For a long moment, she let her eyes fix on the ceiling. Finally, she shifted them down to look at him squarely. “I’m going to tell you the only thing I know that may have a bearing on the case. Last night, I was having a drink in the bar right here in this hotel. A guy comes up and starts talking about wanting to help FOAM stop Copithorn.”
Kent was cautious. “How?”
“He mentioned a fire. He didn’t say so, but he was definitely implying that he, or they—he spoke of his friends—could cause a fire there.”
“Why’d he want to help?”
“He didn’t say. He just said he and his friends had a grudge or something. He said it wasn’t because Copithorn hurt animals. Then he said, ‘Wouldn’t it look bad for Copithorn if the cops found pets being used for research there?’”
“He said he had a grudge?”
“Yes. I told him I wasn’t interested and ended the conversation without giving him a chance to explain any more. The guy looked like trouble from word one.”
“Did you get his name?”
“No.”
Kent looked a little skeptical. “Describe him.”
“Midthirties. Big. Overweight. Dirty. Brown hair onto his shoulders. A beard. He was pretty drunk. That may be why he seemed so mean.”
Instantly, a mug shot of the man fitting Aubrey’s description flashed into Kent’s head. “Figures he’d be drunk. Was he with anyone else?”
“No, I don’t think so. But he sat at the bar for a long time, and he seemed to know the barmaid. Actually, she came over and apologized for his intrusion afterward.”
“A little woman with dark features?”
“Looked like an Indian. You know them?”
“That’s Tammy Mays. And the guy had to be Maylon, her husband.”
“Poor girl.”
“May-May is his nickname. He’s one of our local ne’er-do-wells. Tammy is always bailing him out of trouble. Tell me again what he said about finding pets at Copithorn.”
“Only that he figured it would look bad for them.”
“And he never said why he wanted to help FOAM?”
“Right.”
Again Kent stared at Jefferson’s ancestors…who stared back but offered no help.
“Pets at Copithorn,” he said. “Pets at Copithorn.” He drummed the arm of his chair with his fingertips. Then turned and looked at Aubrey—through her. “Pets at Copithorn,” he said for the third time, this time loudly.
“What?”
“I might be able to substantiate your story.” He stood up. “I’ve got to go.”
“Why?”
“They’ll start the cleanup as soon as the investigators are done. Then it’ll be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
Kent spoke over his shoulder as he strode toward the door. “I’ll tell you later. I’m headed back over to the fire.”
As he sped toward Copithorn, Kent bounced his theory off Lucinda. “It makes sense.” Lucy half stood on the seat, bracing in the turns like a sailor on rough seas, and glanced nervously at Kent, then the road, then back at Kent. “Aubrey’s story would explain what Merrill and I saw this morning. It’s definitely a long shot, but something about that woman makes me want to believe her. Weird. Isn’t it?” He reached over and stroked the red hound. “You listening?
His track record was pretty bad when it came to reading women. What the hell made him think he knew what was going on inside her head?
The truck’s engine groaned as it climbed the east hill out of Jefferson on Route 20, accelerator to the floor. Aubrey had described May-May and Tammy Mays accurately. It would be pretty unlikely she’d connect them just by chance. That fit. And May-May certainly was the type to cause trouble. Lord knew Kent’s whole family could attest to that.
A picture of Copithorn’s burned-out research wing flashed back to Kent. If the inspectors were done before he arrived, he’d lose his chance.
“Can you believe this is happening, Lucinda? This was going to be a nothing job.”
Lucinda studied him with her wet brown eyes and listened. “You were supposed to keep reminding me never to get mixed up with another woman.”
He pulled through Copithorn’s main gate just as two official-looking vehicles with insurance company logos pulled out. He skidded to a stop as close to the rubble as he could park and jumped from the truck while it was still rocking. On the sidewalk, several fire inspectors argued about wiring. He was glad to see Merrill had come back too.
The police chief backed out of a heated conversation with another man in uniform when he saw his brother.
“What’s up?”
“I need to check something out. Can I go back in there?”
Merrill shrugged. “It was okay before, ought to be okay now.”
“It will only take a minute. I won’t disturb anything.”
“No matter, the big cheeses are done anyway. What you looking for?”
“I’m not sure.” Kent stepped into the blackness of the research wing and then turned back to the chief. “Can I use your flashlight?”
Merrill pulled the long black light from his uniform belt and handed it to him.
Kent wove his way along the same path they had taken earlier, Merrill at his heels. A feeling that he was regaining control of his life overcame him as he stabbed the beam at the darkness. If he could just be right about this, he’d be over the hump. Then he was at the dog ward, and to his relief, the tiny canine body that they had noticed earlier was still lying on the countertop. Kent drew close, holding his light within inches of it.
Now he could see it. Now it seemed obvious. He let himself breathe again.
Merrill recognized his brother’s agitation. “What? What’s so different now?”
