Do you really need to record this?
I want to have an accurate record. Plus, this frees me from having to take notes, so I can focus on the interview.
As the video played, Jane kept her eyes fixed on Millie. The only sound in the room was the recording of Jane’s questions, Oberlin’s responses. Millie stood rigid, hands still gripping the chair as if it were the only solid anchor in the room. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.
“Millie?” said Jane. She pressed PAUSE, and the face of Gregory Oberlin remained frozen on-screen. “Is it him? Is it Johnny?”
Millie looked at her. “No,” she whispered.
“But you saw his photo yesterday. You said it might be him.”
“I was wrong. It’s not him.” Millie’s legs crumpled beneath her and she sank into a chair. “It’s not Johnny.”
Her answer seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Jane had been so certain they had the killer in their trap. Now, instead of Leopard Man, it appeared they’d caught Bambi. This was her reward for gambling everything on one shaky witness with an unreliable memory.
“Jesus,” muttered Jane. “So we’re back to nothing.”
“Come on, Rizzoli,” said Frost. “She was never really sure.”
“Marquette’s already on my back about the Cape Town trip. Now this.”
“What did you expect?” said Millie. She looked up at Jane with sudden anger. “For you, it’s just a jigsaw puzzle, and you thought I had the missing piece. What if I don’t?”
“Look, we’re all tired,” said Frost, playing the mediator as always. “I think we should take a deep breath. Maybe get something to eat.”
“I did what you asked. I don’t know what else I can do for you!” said Millie. “Now I want to go home.”
Jane sighed. “Okay. I know it’s been a rough day for you. We’ll have a patrolman drive you back to Maura’s.”
“No, I mean home. To Touws River.”
“Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. Tomorrow, we’ll review everything again. Maybe there’s something—”
“I’m done with this. I miss my family. I’m going home.” Millie shoved back the chair and stood, eyes bright with a fierceness Jane hadn’t seen in her before. This was the woman who’d survived against all odds in the bush, the woman who’d refused to kneel down and die. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Jane’s cell phone rang. “We can talk about it later.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. If you won’t get me a flight, I’ll do it myself. I’m done with this.” She walked out of the room.
“Millie, wait,” Frost said, following her into the hallway. “Let me get someone to drive you back.”
Jane reached for her ringing cell phone and snapped: “Rizzoli.”
“Sounds like this is not a good time,” said criminalist Erin Volchko.
“As a matter of fact, it’s a lousy time. But go ahead. What’s up?”
“This may or may not improve your mood. It’s about those hair samples you collected from the mounted Bengal tiger. The one in the Gott residence.”
“What about them?”
“They’re brittle and degraded, with thinning and fusion of the surface cuticle. I suspect that tiger was killed and mounted decades ago, because these hairs show changes due to age and UV radiation. That’s a problem.”
“Why?”
“The tiger hair pulled from Jodi Underwood’s bathrobe showed no signs of degradation. It’s fresh.”
“You mean, like from a live tiger?” Jane sighed. “Too bad. We just crossed the zoo veterinarian off our list.”
“You told me there were two other zoo employees in the Gott residence earlier that day, delivering the snow leopard carcass. Their clothes are probably covered with all sorts of animal hairs. Maybe they shed hairs in the house, and the killer picked it up on his clothes. Tertiary transfer could explain how tiger hair got onto Jodi’s bathrobe.”
“So we could still be talking about the same killer, both murders.”
“Yes. Is that good news or bad?”
“I don’t know.” Jane hung up with a sigh. I don’t have a freaking clue how it all fits together. In frustration she unplugged the video camera from the monitor, coiled up the cables, and shoved everything into the carrying case. She thought about the questions she’d face at tomorrow’s case conference, and how to defend her decisions, not to mention her expenses. Crowe would pick at her bones like the vulture he was, and what was she going to say?
At least I got a trip to Cape Town out of it.
