The Bishop

by Steven James

  “Why do you think Margaret is so upset?”

  Unbelievable.

  “So,” I was thinking aloud, “the killers get into the research facility, they enter a fictional name onto the janitorial records so if the woman is seen leaving the building it won’t raise any immediate red flags.”

  Plus, as a contract employee, the security guard and keeper wouldn’t be expected to recognize her if she were detained.

  “But as it turned out, she wasn’t even questioned,” Lien-hua said. “In the confusion she just walked away. Slipped out one of the side doors after the EMTs arrived.”

  Spaghetti.

  I heard Margaret call for Lien-hua, who subsequently told me, “I have to go.”

  “Listen.” I was thinking of Lien-hua’s drowning incident in San Diego during the Project Rukh case. “Remember how things went down in February? If these killers are involved in any way with the conspirators from San Diego—”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”

  “Be extra careful.”

  “I will.”

  After we’d ended the call, I saw that Tessa was staring out the passenger-side window, still listening to her music. We were only a few minutes from the research center. “Look, college guys,” I said softly, quieter than I’d been speaking to Lien-hua, and Tessa’s head snapped in my direction.

  She realized her mistake and quickly averted eye contact.

  “You heard my conversation,” I said.

  She unplugged the earbuds. “What?”

  “Yeah, right. You need to forget anything you just heard.”

  “I only heard my music.” And then: “If anyone asks.”

  Great.

  We arrived at the research facility, and I pulled into the lower level of the parking garage.

  Although I was certain the glass-enclosed habitat in which Twana’s body had been found would be sealed off, the Gunderson facility itself was no longer considered an active crime scene. And I was thankful, because this way I wouldn’t have to leave Tessa in the car.

  “You’ve read more about this place than I have,” I said. “You’re coming with me. But you can’t ask any questions related to the case. You’re only looking for information concerning the primate research.”

  “Seriously? You’re letting me help?”

  “Just with monkey intel, not with the investigation. I want to find out more about the metacognition research.” And finances . . . ethically controversial research . . . politically charged implications—

  “Did you just say monkey intel?”

  “I’ll introduce you as my research assistant.” I opened my computer bag and pulled out a clipboard. “Maybe you’re an intern or something.” I handed it to her.

  Dressed like she was with her black tights and black fingernail polish, I wasn’t quite sure my plan would work, but she did look old enough to be a college student if it came down to that.

  She stared at the clipboard. “What’s this for?”

  “That’s the most powerful ID in the world. If you walk into any building with an air of confidence and a clipboard, no one will question why you’re there.”

  “Nice.” She looked impressed. “I can so do an air of confidence.” Then a pause. “Just don’t say monkey intel again while we’re in there.”

  “Right.”

  I popped open the car door.

  But then I had realization.

  Closed it again.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? This is a research center, after all. The animals are all going to be—”

  “Caged. Yeah, I know.”

  There was really no subtle way to put this. “I’m not sure exactly what their research involves, but—”

  “Medical tests. I thought of that too.”

  “Are you cool with that?”

  A long silence. “Almost all medical advances in the last hundred years have come from animal testing. And I’ve never heard of anyone, not even a PETA board member, denying himself life-saving medical treatment in conscientious objection to the fact that research has been done on nonhuman subjects.”

  Her carefully phrased response made it clear that she really had been thinking about this. “Well put.”

  “But that doesn’t make cruelty right. It doesn’t make suffering okay.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  By the look on her face I could tell she was dealing with a torrent of conflicting emotions.

  Finally she spoke, and her voice was on fire with both loneliness and resolve. “A few more cancer tests and Mom might still be alive.” She opened her door. “Let’s go.”

  52

  The director of the research center, a slim, white-haired man in his early fifties with the unusual name of Janz Olan, led Tessa and me to the research rooms that lay behind the glassed-in habitats.

  As I’d suspected, the habitat in which Twana’s body had been found was still closed off to the primates, and for Tessa’s sake, I was glad to see that the floor, although no longer covered with straw, had been mopped and sanitized and there was no visible sign of blood. Still, Tessa’s eyes wandered around the area as we passed by, and I had no doubt that she was able to discern why the floor had been so thoroughly cleaned.

  “So,” Mr. Olan said, glancing at Tessa, “how long have you been Agent Bowers’s . . . assistant?”

  “Ever since he began researching the politics, culture, and moral development of pongids.”

  I assumed that meant apes.

  “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

  “Mr. Olan.” I gestured toward one of the testing rooms. “Explain to me more about your work here. What exactly are you doing with the CAT scans, MRIs, MEGs?”

  “Well, our research focuses on two primary areas—neuroscience and cognition.”

  I remembered Lien-hua’s words from Tuesday night. “And aggression?”

  “That would fall under neuroscience. Brain-imaging studies have shown that the amygdala and frontal cortex are the areas of the brain most associated with fear, aggression, and violent behavior. Specifically, we look at the neural activity of chimpanzees, the closest relatives to humans. They’re also the only species, besides humans, who regularly kill adult conspecifics.”

  “Adults of the same species,” Tessa said, taking notes.

