Marked Fur Murder
Page 20
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Hullo, Foxtrot,” Keene said. He was in the billiards room, playing against Oscar. “Care for a game?”
“Not right now, thanks. But I would like a word.”
“Mamihlapinatapei,” said Oscar. He leaned over the table, lining up his shot carefully. “A wordless yet meaningful look shared between two people who desire each other but are both reluctant to initiate proceedings.”
Keene looked at me. I looked at him. Both of us grinned and looked away again.
“I meant a word with Keene,” I clarified. “Though, as far as words go, that one’s pretty good. Kind of hard to pronounce, though.”
Oscar sighed and put his cue down on the table. “Very well, Foxtrot. I shall leave you two alone, to do … whatever it is you two do. If only there were a word for it…” He strolled out of the room, humming something I couldn’t quite identify.
“So what can I do for you?” Keene asked, leaning against the billiards table. “Got a dragon needs slaying?”
That was uncomfortably close to the truth—but I was about to yank him a whole lot closer to an even less comfortable one.
“I know you slept with Anna,” I said.
He stared at me with those big, long-lashed puppy eyes, then looked away. “Ah. Well, I won’t insult your intelligence by denying it. Yes, I did. Though I’m not sure why you would care.”
“I care because she died, Keene. And because I know what your hair dryer looks like.”
“My what?” Now he looked confused. “You mean you’ve seen it? Excellent. I can’t find the bloody thing anywhere.”
“I’m not the one who found it. The police did—in the swimming pool.”
“But—oh. You mean that’s—I thought she drowned.”
“She did,” I said. “The police think it was something called electric shock drowning, which happens when an electric current in water paralyzes a swimmer.”
He shook his head vehemently. “What, from my missing appliance? I suppose Anna could have nicked it on her way out the door—I was, sad to say, just a wee bit unconscious at that point. But what does that mean? Was it an accident? Or did she—you know … top herself?”
“We don’t know exactly what happened,” I said truthfully. “But I’m doing my best to find out.”
He nodded. “If anyone can, you can, Trot. I mean that.” He hesitated. “But there’s something you should know. About me and Anna, I mean.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Keene.”
He smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. No, I’m just a big old man-slut with poor impulse control—that’s pretty much a given. I’m talking about Anna, and why she decided to … you know. With me.”
“Let’s see. Because she’d just learned her husband had cheated on her, and you’re a great big man-slut?”
“No. It was because of a song I wrote. ‘Midnight Melody.’ It was their song, you see. Now she can’t hear it without her heart breaking. I know what that’s like—everybody does, I think. I told her I was sorry, and asked if there was anything I could do. She told me she wanted to change what that song meant to her, and there was only one way she could think of to do that.”
He crossed his arms, looking more like he was hugging himself than anything else. His eyes were sad.
“Wow,” I said. “That has to be one of the best pickup lines I have ever heard.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ve heard them all, and that one is clearly on the top of the heap. What could I do? I let her drag me off to bed and did my best to be…”
“Memorable?”
“That’s it. So don’t think too badly of me, okay? She knew what she needed right then, and I’ve always found it hard to turn away someone in pain. So I didn’t.”
“Good for you,” I said, and I meant it.
“Electric shock drowning, huh? I notice you said the police think that, not you. What do you think really happened?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. But by now, I bet the coroner does.”
* * *
Harriet Tilford’s work voice mail told me she wasn’t in today. However, something I heard in the background of her message gave me an idea, and I decided to drive into town to the coroner’s office, her place of employment, anyway. And I took Tango with me.
“Now remember,” I told her as we pulled into the parking lot. “We need a cooperative ally, not a terrified prisoner, okay?”
She gave me a relaxed glance from where she sprawled on the passenger seat.
“You look like a cat,” I muttered as I turned off the engine.
“It means you’re in the habit of ignoring what I tell you and doing whatever you want.”
“Exactly.”
The building the Hartville coroner’s office was in was also the town hall, which wasn’t surprising considering Hartville’s size. It was a three-story brick structure that tried for stately but barely managed county. We went up the worn stone steps, through the front door, and into a lobby with a signboard and a marble staircase to one side. There was a short hallway to the left, which from prior experience I knew held the restrooms, a storage closet, and the coroner’s office at the very end.
When Tango and I got there I tried the door: locked. I tried knocking, but nobody answered—well, nobody human, anyway.
Squawk!
Tango lowered her head in that way cats have when they spot a bird.
“Well, we’ll just have to listen really closely. I need to find out if the autopsy found anything unusual about Anna’s death, and I can’t wait for Harriet. Besides, she’ll clam up on me if the coroner found anything that points to murder. She’s helpful, but she’s not stupid.”
