The Case of the Red-Handed Rhesus (A Rue and Lakeland Mystery)

by Jessie Bishop Powell

  Our dwindling budget made the second possibility feel all too real. Short of a major grant coming in, we were going to have to ask Stan for help soon. Since he had so recently paid for the orangutan enclosure, Lance and I were both hesitant to take this step. Purely aside from the fact that he had already given us too much personally, we didn’t want to abuse the man’s generosity.

  There was real argument for merging with the Ohio Zoo. Although affiliated with Ironweed University, Midwest Primates wasn’t a formal arm. The university might remain a major funder if we became an educational zoo and guaranteed we would only accept primates already in captivity while we continued to offer research opportunities for those studying their behaviors. Lance, Art, and I had volleyed this idea around many times over the years.

  Ultimately, we had always come down against it, even though Christian and his employers at the Ohio Zoo were more than open to increasing that source of funding to add an exhibit with major tourist appeal to the primate collection. But now? How much would the university continue to provide without Art up there advocating for us?

  I couldn’t realistically expect to get his job, not when the department chair resented me so much that he was trying to influence a job committee by scheduling my teaching demonstration in a room polluted with a bucket of dead fish. Not to mention the severed head. He swore he knew nothing about that, but he also refused to explain why he thought his own life was in danger when he saw it.

  It might be time to ask our board to reconsider the zoo’s offer, even though it would mean making drastic changes to Art’s vision. Besides, even though I had previously been opposed to having children on our grounds, it was now hard to imagine the center without Sara and William on site.

  “Noel!”

  How long had I been ruminating? Judging by the number of crickets hopping around the bottom of the spider monkeys’ enclosure and the giggles from the children I’d been allowing to help me place them, quite some time.

  “Noel, would you come here?” Jen, standing over by the rhesus macaque enclosure, looked less than impressed by my lack of focus.

  “Sorry. Come on, kids. That’s enough enrichment to keep these guys from stealing anything for at least a week.” Sara and William only offered token protests when I prodded them forward, further confirming my suspicions. I’d been mentally absent for some time. “I don’t know what we’d do without you holding the reins here, Jen. What did you need?” I swore to myself to give her a more formal thanks in the near future. She was, after all, not even on our paid roster, but a complete volunteer.

  She waved me off. “I think we have a problem?” She sounded a bit like Sara or William making a statement-question.

  “What’s up?”

  “I should have said something sooner, but you’ve been overwhelmed, and I kind of thought I was losing my mind. How many rhesus macaques do we have?”

  “I can’t say off the top of my head. I’d have to look at the sheet. Why?”

  “Fewer than two hundred twenty, right?”

  “Many fewer. We don’t have capacity for more than one hundred fifty, and that, in and of itself, is a huge number.”

  “The sheet says a hundred thirty-eight.”

  “Sounds right.”

  “Noel, I’ve counted multiple times since Wednesday. I thought it was because I’m doing too much, and maybe we didn’t get them back in the right enclosures. I thought I was maybe double-counting. But I had my husband come in and count with me. We have two hundred twenty monkeys in those enclosures. We’ve got major bloodshed. I’m refilling bowls as two or three monkeys fight to share it. We didn’t have this many before that poor man got killed here. We had a hundred thirty-eight. One monkey to a bowl, and nobody ever missed a meal. I should have said something right away, but it seemed outrageous to have so many monkeys.”

  “How did it happen? Why didn’t we notice Wednesday?”

  “We barely got to do a head count Wednesday. All we did was put away as many as we thought we had. There were so many of us working, we probably all counted to a hundred thirty-eight and thought we had it. Who would think we’d have extras? And it’s been pandemonium in these enclosures ever since.

  “This is Merle’s area,” she went on, “and he hasn’t called back to even say he won’t be returning. I thought maybe I misunderstood something and rhesus macaques were different from the other kinds of monkeys. Like maybe you had to count some other time or you’d get confused. It’s not like I’ve got some kind of degree to be an expert.” Jen felt self-conscious because she didn’t have any affiliation with the college. She was just a member of the community with a fascination and desire to help.