  A pause, then, “Yes. Chimps also form raiding parties and have wars against other communities of chimps. Some even use their skills in toolmaking to form clubs that kill more effectively.”

  That sounded astonishing to me.

  And also chillingly human.

  “So, in a sense, you’re studying the neurology of violence,” I said.

  A pause. “That might be one way of putting it.”

  I let that sink in, wondering what implications the findings might have if taken in the context of the congressman’s comments over the last few weeks about the proposed budget cuts to the Bureau in lieu of “a more progressive approach to curbing criminal behavior.”

  Every Republican in Congress would want his connection to the center made public . . .

  “Yeah, well,” Tessa said to Olan, “chimps aren’t so closely related, if you accept that Ardi was a biped.”

  He was slow in responding. “Yes. If you accept that she was,” he acknowledged at last. “But it’s clear that in trees she was a quadruped.”

  “Who’s Ardi?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tessa was answering Olan, not me. “She proves we didn’t evolve from knuckle-walkers like chimpanzees and gorillas.”

  “Who is Ardi?” I repeated, directing the question to them both. Olan answered, “She was a female Ardipithecus ramidus. Her fossil was found in Ethiopia in 1994, but it took fifteen years of study before the findings were released to the public in 2009. And some scientists believe she walked upright.”

  “Most,” Tessa corrected him, “not some.”

  I shook my head. “I’m still not quite�
��”

  “She lived 4.4 million years ago,” Olan said impatiently, “and if she was a biped it would seem to indicate that we did not evolve from modern primates but rather separately from them, from some ancient ancestor.”

  “Which means,” Tessa interjected, “there is no missing link between us and modern apes, and postulating human origins from modern primate behavior or biology is casuistic.”

  Olan stared at her. Blinked.

  “Well,” he said, “since no members of the Ardipithecus ramidus family are still with us today, we study chimps, whose DNA is 96 percent the same as human DNA.”

  She looked ready to counter, but I stopped her with a small head shake. I was more concerned about the focus of the center’s research than resolving how someone might have walked four and a half million years ago. “Tell me about the second area,” I said to Olan. “The cognition research.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps I should have specified that it’s mainly in the field of metacognition.”

  This time I was familiar with what he was referring to, but Tessa beat me to the punch. “Theory of mind,” she said. “Consciousness, empathy, understanding.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Self-awareness, the roots of empathy, the ability to understand that others have thoughts, feelings, sensations just as you do.”

  We arrived at a fully equipped research room with a metal meshed-off area that led to the gorilla habitat.

  “Are you saying apes have those abilities?” I asked.

  “Different species of primates exhibit varying degrees of altruistic behavior,” he replied, not exactly answering my question.

  I thought of the sections of Tessa’s research that I’d perused. “As well as cognitive empathy, right? And partner-specific reciprocity?”

  “Yes.” Olan seemed somewhat taken aback that Tessa and I appeared to know what we were talking about, and as he went on, he seemed bent on proving that he knew more.

  “Chimpanzees kiss and hold each other after fighting, sometimes jump into water to save other chimps—even though no chimps are able to swim. In some cases, gorillas have warned keepers when young gorillas are in danger—thus showing that they are both cognizant of the plight of other creatures and able to identify a possible means of rescue for them. And as far as intelligence and problem solving, some gorillas have scored 90 on human IQ tests, others have learned more than 3,500 sign language words, even made up signs to describe themselves.”

  I’d never heard about apes trying to save each other or taking human IQ tests, and I was surprised—and for some reason that I couldn’t quite pinpoint, vaguely troubled.

  “One ape even made up a sign for contact lens cleaning solution after watching his keeper wash and then put in her contacts.”

  “What was it?” Tessa asked.

  “The gorilla combined the words eye and drink,” he said.

  That was just plain impressive.

  I asked a few follow-up questions, and Olan seemed to become more and more antsy with each one. “I’m very sorry,” he said at last. “But I’m terribly busy—still dealing with the aftermath of the incident on Tuesday night as it concerns our board, our donors. We’re a nonprofit organization and donations are essential for our survival. I’m sure you understand. Perhaps it would be best if one of our researchers or keepers answered any additional questions.”

  Actually, that might not be a bad idea.

  I asked if we could speak with Sandra Reynolds, the keeper who’d found Twana’s body and killed the two chimps who were attacking her, but Olan told me she’d taken the rest of the week off. “For counseling,” he added in a somewhat ominous tone.

  He called to a studious-looking woman in her late twenties who was bent over a computer keyboard in an adjoining room. “Dr. Risel, can you spare a few moments?”

  She didn’t bother to look up. “I’m in the middle of my bibliography.” From her outfit, it was clear that she liked the color brown in all of its many shades and hues.

  “Dr. Bowers here is investigating the tragedy Tuesday night.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He works for the FBI.”

  At last Dr. Risel looked our way, hesitated for a moment, then joined us.

  After introductions, Mr. Olan left for his office and Dr. Risel informed us that she was a psychobiologist and was under a strict deadline for her next journal article, then waited, arms folded, for me to tell her what I needed, but I wasn’t exactly sure what that was.