“Don’t be so negative,” I whispered. “Birds have great memories, especially for sounds. Now go on, get her attention.”
I thought about Ben and how upset he was to learn he’d gotten his job through his father’s influence. “Yeah, birds have definite ego issues. So this is how I want to handle this…”
I told Tango what I had in mind, and she agreed it was probably the best approach to take. She cleared her throat, then warbled in Parakeet the words I whispered to her telepathically:
“Hey there yourself, beautiful,” Tango translated. “Where are you and why aren’t you in here with me? Also, what do you look like?”
Perfect.
“Me? My name is Rudolfo, and I’m a full-blooded barred parakeet from Caracas, baby. My plumage makes sunsets weep and my voice brings the stars out at night. I have the wingspan of an airplane and the talons of an eagle. But enough about me—what about you?”
“That could be—though the same question has been asked of me, many times. I think sometimes the woman who takes care of me may have something wrong with her brain.”
“What would you have me do? Fly up to the sun to pluck its brilliance from the sky? Steal the feathers of a condor to line our nest? Anything for you.”
“What? Never! Such a thing simply could not be so. Tell me who made such terrible false accusations and I s
hall rend him limb from limb!”
“Ah, I see. You need me to ask her for him. I shall do my best, though I fear my command of her language is rudimentary. It is my only failing.”
I was starting to warm up to Rudolfo. He might be an avian Lothario, but I sensed some genuine loneliness beneath his bluster.
“Yes, of course. Many times.”
“I hear many things, señorita. Many, many things.”
“Ah. You are hoping, perhaps, to glean any information on this Anna Metcalfe autopsy that you can, in order to relay it to your caregiver, salvage his reputation, and thus redeem yourself in his eyes. A noble endeavor, indeed. But.”
But Rudolfo surprised me.
“My memory, sadly, is not the equivalent of my other attributes. It pales, for instance, beside my abilities at lovemaking. It is as nothing when compared with my skill as a nest builder, and no more than a joke when viewed next to my magnificent plumage. I apologize deeply for this.”
I sighed under my breath.
“Try? Try? You misunderstand me, madame. I will not just try, I will succeed. I am merely apologizing in advance for not living up to my own exacting standards.”
There was a pause, which I supposed was Rudolfo concentrating. And then:
“Dr. Kaufman? I’ve finished typing up the forms for the Metcalfe autopsy. Thank you, Harriet. How about the tox screen? Yeah, that’s done, too. You want me to send it right over to Forrester? No, I’ll do that in person. He’s going to have questions about the results and I’ll probably have to walk him through it. Suxamethonium chloride isn’t going to be something he’s familiar with. Is that unusual? It is in a drowning victim. In fact, it pretty much proves this was no accident. Hey, Rudolfo. Who’s a pretty bird? Who’s a pretty bird?”
Rudolfo paused. “There is more in that vein, but I believe we have already covered that. Do you wish me to continue?”
“It was my pleasure. And now … it is time you told me the truth, my sweet.”
“Aha! You are revealed! It all makes sense, now: the long pauses, the hesitation, that maddeningly alluring accent. You are not what you claim to be, are you?”
I motioned for Tango to follow me, but she stayed right where she was, listening intently at the door and continuing to translate.
“You do not dwell in an office down the hall. You are not a domesticated parakeet at all.”
“Tango!” I hissed. “Let’s go!”
“You are … a pigeon! Drawn inside by your inescapable attraction to me!”
“Not a pigeon, then. A robin?”
“A sparrow? A blue jay? A grackle? You have the insouciance of a grackle.”
Tango shook her head, then got to her feet and padded down the hall after me.
“You just couldn’t tear yourself away from his adoration, huh?” I asked.
* * *
When we got back to the mansion I looked up suxamethonium chloride online. It was a depolarizing neuromuscular blocker, commonly used to help intubate patients through muscle relaxation and short-term paralysis. It acted quickly and was metabolized just as fast. Most important, though, it mimicked the effects of electric shock drowning, making it impossible for the subject to move while still retaining consciousness. Under certain conditions—like drowning—the drug could also lead to hyperkalemia, a massive release of potassium in the body that often induced cardiac arrest.
“So that’s how she was killed,” I murmured. Tango was napping on my office couch while Whiskey was sitting next to me, staring at the screen attentively. “But how was it administered—and by whom?”
[Someone with medical credentials, perhaps?]
“Or access to hospital-grade drugs. Theodora Bonkle is no stranger to that environment.”
[Being a patient is hardly qualification for administering drugs.]
“Granted. I mean, Fimsby has a doctorate, but that doesn’t make him a doctor. But maybe we’re not asking the right question, either.”
[Which would be?]
