by Erin Johnson
Zane nodded. “That’s right. I’ve been a passionate supporter of animal rights for the last twenty years with WWAAC, and we here typically do support sanctuaries.” His hands curled into fists. “I went undercover at the Magical Animal Sanctuary because it’s as much a sanctuary as I am a kangaroo.”
I blinked then shifted my gaze to Daisy, who wagged her tail. True.
So did that mean he was a kangaroo?
Zane huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not a sanctuary, at least we here at WWAAC suspect as much. It’s just another private zoo, masquerading as a charity, which, frankly—” He shook a finger at Peter. “—which frankly is worse. Animals don’t belong behind bars.”
I leaned forward. “We can agree on that, but some people do. Wink.”
Peter licked his lips. “Why don’t you believe it’s a sanctuary? What do you think is going on there?”
Zane splayed his palms. “Yes, going undercover to undermine a sanctuary is unique for us. For the most part, sanctuaries rescue animals who’ve been mistreated or couldn’t make it on their own in the wild, and often they rehabilitate and release animals that can.” He nodded. “We partner with quite a few of them.” He shook his head. “With the Magical Animal Sanctuary, we suspected something underhanded was going on.”
Peter leaned forward. “Underhanded?”
Zane nodded. “It’s rare, but a handful of sanctuaries we’ve come across claim to save animals, but in reality are breeding them themselves or buying them from illegal breeders.”
“Was that the case with the Rutherfords’ place?” That thinking line appeared between Peter’s brows.
I licked my lips. Were these animals inbred maybe? Was that why their speech was so stunted?
Zane shrugged. “I didn’t come across any evidence of breeding going on in house.” He leaned forward and tapped his desk. “But while I was there, we got a new delivery of animals, and I couldn’t help but doubt they came from legitimate sources.”
Peter’s frown deepened. “Why?”
Zane shrugged. “Partly just a feeling.” His eyes narrowed. “The guys who delivered them seemed shady.” He looked down, seemed to debate a moment, then looked back up. “I know this isn’t legal, okay, but I snuck into the office one night and looked around in the confidential files.” He lowered his voice so that Peter and I had to lean even farther forward. Even Daisy’s ears pricked.
Zane’s throat bobbed. “Going back decades, I’d guess 90 percent of the animals at the sanctuary came from the same wildlife rescue, the Underground Animal Rescue.”
I cocked a brow. “Okay…”
Zane looked intently between us. “The thing is, I’ve been working with WWAAC for two decades and I’ve never heard of the Underground Animal Rescue. And we’ve heard of every big player in the animal market, from poachers, to zoos, to sanctuaries to breeders. We don’t always have enough evidence to get them shut down, mind you, but we’ve at least heard of them. The kingdoms aren’t that big.”
Daisy whined. Truth.
“That’s weird.” I bounced my foot. “Just out of curiosity, what animals got delivered while you were undercover at Malorie’s sanctuary?”
He frowned and looked down, as if casting back through his memory. “Uh, a few lizards, a bobcat, a sloth, an alligator—”
I shot my arm out. “Wait. You said a sloth?”
His eyes tightened with concern. “Yeah… why?”
“The sloth was new.” I nodded, thinking over our encounter earlier. I turned to Peter and lowered my voice. “It was trying to tell me something… maybe it’s about this underground animal rescue place.”
Zane leaned forward. “What’s this all about? Is Malorie pressing charges?” His dark eyes darted quickly between Peter and me. “Look, I admit, I snuck into the ‘sanctuary’”—he made air quotes around the last word—“to learn more about it. But they hired me as a zookeeper, and I did my job. It might not have all been the most aboveboard, but it’s not illegal.” He winced. “Except for looking into their records, maybe.”
I quirked my lips to the side. “No… but murder is.”
Zane scoffed. “Murder?” His smirk faltered as Peter and I continued to gaze back at him, stone faced. “Who—who got murdered?”
