by Dixie Lyle
“I say,” remarked Oscar. “This is bloody good soup.”
Oscar was not privy to the plan.
The main course, when it arrived, was wild mushroom ravioli in a cream sauce, with roasted vegetables on the side. It was very good, but some people’s appetites were better than others: Zhen Yao ate only a few bites, while Abazu mostly pushed his around on his plate. Karst gobbled his, though, and Rajiv Gunturu ate with the same solemn precision he seemed to apply to all endeavors.
Finally, Zhen Yao summoned the nerve to bring up what was on her mind. “Excuse me, Ms. ZZ, but I must ask why you are reconsidering your decision. It is most unfair after you promised Augustus to my organization.”
“That was before new information came to light,” said ZZ. “Foxtrot?”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and picked up the remote beside my plate. It was a handy little device, keyed to ZZ’s laptop, which in turn was plugged into the large wallscreens on three sides of the table. You could use the remote to perform simple functions on the laptop—like calling up a file or picture—by hitting a single button.
Which I did. Each of the three screens now displayed the same image: a picture of the raw, uncut crystal that came to be known as the Cullinan Diamond. It was virtually the same as the pic I’d found on Gunturu’s thumb drive, but I’d pulled this one off the Internet. “How many of you know what this is?” I asked.
“A big chunk of rock,” Karst volunteered. Neither Abazu nor Rajiv said a word, but they were both watching me warily.
“An uncut diamond,” Oscar said. “Rather a large one, too. I have no idea of its relevance, though. This isn’t going to devolve into a game of charades, is it?”
“No, Oscar,” said ZZ. “This is why Augustus was killed. Someone at this table thought Augustus could lead them to the other half of this diamond. Would you like to know how?”
Oscar took a sip of his drink. “Am I supposed to speculate? Very well. Augustus’s unique genetic makeup gave him the ability to detect oversized uncut gemstones at a distance.”
I sighed. “No.”
“Then perhaps the stone is in the possession of someone who values a white liger over wealth, and is therefore willing to trade.”
ZZ and I glanced at each other. “Not bad,” said ZZ.
“But untrue,” said Abazu. He took his steel-rimmed glasses off and polished them with his napkin. “I see what you are implying. But my only desire was to acquire Augustus himself, not as a means to an end.”
“No?” I said. “Mr. Chukwukadibia has also been less than honest about his motives, which leads me to question his sincerity now. It seems he came here not as the representative of an environmental group, but as a member of an African secret society—one with its own agenda concerning Augustus.”
Abazu’s face was impassive. He replaced his glasses carefully, then said, “That claim is absurd. I invite you to prove otherwise.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” said ZZ. “At least until after dessert.”
“This is why I hate charades,” declared Oscar. “Delayed gratification. Two words that should never be seated next to each other.”
Dessert was cherries jubilee. Ben himself came out to flambé them, and took the excuse to lean over and murmur in my ear. “How’s it going?”
“We’re turning up the heat,” I murmured back.
Dessert was consumed quickly and nervously. Glasses were refilled, coffee was served.
Rajiv Gunturu was the one who finally spoke. “I suppose it’s my turn next.”
ZZ gave him a cold smile as she stirred her coffee. “And why would you suppose that, Mr. Gunturu?”
Rajiv shrugged. “A simple process of elimination. As you’ve uncovered the true motives of both Mr. Karst and Mr. Chukwukadibia, I presume you’ve done the same for me. Or am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong,” said ZZ.
“Very well, then. This stone of which you speak—it is a legend. Speculation on behalf of the man who originally examined the Cullinan. No hard evidence of such a stone exists—though for many years it was rumored to be in the possession of a secretive cult.” He glanced at Abazu as he said this, who stared calmly back. “Until recently, that is. Bandits in Mpumalanga Province, South Africa, raided a small village and took away with them an ornate, locked box. Within it they discovered what they took for a large chunk of quartz or some other such mineral. They sold it to an arms merchant who then traded it to a drug dealer. No one suspected its true value for some time. When that value was finally uncovered, much blood was shed. Those who possessed the stone found themselves cursed, for they could neither claim it nor sell it without risking prison or death. In this way it passed through several hands, until it came into the possession of a man named Branco Gamboa.”
