by Donn Cortez
“No,” said Hodges thoughtfully. “But this mixture wasn’t too thick or too thin. You might say—”
“Don’t do it, Hodges—”
“—that it was just right.”
Nick was starting to get a sense of the case. Someone had gone to a lot of time and trouble to create not one but two illusions: a man dying in a fiery aircraft crash and another mauled to death by a bear. He might not know where the miniature zeppelin came from, but the bear’s origin was a lot easier to trace.
The bears all came from the same place, an animal-rescue ranch just outside Henderson owned by a man named Nazar Masterkov. Nick did a little research on the history of the ranch before getting into his Denali and driving out there.
The Bruin Rescue Ranch had been established five years ago specifically for circus bears, though it did some rehabilitation work with zoo animals as well. It was a nonprofit organization, and its partnership with the Panhandle had apparently been planned from the start—the hotel had been built at the same time the ranch was established.
A long, narrow road led from the highway to the ranch’s front gate. Nick stopped the Denali, buzzed the intercom on the metal post, and identified himself. The gate swung open silently and he drove inside.
He pulled up outside a low, sprawling house with a Spanish-style red tile roof and parked. There was no large sign over the front door to tell him he was in the right place, but the ranch wasn’t a tourist attraction; other than the daily shows at the Panhandle, they seemed to have little contact with the public.
A woman walked out onto the covered front porch. She was tall and broad-shouldered, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore tan shorts, a khaki shirt, and hiking boots; her legs were tanned and muscular.
“Yes?” she said. “How may I help you?”
“Nick Stokes, Vegas Crime Lab. I was wondering if I could talk to someone about the incident at the casino.”
“I’m Nadya Karnova,” she said. Her accent was more Texas than Russia. “I’m in charge of the bears, so I guess the person you want to talk to is me.”
There was a padded bench and two chairs on the porch; she sat down and motioned for him to do the same.
“Let’s start with the bear that attacked the security guard,” said Nick, taking a seat. “What can you tell me about it?”
“Her name is Brownie. She never should have been in the rotation to begin with—that was our first mistake.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, she wasn’t a circus bear. They’re used to crowds, used to being transported. Brownie’s from a zoo and was originally captured in the wild; she’s with us because she was displaying maladjusted behavior in her old home.”
“What sort of behavior?”
“Pacing, bar biting, swaying. They’re all signs a bear isn’t happy.”
“So why was she on display?”
Nadya shook her head. “That’s just it—she wasn’t supposed to be. Bureaucratic error; one of the handlers misread a form.”
“Uh-huh. Where’s Brownie now?”
“Still recovering, in our medical facility. How’s the man she attacked?” Her voice was worried.
“He’ll live. Would it be possible to see Brownie?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me.”
She led him down the steps and around the corner, down a dusty cement walk to the half-dome shape of a massive Quonset behind the house. “This is our main environment,” she said over her shoulder. “Most of our bears come from places that aren’t quite this dry or hot. We like to make them as comfortable as possible.”
She pulled open a reinforced steel door, letting out a puff of moist, cool air. Nick followed her inside.
It was like stepping into a rain forest. Fir and spruce trees reached to the ceiling, which was mostly glass. The air smelled of damp moss and pine. Nick stopped and looked around; even in a city that prided itself on creating artificial environments, the illusion was impressive. The forest stretched out before him, Nadya already twenty feet down the path that wound through it.
“I feel like I’m on my way to Grandma’s house,” Nick said as he trotted to catch up. “Maybe I should have worn red today.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re in no danger of being eaten. This part is fenced off—it’s purely selfish, for our own enjoyment. A small perk for all our good work.”
The path ended at three white rectangular trailers parked side-by-side. Nadya entered the one marked “Medical.”
The trailer’s interior was lined with cages, though only two of them held bears. One was lying on its side on a bed of straw and barely looked up; the other sat on its haunches and studied them intently.
“As you can see, Brownie’s still a little groggy.” She knelt beside the cage and peered at the bear. “Poor thing. I hope she won’t have to be destroyed.”
Nick came over and stood beside her. “I don’t see any blood on her claws or fur.”
“Our veterinarian cleaned her up while she was tranquilized. He didn’t want the smell to disturb the other bears.”
“Of course.” Nick paused. “So, how did you get into this line of work? Pretty unique.”
“Oh, it’s in my blood. My family has been working with bears for generations—training them, mostly. You know, government work.”
“Excuse me?”
She laughed. “Sorry, it’s an old family joke. When the Communists took over in Russia, it was decided that the circus was the ‘people’s entertainment’—something everyone could enjoy or even participate in. Lenin nationalized all the circuses in the country, even created circus schools that were run by the government. That’s my background—my great-grandmother even met Lenin once.”
Nick glanced around. “This seems pretty far from the big top.”
“I’m less interested in exploiting animals than helping them. It’s led to more than a few interesting discussions around the dinner table, believe me.”
The door opened behind them. A man Nick judged to be in his seventies stood in the doorway. “Nadya, what’s this? We have a visitor, and you didn’t tell me?”
