I just thought it might be important somehow. Plus, Jarvis keeps talking about all the expensive toys he’s gonna have when he gets out.”

  “How could he manage that?”

  “Jarvis has, uh, excellent entrepreneurial skills. He’s working on something, I guarantee it.”

  Zyrnek was suspiciously eager to rat on his cellmate. Finn raised an eyebrow. “I thought Jarvis Pinder was your friend.”

  Zyrnek laid down his pastel and used the tip of his middle finger to blend the colors on the paper. “I bet living with Jarvis is a little like living with gorillas. You could enjoy their company, but you better never forget they can turn on you any second. I never forget Jarvis’s true nature.”

  “Good for you.” Tony Zyrnek was probably trying to transfer suspicion. But he’d inadvertently given Finn some potentially useful information. Ty. Ro. Different people. He’d also reminded him of a possible South American drug connection between DeeDee Suarez and Jarvis Pinder.

  Finn put his pastel stick back in the box and stood up. The wound on his leg cramped, sending a sharp reminder through his nervous system. The pain bent him over. He flattened both palms on the table.

  Zyrnek rose, too. “You okay?”

  Between clenched teeth, Finn said, “I need to go.”

  “Bathroom or door?”

  Finn scowled. “Door.”

  “You just got here.”

  “Duty,” Finn muttered, pushing himself erect.

  Zyrnek thrust a paper towel at him. “Might want to clean off. Wouldn’t do for a detective to leave colored fingerprints everywhere, would it?”

  Sucking in a breath, Finn wiped the smears from his fingers, then tossed the paper towel onto the table. “We found gorilla hairs in your pickup, Zyrnek.”

  He actually hadn’t gotten the lab report back yet, but he wanted to see the guy’s reaction.

  Zyrnek nodded. “I’m not surprised. Jon’s been in there a bunch of times after work. And you already know that sometimes I let him borrow it for work, too. Maybe sometimes he had Gumu riding shotgun.” He laughed, then sobered. “Man, it would be tragic if Jon never saw Gumu again.”

  Damn, the guy was cool under pressure. He had an answer for everything. Finn limped to the door.

  “I’ll save your picture for you.” Zyrnek jerked his chin toward the vase Finn had drawn on his page. “You can finish it later.”

  Finn wondered if he could safely drive. He was totally exhausted. His leg had a heartbeat of its own. His jaw throbbed, too.

  He hadn’t seen Grace in two days, and he’d only barely crossed paths with her parents. Life had to be hell for her right now. Just like she’d predicted, the media and county were both out to get her. She wasn’t answering her phones. He should go over there. But at least she had her parents and the ARU kids looking out for her.

  Gumu was still missing and his to-do list kept getting longer. He needed to research Ro Linero. He needed to arrange for a spoof phone and call Ty, Ro, and even Leroy. The only way he could stop this freight train of disaster was to find Gumu and the scumbags who’d taken him.

  In fifteen minutes, it would be midnight. Sane people would be asleep, or at least on their way to bed. He decided to pretend he was one of them and drove home.

  Chapter 19

  After the first food binge on her return, Neema had not eaten again. Grace wondered how long her hunger strike could continue. She continued to push Kanoni away, too. The baby was losing weight. Both gorillas’ hair was dull and brittle. Kanoni’s gaze radiated anxiety; Neema’s was completely vacant. Each day, the mother gorilla sank further into depression and lethargy.

  Grace had to work hard to keep herself from slipping down that black hole, too. Every day brought reporters as thick and annoying as horseflies and a new tirade from the County Council and more questions from the sheriff’s department. She hadn’t heard anything from Matt in a long time. Her parents said he’d been gone most of the time.

  She didn’t blame him for avoiding her. She’d gotten him in trouble at work; she was an embarrassment to him. She’d avoid herself, too, if she could.

  Trying to pull them both out of their funk, Grace dragged Neema into the study trailer to watch a video.

  “Which one?” Grace signed as she asked aloud, pointing to the shelf of Neema’s favorite videos. “You choose.”

  The gorilla idly fingered a few boxes, but she seemed disinterested.

