Paw of the Jungle

by Diane Kelly

  In seconds, the guy was cuffed and kneeling on the threadbare carpet in the hall, Brigit standing guard over him. I turned back to look into the bathroom. Holy heck! The room had fared no better than the kitchen. The bathtub, toilet, and sink were all clogged with the marijuana, soggy baked goods, and plastic wrap. The moron hadn’t had the sense to take the plastic wrap off before trying to flush the baked goods away.

  I returned to the living room, dragging my charge along with me. After instructing him to sit against the wall, I addressed Vaughn, who was also on the floor. “You’re going to jail, obviously. Is there someone who can take care of the dog for you?”

  “My mother,” Vaughn said resignedly.

  “What’s her number?” As he rattled it off, I dialed it on my cell phone and activated the speaker since his hands were cuffed behind him.

  A woman’s froggy voice came over the line. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom,” Vaughn said. “It’s me.”

  “It’s the middle of the night, son! What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to come to my apartment and get Sasquatch. You’ll have to take care of him for a while.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  Vaughn cut angry eyes up at me. “I’ve been arrested.”

  “Again?” She muttered a curse. “What did you do this time?”

  “Nothing!” he snapped.

  “Does it have something to do with all those trips you’ve made to Colorado?”

  “Shut up, Mom! The cops can hear you!”

  Derek and I exchanged glances and chuckled, a rare bonding moment for the two of us. Looked like Vaughn had given up on international smuggling and was now smuggling cannabis products into Texas from colorful Colorado. But is he still dabbling in the animal trade?

  I decided to ask him point-blank. “You still smuggling animals?”

  “No,” he spat. “I haven’t done that since I went to prison.”

  “So you don’t have anything to do with the monkey that’s missing from the zoo?”

  His befuddled look appeared genuine. “There’s a monkey missing from the zoo?”

  One of our fellow officers showed up with Vaughn’s taco-toting friend in tow. “X-Ray” turned out to be Xavier Reyes, who, according to a quick search online, already had a prior arrest for marijuana possession, though in a small amount. He was currently on probation. Given his association with Vaughn Waggoner and the drugs we’d found here tonight, he could expect his probation to be revoked.

  A thorough search of Vaughn’s apartment and the men’s vehicles yielded nothing that pointed to his involvement in Sarki’s kidnapping. Vaughn’s computer and phone would still need to be searched, but I sensed that his animal smuggling days were, in fact, behind him.

  After Derek took the men to the station for booking, I retrieved Sasquatch from my car and brought him into the apartment to wait for Vaughn’s mother to come get him. I pulled a couple of liver treats from my pockets and fed them to Brigit. She’d never let me hear the end of it if I’d done otherwise. After all, she’d performed services here and deserved to be paid for them. I fed another to the chow to reward him for his cooperation.

  Half an hour later, after handing his leash over to Vaughn’s mother, I gave Sasquatch a nice scratch behind the ears. “Be a good boy for grandma.”

  “No worries there,” she said. “He’s always an angel.” She frowned. “Wish I could say the same for my son. I have half a mind to return his Christmas gifts to the store.”

  * * *

  My subsequent visits to the area’s pet stores and small, mom-and-pop petting zoos had led to me inadvertently stepping in a pile of pig poo, but had yielded no clues as to the whereabouts of Sarki, Fabiana, or Fernando. The only good news was that most of the people I’d spoken with had expressed genuine concern about their welfare and promised to contact me if they heard anything. I’d searched extensively online, too, looking for anyone offering a colobus monkey or hyacinth macaw for sale, or someone who had recently acquired one of the animals. Nothing had turned up.

  My original searches only returned sites in English. However, it was possible the animals could have been smuggled out of the United States and sold. Even if there was a site that mentioned the animals, if the content was written in another language it would not have come up. Realizing this, and that Spanish was spoken in virtually every country to the south, I found the Spanish words for colobus monkey and hyacinth macaw and searched for those. A few links popped up with recent references to a mono colobo or a guacamayo jacinto. I forwarded those to Detective Bustamente, who spoke Spanish fluently. Unfortunately, he’d found nothing helpful in the links. Though Canada was much farther away and French was spoken only by a minority of people there, I nonetheless searched for singe colobus and ara jacinthe. I got rien du tout, nothing at all.