Peter glanced down at the parchment in front of him, covered in notes and black ink splotches. “Tell me more about what happened when you worked there. As a zookeeper, you said?”
He shifted in his wooden chair. “Yeah, like I said, I went undercover for WWAAC, but I did work there—cleaning cages, feeding the animals, helping lead tour groups occasionally.” He sighed. “I tried to talk to the head zookeeper, Libbie Brown, and get her to turn over information that would prove that that place is no sanctuary for animals.”
I raised my brows. “How’d that work out?”
He dropped his head into one hand and massaged his temples. “It was a mistake, outing myself like that.” He lurched upright. “But I thought it was a sure thing with Libbie. Malorie stole Libbie’s zoo, paid her like dirt, gave her no benefits.” He threw his hands up. “I could tell Libbie was there because she cared about the animals, just like we do at WWAAC.”
I winced. “But it was a no go?”
“No!” Zane shook his head, mouth open in disbelief. “Libbie told me she wanted no part of my investigation.” He shrugged. “I was hoping Libbie would have some stories of abuse or putting animals down before their time or unsafe conditions for visitors. We wanted something we could use to get the place to either be more open or to get it shut down and release the animals to more aboveboard facilities.”
I thought of all those cages, all those strange-acting animals trapped inside them. “Or the wild?”
He splayed his hands. “Yes, if the animal’s fit to be released.”
Peter nodded. “What happened after you told Libbie your real motives for being there?”
Zane pressed his eyes shut and shook his head. “She turned me in to Malorie, who told me to leave and never come back. She said if she got any whiff of WWAAC snooping around in her business again, she’d sic her lawyers on us.”
Daisy’s tail wagged. All true.
I was again slightly disappointed that Malorie’s threat hadn’t been juicier—no threats to his life or anything that’d give us a serious motive for murder.
A manila file magically appeared on the table in front of Peter in a flash of blue light. He opened it and removed a photograph of our Jane Doe, with the gash in her chest and the talon on a chain lying beside her. I looked quickly away, my stomach turning.
Peter turned the picture to face Zane and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”
Zane leaned forward, eyes narrowed before he suddenly recoiled and shoved his chair back from the table. “Snakes!” He gaped at Peter, then pointed a trembling hand at the photo. “Is that a dead body?”
I knew how he felt. I could barely look either.
Peter nodded. “Do you recognize her?”
Zane darted a glance at the photo, then covered his mouth and averted his eyes. “I’ve never seen her in my life.”
Daisy whined. True!
I frowned. “WWAAC couldn’t have sent her to the party last night?”
“No way!” Zane gulped. “Is that the murder you came here to ask me about? Because I have never seen that woman in my life.”
I tipped my head from side to side. “Yeah… well, it’s one of them.”
Zane paled again. “There’s more?”
Peter licked his lips. “Malorie Rutherford was also killed last night. Do you know anything about that?”
“Snakes, no! You think I could’ve—?” He blinked and huffed. “No, I respect life—I don’t want to take it.”
Peter lifted a broad palm. “You respect animal life… would you kill Malorie to free her animals?”
Zane hesitated. “No.”
Daisy tipped her head to the side and eyed the curly-haired man. She let out a quie
t bark. Partial truth.
I raised my brows at Zane, who seemed to already understand Daisy had called him out.
His shoulders slumped. “Okay—I honestly don’t know, but I can tell you I absolutely did not kill Malorie or that other woman in the picture.”
Daisy whined. True.
Peter and I exchanged glances. It didn’t seem like Zane was our man. Peter raised a brow, I shrugged one shoulder, and then he turned to Zane. “Alright. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Zane’s face relaxed.
Peter pointed at him as we rose and Daisy stretched then got to her feet. “We’ll be in touch.”
Zane nodded and showed us back out to the front. Once outside, Peter’s pocket buzzed, and he fished the communication device out and popped it in his ear. He nodded, murmured a few words, then pulled it back out again.