  And she was right. Normally, feeding time is also head count time, because the monkeys all come down for chow. We can verify we don’t have anybody missing because each individual comes to its bowl. Monkeys are territorial little critters, so there isn’t much danger of bowl hopping causing an accidental over-sight.

  “Jen, thank you for telling me about this. The rhesus macaques aren’t any different from the others. And as for expertise, you don’t need a degree. The person with the expertise is the one on the ground. Most sanctuaries aren’t attached to colleges. They aren’t normally overflowing with overeducated people like me. In fact, it’s ironic that this one is, since part of Art’s mission, part of our mission, is to validate the experiences of keepers, many of whom get discredited because they haven’t got credentials or haven’t conducted a properly scientific study. You’ve been here long enough to know when something is wrong. Trust yourself. I know I do.”

  Her whole face brightened when I said I trusted her, and I realized I had given her more than any medal or award. She hadn’t known until then she had been given the gift of my respect long before today. “What do we do?” she asked. “Somebody besides us is putting monkeys into our enclosures.”

  She was right. We never would have accepted more monkeys than we could house. The wizened little macaques in this one enclosure were crowded together in far greater quantities, and a cursory count revealed far too many of them.

  “We need more houses if we’re going to make room.” My mind spun backward over the last few days. Although I wasn’t completely sleep-fogged, I still felt jet-lagged and slow. I had an idea in there if I could clear things out long enough to think of it, I felt certain. “In the meantime, let’s start moving the extras to our quarantine areas. We’ve got all the most recent newcomers placed, and that gives us a little room to spread these guys out using those right now. That isn’t acceptable for the long term, but it will allow us to establish a healthier environment in the present tense.”

  “Something wrong?” Darnell had been over by the colobus enclosure, but he joined us now.

  “Merle?” I said to Jen. “Did you say Merle was in charge of this area?”

  She nodded.

  Merle is in charge of this enclosure. Merle is a no-call no-show at the pizza parlor. Merle was with Robby and Layla when Will vanished. “What’s Merle’s blood type?” I asked of nobody. There were, of course, no answers. I had a nasty feeling it was Type A.

  Darnell looked a question and I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What to say? Lance thinks William saw something at the Marine. Something serious enough Robby was told to pick him up. And pick him up again. We have too many monkeys. Merle works at the Marine. Merle is in charge of the now vastly overpopulated rhesus macaque area. “Something?” I answered. “I’d say lots of things.”

  “Something new, I meant.”

  “Count the macaques,” Jen said.

  “One, two,” Sara and William complied immediately.

  “Not you,” I told them. But I was only half listening, and they went on counting, both of them saying “five-teen” instead of “fifteen.” The first time he came here, William melted down about the rhesus enclosures. He didn’t like the cages. He didn’t like circle-dot cars. Circle-dot cars might not be police vehicles.

  “Too many,�
� Darnell said after a minute. “But I thought Chuck was the one breaking in before last week.”

  What was I missing? “I think it happened last week,” I said.

  “Who breaks in to dump animals into an enclosure?” Jen sounded completely lost. “Why not donate or surrender them the normal way?”

  Her question crystallized the idea I had been trying to get in focus. “Because those aren’t somebody’s unwanted pets.” That was it. That was what I had been missing. “Those animals are being smuggled, and somebody is using our sanctuary as a clearinghouse.” I nearly said more, barely remembering in time Jen didn’t know Darnell in his agent role.

  I held the rest of my theory in until I was alone with Darnell and the kids in the van. “You and Trudy were tracking a smuggling ring.” It wasn’t a question. “And you thought Gary was at its heart.”

  “But he was doing something else entirely,” Darnell pointed out.

