by G M Eppers
“That’s over here. The last one. We used to have a calf, but we sold it to a dairy farmer to make room for Clara.”
We walked past the goats and were surprised to see Sylvia and Daniel coming from the other direction. “Oh, hi!” said Sylvia shyly. “Ms. Harris. Helena. I asked Daniel to show me Clara’s habitat.” She leaned to look past us and into the distance. “Oh my God. It goes on forever.”
I cleared my throat. “There may be time for a group tour later.”
Sylvia’s disappointment showed for only a moment, then she was back to business, examining the habitat. Because raccoons can climb, Clara’s enclosure was completely surrounded by plexiglass except for a few small holes. “How do you get inside?” she asked Ban. “And how many people know how?” This complex layout had me worried. It wasn’t like anyone could come in from the street and get access to the menagerie. Daniel led Sylvia toward the access passageway hidden behind the central wall, and I let her go in to investigate while I waited for Ban’s reply.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Ban said, reading my thoughts. She’d been distracted while giving me the tour, but now her troubles came back full force and I saw her start to choke up again. “Everyone here has been here for at least five years. We haven’t dismissed anyone from this entire wing.”
“What about the rest of the clinic?”
“A few, but no one with the security clearance to get in here. I’m stumped.”
She was also distraught, and that could have been preventing her from recalling the details we needed. Suddenly, she leaned toward me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, giving me a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!” I could feel her trembling. She was barely holding it together. But quickly, she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay.” I gently took hold of her hand and spoke in a low voice. “I know you’re scared and worried. But we’re here to help. Hang in there.”
I let go and she collected herself just as Sylvia and Daniel returned. “Did you see anything?” I asked Sylvia.
Before Sylvia could answer, our walkie talkies crackled. “You guys want to come back to the lab? Something’s happening here.”
I didn’t bother responding. Ban and Daniel rushed to the stairwell. Sylvia touched my arm and hung back briefly. “I need to talk to you privately. It’ll just take a second.”
I waved to the others to go on ahead. “We’ll be right behind you,” I called as the stairwell door swung shut behind them. “This better be important, Sylvia.”
“It’s about Miss Chiff. I think we might have a problem.”
“You mean the flask?” She nodded. “On the plane, during the Dispatch Meeting?”
“No. After.”
“After?” I gasped. I so didn’t want this problem.
“When we were changing into warmer clothes. It was just a sip, but still…”
I thought about it for only a moment. “Okay, you did your duty. But we can’t deal with it right now. Clara comes first. When we have Clara back safe and sound, we’ll figure out what to do.”
Sylvia nodded her agreement, and we also bypassed the elevator, since neither of us had a passkey, and used the stairs. I had no problem taking the stairs two at a time right behind Sylvia. It was much better than standing still in an elevator even going just one floor up. I figured I’d do it while I could, because when the morning’s pain medication wore off, I’d have to go back to being decrepit until Nitro could give me another dose.
We entered the lab to find nearly everyone huddled in a circle, the entire CURDS team as well as all the lab personnel. Sylvia and I moved in, shouldering past a few lab personnel to join the rest of the CURDS members who were standing attentively around Trooper Ferguson. “What happened?” I asked.
“We got a ransom call,” said Billings.
Ban was already at the front of the crowd. “What? Did you say ransom? Oh my God!”
Trooper Ferguson was standing at a recording machine he had set up next to a desk phone. Unfamiliar cordage traveled between them, and Darwin Kinkaid was behind everything just putting the phone back in the cradle. The handset rattled as his hands shook. Ban worked her way over to him and they embraced. He kept his arm around her and she nestled against his chest as we talked.
“I don’t think we’re dealing with a criminal mastermind,” said Trooper Ferguson.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
He pushed the playback button and we heard the ringing of the phone. On the fifth ring, it was finally answered by Darwin Kinkaid. “H-h-h-ello? Mayo Clinic, Animal Research Department.”
