by Donn Cortez
“Mr. Shayduko?” Nick called out. “I’m going to have to ask you to open the door, right now. You can’t—”
The door swung back open. Shayduko had thrown a ratty bathrobe on over his yellow pajamas, the same ones he’d been wearing the last time he and Nick talked. “Don’t get all excited, Mr. Stokes. You think I’ve never been rousted before? I’d like to put on my slippers, too—or are you afraid I’m smuggling contraband in the toes?’
“Uh—go ahead.”
He slipped them on and shuffled down the steps. “There. Go ahead, do your worst. You can’t make it any messier than it already is.”
Shayduko stayed outside with a uniformed officer while Nick and Greg entered the trailer. Greg glanced around at the piles of incendiary devices, random electronics, and tools. “This could take a while.”
“We’re looking for anything that might match parts from the dirigible, or tools that could have been used to build it or the air cannon,” said Nick.
“And the bolt cutters or metal shears that were used to break into the construction site.” Greg nodded. “What say I look for tools and you take supplies?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Nick concentrated on searching for wood glue; matching a sample to what he’d collected from the zeppelin remains wouldn’t necessarily be conclusive, but it would be a start.
“I think I got something,” said Greg finally. He held up a case for a Dremel Moto-tool, a handheld powered cutting device that rotated a bit at speeds of up to 37,000 rpm. Different bits could be used for many purposes: drilling, polishing, sanding, carving. There were even bits that let it function like a reciprocating saw, router, or planer.
Greg opened the case. “Well, the basic unit is here, but I don’t see any of the cutting heads—just a grinder and a polisher.”
“Keep looking.”
Nick collected several bottles of glue. Greg found several small pairs of wire cutters but nothing larger.
“You know, I’m seeing a basic problem,” said Greg. “There’s no way he could have built the dirigible here. There isn’t enough room.”
“That’s why the warrant also listed his workshop. He might do electronics here, but he has to have a bigger work area somewhere else. Can’t build props for tigers and elephants in your living room.”
“Any idea where it is?”
Nick hesitated. “Not exactly. But it’s got to be on the grounds, right? He’s going to be using power tools, lumber, maybe sheetmetal—no way he can keep all that hidden.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s a legitimate craftsman, he’ll have a legitimate workshop.”
They went back to searching. “Well, well,” said Nick, opening a tool box he’d just pulled out from under the bed. “Look at what I found.” He held up a long-handled pair of bolt cutters.
“Great. Maybe our luck on this case has finally turned.”
“What workshop?” Illarion Shayduko said. He smiled at Greg with nicotine-stained teeth and leaned back against the wall of his trailer. “What you see is what you get. I do all my work right here.”
Greg glanced at Nick, who crossed his arms. Shayduko tossed his cigarette onto the ground, where it continued to smolder. “I’m telling you,” Shayduko said, “I don’t have a big fancy workshop.”
Nick shook his head. “You can’t expect us to believe you build all the props you need in there.”
“I don’t do set design—we outsource for things like that. This is Vegas, you know? Plenty of experienced people to build backdrops or platforms or what-have-you. You think an artist like myself would stoop to mere carpentry?”
“Forgive me for not taking you at your word,” said Nick. “But I think we’ll have to verify that before we can say we’re done.”
“Go ahead,” said Shayduko. He took a step forward, crushing out the smoldering butt with the heel of his slipper. “Talk to anyone you want. They’ll all tell you the same thing.”
“We’ll see,” said Nick.
“I can’t believe everyone told us the same thing,” said Nick.
“We were warned,” said Greg.
They were driving back to the lab with their samples. They’d had no luck locating Shayduko’s workshop. Everyone they’d talked to, including hotel staff, insisted that work of the type they described was all handled by outside contractors. If Shayduko had been working on a remote-control zeppelin, either no one at the circus had seen him doing so or no one would admit to it.