  “Babe?” Grace suggested. “Romancing the Stone?” Neema was a fan of talking pigs and romantic adventures.

  Neema pivoted to face a locked file cabinet behind her. Open Gumu, she signed.

  Grace hesitated. The cabinet was full of video recordings she’d made of Neema and Gumu and Kanoni. Would watching videos of Gumu help Neema get over her grief, or would it deepen her sorrow?

  Gumu open see, Neema signed. Open open see Gumu. Frustrated with Grace’s reluctance, the gorilla gave the cabinet a hard slap that left a dent in the metal top.

  “Neema! Bad gorilla!” Grace pointed to the carpet in front of the television. “You sit. Be good.”

  She waited until Neema parked her rump there before she pulled the key from her chain and opened the cabinet. She selected a video of Neema and Gumu filmed shortly after Kanoni was born, pushed it into the DVD slot, and turned on the television. Maybe it would inspire Neema to begin caring for Kanoni again.

  The instant Gumu came into view on the screen, Neema huffed and signed Gumu come Gumu.

  Was this magical thinking on Neema’s part, that she could wish Gumu back home? Neema had an active imagination and often asked for things she couldn’t see, most notably candy. Grace had used the sign for maybe with her, usually in conjunction with if. Maybe candy, if you’re good. It was clear that Neema understood cause and effect for behavior and rewards or punishments, but she’d never made the maybe sign on her own. Grace wasn’t sure the gorilla grasped the sign’s meaning.

  Gumu now come Gumu, Neema signed to the television screen.

  What the heck. Grace paused the video. What did she have to lose by trying to teach Neema to hope? She stepped in front of the television. Maybe Gumu come tomorrow, she signed. I hope.

  Gumu now, Neema signed. Now. She ended her plea with an emphatic snort.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Grace signed as she spoke. Then she made the new sign again, pointing to her head and clutching her fingers together. “I hope.”

  Neema stared, her expression unreadable. Grace repeated the signs in a new order. “I hope Gumu comes tomorrow. Maybe.”

  Neema looked over her shoulder at the cabinet of DVDs on the wall behind her. Then she lifted both hands and flipped them up and down in an awkward imitation of Grace. Maybe.

  Grace’s mouth fell open. Was Neema only copying or did she really understand the meaning of “maybe”? Her studies required that Neema make every sign in context without prompting. That was the only way she could be sure that the gorilla had mastered the sign’s meaning.

  Next, Neema pulled on her own ear.

  Grace froze. She hadn’t seen Neema use that gesture for years. The ear tug was Neema’s sign for Spencer, the gorilla murdered by Keyes. Neema’s first mate had a split ear and Neema had invented that sign for him.

  The gorilla signed Spencer come again.

  Oh God. Grace’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. Was Neema saying that if Gumu could come back, Spencer should, too? Or was she trying to tell her that Gumu was as dead as Spencer? It was incredible that Neema would remember Spencer at all in this moment. She wished there was a video camera rolling, because if she repeated this story, odds were that nobody in the academic community would believe her.

  No, Grace signed sadly. Spencer gone, Spencer dead. She flipped her hands over in the air.

  Neema huffed, grabbed a handful of Grace’s tee shirt, and tried to drag her out of th
e way of the television screen. Then she signed see Gumu again.

  Maybe, Grace signed, digging in her heels. Hope. She stepped out of the way and restarted the video. Neema settled to watch. On the screen, Gumu investigated a week-old Kanoni, sniffing the tiny baby that nursed at Neema’s breast.

  Grace strode to the cage and retrieved a sleeping Kanoni from her nest of blankets. She hurriedly carried the baby to Neema, signing Kanoni here now. Feed baby.

  Neema shook her head violently and pushed both of them away. She scooted closer to the television. Sitting only inches away, her lips almost touching the screen, she signed Gumu Gumu Gumu.

  The front door opened, and Grace’s mother peeked in. “Oh, here you are. You’re not answering either of your phones.”

  “I turned them both off because every ten minutes another reporter calls.”