There was a pause, the sound of papers being shuffled, and a tapping noise. Then someone clearly reading, and not very well. “I have your raccoon. If you want to see it alive again you’ll do exactly as I say. I want one …what is this word, Gary?” Then there was a thumping sound, and the voice said, “Ow! What did I do, Gary?” Another thumping. “Ow! Okay, okay! Just stop it, will ya?” The voice became pouty and petulant. “Jeez, you told me not to talk too long and then you keep hitting me. Stop hitting me now and let me finish. And now you made me lose my place.” Papers rattled again and he started over. “I have your raccoon. If you want to see it alive again you’ll do exactly what I say. I want one –“ Here he stopped again, trying to sound out an unfamiliar word. “Ba…Bazillion! Is that right, Gary? Ow! Okay, a bazillion dollars in small bills. Put the money in a suitcase and leave it at the Rochester Airport in the third stall of the men’s room on the first floor near the escalator by midnight. The raccoon will be returned to you unharmed in 24 hours. If I see any cops, the raccoon gets it.” Then the call ended abruptly with a click.
Billings responded with one word. “Trace?”
The Trooper shook his head. “Another five seconds and we would have had him.”
“A bazillion dollars is ridiculous,” said Darwin, still holding Ban close. “Who would ask for that?”
“Well, we have the name Gary. Does that ring any bells?” Billings asked the lab personnel, his gaze starting at Ban and encompassing the rest. They all shook their heads, mystified.
It was at that moment that Joe, the intermediate go-between who had shown us to the lab, rapped quickly on the wall twice then poked his head into the room. “Sorry for the interruption. Ban, the press wants a statement. I mean, they really want a statement.”
I saw panic wash over Ban’s face and enlarge her eyes. “Oh, I can’t.”
“We’ll have a statement in 10 minutes,” I told Joe. He gave a thumbs up and left.
Billings said, “Are you crazy? We’re not ready to make a statement yet.”
I glanced at Miss Chiff, who was looking at me skeptically. “Let me handle the press, Billings. You continue the investigation. What’s next?” I prompted him.
“Report from Sylvia, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Sylvia,” he said decisively. “Report.”
It was then that I let go of the investigation. I wasn’t going to be able to hear Sylvia’s report. I hoped to hear her results later, but I had just delegated myself to a separate job. “Ban, come with me.”
She looked up at Darwin and the two of them looked back at me, repeating Billings’ original assessment with their eyes. This was crazy.
“Darwin, too,” I consented. “I have an idea.” Ban and Darwin grabbed their coats from a tree and the three of us went out into the hallway, where I explained what I wanted to do.
The Damned Pirate
Chapter One
On the way out to the front entrance, we stopped at Joe’s desk and I grabbed a piece of typing paper and scribbled a few bullet points. “Remember,” I told Ban. “It needs to look like you’re reading a prepared script. Just do what I told you. Darwin, stand beside her.” I didn’t really need the two of them together, but I thought they made a great couple. Yes, there was a chance it would cause some backlash, but I wasn’t going to advertise that they were an
actual couple. Two concerned colleagues was a much better spin.
We walked through the lobby with the circular desk. Louise, the woman who had helped us before, was not there, but the two men were. They were both watching the lobby doors. Through the glass, we could all see the media circus clamoring for attention. It occurred to me that the word ‘press’ fit them on two levels: the media, and the pressing crowd ready to smother the object of their ghoulish desire. “I’ll be right behind you,” I whispered to Ban, who looked absolutely terrified. She clutched the bullet list in one hand so tightly I feared the paper would rip.
The three of us went out the door into the early afternoon. The sky was a dingy gray and I worried that Dinny’s weather prediction of no precipitation this week may have been mistaken. There was a slight wind and I kept expecting it to gust and seep through my jacket, but the air was relatively still. A podium had been set up with a bouquet of microphones secured to the front. The handles of the microphones advertised various local networks and a couple of national ones. It all looked pretty intimidating.