“I know circus people are tight,” said Greg, “but trying to keep a project like that under wraps would be difficult. And the people who work for the hotel are in and out all the time—you’d think somebody would have seen something.”
“You know, they would have had to do more than just build the thing. They would have had to test it, too. Since Vegas hasn’t been exactly rife with UFO reports in the last few weeks, they didn’t do so out in the open.”
Greg nodded. “That means a large, enclosed space to fly it around, like the amphitheater the circus performs in. But didn’t we just rule that out?”
“That’s not the large, enclosed space I’m talking about. I’m talking about the bear habitat out at the Bruin Rescue Ranch.” Nick gave Greg a quick description of the place. “I didn’t get a look at the other side of the fence, but it would be perfect—isolated, self-contained, spacious.”
“And with its own set of oversized, furry security guards. You’re right, it sounds perfect.” Greg paused. “But the search warrant we have is only for the circus. We can’t just go in and search a wildlife sanctuary without probable cause.”
“I know, I know.” Nick sighed. “Well, we got lucky once. If the stuff we just collected doesn’t pan out, we might have to try again.”
Judge Mayerling sighed, then put the book he’d been reading down on his desk. He looked at Nick, then at Greg. “I didn’t expect to see you two back here so soon. I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?”
“No,” said Nick. “None of the tools we collected matched the tool marks on the evidence. Same thing with the glue. But we’re pretty sure we know why.”
“The circus doesn’t have a woodworking shop, per se,” said Greg. “So we think the construction of the dirigible happened at the enclosed bear habitat at the Bruin Rescue Ranch.”
“I see. And your reasoning for this is?”
“The bear attack was clearly faked,” said Nick. “The bears came from the ranch, which has family ties to the Red Star Circus. This kind of elaborate operation would have needed a large, private area to hold practice runs—the building the bears are housed in is perfect.”
“You’re also asking for a DNA sample from one Bronislav Alexandrei, but I’m unclear as to why you think he’ll be a match to the traces you found in. . . gauze wrappings?”
Greg nodded. “Alexandrei is the circus strongman, Your Honor. Video footage of one of the suspects as well as the physical evidence indicate someone of above-average size and strength. He fits the bill.”
Mayerling frowned. “Searching a trailer is one thing; going into an EPA-protected site is something else. If this doesn’t produce results, what are you going to ask for next? You can’t run tests on every woodworking shop in town.”
“I know that, Your Honor,” said Nick. “But this zeppelin had to have been built and tested somewhere. If that place is the Bruin Rescue Ranch, we’ll be able to prove it.”
Mayerling sighed. “All right, I’ll grant the warrants. But if you don’t find anything, don’t come back to me again.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Nick.
Mischa Korolev met Nick and Greg at the front door to the habitat. The bear handler did not look happy. “Yes?” he said.
“We’ve got a warrant to search the premises,” said Nick, handing him the paper.
Korolev read it carefully. “Yes. All is in order. You can come in.” He stepped back and let them through the door.
Greg took a deep breath through his
nose. “Ah. Man, it’s like a mountain forest in here—this is great.”
“Environment is carefully controlled,” said Korolev. “Temperature, humidity, length of daylight. We take good care.”
“Nobody’s saying you don’t,” said Nick. “As the warrant says, we’re looking for woodworking equipment. You must have some sort of tool shed or workshop?”
“Yes. Come with me.” Korolev turned and marched away.
He led them to an area in a corner of the habitat, right next to the fence that walled off the bears’ living space. It looked oddly out of place, simply a platform and three five-foot-high walls standing in the middle of a forest. “This is where things are built,” said Korolev. “Is not my job—I know very little.”
“Thanks,” said Greg, putting down his CSI kit. “We’ll take it from here.”
“If you could wait outside?” said Nick.
Korolev nodded and left without another word.
“I don’t know,” said Greg, looking around. “I’m not seeing a lot of power tools. Hand saws, hammers, screwdrivers, clamps—the biggest thing they’ve got is a chainsaw.”
