by Diane Kelly
Each weekday, he continued to pretend to go to a job he didn’t have. He’d even had to pretend to be working out of town on the nights he’d pulled the zoo heists. She’d been especially disappointed that he’d purportedly been called to handle an out-of-town emergency on New Year’s Eve. She’d bought a bottle of cheap champagne so the two of them could celebrate. Luckily, she seemed appeased when they’d celebrated last night. He might have been a day late, but for once he wasn’t a dollar short. That antelope had brought him enough cash to last a few weeks.
Maybe the new year will bring me a new job, he thought as he rolled slowly down Industrial Avenue, an appropriately named street in a warehouse district southwest of the I-30/I-35 mix-master. He planned to make more cold calls today, see if maybe he’d stumble upon something. If he couldn’t land a welding job, maybe somebody would need some help in their warehouse.
By mid-afternoon, his hope was gone. Nobody was hiring full-time. Nobody needed help on a part-time or temporary basis, either. They’d keep him in mind in case something came up. But if something didn’t come up soon, he’d find himself out on the streets. What’s worse, he might cause Vicki and the kids to end up out on the streets, too.
His only option seemed to be self-employment. Here in Texas, people had a lot of state pride. They went gaga over anything in the shape of the state or a star, which not only stood for the Lone Star State but also represented the Dallas Cowboys. Heck, in prison they’d learned to weld by making star- and Texas-shaped metal wall art. If you added the words “God Bless Texas,” even better. The prisons sold the inmates’ work in their gift shops. He could buy some scrap sheet metal for next to nothing and try to make a go of it, maybe sell the stuff at the flea market or a craft show. Of course he’d need a place to ply his trade.
As he headed out of the area, a freestanding garage with a FOR RENT sign posted on it caught his eye. The metal pull-down door was dented in several places and the cinder-block walls were covered in graffiti, but that didn’t much matter. If he rented this small garage, he could do work here and store the trailer in it, too. He’d originally planned to resell the trailer after using it to transport the antelope, but he’d changed his mind and decided to hang on to it. It could come in handy for transporting tools and supplies and such. He hadn’t yet registered the trailer in his name. The tax and registration fees would set him back another hundred bucks he couldn’t spare right now. He’d incur a small penalty when he finally filed the paperwork, but keeping the trailer out of his name could also reduce the risk of it being traced to him if someone reported seeing it near the zoo. Of course, Vicki didn’t know about the trailer. He hadn’t told her. She’d only ask what he needed it for, why he’d spent good money on it. He’d rented a unit at one of those public storage places for stowing the thing, but he couldn’t use that space to work in. It was against the rules. But if he could move the trailer to this garage, he could kill two birds with one stone. Two birds. Ugh. He thought of the macaws and felt a twinge of guilt in his gut.
He turned into the asphalt drive, cut his engine, and pulled out his phone. He dialed the number on the sign. When a man answered, he asked. “How much you askin’ for the garage on south Jones Street?”
“Four fifty a month, plus three hundred damage deposit. Cash only.”
The $750 would take a big bite out of his remaining cash, but what choice did he have?
“Will you do month to month?” The Poacher didn’t want to be stuck with a long-term lease if things didn’t work out and he ended up not needing a workspace.
“Long as you pay in advance,” the guy said. “If I don’t have the next month’s rent by the twenty-fifth of the month, you’re out and I get someone new in there.”
They arranged to meet at the bay first thing the next morning to exchange cash for keys. Maybe the year was off to a promising start, after all.
THIRTY-FIVE
THE INVESTIGATION GOES SOUTH
Megan
Knowing I was likely to get more information and clues from visiting the welders in person than I would by simply giving them a phone call, I’d made a list of small shops and solo welders to visit, grouping them by location. Fortunately, they tended to be concentrated in a few primary pockets. The oldest industrial section of the city lay just to the south and west of the intersection of Interstates 30 and 35. It was the closest to the zoo and sat within my usual beat. Farther to the south, where I-35 met I-20, was Carter Industrial Park. A third, much newer industrial area called “AllianceTexas” spanned the property around Alliance Airport directly north of the city. The rents at the first two parks were much lower than those at AllianceTexas, so it seemed to make sense to focus on those locales first.