“If the big bad guy is a shape-changing, psychic snake, why would it kill Anna with a drug?”
[Misdirection? The Unktehila seems to be a creature that thrives on deception. That would color its entire approach to life—and death.]
That did make sense, in a very primal way. Big powerful people often favored the charging-headlong strategy, smart people preferred to negotiate, charismatic people were inclined toward seduction. Go with your strengths, right?
The problem was, the Unktehila seemed to possess all three of those traits in addition to a talent for fooling people. It could be posing as any of the guests, really. Couldn’t it?
“Let’s try to break this down,” I said. “Unless the Unktehila can mimic a Thunderbird, it can’t be Teresa Firstcharger. I think we can cross her off the list. That leaves Gorshkov, Bonkle, Fimsby, and Kaci.”
[It can’t be Kaci.]
“Why not?”
[It just can’t. My instincts tell me so.]
I shook my head. “Instincts can be fooled, Whiskey. But let’s leave Kaci out for now. That leaves three other prime suspects. Fimsby seems desperate to help, Gorshkov wants to protect his investment, Bonkle is wrapped up in another case. Any of them could be creating an elaborate smokescreen and none of them has an alibi.”
We stared at each other in frustration for a moment. Whiskey actually whined.
“Let’s take this step by step. How did this all start? What was the very first thing that happened?”
[Chronologically? That would be Anna realizing she had Thunderbird abilities.]
“Right. She comes here, drops a few hints to Ben, then freaks out and runs when her powers come on even stronger. Lands in Australia, looks up the local expert, uses him to run a few tests, and gets herself under control. Then—according to Fimsby—they discover the Unktehila threat, realize they can’t trust anyone, and arrange to get together with Ben to warn him in person. Does that seem right?”
[No. They could have warned him from afar.]
“Especially with something as ominous as a shape-shifting, mind-warping monster. Then again, maybe that’s why it had to be face-to-face; it’s too easy to dismiss a phone call, especially one as crazy sounding as that one would have been.”
[True. But it tells us one important thing: They learned of the Unktehila while still in Australia.]
That was something I hadn’t considered. I’d been thinking of the Unktehila as a North American beastie … but then I remembered what Keene had told me about bush babies and how their cries had been attributed to a rainbow-hued serpent that bored into your skull. Could it be that the Unktehila were global in scope?
[I know that scent. You’re about to do research, aren’t you?]
I frowned at him. “I smell a particular way when I’m about to do research?”
[Yes. I call it eau de Google.]
“That’
s the aroma of curiosity and intellectual pursuit, my friend. Tally ho!”
I bent over my keyboard and started tapping keys. Rainbow plus snake plus Australia. Just for good measure I added mythic, then hit search.
Hmmm. Interesting, and not what I expected. There was an aboriginal myth about something called the Rainbow Serpent, but it wasn’t nearly as nasty as the Unktehila was supposed to be. In fact, it was more like a god than a monster, one often associated with water and creation rather than death and destruction. It was a myth found the length and breadth of the Australian continent, rearing its scaly head in every tribe, and though the story always had a few constants—association with deep water holes and rainbows—local variants connected the serpent to many other things: land, life, the moon, social relationships, weather, menstruation, falling stars, coming-of-age rituals, geological formations, fertility, rivers, and floods. “Well, that narrows it down,” I muttered.
There was a knock at the door. I looked up to see ZZ standing there, a large, brightly colored woven bag slung over her shoulder. “Hello, dear. I’m running into town to pick up a few things and I just wanted to see how things were going with you.”
“Going? With me? Smooth and steady, as always.”
ZZ sighed. “And with Ben?”
“Ah. I haven’t talked to him since … you know.”
“Don’t leave it too long, dear. I know you’re busy, but keep your priorities straight.”
“Plus, you want your chef back.”
“That, too.” She took a step into the room and glanced at the screen of my laptop. “Snakes? Whatever are you studying now?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Caroline’s been getting reports of a large snake on the grounds, and I’m trying to figure out what species it might be. Imaginary is high on list, so you don’t have to worry.”
She peered down at the screen intently. “Oh, I’m not worried. I like snakes, especially the larger ones. I used to own a few, many years ago. Had to leave them behind, sadly.”
“Leave them behind? Where?”
“Peru. The Zoransky family lived there for a while when I was a child, and I took an interest in the local wildlife; I suppose that’s where my interests in animal conservation started. I had a couple of lovely Epicrates cenchria I got locally, and a few more from Colombia. My father didn’t know about them until we moved back to the States; then he wouldn’t let me bring them along. Against the law, he claimed—though I later learned snakes of that type were common in the pet trade and were imported to the US all the time. I suspect he just wanted an excuse to get rid of them.”