  “Oh. Well, yes, I suppose so.” Her mother stepped into the trailer. She patted Kanoni on the head. “That employee of yours with all the piercings was arguing with someone when we drove in.”

  Sierra? Caryn? Grace had to remember to do something special for the three ARU kids. Her other volunteers weren’t half as tough, but Jon, Sierra, and Caryn gave back as good as they got. She shifted Kanoni to her other hip.

  “Did you know your voicemail box is full?”

  “What? No.” She didn’t even know that was possible. How could she fix that? Did she want to fix that?

  “Your father and I and Scott and Dorothy are going out to lunch in town. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Grace was surprised. “You like Scott and Dorothy? You enjoy their company?”

  Maureen smiled. “They are gracious people, and very interesting, in a homespun kind of way. We find them a pleasant change from the set we usually associate with. Sort of like you and Matt, I guess. You enjoy Matt’s company, although you have more in common with Richard.”

  Grace grimaced. The only thing she had in common with Richard was a Ph.D., and he’d probably say his was worth more than hers any day. Her parents might very well agree.

  Maureen glanced at Neema in front of the television set. “Neema?”

  The gorilla twisted her head to gaze back over her shoulder, surprised to hear someone other than Grace say her name.

  Maureen made a motion with her hand. “That’s too close to the television, dear. Back up. You’ll hurt your eyes. And you need to take care of your baby. Right away.”

  Neema snorted. Then she signed Gumu come again and pressed her lips to his image on the screen.

  Grace laughed.

  “Well, you said she understands a lot more spoken English than signs,” Maureen complained.

  “She does, but she’s not exactly a human child.” Although Neema certainly was acting like a stubborn three-year-old right now.

  “Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. She knows how to take advantage of you. So, lunch?”

  Grace shook her head and hefted Kanoni higher on her hip. “Thanks, but I need to take care of Kanoni.”

  Not to mention that she was persona non grata in the whole county right now. The locals might throw rotten tomatoes. Or lynch her. Talk about blaming the victim.

  “Can’t Finn help you?”

  “He’s got a full-time job of his own. He helps me in other ways. He’s not responsible for the gorillas.”

  “Is this how he normally treats you? He wasn’t home when we went to bed last night, and his door was closed when we left this morning. Surely he’s not working all the time. Is he avoiding us? Is he avoiding you?”

  Good questions. She knew he was in trouble at work, and that was her fault. Maybe he was avoiding her. Maybe he’d given up on finding Gumu. Maybe he’d moved on to Heather. She really couldn’t blame him.

  She sighed. “I don’t know, Mom.”

  * * * * *

  There was no record in any database for Ro Linero. Finn found a Horatio Orrin Linero and a Ricardo Juan Linero. There was no mention of a Ro Linero in Tyrone Linero’s record, either. He had to get into juvie records to find a conviction for attempted robbery of a convenience store when Ty was fifteen.

  Under the desk, Lok rubbed against his leg, purring. Finn gasped, his eyes watering with the pain. He shoved the cat away with his good foot. He’d stayed home this morning, cursing and popping antibiotics and pain pills the hospital doc had given him. They didn’t seem to help much. His calf had swollen so badly, he couldn’t pull his pants up over the bandage. He was sorely tempted to swill down a couple of beers although it was only ten in the morning. He’d gotten up late, missing Maureen and Charles, which was probably a good thing. Each time he tried to call Grace, the phone went straight to voicemail and he got the ‘full mailbox’ message again. Rejection by voicemail was starting to feel like the story of his life.

  The cat jumped onto the desk and plopped down next to the computer. Finn focused on the screen again, checking the DMV records. There was no registration for any vehicle under Ro Linero. Damn.

  He’d caught a lucky break on the burglary case yesterday. He relished that victory in his imagination for a moment, reliving his fist bump with Kathryn Larson. They should have gone out for a beer or something. He needed to celebrate something good.

  “I nailed a burglary ring yesterday,” he told the cat.

  Lok slitted his eyes and switched his tail.

  Cargo heard Finn’s voice and whacked his tail against the door to announce himself as he trotted into the office. He parked his butt beside Finn’s chair, an expectant look on his face.