I’d planned to start off the morning by visiting the places inside my beat and work my way south. But before we could head out, Detective Bustamente summoned me into the station by knocking on the inside of his window and waving his arms to get my attention as Brigit and I headed to our cruiser in the parking lot. I rushed inside, jogging down the hall, Brigit’s nails clicking on the tile as she ran along with me. In the detective’s office I found Derek and the detective hunkered over a map of the city spread out on the desk.
“Did we get a break?” I stepped closer so I could look at the map, too.
Bustamente said, “You know that flocking stuff that was sprayed on the security camera at the zoo?”
“Yeah?”
“Officer Mackey discovered it was also sprayed on a bunch of security cameras along Winton Terrace and other neighborhood streets in the area. The thieves thought it would prevent them from being picked up on cameras, which it did, but it also gave us a rough map of the escape route they used.” He pointed to streets he’d marked with yellow highlighter. “See this? Looks like they drove through neighborhoods all the way south to Interstate 20. I’ve requested footage from businesses along the frontage road down that way.” He capped the pen and used it to point out the area where he’d requested video. “Maybe they picked something up.”
I looked up, my gaze going between Derek and the detective. “What about the footage from the cameras as they were sprayed?” Surely they’d captured the thieves when they’d come to disable the devices.
“Typical MO,” Derek said. “Guys dressed all in black and wearing ski masks.”
“Judging from their builds and the way they moved,” Bustamente added, “there appears to be at least two of them.”
The news was both disappointing and hopeful at the same time. Disappointing in that we still had nothing concrete, hadn’t yet identified the lawbreakers, but hopeful in that maybe we soon would.
“What about fingerprints?” I asked. “Any word yet?”
“Crime scene lifted some,” the detective said, “but most belonged to zoo staff. There were no hits on the others.”
In other words, if the other prints belonged to the thieves, the thieves had never been arrested so their prints weren’t in the database. It was also possible the other prints were made by zoo visitors trying to peek over the fences and see what was going on behind the scenes, or other zoo employees whose prints we hadn’t obtained.
Bustamente promised to call both me and Derek once he reviewed the camera footage from businesses along I-20.
As Derek, Brigit, and I headed out of the station, I tossed Derek a “Good job, Mackey.” Honestly, all he’d done was follow a trail of proverbial bread crumbs in the form of fake snow spray. It didn’t take a flocking genius to figure it out. A rookie could have done the same. But I might as well play nice.
My reward for congratulating the Big Dick was a snide, “Wish I could say the same for you, Luz-er. Everyone knows you’d be nothing without that dog.”
His words made me falter as I walked. It’s not true, is it? That I owe all of my success to Brigit?
As if she knew she’d been used as a pawn, Brigit yapped and lunged at Derek. He jerked out of her reach and cackled.
I loaded Brigit into our
patrol car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Derek is wrong, I told myself. Don’t let him psych you out. Brigit did an outstanding job as a K-9 cop, no doubt about it. But she hadn’t done it alone. My intellect and guidance had been integral to our success, too.
As I threw the car into reverse, I mentally shifted gears, too. Given that it appeared the thieves had headed south, it made sense for me to start my investigation down that way. Carter Industrial Park was not far from the Tarrant County College campus where the welding classes were offered, so I decided to start with the school and head on to the industrial park from there.
Brigit and I traced the thieves’ presumed route, looking for clues along the way but seeing none. When I reached I-20, I turned east, exiting on Campus Drive and turning into the parking lot of the college. With students out on winter break until mid-January, the lot was mostly empty, only a few cars parked in the staff spots. A skeleton crew manned the administration offices.