  The lab issued their report. The only fingerprints the crime scene tech had lifted from the employee areas of the colobus monkey enclosure belonged to Dr. Greer, Camilla Bellafiore, and two other zookeepers responsible for caring for the primates. All four had voluntarily offered their prints for comparison. Of course they all had to know that their prints would be expected to be found at the site and would not incriminate them. The current custodial staff had also offered their prints, but none were found at the habitat, probably because they wore gloves when cleaning. I’d driven by Dr. Greer’s and Camilla Bellafiore’s homes both while I was on the clock and a couple times on my own when I was off duty. Though I spotted Dr. Greer’s car in Camilla’s driveway one evening, confirming my suspicion that the two might be personally involved, I saw no evidence of a monkey at either of their homes.

  By Christmas Eve, I had crossed all of the area pet shops and unaccredited zoos off my list but one. I drove with Brigit out to a property thirty miles west of the city, just past the town of Weatherford. Though the place called itself a sanctuary and had obtained nonprofit status from the IRS, it was immediately clear the facility’s owners ran the place to make money and that the animals’ welfare was secondary to the bottom line. Before going to the property, I stopped on a small rise nearby and used my binoculars to take a sneak peek at the place. A pair of tigers were kept in a chain-link enclosure no bigger than my backyard at home, their shelter cobbled together from spare plywood. A single, lonely kangaroo stared forlornly out at the horizon from a flimsy fence of lightweight mesh better suited for a chicken coop. One well-placed kick and the marsupial could be on the loose. A trio of ostriches strutted around on a dusty patch, pecking at the hard ground in search of food.

  Though plenty of dung sullied the enclosures, no one was working to clean it up. In fact, the only staff who appeared to be on the site was a corpulent man sporting an unkempt beard, scuffed boots, and dusty overalls. He sat in an open garden shed that served as the ticket booth. I stowed the binoculars in the cruiser’s glove compartment, drove down to the place, and parked under a big sign that read WILD ’N WOOLY ANIMAL SANCTUARY. I left Brigit in the car. The tigers were already pacing in their inadequate enclosure and eyeing a toddler standing nearby. The big cats might think my partner looked like a yummy snack, too.

  As he collected their entry fees from his makeshift booth near the road, the big, grizzly man who seemed to be singlehandedly running the place informed a teenaged couple who came through the gate that they could get their picture taken with a tiger cub for twenty extra bucks. The practice ought to be outlawed. People had been killed taking a photo with what they wrongfully assumed was a wholly tamed beast. In reality, a creature’s wild nature could never be fully conquered by man. Luckily, the couple declined, probably unable to afford the photo fee. They did, however, buy a bag of sunflower seeds to feed the ostriches.

  As they headed into the place, I stepped up to the shed and feigned friendliness as I addressed the man sitting inside. “Hello, there. How’s your day going?”

  He jabbed a button on the laptop sitting on the TV tray next to him, pausing the movie he’d been watching. “Jus�
� fine. What can I do you for?”

  Though his wording and tone were relaxed, his eyes were wary. With good reason. The research I’d performed before coming out here told me the guy had been fined twice for the shoddy way he operated. The government should’ve put him out of business.

  “Just wondering if anyone has contacted you about a colobus monkey that’s up for sale.”

  He sat up straight, the steely wariness in his eyes replaced by an excited gleam. “There’s a monkey for sale? Hell, I’d love to buy a monkey. How much they askin’?”

  Sheesh. “The monkey was stolen. From the Fort Worth Zoo.”

  Like the ostriches, this guy must’ve hidden his head in the sand. Sarki’s face had been all over the news since he’d disappeared. People had been calling the FWPD headquarters, wanting to know whether the monkey had been found. A small group had even held a candlelight vigil for him in the zoo’s parking lot. Frankie and I had joined them, sending up a prayer for Sarki’s safe return. Frankie knew how worried I’d been, and we figured appealing to a higher power couldn’t hurt. The organizers of the vigil passed out safety pins twined with black and white ribbons, the color of the colobus monkey. One had been pinned to my lapel since.