  “I was injured in the line of duty,” he told the dog.

  Cargo tilted his head—blue eye down, brown eye up—as if this were a fascinating detail.

  “I fought off a knife attack,” Finn added. “And I think I’m getting closer to finding out what happened to the gorilla.”

  The dog abruptly emitted a sharp bark.

  “Attaboy, Finn,” he translated, patting himself on the shoulder. Then he pointed toward the doorway and told Cargo, “Go lay down. Don’t eat any more of my recliner.”

  The black behemoth sank to the floor beside him and did his best imitation of a bear rug.

  Finn rested his head in his hands for a minute, trying to think of what should come next. Charles and Maureen were probably lobbying for Grace to move back to Stanford and take up with this Richard guy. If Finn failed to find Gumu and rectify the situation with the county, Grace might have to move on. Without him.

  Heather Clayton seemed his best bet for getting more information, and he hadn’t yet called to tell her about Leroy driving Ty’s car. It was Sunday, so unless Heather was an avid church-goer, odds were good she’d be home with the baby. He limped to his bedroom and found a pair of old sweatpants that stretched over his swollen calf. His normal button-down work shirts looked ridiculous with sweats, so he finally decided on an open-necked golf shirt he could pull down to hide his back holster.

  When Heather opened her door, she was dressed in blue capris and a white blouse. In her hand she held a small towel and tiny spoon.

  “Detective?” Her gaze skated over his face.

  He’d forgotten about the bandage on his jaw. He raised a hand to cover it. “I have a few more questions. I need your help.”

  “Come in.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, trying not to lurch like Frankenstein’s monster. The red-orange color she’d used as an accent in the living area dominated the wall tile here, as well as the artwork and even a tea kettle on the stovetop. A spring-green towel and oven mitt hung from hooks under the cupboards. Heather definitely had an eye for color.

  The baby was harnessed into a padded seat strapped to a wooden chair, her chubby cheeks smeared with green goo. A cup of coffee and an open bottle of strained peas sat on the table. Something in the oven smelled wonderful.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, straightening his bad leg out before him.

  “No worries,” Heather slid the tiny spoon into th
e jar and held out a mouthful of peas to the baby. “We’re going on a picnic at noon, but we’re not too busy right now, are we, Jenny?” After poking the mush into the baby’s mouth, she glanced at him. “What do you need to know?”

  He told her about locating Tyrone’s car in Leroy Shane’s possession.

  “Oh, crap,” she said. “Ty said he was going to get some money. But why sell the car to Leroy? He’ll use it in a stick-up or something, and then the police will be knocking at the door.” She smiled ruefully at him. “I guess the police are already knocking at my door.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I cannot believe Ty’s been talking to Leroy. But then, I wouldn’t have believed he did what he did.”

  “If Ty sold the car, what would he use for transportation?”

  “He bought a motorcycle about two months ago.”

  “I didn’t see any registration for that.”

  She made a face. “He probably hasn’t filed it. He always worries that he’ll get tagged for sales tax.”

  “I know you call Tyrone ‘Ty.’ Does anyone ever call him ‘Ro’?”

  “No.” Her posture stiffened. She laid the spoon down and turned to face him. “Who mentioned Ro?”

  “Leroy Shane. Plus, there’s a Ro on Ty’s list of phone calls. Who is Ro?”

  “He’s Ty’s cousin.” She shivered. “He’s also a slimy lowlife.”

  “Are they close?”

  “They lived in the same house for years. Ty’s parents died in a car accident when he was fourteen, and Ty and his sister moved in with their aunt and uncle in Spokane. Ro’s the one who got Ty in trouble when he was a teenager. Ty did four months in juvie. Ro did two years.”

  “What’s Ro’s real name?”

  “Harold?” she suggested. “Something like that. And his middle name starts with O.”

  “Horatio Orrin.”

  “Really? That sucks. I remember that kids called him Ho for a while, but then he somehow managed to change it to Ro.” She chafed her hands together. “This could explain a lot. If Ty’s been talking to Ro, that’s probably why he took off. Ro talked him into one of his little money-making projects.”