She rolled the media cart back to the side of the room where she’d found it and shoved it against the wall. Paused as something on that wall caught her eye. Hanging there were the names and qualifications of the Suffolk Zoo’s staff. Dr. Mikovitz, the veterinarians, and the various experts in birds, primates, amphibians, and large mammals. It was Alan Rhodes’s curriculum vitae that she focused on.
DR. ALAN T. RHODES.
BACHELOR OF SCIENCE, CURRY COLLEGE. PHD, TUFTS UNIVERSITY.
Natalie Toombs had also attended Curry College.
Alan Rhodes would have been a senior student the year Natalie vanished. She’d left her house to go on a study date with a man named Ted, and was never seen again. Until fourteen years later, when her bones turned up wrapped in a tarp, the ankles bound with orange nylon cord.
Jane dashed out of the conference room and bounded up the stairs to the zoo’s administrative offices.
The secretary glanced up with an arched eyebrow as Jane burst into the room. “If you’re looking for Dr. Mikovitz, he left for the afternoon.”
“Where’s Dr. Rhodes?” Jane asked.
“I can give you his cell phone number.” The secretary opened her drawer and pulled out the zoo directory. “Just let me look it up.”
“No, I want to know where he is. Is he still here at work?”
“Yes. He’s probably over at the tiger enclosure. That’s where they arranged to meet.”
“Meet?”
“That woman from the medical examiner’s office. She wanted tiger hair for some study she’s doing.”
“Oh God,” said Jane. Maura.
THIRTY-THREE
“HE’S SUCH A BEAUTY,” SAID MAURA, STARING INTO THE ENCLOSURE.
From the other side of the bars, the Bengal tiger stared back, his tail flicking. Camouflaged perfectly, he was almost invisible except for those alert eyes peering through the grass, and the sinuously waving tail.
“Now, this is a true man-eater,” said Alan Rhodes. “There are only a few thousand of them left in the world. We’ve encroached so deeply into their habitat, it’s inevitable they sometimes take a few people down. When you look at this cat, you can see why hunters prize them so much. Not just for the pelt, but for the challenge of defeating such a formidable predator. It’s perverse, isn’t it? How we humans want to kill the animals we most admire?”
“I’m perfectly happy to admire him from afar.”
“Oh, we won’t need to get any closer. Like any cat, he sheds plenty of hair.” He looked at her. “So why do you need it?”
“It’s for forensic analysis. The lab needs a sample of Bengal tiger hair, and I just happened to know someone with access to it. Thank you for this, by the way.”
“Is this for a criminal case? It’s not something to do with Greg Oberlin, is it?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it. You understand.”
“Of course. The curiosity’s killing me, but you have a job to do. So let’s go around to the staff entrance. You should be able to find hair in his night cage. Unless you were expecting to pluck it straight off his back. In which case, Doc, you are on your own.”
She laughed. “No, hair that’s recently been shed will be fine.”
“That’s a relief, because you definitely don’t want to go near this fellow. He’s five hundred pounds of muscle and teeth.”
Rhodes led her down a path marked STAFF ONLY. Hidden from the public e
ye by thick plantings, the employee walkway cut like a canyon between the walls of the neighboring tiger and cougar enclosures. Those walls blocked any view of the animals, but Maura could almost feel their power radiating through the concrete, and she wondered if the cats could sense her presence as well. Wondered if they were even now tracking her progress. Though Rhodes seemed perfectly at ease, she kept glancing up at the walls, half expecting to see a pair of yellow eyes peering down at her.
They reached the rear entrance to the tiger enclosure, and Rhodes unlocked the gate. “I can bring you through, into the night cage. Or you can wait out here and I’ll collect the hair samples for you.”
“I need to do this myself. It’s for chain of custody.”
He stepped inside the enclosure and unlatched the inner gate to the night room. “All yours. The cage hasn’t been cleaned yet, so you should find plenty of hair. I’ll wait outside.”