  Given the man’s response, it was clear he hadn’t been approached about buying the monkey. I handed him my business card. “If you hear anything about a colobus monkey or a hyacinth macaw being on the market, please let me know.”

  “Is there a reward?”

  Again, sheesh. Wasn’t doing the right thing and feeling good about it reward enough? “You’d probably get your picture in the paper, maybe be interviewed on the news.”

  He grunted, but took my card and tucked it into a pocket on the chest of his overalls. He turned his attention back to the movie streaming on the laptop in front of him. Looked like I could cross this place off my list, too.

  Having finished the parts of the investigation that Bustamente had delegated to me, I drove to the station for an update on his progress.

  When I rapped on his door frame, he looked up from his cluttered desk. “Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair facing his desk. As I flopped down in the chair, he read my body language. “No luck?”

  “None. Nobody in the area seems to have heard anything. I’ve repeatedly searched online, too. I’ve seen nothing about a colobus monkey or hyacinth macaw for sale, or being added to a collection or exhibit.”

  The detective released a long, frustrated breath. “I checked with Sharon Easley again today. She’s hasn’t heard from anyone in her zoo circles. None of the other zoo employees shed light on the case, either. Nobody who knows Camilla Bellafiore or Greg Greer thinks they are remotely capable of such a heinous crime.”

  “What about the fur we found in Landis’s car and house?” I asked. “What did the lab say about it?”

  “They compared it to a sample of the colobus monkey fur and the fur from Landis’s cat. It’s all feline.”

  Unless new evidence surfaced, Danny Landis seemed to be a dead end, too.

  Bustamente leaned his head back against the headrest and stared up at the ceiling. “The chief isn’t going to be happy to hear we’ve hit a wall. He’s getting heat from the public and the press.”

  I rested my face in my hands. “Where could that monkey be?”

  “Who knows,” Bustamente replied. “He could be on display in a dentist office in Shanghai by now.”

  Ugh. The thought made me feel cold and empty. I could only hope that, wherever Sarki was, he didn’t feel the same way.

  TWENTY-ONE

  SILENT NIGHT

  Brigit

  Brigit wasn’t sure why, but her partner had seemed intent on introducing her to every captive animal in the Fort Worth area. Over the last few days, Megan had taken her to all sorts of pet stores and petting zoos. Not that Brigit was complaining. She liked other animals. She’d enjoyed carousing with the puppies at that one shop even though a couple of them had nipped her playfully with their sharp teeth. Still, having once been a prisoner at the city’s animal pound, she felt sorry for the animals who didn’t have a comfortable home with a loving person like Megan to feed them, and cuddle them, and do their bidding.

  At the final store they’d visited, Megan bought Brigit a box of peanut butter dog biscuits. Yummy! After wolfing one down herself, Brigit nudged the box, insisting Megan offer one to each of the three dogs up for adoption at the front. They crunched away at the biscuits and, when they finished, thanked Brigit with a wag of their tails.

  Megan was quiet on their ride home from the station tonight. At home, she said nothing as she washed up, changed into her pajamas, and slid into bed. Brigit knew Megan’s silence was not a good sign. Her partner was upset about something. Brigit wished she knew what it was. All she could do was curl up next to Megan in bed and give her a wet kiss on the cheek to let her know she cared. Slup!

  TWENTY-TWO

  FA LA LAWBREAKER

  The Poacher

  The kids woke at the butt crack of dawn on Christmas morning, squealing and shouting as they discovered the gifts Santa had left in their stockings.

  Vicki moaned from her place in the bed beside him, not unlike how she’d moaned last night when he’d “stuffed her stocking.” After the kids had gone to bed, he’d surprised her with an early present of her favorite perfume. She’d slipped her clothes off, slapped a bow on her bare butt, and summoned him to her bed with a crooked finger.

