“No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”
Just then I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I was tempted to ignore it—why couldn’t the world let me enjoy just one scene in peace?
But it wasn’t in my nature to ignore a ringing phone. I stepped out into the lobby and answered it.
“Hello?” My guarded tone probably didn’t sound too welcoming.
“Meg? Meg Langslow?”
“Speaking. Who’s this?” I realized I probably sounded rather brusque, so I softened my tone. “And how can I help you?”
“Um … this is Manoj? At the zoo?”
He sounded unsure of his own name. Then I remembered him.
“Hi, Manoj. You head up the aviary, right?”
“Yes, although we are short-staffed today, and I am the senior keeper on duty. Do you know how we can find Dr. Blake? There is a situation that is urgently needing his attention.”
“I don’t know offhand, but I can try to round him up. What’s the problem?”
“There is a man here from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services who is trying to confiscate the new animals.”
Chapter 30
“Confiscate the new animals?” I repeated “On what grounds?”
“He says they are important evidence in an animal smuggling ring he is investigating. He is threatening me with all kinds of legal problems if I do not hand over the tiger and the apes and the finches. Charging me with illegal possession of a wild animal.”
“You’re a zookeeper, for heaven’s sake.” I said. “Wild animals are your job. What does the jerk think you keep in the zoo—parakeets?”
“I have no wish to defy the United States government,” Manoj said. “But I have even less wish to disobey your grandfather.”
Nice to know he had his priorities straight.
“Look, tell him you don’t have the authority to release the animals, but you are making every effort to find someone who does,” I said. “I’ll send up a few flares and track down Grandfather.”
“Flares? What good will flares do?”
I was remembering Manoj now. Very earnest, and very literal-minded. But a good keeper.
“That was a metaphor,” I said. “What I am actually going to do is tell everyone I can think of to tell everyone they can think of that Grandfather is urgently needed at the zoo. The grapevine should track him down pretty quickly.”
“That would be excellent.” He still sounded anxious. “I only hope I can hold the fort until he arrives.”
“Want me to come out and give you some moral support?” I said.
“I would be forever grateful!”
I hurried downstairs, left word with the stage manager where I was going, and dashed out the back door to the parking lot. But before I started the car a thought came to me. I dialed the police station and asked to be put through to the chief.
“Something important?” the chief asked when he got on the line. His tone suggested that it had better be.
“Remember that officious Fish and Wildlife agent who was sniffing around here a few days ago?”
“I do.”
“Pretty sure he’s out at the zoo right now, trying to confiscate the animals we confiscated this morning.”
“On what grounds?”
“No idea,” I said. “Grandfather’s not there, and Manoj, the acting duty keeper, is very young and more than a little spooked by the whole thing. I’m heading out there to provide moral support.”
“Good! Point out to this overreaching bureaucrat that the animals there were confiscated during a duly authorized animal welfare investigation and entrusted to the care of a certified wildlife rehabilitator.”
“Roger.”
“And moreover that they are potential evidence in an ongoing homicide investigation!”
“I think I’m going to enjoy this moral support thing.” I didn’t try to hide the laughter in my tone.
“Meanwhile I will put out a BOLO on your grandfather and dispatch an officer to assist you in your efforts to preserve the chain of custody on my evidence.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks.”
I felt so much better after my conversation with the chief that I turned on my radio so I could sing along with Christmas carols on my way out to the zoo. The college radio station, normally my favorite, was having one of their Christmas carol request days, but even the knowledge that someone within the station’s tiny broadcast area had called in a request for Justin Bieber’s “Mistletoe” didn’t bring me down. I just changed channels to the other local station, which, to my delight, was playing the Mediæval Bæbes’ Mistletoe and Wine album.
I was humming along with “A Coventry Carol” when I pulled up at the zoo’s main gate. A truck was parked right in front of the gate, in the fire lane. Not an official government truck—a large, nondescript panel truck whose muddy green top coat of paint was peeling off to reveal that it had once been dark brown. The license plate was so dirty that it was unreadable from more than a couple of feet away.