  Tessa bailed me out. “Tell us about the MSR research.”

  “Mirror self-recognition,” Dr. Risel said, as if Tessa couldn’t possibly have already known what the initials stood for.

  “Um, yeah.”

  Dr. Risel looked around the room absently for a moment, then sighed. “It might be just as quick if I showed you.” She pulled out a set of keys and headed for the gorilla habitats.

  Astrid had asked Brad to lay low for the day.

  Yes, he needed to arrange everything for tonight. But that wouldn’t take him long.

  So, keep tabs on him.

  She’d asked him to check in with her every hour by phone, which he had faithfully done so far.

  Good.

  One step at a time, make sure that he was not slipping up again.

  She decided that tonight she was going to tell him about her child.

  Today they would stay on schedule.

  Finish the game.

  And then tonight at the body farm, she would tell him about the baby.

  53

  Tessa and I watched from the other side of the mesh enclosure as Dr. Risel led one of the apes, a young female named Belle, out of the habitat and into the room.

  To my surprise, the doctor stayed with the gorilla in the enclosed area, and when I commented on it, she just said, “Gorillas are gentle creatures. Very timid and shy. She’s harmless.” She stroked the ape’s fur to show me how harmless the thickly muscled primate was.

  “Belle is our newest arrival,” she explained. The more time she spent with the gorilla, the less urgent she seemed to be about finishing her article. “She’s never done this test before, so hopefully, she won’t let us down.”

  “She’s so cute,” Tessa cooed as she stared at Belle.

  Cute was not exactly the word I would have used.

  Dr. Risel grabbed a mirror that was attached to a pivoting metal arm hanging from the ceiling. She positioned the mirror so that Belle could look into it, which she did.

  Belle seemed immediately fascinated by her reflection, and grunted softly, then leaned forward, tilted her head, and studied the ape in the mirror. She raised one arm, then dropped it heavily onto her lap, grunted again, then lifted it once more, watching how the gorilla in the mirror responded.

  “Initially, chimps look behind the mirror,” Tessa explained to me softly, “to try and find the other chimpanzee, or they reach out and try to touch ’em. So do monkeys, baboons, all other primates. But chimpanzees can learn to identify themselves. Orangs can too.” She hesitated. “Most gorillas have a hard time with this.”

  While Belle was observing herself in the mirror, Dr. Risel retrieved a small container of vanilla frosting from a cooler and eased off the lid.

  Belle was too fascinated by the mirror to pay attention to her.

  “All right,” Dr. Risel said. “Here we go.” She dipped a finger into the frosting, and then, while speaking softly and reassuringly to Belle, waved her other hand in front of her to get her attention.

  The gorilla responded by turning from the mirror and looking at the doctor. Risel brushed her hand gently along the side of the gorilla’s head and then surreptitiously dabbed the glob of frosting onto Belle’s forehead.

  But she did it so lightly that the gorilla didn’t notice.

  Then, Risel tilted the mirror so that Belle could see her reflection again, and this time, when she peered at the gorilla in front of her, Belle made a loud guttural sound in the back of her throat and then raised her left han
d and extended one finger.

  I expected her to touch the mark on the forehead of the gorilla in the mirror, but she didn’t. Instead, watching how the ape in the mirror moved, she reached to her own forehead, brushed off the frosting, and then licked it from her finger.

  Fascinating.

  “Gorillas like frosting,” Tessa told me.

  Dr. Risel looked triumphantly at us and then gave Belle a treat of a handful of grapes from the cooler. After a few moments, she led her back to her habitat.

  It was an impressive demonstration, and it took me a few moments to process the implications.

  Somehow Belle had been able to understand that her movements were mirrored identically by the ape she could see, and from that fact she’d concluded that the ape she was looking at was really her, and that the frosting would be on her own forehead and not on the head of another gorilla.

  I was considering all of this when Dr. Risel reappeared.

  “That’s one of the cruder tests,” she said. “But you can see what it means, can’t you?”

  Tessa stood beside me quietly, clipboard in hand, but I was the one who answered. “She understands that she is a unique creature,” I said, “separate and distinct from her counterpart in the mirror.”

  Dr. Risel nodded.

  I went on. “She exhibited one of the core characteristics of consciousness—Belle is self-aware.”

  Dr. Risel bent her head slightly to one side, then to the other, as if she were weighing the validity of what I’d just said. “We have to be careful not to anthropomorphize too much, but Belle was clearly aware that she was the ape she saw and was also able to use the mirror to help locate the frosting on her own forehead.”

  “Besides higher primates, how many other species have this self-differentiating ability?” I asked.

  “Just elephants and dolphins—although there’s some growing evidence for pigs—but obviously we have a slightly different test for those species. They don’t like frosting as much as apes do.” She looked at me expectantly as if I were supposed to laugh at that. I smiled.

  Tessa remained silent.

  We spent a few more minutes speaking with Dr. Risel about theory of mind research, then she explained that because of natural selection, we would expect that all human behavior and states of consciousness would appear, at least in rudimentary form, in the animal kingdom.