Maura entered the night cage. It was an indoor space, about twelve feet square, with a built-in waterer and a concrete ledge for sleeping. A tree log in the corner bore savage gashes where the animal had sharpened his claws, a stark reminder of the tiger’s power. Crouching over the log, she remembered the parallel lacerations on Leon Gott’s body, so similar to these. A tuft of animal hair clung to the log, and she reached into her pocket for tweezers and evidence bags.
Her cell phone rang.
She let the call go to voice mail and focused on her task. She plucked the first sample, sealed it, and scanned the room. Spotted more hairs on the concrete sleeping ledge.
The phone rang again.
Even as she collected the second sample, the phone kept ringing, shrill and urgent, refusing to be ignored. She sealed the hair in a separate bag and reached for her cell phone. She’d barely managed to say “Hello” when Jane’s voice cut in.
“Where are you?”
“I’m collecting tiger hair.”
“Is Dr. Rhodes with you?”
“He’s waiting right outside the cage. Do you need to talk to him?”
“No. Listen to me. I need you to get away from him.”
“What? Why?”
“Stay calm, stay friendly. Don’t let him know there’s anything wrong.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m heading your way now, and I’ve called the rest of the team to meet us. We’ll be there in a few minutes, tops. Just get away from Rhodes.”
“Jane—”
“Do it, Maura!”
“Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. As she ended the call, her hands were unsteady. She looked down at the evidence bag she was holding. She thought of Jodi Underwood and the strand of tiger hair clinging to her blue robe. Hair that was transferred from her attacker. An attacker who worked with big cats, who knew how they hunted and how they killed.
“Dr. Isles? Is everything all right?”
Rhodes’s voice was shockingly close. He’d moved so quietly into the night cage that she hadn’t realized he was standing right behind her. Close enough to have heard her conversation with Jane. Close enough to see that her hands were trembling as she slid the phone back in her pocket.
“Everything’s fine.” She managed a smile. “I’m all through here.”
He stared at her so intently that she could feel his gaze penetrating her skull, tunneling into her brain. She made a move to leave, but he stood firmly planted between her and the cage door, and she could not squeeze past him.
“I have what I need,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to leave now.”
For a moment he seemed to be weighing his options. Then he stepped aside and she slipped past, close enough for their shoulders to brush. Surely he could smell the fear on her skin. She didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t dare glance back as she exited the enclosure. She just kept walking down the employee pathway, her heart leaping in her throat. Was he following her? Was he even now closing in?
“Maura!” It was Jane, calling from somewhere beyond the screen of shrubbery. “Where are you?”
She took off running toward that voice. Pushed through a tangle of bushes into the open, and saw Jane and Frost, flanked by police officers. All their weapons simultaneously rose and Maura halted as half a dozen barrels pointed straight at her.
“Maura, don’t move!” Jane commanded.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Come toward me. Slowly. Don’t. Run.”
They still had their guns pointed in her direction, but their gazes weren’t focused on her. They were staring at something behind her. Every hair instantly stood up on her neck.
She turned and looked straight into amber eyes. For a few heartbeats she and the tiger regarded each other, predator and prey, locked in a stare. Then Maura realized she was not the only one facing him. Jane had stepped forward, was even now moving past her, to place herself between Maura and the tiger.
Confused by this new aggressor, the animal took a step back.
“Do it, Oberlin!” yelled Jane. “Do it now!”
There was a sharp pop. The tiger flinched as the tranquilizer dart pierced his shoulder. He didn’t retreat but stood his ground, eyes fixed on Jane.
“Hit him again!” ordered Jane.
“No,” said Oberlin. “I don’t want to kill him! Give the drug time to work.”
The tiger sagged sideways, caught himself. Began to stagger in a drunken circle.
“There, he’s going down!” said Oberlin. “A few more seconds and he’ll—” Oberlin stopped as screams erupted from the public pathway. People sprinted past, scattering in panic.
“Cougar!” came a shriek. “The cougar’s out!”
“What the fuck is going on?” said Jane.
“It’s Rhodes,” said Maura. “He’s letting the cats loose!”