“Augustus’s previous owner,” I said. “An associate of yours.”
If the revelation bothered him, he didn’t show it. “Strictly in a professional sense. And by that, I mean my profession, not his. I am, you see, a professional lapidary—a gem cutter. I can say with perfect certainty that the other half of the Cullinan crystal exists, for I am the one who cut it.”
“You did what?” Abazu gasped.
“Cut, shaped, and polished it,” answered Rajiv calmly. “It produced a gemstone of approximately seven hundred and five carats, the largest diamond in the world. As such, it is literally without price. But Gamboa, like many of his ilk, cared less about adding to his illicit fortune than he did about his pride. He already owned the only white liger in existence, and now he owned the largest diamond. I am quite sure that he intended to have me killed as soon as my job was finished, but I managed to escape and alert the authorities. Gamboa was killed in the resulting battle.”
“But the diamond wasn’t found,” I said. “And you thought that somehow Augustus would lead you to it?”
“I know he will. Gamboa used to brag that his mightiest treasure would guard his most valuable, and I believe I know what he meant. The gem is hidden, but the liger holds the location.”
“You are more right than you know,” said Abazu. “But you will never find it, for you do not have eyes to see.”
“A tattoo,” said Karst. “That’s what he’s talking about, isn’t he? A bloody treasure map, tattooed on Augustus’s skin.”
Zhen Yao shook her head. “This is all very confusing. Diamonds? Cults? Treasure maps? I thought we were all here for the same reason.”
“I am sorry to disillusion you, Ms. Yao,” said Rajiv. “But the truth of the matter is far stranger—and more dangerous—than you know.”
“Good Lord,” said Oscar. “Is this why that hoodlum Navarro was so keen?”
“Perhaps,” said Rajiv. “His master and Gamboa are no doubt known to each other, and competition for the gaudiest trophy amongst these kind of criminals is legendary.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “For a gem worth that much, Navarro’s boss wouldn’t have given up so easily; he would have taken it by force.”
Rajiv leaned forward intently. “Exactly. Which is why I suggest a partnership.”
“Explain,” said ZZ.
“It is not merely a matter of searching Augustus’s body for a map, like some zoological version of Treasure Island,” said Rajiv. “Gamboa was far more cunning than that. The information to be gleaned is encoded, and only I possess the key to understanding it.”
“You have the key,” said ZZ, “and we have the body. What are you proposing?”
Rajiv leaned back. “A fair split. One half of the profits for you, one half for me. Otherwise, neither of us gets a thing.”
“Hold on now,” said Karst. “Shouldn’t we be included in this little endeavor?”
“I don’t see why,” said Rajiv coldly. “You have nothing to offer.”
“Untrue,” said Oscar. “Silence, after all, is golden. And gold, while not worth as much as diamonds, is still a valuable commodity. So perhaps you should consider investing in the benefits of bullion s
o as to acquire even greater profits in the field of gem acquisition.”
“Or,” said Karst, “you could just pay us to keep our mouths shut. Seeing as how this little sparkler of yours seems to come linked to a whole series of murders and whatnot.”
Rajiv glared at him. “Very well. Five percent to each of you for your cooperation. That is a great deal of money for doing absolutely nothing.”
“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” ZZ said. “But completely speculative. After all, we don’t even know if there is anything on Augustus’s body.”
“Then we should find out,” said Rajiv.
“Wait!” said Zhen. “What are you suggesting? That you remove all the fur from his corpse? I cannot allow this!”
“Nor can I,” said Abazu. “It is disrespectful.”
“Neither of you has any say in the matter,” snapped ZZ. “The disposition of the body is my decision to make, and I don’t intend to make any decision at all until I know one thing for certain: Which one of you killed Augustus?”
Silence.