“Well, all of the individual pieces were delicate,” said Nick. “The zeppelin was built for lightness, not durability. I’m more interested in finding a cutting head for that Dremel.”
They got to work. Between them, they found wood glue and numerous cutting implements, though no Dremel cutting heads turned up.
“All right, we’re about finished here,” said Nick. “Ready for the hard stuff?”
They went outside and found Korolev, sitting in a lawn chair and talking to the uniformed officer posted outside.
“All right,” said Nick. “We’ve checked over the workshop. Now we need to see the rest of the habitat.”
Korolev got to his feet. “Excuse me?”
“Where the bears live,” said Nick. “It’s in the warrant—we have access to all areas.”
Korolev frowned. “It is not safe.”
“You go in there, don’t you?” asked Greg.
“Bears know me. Before I can let you in, there are some bears that must be isolated. Might take some time—if bear is stubborn, not much can be done.”
“You’d better get started, then,” said Nick. “We’ll watch.”
Korolev glared at them, then stalked inside. Greg and Nick followed as Korolev led them to the interior gate that divided the two parts of the habitat. He opened it with a key, stepped inside, slammed it closed without a word, then stomped off into the trees.
“You think he’s going to destroy evidence?” asked Greg.
“He’s had plenty of time to do that already. No, I think he’s just annoyed that we’re disrupting the bears’ routine.”
“You have no idea how right you are,” said Nadya Karnova, walking up behind them. “Mischa’s more protective of his animals than a mamma grizzly is of her cubs.”
“We’ll be as quick as we can,” said Greg. “We just don’t want to be turned into bear chow while we’re working.”
“Oh, little chance of that,” said Nadya. “Bears are pretty easygoing, all things considered. When you’re that big, there aren’t a lot of things you feel threatened by.”
“Size isn’t everything,” said Greg. “I mean, even a bear can be stung by a bee.”
“Sure,” she said. “They just don’t care. Once a bear gets into a honeycomb, he’ll keep on eating until it’s all gone, no matter how many times he gets stung. He’ll eat more than just the honey, too—bee larvae, even the bees themselves. It’s all more protein to him.”
“Guess every diet has its price,” said Nick.
She grinned. “Ain’t that the truth. It’s always a question of payoff versus pain, I guess. Bears are omnivores, just like humans, so the range of what they’ll eat is pretty amazing. There was a bear adopted by a Polish Army unit in World War II that was famous for eating cigarettes.”
“That couldn’t have been good for him,” said Greg. “Nicotine’s a poison.”
Nadya shrugged. “Well, he was a Syrian brown bear, and he died at the age of twenty-two. That’s pretty good for the ursine family. Grizzlies only last fifteen to twenty years in the wild.”
Korolev abruptly reappeared. “Okay,” he said, unlocking the gate. “Problem animals mostly contained.”
“Mostly?” said Greg.
Nick clapped him on the shoulder, and they went inside.
“I will stay with you,” said Korolev. It wasn’t a question. “For your own safety.”
“Fine,” said Nick. “Just don’t get in our way.”
They did a slow, thorough canvass of the entire space. Bears stared at them from behind wire gates set into the walls, seemingly curious about their unexpected guests.
They found a clearing close to the far wall, a relatively open space with deep gouges on the nearby trees where bears had been sharpening their claws. Greg knelt and said, “Look at this. Sawdust.”
“We spread it here sometimes,” said Korolev. “The bears like to roll around in it. It reminds them of their circus days.”
“Sure,” said Nick. “I’ll bet there were all kinds of things in this clearing that reminded them of the good old days. None of it’s here now, though, is it?”
Korolev met Nick’s eyes blankly. “Only memories,” he said quietly.
18
“SAY ‘AHH,’ ” SAID GREG.
Bronislav Alexandrei glared at him from the other side of the interview table. “And if I say no instead?” said the strongman.