“That was the station. They’ve cross-checked missing persons reports, the guest list, and statements—no one’s reported our Jane Doe missing, no one saw her at the fundraiser, and she wasn’t on the guest list.”
I shook my head, at a loss. “Who was this lady? And why did she look like she was straight out of the ’70s?”
Peter jumped as the device began to buzz again. He still held it in his fingers and popped it into his ear. “Okay… yep… right away.”
He turned to me, brows pinched in apology. “I’m sorry—there’s a nearby call I’ve got to answer. Daisy and I are the closest officers.”
I waved it off. “No worries. I just remembered I’ve got to go by and talk to Madeline about what she found.”
He grinned. “Why don’t we meet up later?”
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
I rose on my tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Be careful.” I pointed at Daisy and whined. You be careful, too.
I didn’t know dogs could roll their eyes, but Daisy did. Thanks, Mom.
Peter started off, but I suddenly remembered something. “Oh—the file?”
He spun around, brows raised.
“Could I borrow it? I just want to look it over. Our Jane Doe is driving me crazy.”
He grinned. “You sound like a cop more and more every night.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“From me it is.” He kissed my head, and the manila file magically appeared in my hands. “See you soon!” And with that, Daisy and Peter took off up the mountain, while I headed in the opposite direction, back to the Darkmoon District.
25
Madeline
I headed down the winding cobblestone streets to a lower level of the island and climbed the stairs through the old, dilapidated warehouse that was the local paper’s headquarters. By the time I pushed the dinged metal door open and stepped onto the chaotic floor of The Conch, my thighs burned.
I threaded my way through the maze of cubicles, put slightly on edge by the deafening clack of enchanted typewriters, ringing bells, and the threat of flying manila folders as articles zoomed from desk to desk.
I slid to the right to make way for a young man staggering along with a pile of scrolls in his arms that towered high above his head, then ducked into Madeline’s cubicle.
“Knock knock.”
She didn’t even look up from where she stood poring over a collage of papers, scrolls, and magically moving photographs on her desk.
“Hey, honey.”
I crossed my arms and ankles and leaned against the fuzzy cubicle wall. It was a faded brown that matched the carpet. I bit my lip—what color had it originally been about a thousand years ago when it was new?
“What can I do for you?” She swapped two photos out with a couple more she pulled from a file folder that balanced precariously on top of a half-empty pot of coffee. I sniffed—it smelled stale, though the whole office had a faint mildewed smell to it. I glanced to my right at the wall of dingy windows, battered by falling rain. The moisture wasn’t helping.
I shook myself and brought myself back to the task at hand. “You rang?” I raised my brows. “I got your note—you found something on Ludolf?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nibbled her lower lip, still engrossed in the task in front of her. “Ah.” She grabbed a quill and scratched out a whole paragraph, jotted down a couple of sentences, then finally looked up.
She wore reading glasses on her head and her long black hair loose over her shoulders. She grinned and waved me closer. “Come sit.”
I stepped closer and eyed the stack of books in the guest chair. She whipped her wand out of her back pocket, and with a flick of her wrist the books slid onto the floor. She murmured another spell as I settled into the cracked leather seat.
She grinned. “Silencing spell.”
I leaned forward, my lips twitching toward a matching grin. “Does that mean you found something good?”
She shrugged a slim shoulder. “You’ll have to be the judge of that.” She winked. “But, yeah.”
She came around to my side of the desk and perched on it, one leg hiked up. “So you and Officer Hot Stuff asked me to look into Carclaustra, which I already had a lot of information on—did I mention all the awards I won for that piece?”
I shot her a flat look. “Maybe once or twice.”
She grinned wider. “Have I told you about all the connections to Prince Harry I have? He personally thanked me for that.”
I rolled my eyes.
She quirked her lips to the side. “Though Princess Imogen doesn’t seem to be a fan of all those Is She Pregnant or Just Bad at Fashion? spreads I do on her.”
I shook my head at her. “Yeah. So weird.”