“I did,” said Oscar. “To mitigate my crime I’d like to offer the services of my electric razor. Also, I’d prefer my five percent in bearer bonds if at all possible.”
“Hush, Oscar,” said ZZ. “Well? Is no one willing to step forward?”
Rajiv Gunturu shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was me,” he said.
“Was it?” said Abazu. “You greedy, greedy man. You’d confess to anything to get your money.”
“If you did it, tell us how,” I said. I already knew, of course—but I wanted corroboration.
“I used balloons filled with antifreeze,” said Rajiv. “Launched from the third-floor deck with a large slingshot. I filled them with a pump designed to inflate sports balls—all obtained from what is called, I believe, a ‘dollar store.’ I disposed of the materials afterward in a Dumpster, and was careful to leave no evidence of my presence behind.”
And it was that lack of evidence that had told Whiskey and I who the killer had to be. If it had been Karst, there would have been traces of nicotine from his fingers; if it had been Abazu, Whiskey would have detected chemicals like monosodium glutamate from the American junk food he was so enamored of. Zhen Yao, of course, had no reason to kill Augustus, and Navarro had stayed in his room all night.
But it was still satisfying to hear the killer confess.
Yao was staring at him with horror, Abazu stonily. Karst seemed more amused than anything, and ZZ was carefully showing no emotion at all. And Oscar? Oscar was having another drink.
Rajiv wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Do not judge me. What is the life of one animal—no matter how singular—compared with the largest diamond in existence?”
“There is no comparison,” said Abazu. His voice held more grief than anger. “None at all.”
“My actions do not matter now,” said Rajiv. “There is still the matter of the stone itself. Do we have an agreement?”
Everyone looked to ZZ for her answer.
“Mr. Gunturu,” she said. “There is—”
She was interrupted by a loud sound from outside. A powerful motor revving, followed by metal smashing into metal.
“What was that?” ZZ asked.
The engine noise was getting louder. I sprang to my feet and rushed over to the window, where I had a view of the front drive. A large dump truck was roaring up it, the remains of the locked gate still hanging crookedly from one fender.
“We’re being invaded,” I said. “By angry landscapers, apparently.” I already had my mobile out and had punched in 911. Nothing. My phone told me I had no service.
“Foxtrot, what’s happening?” Oscar demanded.
The dump truck slammed to a halt. Half a dozen men jumped out of the truck bed, and they did indeed fit the stereotype of groundskeepers: Latino, dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, wearing work boots and bandannas.
But their bandannas covered their lower faces, and those weren’t leaf blowers or shovels in their hands. They were automatic weapons.
“Looks like Navarro wasn’t willing to take no for an answer after all,” I said.
* * *
ZZ didn’t have a panic room.
It was the first big fight Shondra and ZZ had. Shondra insisted on one, while ZZ absolutely refused. “This is my home, not a fortress,” she said. “I hired you so I wouldn’t need a panic room. Are you telling me you can’t do your job?”
That was a pretty tough point to argue, so Shondra grumbled and gave in. Right about now I guessed she must be feeling pretty smug.
Bad guess.
Shondra came barreling down the stairs just as we all rushed into the foyer. She had a gun in one hand and a cell phone in the other. “No reception,” she said. “They have a jammer. Internet’s down and so are the landlines. Must have been cut.”
“What do we do?” Oscar said. “My body doesn’t react well to bullets. I tend to break out in hospital bills and sporadic fits of death.”
“Stay calm,” said Shondra. “That’s a steel-cored security door and an ANSI Grade One dead bolt. It’ll buy us some time—”
I heard the rattle of chains being drawn across metal. “Not much,” I said. “I don’t think a dead bolt’s going to last long against a dump truck in low gear.”
“Nor does it have to,” said a familiar voice from behind us.
Luis Navarro strolled through the door to the hall, casually holding a pistol in front of him. “Not when you can simply unlock it from this side.”
Shondra’s gun was down at her side, but I could see the calculation in her eyes. “Don’t,” I said to her. “Nobody needs to get hurt.”