I stepped up to the woman at the counter. “I’m hoping to speak with your welding instructors. Can you help me out?”
“I’m not sure anyone’s in over there, but I’ll check.” She picked up the phone on her desk and dialed a four-digit number. A few seconds later she raised her brows and lifted her chin to let me know someone had answered. “It’s the front desk. There’s a police officer here wants to talk to you.” She paused a moment. “Uh-huh. All right.” She hung up the phone and turned back to me. “You can head over. It’s in the building marked ‘STEC’.” She pointed to a map on the wall beside us for reference.
I thanked the woman and headed to the building. I found a surprisingly slight man dressed head to toe in welding gear. Heavy-duty boots housed his small feet. A thick welding jacket protected his torso. A raised welding mask topped his head, making it look as if an openmouthed monster was about to chomp down on him from behind. The stubble on the man’s face couldn’t be called a five o’clock shadow because one, it was only nine in the morning, and two, the white-blond hairs didn’t darken his cheeks. If anything, they made him appear ghostlike. Same for his flame-blue eyes.
I introduced myself and Brigit. “You may have heard about the missing animals from the zoo,” I said.
“Saw it on the news,” he replied. “It’s got to be an inside job, right? I mean, how do you get an antelope out of the zoo without someone noticing?”
“That’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out,” I said. “And it’s why I’m here. Can you tell me whether you’ve got any current or former students who might have been involved in something like this?”
The guy wasn’t an idiot. “The thieves cut into the animal cages?”
“It’s a theory we’re working on,” I said. “We need you to keep that theory to yourself, okay?”
“Sure.” He stood a little straighter, as if proud to be on the inside of a high-profile investigation.
“So?” I said. “Any students that come to mind? Any of them ask any odd questions that could indicate their involvement? Seem to have suddenly come into a chunk of money?”
He looked up in thought, which basically meant he was looking up at his mask. Unfortunately, his mask gave him no answers. He returned his gaze to my face. “No. I can’t think of anyone in particular. I mean, we get some people in the classes who have criminal records, but it’s usually for DUI or drugs. Some type of petty theft, maybe. Nothing related to stealing animals that I know of. Of course they don’t all mention the fact that they’ve got a record.”
“All right.” I handed him my business card. “If anything changes or you think of someone, give me a call.”
Shortly after leaving the community college campus, Brigit and I rolled up to a warehouse just south of Altamesa Boulevard. Despite the cool outdoor temperatures, both bay doors were open. Men in coveralls, knit caps, and heavy canvas work gloves milled about inside, carrying pieces of sheet metal and loading them into the back of a commercial truck.
I raised a hand in greeting. “’Morning, guys. Got a second?”
They exchanged glances, probably wondering why a police officer was wandering into their warehouse.
Once they’d gathered, I looked around. “Is this everyone?”
They murmured in agreement.
I pulled out a flyer the police department’s public relations division had prepared and held it up. “As you might have heard, these animals were taken from the zoo.” The men eyed the flyer, which included the same photos of the macaws, the colobus monkey, and the springbok that had been used in the slide show at yesterday’s press conference. “I’m just out asking around, trying to find out if anyone has seen anything or knows anything about the animals, where they might be. We’d love to get them back.”
A man at the front cocked his head, his eyes wary. “Some reason why you’re coming to my shop?”
Better not to disclose the secret that a welding torch had been used to circumvent the zoo’s security system and gain access to the animals. But common sense said the springbok must have been taken away in some type of truck or trailer.
“A truck or trailer would have been needed to transport the springbok,” I said. “There’s lots of trucks and trailers in industrial areas like this.” I offered a casual shrug. “That’s all.” The man’s features relaxed as I held out the flyer. “Would you mind posting this?” I asked. “We’re trying to spread the word. We really need the public’s help on this one. If we don’t find those animals soon, there’s no telling what could happen to them.”
“All right.” He took the paper from me.