Frantically Oberlin reloaded his tranquilizer gun. “Get everyone out! We need to evacuate!”
The public didn’t need to be coaxed. Already they were fleeing toward the exits in a stampede of hysterical parents and screaming children. The Bengal tiger was down, collapsed in a heap of fur, but the cougar—where was the cougar?
“Get to the exit, Maura,” Jane ordered.
“What about you?”
“I’m staying with Oberlin. We need to find that cat. Go.”
As Maura joined the exodus, she kept glancing over her shoulder. She remembered how intently the cougar had watched her on her last visit, and he could be tracking her now, tracking anyone. She almost stumbled over a toddler who lay screaming on the pavement. Scooping him up, she glanced around for his mother and spotted a young woman who was frantically scanning the crowd as she juggled an infant and a diaper bag.
“I’ve got him!” Maura called out.
“Oh my God, there you are! Oh my God …”
“I’ll carry him. Just keep moving!”
The exit was mobbed with people shoving through the turnstiles, vaulting across barriers. Then a zoo employee hauled open a gate and the crowd surged out, spilling like a tidal wave into the parking lot. Maura handed the toddler to his mother and stationed herself by the turnstiles to wait for news from Jane.
Half an hour later, her phone rang.
“You okay?” Jane asked.
“I’m standing at the exit. What about the cougar?”
“He’s down. Oberlin had to hit him with two darts, but the cat’s back in his cage. Jesus, what a disaster.” She paused. “Rhodes got away. In all the chaos, he slipped out with the crowd.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“Fourteen years ago, he attended the same college that Natalie Toombs did. I don’t have the proof yet, but I’m guessing Natalie was one of his early kills. Maybe his very first one. You were the one who saw it, Maura.”
“All I saw was—”
“The gestalt, as you called it. The big picture. It was all about the pattern of his kills. Leon Gott. Natalie Toombs. The backpackers,
the hunters. God, I should have listened to you.”
Maura shook her head, confused. “What about the Botswana murders? Rhodes doesn’t look anything like Johnny Posthumus. How is that connected?”
“I don’t think they are.”
“And Millie? Does she fit into the picture at all?”
Over the phone, she heard Jane sigh. “Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe I’ve been wrong about the whole thing.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“BREAK IT,” JANE SAID TO FROST.
Glass shattered, shards flying into the house, spilling across the tiled floor. In seconds she and Frost were through the door and inside Alan Rhodes’s kitchen. Weapon drawn, Jane caught rapid-fire glimpses of dishes stacked in the drying rack, a pristine countertop, a stainless-steel refrigerator. Everything looked orderly and clean—too clean.
She and Frost moved down the hallway, into the living room, Jane in the lead. She looked left, looked right, saw no movement, no signs of life. She saw bookshelves, a sofa and coffee table. Not a thing out of place, not even a stray magazine. The home of a bachelor with OCD.
From the foot of the stairway she peered up toward the second floor, trying to listen through the pounding of her own heart. It was quiet upstairs, as silent as the grave.
Frost took the lead as they moved up the stairs. Though the house was chilly, her blouse was already damp with sweat. The most dangerous animal is the one who’s trapped, and by now Rhodes must realize this was the end game. They reached the second-floor landing. Three doorways ahead. Glancing through the first, she saw a bedroom, sparsely furnished. No dust, no clutter. Did a real human actually live in this house? She eased toward the closet, yanked it open. Empty hangers swayed on the rod.
Back into the hallway, past a bathroom, to the last doorway.
Even before she stepped through, she already knew Rhodes wasn’t there. He was probably never coming back. Standing in his bedroom, she looked around at blank walls. The queen bed had a stark white cover. The dresser was bare and dust-free. She thought of her own dresser at home, a magnet for keys and coins, socks and bras. You could tell a lot about people by looking at what migrated to their dressers and their countertops, and what she saw here, on Alan Rhodes’s dresser, was a man without an identity. Who are you?
The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle Page 338