“Good thinking,” Navarro said. “Drop the gun, please, and kick it over here.”
Glowering, Shondra did so. Navarro picked it up, then shouted something in Spanish. I heard the chains being withdrawn. He walked over to the door, watching us the whole time, and unlocked it. It opened to admit his crew.
“Forgive the theatrics,” Navarro said. “A grand entrance was necessary to occupy your attention while I gained access through the French doors out by the pool.”
“This is pointless,” ZZ said. “Yes, you can take Augustus’s body by force, but what then? Are you going to slaughter us all to conceal the crime? Over a trophy?”
“No, of course not,” said Navarro. “That would be foolish and ill advised. This is merely a business transaction. I gave you a check, and I am here to pick up my merchandise. These men are my assistants.”
“Assistants wearing masks and carrying guns,” said ZZ.
Navarro raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You are mistaken. I see no guns or masks. Your cameras, I am certain, will not show them, either—not once I pay a visit to your security office.”
“You can’t delete my memories that easily,” said ZZ.
“No, but I can delete other things. Can you protect the other animals in your zoo? Your staff? Your family?” Navarro shook his head. “No, I think not. You must understand, these accusations you are about to make—they will be viewed as slander by my employer, and that is tantamount to declaring war. War is a worrisome thing, Ms. Zoransky; it consumes your time, your peace of mind, and ultimately your life. Far better to cash that check and forget this ever happened. I feel confident you will make the right decision. And now, why don’t we sit down and have a drink? We shall make this quick.”
He herded us all into the sitting room and told one of his men to guard us. When Navarro started to leave, Rajiv Gunturu said, “Wait. Take me with you.”
Navarro looked at him curiously. “Why?”
“There are things about the liger you do not know. Things, I promise you, that your employer will want to know. If nothing else, consider me an additional hostage to ensure your safe escape.”
“You know where the body is being kept?” Navarro asked.
“I do.”
“Then show my men. They will kill you if you try anything stupid.”<
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Gunturu left with Navarro and his men, no doubt to break into the clinic and take Augustus’s body while their boss destroyed the security footage. There was nothing we could do to stop them.
Not personally, anyway.
Whiskey? Are you in position yet?
[Yes. As is Ben.]
I’d been thinking furiously ever since I realized what the dump truck meant, describing the situation to Whiskey who then relayed the information to Ben. He’d left through the kitchen door and hidden in the cabana while I tried to figure out what the best play was. Whiskey had sprinted for the clinic with the speed of a greyhound, and was now hiding beneath a bush as a very small Yorkie.
Okay. Tell Ben to turn on the waterworks. Make it flashy.
[Done. He says to inform you he’s unsure how accurate he is with lightning strikes but is willing to try.]
Tell him to hold off. I’m no expert on guns, but even I know you shouldn’t pull the trigger unless you can hit what you’re aiming at.
A moment later there was a satisfying rumble of thunder. Rain began to pelt against the windows, getting harder by the minute.
“Looks like your friends are going to get wet,” I said to the guard. He stared at me with flat, black eyes and said nothing.
The guard had a walkie-talkie on his belt, and now it crackled to life. A voice speaking Spanish, sounding uncertain. Burst of static every time lightning flashed outside.
Didn’t do anything to mess with my communications system, though. Tell Ben to amp up the lighting. Doesn’t have to be powerful, just frequent.
The light show outside must have been spectacular; all I could see was an erratic strobe through the window, with an accompanying rumble of near-constant thunder. The guard’s walkie-talkie sounded like a radio stuck between stations, with only the occasional random syllable of Spanish making it through. I did my best not to grin.
[The men have arrived at the clinic. They have a large, wheeled cart with them. They are using pry bars to break in.]
Fortunately, Caroline had gone home for the day. Shondra and I had agreed it was better if she was off-site tonight, which was when we’d planned to set our trap for the thief. I already knew it was Abazu who’d broken into the clinic, but at the time I still thought a trap was still a good idea; maybe someone other than Abazu would make an attempt, which would lead me to the killer.