“Thanks.” I raised a hand again to the group, this time in good-bye. “Please let us know if you hear or see anything.”
They gave me another murmur of agreement.
I repeated virtually the same routine at three other places. I paid special attention to the welders who worked for the fencing company. After all, the canned hunting ranches required extra-tall perimeter fences to keep some of the exotic wildlife trapped inside. It was possible someone installing a fence at a hunting ranch had been approached about stealing an animal from the zoo, or perhaps had come up with the idea after seeing the wild animals on-site. Then again, maybe I was looking for connections where there were none.
Brigit and I spent the rest of the morning in the area, visiting machine shops and pipe companies, leaving flyers and business cards. A couple of the freelance welder shops were locked up and dark, the welder either out on a job or taking an extra day of vacation. Who could blame them? If I were my own boss, I’d give myself an extra day off, too, plus an employee-of-the-year award.
Our final stop was at an auto body shop. Bandera music blared from a radio inside, where we found two Latino guys in oil-stained gray coveralls working on a shiny red car sitting up on a lift. A classic Plymouth Road Runner. I’d learned a lot about cars, could identify many of the makes and models, both from writing traffic tickets as a cop and from dating Seth, who had an affinity for muscle cars.
Unfortunately, the grease monkeys knew nothing about the stolen monkey. Nothing about the other animals, either. They shook their heads. The one with the mustache added, “Sorry.”
“Here’s my card.” I handed out what felt like the millionth business card of the day. “If you hear anything, please call me.”
As I walked out, the back wheels of the Plymouth began to spin. I knew how the car felt. It seemed I was spinning my wheels, too.
THIRTY-SIX
EGGROLL OVER
Brigit
Seth came over and brought Blast with him. Yay! One sniff and she knew he’d also brought egg rolls, fried rice, and lo mein noodles. I gotta get me some of that.
A few minutes later, Seth and Megan sat on the couch, eating their dinner. Megan had filled Brigit’s bowl with wet dog food in an attempt to keep her from begging, but Brigit wasn’t fooled. Human food was always better than dog food. Still, she knew if she was too insistent Megan wouldn’t share. She had to play this right if she was going to score a
n egg roll and some noodles.
She sat patiently across the coffee table from them, blocking their view of the television. They couldn’t ignore her when she was in their way. She batted her eyes and whined softly to say Please? She drooled some, too, but not on purpose. The drool just came naturally.
Megan groaned. “Move, you mangy mongrel.” She tossed a bit of egg roll off to the side so Brigit would move out of the way of the TV. Such an obvious tactic.
Brigit scurried over and gobbled down the yummy tidbit before returning to her spot between Megan and the screen. It was a delicate dance the two had performed many a time.
Megan tossed a noodle this time, using the chopsticks to fling it all the way into the kitchen. “Go get it, girl!”
Oh, she’d get it all right. Brigit dashed to the kitchen, narrowly beating Blast, and slurped the noodle up off the floor, wolfing it down. Even if she had seen Lady and the Tramp, Brigit wouldn’t have shared her noodles. They were her favorite. She’d let Blast have the broccoli, though. She wasn’t a fan.
The noodle dispensed with, she returned to her spot in front of the TV. Megan groaned again. Their dance continued until the food was gone and all that remained were the fortune cookies. Megan tossed Brigit a piece of cookie and Brigit caught it midair. Blast did the same.
Her mission accomplished and her tummy full, Brigit flopped down flat on the rug so Megan and Seth could see the TV. Enjoy the show.
THIRTY-SEVEN
NOT TOO SHABBY
The Poacher
It was a few minutes after eight in the morning when he held out his first month’s rent and damage deposit to a man who didn’t believe in written leases, issuing receipts, or, from the smell of him, deodorant. Phew. The Poacher accepted a single key in return. It was on a key chain that said “World’s Best Grandmother.” Should I be concerned about that? For all he knew, the guy had killed some elderly woman and was now renting out her properties. He hadn’t offered his name.