I parked directly behind the truck and snapped a couple of pictures of it before I got out of my car. And then a quick shot of the license plate on my way past.
I saw only a few tourists, and those seemed to be hurrying from one indoor exhibit to another. But given the sub-freezing temperatures, I was amazed to see any tourists at all. I suspected the special holiday season “Animals of the Bible” exhibit was working its magic, since the few visitors I saw all seemed to be carrying the special little guidebook that let you check off all seventy-four creatures on exhibit, in a kind of zoological scavenger hunt. No doubt by the time the exhibit closed, Grandfather would have convinced himself that it was all his idea instead of Caroline’s, and would be planning an even grander number of animals for next year.
Still, right now it was probably a good thing attendance was low. Just inside the front gate I found Manoj arguing with a tall, burly man in faded jeans and a camouflage hunting jacket that he almost certainly couldn’t zip over his substantial potbelly. Well, Grandfather had mentioned that the Fish and Wildlife agents did a lot of undercover work. Still—I wasn’t impressed.
“I’m telling you, I have no authority to release so much as a garter snake!” Manoj was saying, quite loudly. The agent was standing very close to him, and Manoj only came up to his chin. I could tell he was nervous, but he wasn’t retreating.
Actually, he couldn’t easily retreat—his back was against the wall of the administration building. Two other keepers were lurking nearby, but obviously trying to keep out of the agent’s way.
“Hey, Manoj,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Hello, Meg!” Manoj looked delighted to see me. The agent turned and scowled at me.
“Are you the person who’s authorized to sign off on the transfer of my animals?” he asked.
Someone needed lessons in charm and tact. “My animals” indeed.
“I just came to meet with Dr. Blake,” I said. “He’s not here yet?”
Manoj shook his head.
“Meg Langslow.” I held out my hand, and after a beat, he took it. His hand was flabby and sweaty.
“U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service,” he said. “How much more time am I going to have to waste in this godforsaken hick town before you people get with the program?”
“Yeah, we must seem pretty slow to you important government officials,” I said. “Speaking of which—mind if I ask for some ID?”
He glared at me as if my request was unbelievably stupid. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out something and held it in front of my eyes for a couple of seconds. Yes, it seemed like a Fish and Wildlife photo ID badge, but his fingers obscured most of the name and a good bit of the photo.
“Now let’s get this show on the road. I gave Manuel here the paperwork. What’s the holdup?”
“We cannot release any animals without approval from Dr. Blake,” Manoj said.
“You’re also going to need a release from the chief of
police,” came a voice from behind me.
We all turned to see Aida standing in the gateway. Aida was an impressive figure at any time in her well-tailored deputy’s uniform. At five ten, she was as tall as me, but on her it looked even taller. And when you added in her stern expression, her alert stance, and the way her right hand rested near her gun—if I were a bad guy, I wouldn’t stick around. Even an undercover Fish and Wildlife agent should be reasonably impressed.
“Sir, those animals are evidence not only in a local animal cruelty investigation but also in an ongoing homicide investigation,” Aida said. “I think you’ll find that the homicide case takes precedence over whatever you’re planning to do with them.”
“This is preposterous,” the agent exclaimed. “I’m going to report this to my superiors.”
He gave up looming over poor Manoj and headed for the exit.
“You people are going to find out what it means to mess with the feds,” he said, as he strode through the gate.
Aida followed him. I scurried to keep up with her, and Manoj and the two other keepers followed suit, though they remained inside the gate peering out. Interesting. Aida had driven into the driveway the wrong way, through the exit. Her car was parked diagonally in a way that blocked the whole road, and so close to the truck that he was effectively trapped between her cruiser and the Twinmobile.
“You’ve blocked me in,” the agent snarled. “Move your stupid car.”