  Knowing he was still on thin ice with her, he sat up. “I’ll start the coffee.”

  “Wake me when it’s ready.” With that, she rolled over to go back to sleep.

  Torn wrapping paper, colorful bows, and ribbon covered the living room floor, the kids happily playing with their new toys. Well, all but the biggest toy.

  The Poacher gestured to the rocking horse in the corner. “Harper, aren’t you going to ride the horsey Santa brought you?”

  She made a face. “I’m too old for a rocking horse, Daddy.”

  His heart splintered. Harper had been thrilled when Santa had given her a rocking horse three years ago, then later devastated when the police seized it as evidence he had stolen from the Toys “R” Us store he’d worked at. He wondered if she remembered, hoped to God she didn’t. Regardless, he’d sworn to himself back then that he’d make it up to her. Maybe some things can’t ever be fixed.

  He padded into the kitchen, got the coffeepot going, and rounded up a rusty frying pan. “Who wants pancakes?”

  His older son hollered, “I do! I do! I do!”

  The younger one looked up to his brother and attempted to say the same thing but it came out, “Ah-doo. Ah-doo.”

  Harper raised hopeful brows. “Can you make the smiley-face kind? Pleeeeeease?”

  She’s still my little girl. “Anything for you, squirt.”

  After breakfast, the whole family cuddled on the couch to watch the same holiday movies they had already seen a hundred times. It was like the warden and his John Travolta movies all over again. Harper had squeezed in between him and Vicki. When the third show ended, Harper’s patience ran out.

  She looked up at him. “Can we open our presents now?”

  He gestured to all of the new toys lying around. “What about the things Santa brought you? Tired of them already?”

  “We’ll play with them more later,” Harper said. “Please?”

  Vicki glanced at the clock on the cable box. “It’s not even noon yet.”

  “I don’t care!” Harper said. She looked up at the Poacher and, seeming to sense he was on her side, began pumping her fists. “Pres-ents! Pres-ents! Pres-ents!”

  Her brothers joined in, the youngest shouting gibberish. “Pez-iss! Pez-iss!”

  “All right.” Vicki waved a hand toward the wrapped presents under the tree. “Harper, you pass them out.”

  Harper was more than happy to provide present-delivery services, picking up each gift, reading the name on the tag, and stacking them before their intended recipie
nt. When her little brother started pulling on the paper, she wagged a finger in front of his face. “Not yet. You have to wait until they’re all passed out.”

  His lip began to quiver and he was on the verge of blubbering when Harper leaned down and gave him a hug. “It’s okay.”

  His expression was confused now, but at least he wasn’t going to cry.

  When all of the gifts had been distributed, Harper took her place on the rug. “On your mark!” she cried. “Get set! Go!”

  The air filled with the sounds of paper tearing and children screaming.

  Vicki reached into his gift bag and pulled out the lace teddy he’d bought her. When she realized what it was, she shoved it back into the bag before the kids could see. She sent a coy look his way. “Is this for me or for you?”

  “Both of us,” he replied with a wink.

  Harper opened the small box he’d wrapped for her and held up the gift inside, her eyes wide and mouth gaping. “My own cell phone!”

  His little girl was thrilled. His heart warmed. Finally, he was showing her he could be the kind of father she deserved, a good father who provided well for his family. Looks like things can be fixed after all.

  Vicki was less delighted. She turned a frown on him. “What does a seven-year-old need with a cell phone?”

  “Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Lots of kids her age have them. Besides, she’s always asking me questions I don’t have the answers to. If she has her own phone, she can look them up herself.” Maybe he could’ve answered more of his daughter’s questions if he’d spent less of his time in prison working out and more of it reading.

  Vicki frowned again, but it was a smaller frown this time and her tone had softened a little. “I still say it’s ridiculous.”

  He returned his attention to Harper, basking in her delight until she suddenly froze. Her smile faded and she turned to him, her eyes lit with worry, and said something that hurt worse than the time he’d been shanked in the prison shower. “Do we get to keep our presents this time, Daddy?”