  “No, he wasn’t. He was doing something else additionally. Let’s say your smugglers needed a holding zone between dropping their animals and moving them to a final destination, a pet store or someone’s home. They received the animals asynchronously and made their activity harder to track by disappearing them in between arrival and delivery. Where better to hide a bunch of monkeys than a primate sanctuary?

  “I checked our files briefly before we left. Because the number of macaques kept going up, I assumed our volunteers were taking in more of those than others, but at a glance, I saw no more rhesus macaques than any other monkeys on the list, even though the sheet totals increased. Merle told us we had more. We never thought to see if he logged them formally. I think we’ve been getting extra macaques for a long time, and the real problem is Gary and Merle aren’t there any longer to siphon them off.

  “And,” I wound up, “We need to be looking at the Michigan Zoo’s former employees.”

  “Like Ace?”

  Did Darnell have to sound so hopeful? “Maybe. Whoever is bringing the animals in may know Chuck. But Chuck wouldn’t have to bust loose to see Ace, and I’d wager he’s breaking out to visit a friend. He follows along, watches the human messing with the macaque cage, and after the person goes, he tries his own hand at it. With the key that Ace stopped everything to test when I called him.”

  Darnell had a major hole to poke in my theory. “Why doesn’t this person show up on the security footage?”

  “Remember? The cameras were turned off or moved.”

  “Not the cameras back here. The cameras on the road didn’t pick up anything.”

  Natasha had been eavesdropping. She poked her head forward. “Bet they took the service road. It goes right by Chuck’s enclosure, there are no cameras, and it’s not much of a hike up the back way from his place to main if you know what you’re doing.”

  This was true. It was one of the few periphery areas on the property without at least one camera, and so few people knew about the entrance we had never stationed a deputy there until after last Wednesday. We had plenty of places to take video, but our cameras only showed some of our enclosures fully, and there were enough gaps in our coverage that Chuck had been able to let himself out and ramble up to the main area, moving those cameras that might have caught him. That he knew where to find the cameras so he could move them bespoke a human connection, too. It took a muddy Sasquatch footprint to give him away.

  “We need to look at their cars, too,” Darnell said. “Or are orangutans so good at discerning sounds they could figure out some unusual knock a human ear couldn’t pick up?”

  “I don’t think so. As far as I know, it would have to be something distinct enough you or I would hear it.”

  Natasha stuck an arm between us and turned the stereo up to blaring.

  “Hey!” I turned it back down. “Put your seatbelt back on and sit back!”

  “Bet the whole neighborhood heard that,” she said.

  “Yes, I’m sure they . . . oh. You’re saying it could be a loud radio.” The deputies wouldn’t have heard even a blasting machine over the sound of monkey chatter, if the primates were keyed up.

  “He comes to music.”

  “Next time, say so instead of giving William and Sara the screaming meemies.”

  “Sorry. My point was it could be anybody who listened to rap and was dumb enough to blast it when they drove in during the night.”

  Darnell followed her where I did not. “It’s the kind of thing a teenager would do.”

  “Don’t look at me! I can’t drive! But Layla can. I don’t care if she is only fourteen.”

  “Or Robby.”

  Darnell wasn’t completely on board yet. “But where would those two get a bunch of monkeys?”

  “Bet Merle knows,” I said. “Too bad nobody can find him.” As I said those words, a sinking feeling took over my gut. I hated to give my husband away, but if our volunteer who worked at the Marine had now gone missing, Lance was in more danger than he thought. Plus, if he was looking behind the truck, he was searching the wrong gap anyway. “Now would be a good time to ask Mr. Gibson what exactly arrives in his Monday delivery truck. I don’t think it’s necessarily flour and pizza sauce.”

  CHAPTER 29

  ATTN: ADVICE

  Dear Nora:

  You’re a seamstress! Make those kids some fun togs. That’s what I say.