Ban stepped to the podium and put the paper on top, keeping a hand on it so that it wouldn’t blow away. She cleared her throat and looked down at the paper, just as I’d explained to her. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press and to those watching on television, I’m here to inform you that, sadly, Clara the raccoon, whom many of you saw on the Alley OOPS telethon last night, was taken from her habitat early this morning.” Ban spoke slowly and clearly, stopping to take calming breaths. I would say it was a nice touch, but I hadn’t coached her on that. It was genuine. The crowd buzzed with the news. Flashbulbs went off. I had warned Ban to expect activity like that, but it still seemed to unnerve her. Her hand on top of the paper twitched. “The thieves are as yet unidentified, but I assure you a thorough investigation is underway.”
As she spoke, I scanned the crowd. I saw Butte standing a discreet distance back. A few people near him appeared to be friends. They and Butte were exchanging brief comments during the speech, but I was too far away to hear.
Ban continued, “We have the assistance of the Minnesota State Troopers and a contingent from CURDS here. As we speak, they are examining the scene of the crime and collecting evidence. If anyone sees a person or persons with a raccoon and you suspect it might be Clara, please call the toll-free CURDS number or the number of the Minnesota State Patrol. I’m authorized to offer a reward of $10,000 for information leading to the capture and arrest of the guilty party or parties. Do not confront anyone. They should be considered armed and dangerous. I also want to assure the public that Clara in no way represents a danger to them as long as these instructions are followed. She is tame, but not domesticated. She is now in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar people and will react accordingly. I—“ and here, just as I had advised her to do, her voice broke. She struggled with emotion, which may or may not have been real, then visibly crumpled the piece of paper. “I wasn’t supposed to say this, but –“
And here, as I had planned, I moved forward to pretend to stop her.
“No,” she insisted. “They deserve to know.”
I made a half-hearted attempt to stop her again before she moved on. “To whomever has taken her, I beg you to listen to me. I mentioned at the telethon that Clara’s colonic pacemaker implant does not, repeat does NOT, alleviate any addiction symptoms. This includes withdrawal. If she is not given her regular dose of Uber she will begin to act aggressively. Her fear and instincts will compound this reaction and we at the Mayo Clinic cannot be held responsible for any damage she might cause. She may appear to be rabid, but as a lab animal she, of course, has been vaccinated for rabies and other illnesses. Please,” and she began crying a little, “please don’t hurt her. She is not ill. She is frightened and will soon be in full-blown withdrawal. Do not try to handle her if you can avoid it. She needs Uber. If you try to get Uber you will probably be caught and arrested, so there is little point to continuing this. Bring her back home. We are willing to negotiate the criminal charges you will face.
“I also want to make sure everyone is aware that this criminal act sets the colonic pacemaker project back a minimum of three years, whether you bring her home or not. The deaths from Offensive Obstruction are now on your hands. You will answer to the relatives of future victims who might have been saved by this research. Someone somewhere knows who you are. Someone somewhere can earn $10,000 with a phone call. Someone somewhere has a mother, father, sister, brother, or cousin who may be struggling with an Uber addiction right now. Someone. Somewhere.” She finished, sniffling and wiping her eyes.
More flashbulbs went off and people began shouting questions such as “Has there been any contact with the kidnappers?” and “What evidence have you found?” and even a very timid, “Are you single?” but Ban turned away from the podium. Darwin stepped to the microphones long enough to say “No questions. Thank you.” Then the two of them turned to my appropriately disapproving face. I mimed a biting response and we turned to go back into the clinic.
A hand pulled my shoulder. I turned to see Butte, who had rushed forward through the scrum of reporters. “Just between us,” he said, “what did the kidnappers ask for?” I waved to Ban and Darwin to go inside and they went on without me.
“That’s classified.” It was an easy response. Why he thought I would divulge information to him that I hadn’t allowed for the press conference, I don’t know. There wasn’t going to be any ‘just between us.’ “You’re holding up an official CURDS investigation. Step back, please.” The civility was actually difficult. It wasn’t that long ago that we had flirted with resuming our relationship, although that was under vastly different circumstances. But whenever we came together in an official capacity it was like oil and water. His devotion to freedom to the point of recklessness was irritating to say the least. At the same time, it was devotion. Some men weren’t devoted to anything.