“I need to see some ID first, sir.” Aida might have looked relaxed, but we’d taken martial arts classes together. I could recognize her ready stance when I saw it.
“I’m not going to stand for police intimidation!” the agent shouted.
“No one’s trying to intimidate you, sir,” Aida said. “I just need to see your ID.”
The agent took out his photo ID and tried to pull the same thing he’d done to me—flash it in front of her for a few seconds, then tuck it away again. She snatched it out of his hand.
“Hey!” He grabbed at the ID, but Aida had taken a couple of steps back.
“Stay where you are, Mr.—” She glanced down at the license. “Ruiz.”
“Ruiz?” I muttered. I’d heard that name before.
Aida shot me a quick warning glance and I realized she wanted me to shut up.
And I remembered who Ruiz was—Laurencio Ruiz, Grandfather’s friend in the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Hard to imagine Grandfather tolerating, much less befriending, a jerk like this.
“This seems to be in order, Mr. Ruiz,” Aida said.
I bit my tongue. In order my eye! Was this sniveling creep actually a friend of Grandfather’s? Or was he impersonating the real Ruiz?
“Don’t think I won’t report this harassment,” he muttered.
“That’s your prerogative, sir,” Aida said. “Just one question. You want to explain to me how a dead body over in the Clay County morgue happens to be wearing your fingerprints?”
The fake Ruiz made a break for it. Aida pulled her gun, but Manoj and the other two zookeepers sprinted after him, so she holstered it again and she and I joined in the chase. Fortunately the zoo staffers were a lot younger and faster than the imposter, and probably had a lot of experience subduing escaping wildlife of all sorts.
“Meg,” Aida said as she handcuffed the imposter. “You mind calling the chief and letting him know we have the guy? I’m going to be busy for a few minutes arresting him and Mirandizing him and seeing if I can figure out who he really is. I’ll call him when I’ve done that.”
I figured Aida would be safe—not only was the fake Ruiz handcuffed, but one of the keepers had run back into the zoo and returned to stand over the prisoner, armed with a stun gun and one of the long sticks they used for handling poisonous snakes. I strolled a few yards away and called the station.
“Aida has the guy,” I said. “So the dead guy in Clay County is the real Agent Ruiz?”
“Yes,” the chief said. “Apparently AFIS had no difficulty finding a match for the partial prints Horace took—and there was a flag on the file to notify Fish and Wildlife if they got any queries about him. There wasn’t a BOLO out, because he was working undercover—infiltrating a particularly vicious gang of smugglers. He’d missed a check-in, but apparently that happens sometimes, and they didn’t want to blow his cover.”
“So does this tie in with your murder case?” I asked.
“Quite probably. Laurencio Ruiz was almost certainly killed by someone in the smuggling ring he was investigating. Our search of Mr. Willimer’s house turned up no documents to provide any clue to where he got the exotic animals we seized. Maybe he was part of the ring, or maybe he bought animals from them for resale. We don’t know yet, but I expect it will turn out that our fake Ruiz or one of his criminal associates killed Willimer for some reason connected with the smuggling operation.”
“That could be complicated to figure out,” I said.
“It could.” Curiously, the chief didn’t seem to find that discouraging. “But it looks as if we’ll have a lot of help figuring it out. Genuine Fish and Wildlife agents are already on their way here, along with FBI agents, DEA agents, ATF agents—the smugglers have diversified into all kinds of illicit substances. Yes, before long we’ll have every kind of federal agent you can think of underfoot.”
“Doesn’t sound like fun,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “But they should be willing and able to provide all the resources I need to get my murder solved. I can live with the federal invasion if it gets me that.”
“Aida’s trying to figure out who the imposter really is,” I said. “She’ll call you when she has that. Or maybe just bring him in.”
“Thanks.”