“Nothing’s different. I just see what I didn’t see before.” He pointed toward the body. “Look. It’s not a beagle. It’s too small, and its conformation is all wrong. Too fine boned. Remember, Stef said they only use beagles at Copithorn.” He gently grasped the rigored foot for the second time that day and carefully rolled over the burned animal.
“Okay. I get that,” Merrell said.
“The fur underneath didn’t get burned.”
“So what?”
“It’s white! That’s what.” With two fingers, he teased up a lock of the dog’s coat. “This hair is close to six inches long. Way too long for a beagle.”
Kent shifted his light to the dog’s neck and found the remains of a delicate rhinestone collar. He held it in the beam so Merrill could see it. “Wouldn’t expect to find one of these on a research dog, would you?”
The yellowing light reflected off a nickel-size, silver name tag. Kent cleaned it with his thumb and bent close to read it. “Son of a bitch. I knew it!”
“What?”
Kent read the inscription. Bear. I belong to Maureen Philips, Jefferson, NY. 555–6741.”
As Merrill grasped the significance of Kent’s find, confusion exploded into anger. “How did you know about this?”
Kent continued to examine the little dog.
“Goddamnit, Kent. Did Fairbanks tip you off?”
“Actually she denied knowledge of any of this.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m telling you, she denied the whole thing.”
“And I suppose you believe her?”
“Yes. And this proves she’s telling the truth.” He pointed at Bear’s remains.
“Jesus Christ. What does she have to do, bring you along while she sabotages the place?”
Kent studied the tiny canine cadaver, giving his brother a moment to calm himself.
“The very fact that we found Mrs. Philips’s dog here substantiates Aubrey’s story.”
“And what’s that, may I ask?”
Kent recapped Aubrey’s enco
unter with May-May at the Groggery. When he was finished, Merrill recapped the recap.
“Let me get this straight. Ms. Fairbanks told you this guy, who sounds a whole hell of a lot like May-May, came up to her out of the blue and offered to burn down Copithorn for her? Just like that?”
“More or less.”
“And he said something about letting the cops find some pets?”
“Yes.”
“That he had some grudge against Copithorn?”
“Maybe.”
“I gotta tell you, it sounds like a crock to me. Even May-May, our long-lost, pain in the ass brother isn’t that dumb. And why, if I may ask, didn’t she mention any of this to me when we questioned her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t trust cops. Maybe she hadn’t connected the two yet.”
“Or, more likely, she hadn’t thought up the crazy story yet.”
“How would you explain a Maltese, recently reported missing, turning up dead on a countertop in a research center?”
“I wouldn’t try yet. And I sure as hell wouldn’t buy the only cock-and-bull explanation we have so far. Think about it from May-May’s angle, your half brother in the same town you live is a cop. Would you pull shit like this?” He let that sink in a minute then turned and headed from the rubble. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’d like to have Bear autopsied at the vet college in Ithaca. Will you authorize it?”
“Be my guest.”
Kent secured two plastic trash bags and a supply of ice from the company cafeteria and a few minutes later had Bear double bagged on ice, ready for transport.
“Have one of your men take this to the vet school right now,” he said, handing the slick black bundle to his brother. “I’ll call down there with the medical history and alert them your guy is bringing it in. Don’t tell him what’s in the bag. Don’t let anyone else in on it.”
“Got it,” Merrill said. “And where are you going?”
“To ask some more questions.”
“Remember what we agreed. Don’t get in the way. And report in!”
“I agreed to that?” Kent said, and headed toward the atrium at a brisk walk.
Out of the corner of the same window in Stef Copithorn’s office where the two of them had reminisced about the old airport, Kent could see the burned-out windows of the research wing. He told Stef about his discovery and waited for her reponse.
“I don’t know why Maureen Philips’s dog was in my building. Don’t get any ideas, either. Copithorn Research does not use dognapped pets for our projects. Never have, never will. Period.” Her face was haggard, and Kent sensed her determination was waning. “This whole thing is going to cost the company millions. It had to be FOAM.” Her tone fell to brokenhearted. “I always played by the rules. I’m not insensitive to animals. Why are they doing this to me?”
“Could someone get in? Breach security?”
“Probably. We’ve got a security system, but it’s not Fort Knox.”
“No reports of anything suspicious last night?”
“No.”
“But someone could have gotten a small dog in without being detected.”
“Sure. There are ways. Anyone who generally knew our operation. Probably not a guy off the street, but maybe a delivery man…or a disgruntled employee.”
“You have many of those?”
“Which? Deliveries? Tons. Every day. Disgruntled employees? A few, I suppose. Like any business.”
“Could someone from a different division, say shipping or accounting maybe, get into R&D?”
“All employees have free run of the place when they have their ID badges on.”
“The fire investigators been in to see you yet?”
“Briefly. I’m sure they will be back. I guess officially it’s not arson until they get some test results.”
“Don’t worry, it will be.”
“Great.” Stef’s flat tone betrayed her frustration. She stepped to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass. “I don’t need this, Kent.”