“Did they ask for money?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Did they ask for a bazillion dollars?”
Immediately, I grabbed him in the most expedient way possible, which turned out to be by his shirt front. Two buttons popped off as I pulled him to the side of a pillar. His shirt gapped and I could see some of his chest hair. I pointedly moved my gaze upward to his face, in which I saw fear and concern. “What did you say?”
He lowered his voice more and didn’t seem at all concerned about his shirt. “They did, didn’t they? They asked for a bazillion dollars?”
“You know, just asking that is grounds to detain you as a suspect. Do you enjoy incriminating yourself?”
“I told you, I just want to help,” he said simply, his hands raised and to the sides like a goalpost.
His eyes were searching my face for sympathy, but I was careful to keep my expression neutral, or at least unfavorable. I was suddenly conscious of the crowd of reporters. Most of them were busy recording intro or closing shots after telling their audiences about the conference they had no doubt just watched, but microphones can be quite sensitive. I could only hope no one had picked up the conversation we’d already had. “All right, Einstein. I have no choice now. You are officially in, and you’d better have a good explanation for this. And because I want witnesses, we’ll do it inside.” I pointed a finger in his face. “Listen, if you so much as smirk I’ll have you arrested and I can easily make sure your cellmate is a large man named Cray Cray who maimed a guard for leaving off half his name. Got it?”
Butte nodded once, probably not sure if my threat was genuine. I pushed him in front of me. All of a sudden, I wanted to keep an eye on him. He went into the building, then waited, not knowing which way to go. “It’s okay,” I told the two men at the reception desk. The woman was still gone. “He’s with me.” I led him down the blue marble hallway and waved to Joe through the glass door. Joe let us in and escorted us to the elevator, using his passkey to open the doorway. After we were on, he leaned in to press the appropriate buttons,
waved goodbye, and returned to his desk. When we got to the lab, a number of things were going on. Just inside the door, Roxy was sitting on an armless chair, working on her crochet. Two of the female lab workers were watching her, fascinated. “Ooo, that looks cozy. What is it?” One asked as I walked in.
I thought it probably looked cozy because of Roxy’s Mrs. Claus outfit and not necessarily because of the project itself, which had grown a few inches in length, but still had the udder on the end. “It’s a glarf,” said Roxy.
“A glarf?” I said, startling her.
Roxy shoved everything into her canvas bag guiltily. “Oh, um, yes. A glarf. You see, it’s a scarf with gloves right on the ends.” Evidently, she’d come to some kind of compromise with the mixed up patterns, though I felt that naming it was giving it too much validity.
“Where did you find the pattern?” a blonde lab worker asked. “My sister has chronic cold hands. She’d love that!”
“Um..I’m doing my own thing.” Roxy glanced at me, while I listened to her conversation curiously. She wasn’t about to tell them that she had mixed up patterns and it all started with a big mistake that she should have taken apart.
“Would you make me one? I mean, for my sister. Can you do it in blue? She loves blue, you know, like the sky on a nice spring day. That kind of blue. I’ll pay you.” The woman grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from somewhere and started scribbling. “Here’s my name, address, and phone number and you just tell me what you think is fair and I’ll send you a check. I’ll pay postage and everything.” She was practically squealing with delight. I wondered how often these people got out of the lab.
The other woman, a brunette with black-rimmed eyeglasses, wasn’t about to be left out. “Make mine purple. Can you get that variegated yarn with all the shades blending together? That’s soooo pretty!” She took the paper and pen and added her name as Roxy sat there, embarrassed and clearly over her head.
“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.” She stuffed the paper into the canvas bag with the crochet hooks sticking out. “Excuse me. I need to go back to work.” She rose, looping her bag on an elbow, and joined me, her heels clicking like tap shoes on the ceramic tile. “I’m in trouble, Helena.”