Greg swallowed, holding a tiny cotton swab on a stick as if it were a magic wand that could protect him. Alexandrei was a big man, all muscle; his shaved head was tattooed with an intricate, curving dragon, the open jaws breathing twin jets of fire that curved over both his eyebrows. His features were surprisingly delicate, his nose small and his eyes large; the overall effect was of a baby who had wandered into a tattoo parlor by accident after falling into a vat of steroids.
“Then I’ll be forced to ask again, even more politely,” said Greg. “Please?”
“Hmmph. You know, I can bite an iron nail in two.”
“I have absolutely no doubt of that.”
“Let’s get this over with.” Bronislav opened his mouth.
Greg took the buccal swab as quickly and carefully as possible, and didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he was finished. “Okay,” he said, bagging the swab. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“What cooperation? You had a warrant.”
“That’s true.” But I don’t have an elephant gun loaded with tranquilizers, a professional wrestling organization that owes me a favor, and those gas grenades they used on King Kong. “All the same.”
“You’ve got my DNA. Can I go now?”
“Not just yet. I have a few questions.”
“Go ahead. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“I understand you and your girlfriend attended a party last night.”
“Who told you that?”
“Your girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Alexandrei crossed his arms, which was a bit like watching two redwoods trying to embrace. “Well, she must have been talking about someone else. I wasn’t there.”
“Really. So the DNA I just took isn’t going to match the DNA we pulled off the bandages left behind at the scene?”
“Don’t see how it could.”
Greg studied the man, puzzled. Alexandrei seemed awfully sure of himself. Of course, the ability to tear a phone book in half anytime you felt like it probably bestowed a certain amount of self-confidence, but still . . .
“So where were you last night?”
“In my hotel room, asleep.”
“You have any way to verify that?”
“No. I was alone.”
Greg nodded. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Alexandrei. I’ll be in touch about those DNA results.”
“I’m sure you will.” Alexandrei grinned, revealing teeth that were small and wh
ite and perfect. “But I don’t think you’ll be happy.”
Nick watched the strongman leave, then joined Greg in the interview room. “Man, that guy’s muscles have muscles. What do you think he benches? Four hundred, four hundred fifty?”
“It’s not his upper-body strength that worries me. It’s his attitude.”
“What, did he threaten you?” Nick glanced over his shoulder quickly. “Don’t let his size intimidate you. I’ve seen you face guys a lot scarier—”
“That’s not it.” Greg paused. “Well, okay, trying to stare down a guy who looks like he used to beat up the Hulk for his lunch money was a little nerve-wracking, but you’re right—I’ve been in the same room with cold-blooded killers plenty of times, and size has nothing to do with how dangerous someone is. No, I mean he’s denying being at the party with Alisa Golovina at all.”
“Even after you took his DNA?”
“Yeah. Didn’t faze him.”
Nick sat down in the chair Alexandrei had been in. “Great. Another factor that doesn’t add up.”
“I know. So far, all we have is an elaborate plot to do—what? Embarrass the hotel? Make us look like morons? ’Cause I gotta tell you, I’m starting to feel like one.”
Nick shook his head. “I know. None of the stuff we got from the circus or the ranch matched any of our evidence. I’m sure they were using the bear habitat as a staging ground, but they must have gotten rid of everything before we got there.” He paused. “You know, somebody, somewhere, has got to be making money off this. Nobody goes to this much trouble otherwise.”
Greg mock-frowned and said in a heavy Russian accent, “That is very capitalist attitude, comrade. Maybe it is all being done for the good of the state.”
“If the Berlin Wall were still standing, I’d give that theory good odds, Gregor. This case has more Russians popping out of the woodwork than an old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon.”
“No moose, though. Just bears. No viable suspects, either.”
“Lack of suspects isn’t our problem. Lack of suspects for our only real crime—the arson—is. I mean, anyone could have been remote-controlling that dirigible.”