She winked, then clapped her hands. “Alright, bad news first—while I have no doubt that Señor Caterwaul is taking out his enemies, none of them seem to have ended up in Carclaustra.”
I frowned. “Wait—what do you mean?”
She waved a hand. “King Roch—may the sea slug rot in a deep ocean crevice—”
I nodded my agreement.
“—might have used the prison system to hide his enemies, political dissidents—basically anyone inconvenient, but Ludolf’s not doing the same.”
I frowned. “Okay. So what’s the good news?”
Her dark eyes lit up. “I did find some other stuff I think is pretty juicy. And I’m a good judge of juicy.” She talked with her hands. “I found a bunch of old records, dug into the lengthy King Roch depositions that he gave pre-trial and during it, and found that near the end of the Monster Wars, Roch started his propaganda against shifters—likening them to being part monster.”
I frowned. “Why?”
She shot me a flat look. “Why else? The spineless coward wanted scapegoats—something to shift the public’s attention away from all the atrocities he’d committed.”
I crossed my arms, anger brewing in my chest. “You mean atrocities like siccing monsters on a bunch of innocent people, which invited retaliation from other kingdoms?”
She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “Right! Those. Anyway, before that, shifters were respected members of society, by all accounts. But by likening shifters to monsters, since they can turn into animals, spy on you, infiltrate your family as the household pet, etcetera—” She held up a finger. “—his words, not mine—he was able to shift all the post-war fear and anger to a minority population and deflect it from himself. Took a lot of propaganda, but he got it done.”
I’d need Peter to massage out the massive knot that was forming in my neck later. “Did people not stand up to him? How could this happen?”
She splayed her hands. “Fear, especially in desperate times, can be a powerful weapon in the wrong hands.” She held up a finger. “I did find some information that a bunch of prominent shifter rights activists rose up.” She grew grim. “There was a secret meeting among all of them—someone ratted them out, and Roch raided the meeting and they ‘disappeared.’” She made air quotes.
My stomach clenched. “You mean?”
She shrugged.
“I couldn’t find any information on any of them after that. I don’t know what happened to them.”
I clenched my hands into fists. I wanted to simultaneously punch something and cry.
“Guess who that someone was?”
I jerked my head up. “Don’t tell me—”
She nodded. “Mr. Ludolf Caterwaul himself.”
I scoffed. “How did you find that out?”
She sniffed. “I’d like to pretend it’s my amazing journalistic skills, but it was actually pretty easy. There’s a bunch of letters between the former King Roch and Ludolf. Ludolf actually brags about it—tries to leverage the fact that he gave up the location of the secret meeting to gain favor with the king.”
I shook my head. “That’s despicable. He betrayed his own people.”
“Well, that’s only the half of it. I dug into Ludolf a little more.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, despite the fact that she’d put a spell around her cubicle to avoid being heard. I found myself leaning in too.
“Get this—he failed out of architecture school, then worked as a low-level clerk for one of the activists. I assume that’s when he saw an opportunity to sell the activist leaders out for his own benefit.” She scoffed. “Real stand-up guy. After that, Ludolf shows up in a bunch of records of meetings and official decrees—Roch set him up as a sort of ambassador to shifters initially. I found a bunch of applications—Ludolf applying for positions in Roch’s cabinet—all denied.”
I smirked— Ludolf being denied anything was slightly consoling. “What happened there?”
Madeline tipped her head side to side. “Ludolf’s ambitious, I’ll give him that.” She shook her head, and her glasses fell down so that she had to push them back up. “Reading between the lines of some of Roch’s replies to his denied applications, I’m guessing the former king had a very specific use for Ludolf and wouldn’t let him rise any higher than underground shifter mob boss, despite Ludolf’s attempts to move up the hierarchy.”
I unclenched my jaw and drummed my fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. “So… Roch basically set Ludolf up as mob boss of the shifters. But even though Ludolf rules the shifters… he was still under the thumb of Roch.”