After we hung up, I realized that, like the chief, I was suddenly feeling rather … cheerful wasn’t quite the word. After all, Laurencio Ruiz was dead—a good man, doing important and dangerous work. And a friend of Grandfather’s.
Maybe optimistic was the word for what I felt. Not just because the chief was close to solving Willimer’s murder—although that was certainly something to celebrate. But if the fake Ruiz and his nasty animal smuggling ring had killed Willimer, then everyone connected with A Christmas Carol was innocent. Haver, O’Manion, Melisande—they might be annoying, uncooperative, or even crazy, but they weren’t killers. And the chief probably felt much the same at the thought that the killer wasn’t local.
But my feeling of optimism faded a little when I spotted Dad’s car racing up the lane toward the zoo. He pulled up just behind me, blocking what was left of the fire lane in front of the zoo, and he and Grandfather leaped out.
Chapter 31
“What in blue blazes is happening?” Grandfather demanded. “Chief Burke said I was needed over at the zoo to keep someone from stealing the new animals.”
“Does he look familiar?” I asked, pointing at the imposter, who was now upright, being escorted to Aida’s police cruiser.
“Never saw the blighter in my life.”
“He’s claiming to be Laurencio Ruiz.”
“Nonsense.” He glared at the imposter. Then his face fell. “Does this have anything to do with Ruiz not getting back to me?”
“Dad,” I asked. “Did you happen to take a picture of that John Doe you and Horace examined over in Clay County?”
Dad looked stricken for a moment, then nodded. I knew he would have. Like me, Dad had gotten into the very twenty-first-century habit of snapping a cell phone picture of anything he thought might later be useful. He pulled out his phone and began pushing buttons.
“This is going to be bad news, isn’t it,” Grandfather murmured.
Dad held up the phone. Grandfather looked at the screen and nodded.
“Yes. That’s Laurencio. Damn.”
We all stood in silence for a few minutes. And then we watched as Aida loaded the imposter into her cruiser.
I decided it would be a good thing to distract Grandfather.
“So enlighten me,” I said
. “Why would this smuggler guy even try to steal back the animals? Was he stupid enough to think we’d let him get away with it?”
“Criminals are often rather stupid,” Dad said.
“And greedy,” Grandfather added. “I expect it was greed that motivated him.”
“Were the animals that valuable?”
“Oh, yes,” Grandfather said. “Between the chimps, the ocelot, and the tiger, and the Gouldian finches that have become so inexplicably popular lately—well, black market prices fluctuate wildly, but I expect he could get anywhere from fifty thousand to two hundred thousand for them. Worth a little risk, I should think. Especially if the tiger turns out to be what I think it is. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“It’s not just a tiger?” I muttered as I followed him and Dad at a near run to the tiger’s new quarters.
The tiger was inside, sulking in the warm tropical atmosphere of a small enclosure in the big cat house. Nearby, in the large main enclosure, Tiberius, Livia, and Vipsania prowled restlessly and seemed less than enchanted to have a new resident.
“Notice the difference between him and the others,” Grandfather said. “The narrower skull, the longer muzzle, the rhomboid stripes, and that bright orange color.”
Yes, he did look a bit different, though I wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out. Or if I’d noticed, I’d have assumed the differences were typical of an adolescent tiger.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think he could be a South China tiger,” Grandfather said.
“And that’s rare?” I asked.
“All tigers are rare,” Grandfather said. “But the South China tiger is functionally extinct in the wild. There are thought to be less than a hundred of them in captivity. So if this smuggling ring Laurencio was trying to infiltrate has got hold of one of them—this could be enormous.”
Dad and Grandfather seemed to have settled in to contemplate their rare tiger for the time being. I decided it was time for me to get back to the theater.
“I was trying to decide whether to name him Nero or Caracalla,” Grandfather was saying as I headed for the door. “But then I realized—why am I naming all the tigers after villains? From now on, I’m giving them heroes’ names.”
How the Finch Stole Christmas! Page 20