She quickly stood. “I didn’t want to bother you. Mr. Stokes, this is Nazar Masterkov, the owner of the ranch.”
Masterkov put out his hand and Nick shook it; the man’s grip was firm. “Mr. Stokes.” He eyed Nick’s baseball cap with its CSI logo. “You are investigating the unfortunate accident at the casino?” His English held no trace of an accent.
“That’s right. Can you tell me who was in charge of transporting the animals that day?”
“That would be Mischa,” said Masterkov. “He’s very upset by the whole ordeal. He works very closely with the animals.”
“I understand the bear that attacked wasn’t supposed to be on the rotation for that day?”
Masterkov glanced at Nadya. “That’s right,” he said. “An oversight on Mischa’s part. He blames himself for the whole thing.”
“Could I talk to him?”
“Of course,” said Masterkov. “I believe he’s out in the main enclosure right now. Nadya, can you give him a call?”
“Sure.” She dug a cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open.
“Bears are such amazing animals,” Masterkov said. “I have always admired them. So clever and so strong. Did you know that of all the predators in the wild, there is only one brave enough to hunt the bear?”
“Human beings?”
Masterkov grinned and shook his head. “I said in the wild, young man. No, the tiger is the only beast fierce enough to stalk and kill a bear for food—and even a tiger would hesitate before attacking a grizzly or polar bear.”
Nadya snapped her phone shut. “He’ll be here in a few minutes,” she said.
“You can run along,” said Masterkov to Nadya. “I’ll keep our guest company—that is, if you’re finished with her?”
“Done for now,” said Nick. She gave him a quick smile and left.
“There is a
famous Russian folk tale,” said Nazar. “Morozko. Do you know it?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It’s about an arrogant young man named Ivan. Trying to impress a young girl, he attempts to kill a mother bear and her cubs with his bow. The wizard who gave him the bow sees this and is so appalled he changes Ivan’s head into that of a bear.” Masterkov grinned, showing off teeth so even and white Nick doubted they were real. “After that, Ivan is alone. People fear him, even though all he wants to do is repent of his crime and help them.”
“People can be like that.”
“Yes. Appearances can be deceptive, can they not? As someone in your line of work must surely know. And despite the fearsome appearance and reputation of the bear, they are really solitary, shy creatures. To force such creatures to perform for the delight of an audience by riding bicycles or pretending to dance has always seemed disgraceful to me. Man is not the only animal to value his dignity or his freedom.”
“I agree,” said Nick.
The door opened. Nick recognized the man with the short gray beard who entered as the same one he’d seen supervising the removal of the bear at the casino. He was dressed much the same as Nadya Karnova, in tan shorts, a khaki shirt, and hiking boots.
“Hello,” the man said. “I am Mischa Korolev.” Unlike the others, he had a pronounced Russian accent. “How may I help you?”
Nick introduced himself. “What I need from you, Mr. Korolev, is to tell me what happened when the bears got loose.”
Korolev shook his head. “Was my fault. The bear that went rogue, she should not have been there. I was doing routine transfer from truck—rolling cage down ramp to loading dock—when suddenly, there is fire in the sky.”
“The dirigible.”
“Is that how you say? Yes. I am distracted, the bears are upset. Brownie charges the door; it hits me and knocks me down. The other two follow her out, and they head into the building through the doors of loading dock. I block doors open beforehand to make rolling cage through easier, and they go straight through to casino.”
Nick made some notes on a pad. “Okay. So you chased after them?”
“Not right away. Bumped head on floor, was not awake for few minutes. Bears already gone.”
“What about the other two bears? Ever have any problems with them?”
“No, no. Both from circus, very tame, very calm. They follow Brownie out of curiosity. No trouble rounding them up.”
Nick nodded and closed his notebook. “All right, that’s about all I need for now. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
“Da.”
Masterkov showed Nick to the front door. “We’re deeply sorry about this,” he said. “My condolences to the family of the man who was attacked. If there’s anything else you need to know, please contact us immediately.”
“I will,” said Nick.
On the drive back to the lab, Nick thought about what he’d learned. Someone was lying, that much he was sure of. If the bear attack had been faked—and all of the evidence pointed to exactly that—then there was no way the phony security guard had set it up with a dangerous bear. He would have used a trained bear, one used to wrestling with a human as part of an act. So either Brownie wasn’t the unstable wild animal her handlers claimed she was, or someone had switched bears without anyone noticing.
There was one essential player still missing. Nick probably could have talked to him while he was at the ranch, but thought the interview might go better if it happened at the lab. Bears weren’t the only animals that preferred to meet challenges on their own turf.
“Dr. Villaruba,” said Nick. “Thanks for coming in to the lab. Sorry I missed you at the ranch.”
Dr. Villaruba was a short man with wiry black-and-gray hair and pale blue eyes that never seemed to stop moving. He glanced from Nick to the door to the recording equipment set up for the interview. “Not at all, not at all. I’m very busy, as I’m sure you are. Not that I mind giving a statement, you understand.”
“No, of course not—”
“Just eager to get back to the animals.”
“Right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long.” Nick shuffled through a few papers in front of him, then studied one intently for a moment without saying anything.