  Well Dressed in Muscogen

  “Why didn’t you tell me where Lance was in the first place?” Darnell jabbed buttons on his phone while I sped home. He had dispatched Drew to the Marine as soon as I admitted my husband was holding his own personal stakeout. Now he was trying to dial Trudy.

  “Because I hadn’t figured the thing about Merle or realized what was in the truck.”

  “What makes you so sure . . . hang on . . . Trudy! Why didn’t you answer the first three times? Oh . . .”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  He waved me off. “She what? Noel, your grandmother got flummoxed and told T-Bow Orrice everything.”

  “What did you expect?” And I doubted she’d gotten flustered in the least. Franny Cox told the truth, and she did it bluntly. “What did he say about the picture?”

  I heard Trudy’s answer through Darnell’s phone. “He said, ‘I never should have trusted that crook.’ ”

  “And which one of them had she shown him at that point?” Darnell went on.

  “Both. He thought they were the same guy. That’s what threw her off so badly. He didn’t explain what he never should have trusted the ‘crook’ about, though. He wasn’t handing out news bulletins, and I’m not sure he really thinks she came alone. But Darnell . . . Noel, can you hear me?” I could, but Darnell put the call on his speaker anyway. “He told her to ‘get those babies out of sight.’We need you out of your parents’ house by tonight, no matter what your mother says.” I tended to agree.

  “Sorry, Tasha.” I turned up the video playing on the overhead DVD player to drown out our conversation. Though I was trying to keep the twins from overhearing, she took two inhaler puffs, and I thought she didn’t need to hear this either.

  Darnell flipped off the speaker. “Are you coming back now, Trudy? Good. I’ll see you in an hour.” After he hung up, Darnell explained.

  “Besides the badge he stole at your fundraiser, which he used to access Orrice, Dalton had already hacked some passwords. I told you how he sent emails to our boss that made it look like Liam was changing his mind about what to think of our investigation.

  “Charles was the one who was so adamant Trudy and I needed to stay here. We think he felt sure the feds would have someone involved, and he preferred for it to be people he’d already made. Trudy wanted you to invite Liam to your gala so he could see how large of a territory we really had to search.”

  “They were there in their official capacity.”

  “Yes. He wanted us recalled. He has influence, and we wanted to show him we were still needed here. That woman showing up with the capuchin convinced him for a little whi
le, but he was on our boss again after about a month. And then he wasn’t. And then he was. It was the waffling all over again.”

  “Ironic the crazy capuchin lady would cause you guys to think something was up.”

  “Seemed pretty obvious to us.”

  “Darnell, we get people like her all the time. They don’t usually show up in the middle of fundraisers, but they all think they’re donating something valuable to us and want legal acknowledgment. And they run the gamut from naive parents with heartbroken kids to . . . well, her. You’ve seen them.”

  “Noel, she was a work of art. She used the monkey as a distraction to steal Liam’s wallet and badge.”

  “How could she have known he’d be there?”

  “Like I said, hacked computer passwords. But you didn’t hear me say that. Those were more damaging by far than the badge was to us. He could never have used the badge to enter one of our offices.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Not long after, Trudy started seeing Liam around town, but he walked away every time she tried to approach him. She was suspicious there was something he didn’t want us to find in the city. We figured that was why he suddenly wanted us here half the time. When Natasha identified the man in the picture as Charles Dalton, we thought we had it. We thought, just like Orrice did, that Dalton was Metcalfe, which would have meant serious high-level corruption. But when Trudy took the picture to our boss, our boss took the pictures straight to Liam, because she saw the differences quickly enough. She interacts with Liam more regularly and wasn’t as easily taken in. It’s a good imitation, but not perfect. The two of them figured out Dalton’s deception and how long it’s been going on.”

  “Okay, I’m following . . .”

  “I want to come back to you and Lance. Why do you think the Marine’s supply truck is what’s being used to smuggle animals? And what does your husband think he’s doing?”

  “I have no idea what my husband is thinking. And I think the Marine has become a monkey-house because my sanctuary has too many macaques.”