“Keep it together. You’re tough. You’re the one who built this place, remember? We’ll get this straightened out.”
Stef nodded, ran her dark nails along her temples. “I guess I just wait. What else? Right?”
“You run your business. Stay busy. As for me? I have a couple more stops to make. Keep in touch.”
As Kent pulled onto the highway, he noticed a beat-up pickup parked off the road in front of Copithorn. He would not have given it a second thought had he not seen the lone driver quickly drop something from his eyes. It looked like a pair of binoculars. He squinted at the truck as he passed, but glare on the glass obscured his view. What little he could see of the man’s features triggered a vague sort of recognition.
“Who would be watching Copithorn?” he asked Lucinda as he searched mental files for the face. “Where have I seen that guy before?” The memory came running back like a hunting dog whistled in. “That was the guy who was getting all the dogs at the animal shelter the day Aubrey and I were there!”
He pulled to the right edge of the road, only half looked over his left shoulder, and wheeled the truck into a tire-screeching U-turn.
“Lucinda,” he said, “it’s time to find out more about that guy.”
Lucinda perked up in her seat. But when they approached Copithorn’s front gate, the pickup was gone.
Chapter 12
Kent knew where to find Tammy Mays midafternoon on a weekday. She’d be waiting tables at the Jefferson Diner for a few more hours.
There were no cars there when Kent pulled up. When he entered, the diner was as empty as its parking lot. Quiet before the onslaught of supper customers. He saw Tammy sitting on a stool with her back to the counter, pivoting absentmindedly back and forth and drawing deeply on a cigarette. He thought he caught a flicker of alarm cross her face as he approached.
“Hi, Tammy. You look like you’ve had a long day.”
She dragged again on the cigarette. “And I’m only at the halfway point.”
“Tending bar at the Red Horse tonight then?”
The petite waitress extended a darn good-looking leg and stared at it. “I hope these old dogs can hold out.”
The slit in Tammy’s otherwise plain waitress uniform revealed the lower third of her thigh. It was, no doubt, an alteration she had made to increase tips.
“You have a minute to talk to me?”
She stubbed out the cigarette and exhaled a breath of smoke toward the ceiling. “Sure, Kent,” she said with no enthusiasm. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, it has to do with something that happened over at the Red Horse the other night.”
“Yeah? What?”
“You run into that animal rights activist woman who’s been around lately?”
“I’ve seen her a time or two. It would be hard not to. She’s staying at the inn.”
“Did you happen to talk to her in the bar?”
Tammy pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, tapped one out, and slowly lit up again. “She was there. Southern Comfort old-fashioneds.”
“What?”
“That’s what she was drinking. Southern Comfort old-fashioneds, fruit muddled. A bunch of them.”
“Was she drunk?”
Tammy shrugged. “What’s drunk?”
“Was she by herself?”
“I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Tammy, come on. A pretty stranger like that with a big-city rep wanders into little ol’ Jefferson, and you don’t pay attention? You remembered what she was drinking.”
Tammy shrugged again, said nothing.
“Was it busy?”
“No.”
“You remember what you want to remember.”
“What’s your
point?”
“Was your husband there?”
Tammy’s expression grew dark. “May-May? Son of a bitch. He stopped by to say hello.” She took a long drag.
“What’s he up to lately?”
“Same old big-talking, little-doing May-May.”
“Was he drunk?”
“I couldn’t tell you. He’s been drinking so long I don’t know when he’s drunk and when he’s sober. He was the same as usual, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Did he talk to Ms. Fairbanks?”
“I don’t remember.”
“They didn’t argue or anything?”
“Not that I recall.”
Kent had another thought. “You see May-May cutting letters out of any magazines lately?”
The strange question stopped Tammy for a second. “He’s outgrown that stage. He’s more into Matchbox cars and BB guns now.”
Kent didn’t laugh. “Then you don’t know anything about him pasting together an anonymous threat letter?”
She held the cigarette up, studying the thread of smoke that curled from it. “To who?”
“Never mind. If you don’t know about it, it doesn’t matter.
“I don’t know a thing,” Tammy said, as if her thoughts had drifted to another place.
“Where was May-May last night?”
Tammy narrowed her eyes. “Jesus, Kent. I thought you were a vet, not a cop. You trying to be like Merrill or something?”
“Not a chance.”
“Well, go ask May-May yourself if you want to know where he was. He’s your brother.”
“Half brother.”
“Okay, half brother.”
“Ms. Fairbanks told me a guy whose description fits May-May talked to her at the Groggery.”
“I don’t doubt it. May-May hits on every lone skirt he sees. Except I think even he’d know she is out of his league.”
“She says he propositioned her.”
Tammy’s snicker registered a mixture of jealously and disgust.
“Not the way you’re thinking. He offered to help her sabotage Copithorn.”
“Meaning what?”
“Sounded like he had some kind of a grudge. You know anything about that?”
Taking On Lucinda Page 9