“What would you like to know?” Villaruba said at last.
“Hmmm? Well, I guess we should start with some background. How long have you worked for the ranch as their veterinarian?”
“Not that long. Six months, give or take.”
“You work there full-time?”
“Oh, no. I have my own animal clinic in Vegas. But I do put in a good twenty hours a week at the ranch.”
“You have a lot of experience with bears?”
“I’m no expert, no. But the ranch advertised for someone and I thought it would be interesting to work with some larger animals, so I applied. Big difference from cats, dogs, and parakeets.”
“I’ll bet. How about Brownie? How familiar are you with her?”
“Uh, not very. I examined her when she first came in, of course. She seemed healthy.”
“Any behavioral problems?”
“She has a history of being overly aggressive. I certainly wouldn’t have recommended she be put on display in the casino.”
Nick nodded. “I understand you checked her out once she was returned to the ranch after the attack?”
“Yes. She was still tranquilized.”
“You cleaned her up? Removed the blood from her fur and paws?”
Villaruba blinked. “Well, yes. I thought the smell of human blood would get the other bears worked up. Was that a mistake?”
“Technically, it’s destroying evidence in a criminal case. That’s definitely a mistake.”
Villaruba swallowed. “Am I in trouble?”
Nick didn’t answer. “Are you familiar with the Panhandle Casino?”
“Not really. I mean, I’ve been there. I’ve never examined the bear habitat, though.”
“Really? That’s kind of unusual, don’t you think?”
“I never thought about it. I see the bears out at the ranch.”
“Sure. So you don’t know the route the handler takes when he moves the bears from the loading dock to the habitat?”
“What? No.”
“The service corridor is pretty much a straight shot, but it does go right past the kitchen. Bears have a pretty good sense of smell, right?”
“Yes, very.”
“But all three ignored the kitchen and went right through into the casino. Seems like pretty strange behavior.”
“That is strange. But like I said, I’m not an expert on bears.”
“So you say,” said Nick. “And that’s pretty strange, too.”
8
CATHERINE STARED AT the wall of green bulrushes in front of her, her hand creeping to her holstered gun. “Las Vegas Police,” she called out. “Step out where I can see you.”
“I’d rather not,” the voice said. It sounded young, male, and embarrassed. “See, I was going for a swim, and my clothes—well, they’re hanging up right behind you.”
Catherine glanced at the clothesline. “Uh-huh. Tell you what, why don’t I toss your clothes to you, you put them on, and then you come out so we can talk?”
“Sure. I’m, uh, over here.” A hand shot up near the edge of the bulrushes. Catherine picked a pair of jeans off the clothesline and threw them over.
A moment later, a man in his twenties with a scruffy black beard and a scrawny, hairy chest stepped into view. “Hi,” he said. “I’m, uh, Mark Viceroy.”
“Hi, Mark,” said Catherine. “You live here?”
He hesitated before answering. “Not really. I’m just staying here for a while. It’s temporary.”
“We’re looking for a man and a woman, Mark. Anybody come by in the last few hours?”
Mark blinked at her. “Uh, no.”
Catherine sighed. “Look, they’re not in trouble�
�not unless we don’t catch up to them. Both of them have serious medical conditions; they escaped from a hospital, not a jail. Covering for them isn’t helping anyone, including them.”
Mark looked at Carter. “Never saw a bloodhound used to find hospital patients before.”
“You’d be surprised at what he can find,” said Grupper amiably. “Maybe I should have him nose around your campsite, see if there’s anything interesting.”
Mark blinked again. “Uh, they came through here a few hours ago. Guy with his arm in a sling and a woman, right?”
“You talk to them?” asked Catherine.
“A little. I was up making some coffee, and they came walking in out of the dark. They seemed kind of out of it.”
“I’ll bet. Tell me everything they said and did—don’t leave anything out. This is important.”
Mark pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “Okay. Lemme see. . . I asked if they wanted to sit down, have some coffee. They didn’t want any, asked for water instead. The guy kept staring at the fire like—I don’t know, like it was going to bite him or something. I could tell he wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t until she’d drunk some water.”
“They tell you their names?” asked Catherine.
“No, and I didn’t ask. The way I figure it, there’s kind of a code out in the middle of nowhere—either you’re there because you don’t want to be around anyone else, or you’re lost. Either way, you’re probably better off offering someone a space at your campfire than asking them who they are or what they’re doing.”
“That’s very polite,” said Catherine. “But we’re only a few miles away from Vegas—this isn’t exactly Death Valley. What did they say?”
“Well, funny you should mention death. They asked me how long I’d been here, and when I told them about a month, the guy asked me how I died. I didn’t know how to answer that, you know? I mean, I’ve hung out with schizophrenics on the street—you say the wrong thing, they’ll flip out on you. I didn’t want to wind up with a hatchet in my skull.”
“So what did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t remember. That seemed cool with him. The woman, she hardly said a word the whole time. Not until she stood up and said it was time to go—then you could tell who was in charge. He thanked me, and then they walked right into the wash—it’s pretty shallow around here, only up to your waist.”