Paw of the Jungle Read online

  By then, my shift was up. I drove Nan’s and the plumber’s prints back to the station, and Brigit and I headed back home for an evening of sitcoms, Seth, and snuggling.

  THREE

  FUR SHAME

  Brigit

  That furry little sissy had been acting like a darn fool with all that snarling. Brigit should’ve told him to pick on someone his own size—like a flea! Heh-heh.

  Despite having the occasional run-in with these types of amateur wannabe watchdogs, Brigit loved working as a police K-9. She was taken on way more walks than the average house pet, and had fun exploring the city, including great smelly places like the parks and the zoo. Sometimes, she even got to chase humans and tackle them to the ground. Other dogs were punished for that kind of behavior, but Brigit was rewarded for it. Best job ever!

  She had the best pack, too. Megan always carried liver treats in her pocket, and gave Brigit lots of nice scratches and ear rubs. Megan did weird things sometimes, like when she picked up Brigit’s droppings and carried them around in a bag like a party favor, but Brigit had noticed that humans did all sorts of strange things. They bathed every day, willingly! And they ignored squirrels for some reason. Didn’t they realize the rodents were launching an uprising to take over the world? But even though Brigit would never fully understand Megan, she loved her partner from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes, and she knew Megan felt the same way about her.

  FOUR

  TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

  The Poacher

  For once in his life, everything was going good.

  He liked his job okay. He had to work outside and it could be cold sometimes, especially in the mornings, but overall the weather hadn’t been too bad. His coworkers were all right, too. None had given him any problems. He’d turned over most of his first paycheck to Vicki, hanging on to just enough of the cash to buy gas to get to work.

  Vicki had been happy to see the money. She still hadn’t let him back into her bed, but when he’d snuck up behind her yesterday at the stove and slid his hand up under her top, she hadn’t pushed it away. Too bad Harper had chosen that exact second to barge in and ask when dinner was going to be ready. Kids and their crappy timing …

  The boys didn’t remember when he’d been a part of their lives before, but they were slowly warming up to him again. It helped that he’d used some sheets and blankets to turn their bunk bed into a cool fort. Maybe prison would’ve been more fun if he and his cellmate had made a fort out of their bunk bed, too.

  Even his truck seemed to be running smoothly. He’d made this month’s payment on it. Covered the insurance on it, too. Once the loan was satisfied, and he got Vicki paid back for the payments she’d made while he’d been in prison, he’d see about having it put into his name instead of hers. It only seemed right that a man’s truck should be in his own name.

  Never in his life had everything seemed to be going his way. Damn. He might’ve just jinxed himself. Better knock on wood. He reached out a clenched hand and rapped twice on the scuffed coffee table. Particle board counts as wood, don’t it?

  FIVE

  BYE-BYE BIRDIES

  Megan

  The following Monday afternoon, I turned again into the parking lot of the zoo. Brigit and I were working a swing shift. Well, I was working. My partner snoozed away on her cushion behind me, snoring softly. The warmth and white noise of the heater in the patrol car threatened to lull me to sleep, too. Better get my blood flowing before I drift off behind the wheel.

  The afternoon was cold and windy, but a blustery blast of wintry weather was just what I needed to wake me up. I slid on a pair of gloves, a knit hat, and my heavy police jacket before opening the cruiser’s back door. Brigit looked at me with sleep-droopy eyes and issued a yawn. Her nose twitched, her keen sense of smell working to identify our whereabouts better than her eyes could. When her nose told her we were at the zoo, she rose to all fours and hopped down to let me attach her leash. The brisk breeze parted Brigit’s fur as we made our way to the front gate.

  In her ticket booth, Janelle was bundled up in a heavy hooded coat. A scarf encircled her neck, covering the bottom half of her face. She pulled it down as we approached, her breath fogging the cold glass in front of her. “You’ll have the place to yourselves today. Not many people willing to brave this weather.”

  A light crowd was fine with me. Fewer people to maneuver around, better visibility into the exhibits, less chance of a child accidentally stepping on Brigit’s paw.

  Many of the animals on exhibit were warm-climate species, better suited for the hot Texas summers than these occasional cold snaps. The zebras huddled in a herd to fight the frigid wind. Of course the chilly weather had the opposite effect on animals from colder climates. The black bears felt frisky, a pair loping about in play, a third backed up to a tree, rubbing his rump across the bark, treating himself to a nice butt scratch. The speakers mounted on poles and buildings throughout the zoo played holiday tunes. When the soundtrack launched into “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” I found myself singing along. Dang! No doubt the song would become an earworm, playing through my brain the rest of the shift.

  As we made our way, I noticed zoo employees scurrying down walkways and looking up into trees. What’s that about? Soon after, we rounded the bend leading to the Parrot Paradise exhibit. The large, walk-through aviary was dome-shaped, with a heavy-duty, tightly woven mesh roof to keep even the tiniest birds from flying the coop. Bamboo and other varieties of trees provided perches for the birds, while a waterfall and pond provided ambiance and drinking water. Dozens of brightly colored parakeets, cockatiels, and parrots made homes in the space, chirping, squawking, and twittering as they went about their day.

  As we approached the entrance to Parrot Paradise, I spotted the custodian I’d chatted with last week about our mutual doody duty. The man I knew only as “Danny L” sported a hoodie with the zoo logo today. A gray-haired woman also in khaki pants and a jacket faced him, her back to me. Danny held a push broom in one hand and plunked the handle down on the ground before him, holding the broom in a pose reminiscent of the stoic farmer and his pitchfork in the famous American Gothic painting. His other hand clenched the handle of his rolling litter bin so tight it was a wonder it didn’t snap under the pressure. The tense expression on Danny’s face and the woman’s stiff posture told me the subject of their exchange was serious and unpleasant. The woman said something I couldn’t hear, and Danny’s eyes flashed with alarm. Brigit and I soon drew near enough for me to hear their conversation.

  “You failed to follow protocols,” the woman said. “That’s grounds for dismissal.”

  “Please don’t fire me!” the custodian cried in a desperate plea. “I’ve got mouths to feed. Give me another chance. I’ll do everything by the book. I promise!”

  Uh-oh. Though employment matters were none of my business, emotional situations sometimes got out of hand. The custodian’s broom could make an improvised weapon. Better let them know Brigit and I were ready to step in if needed. I walked up. “Everything okay?”

  The woman turned to me. “Not at all. Our pair of hyacinth macaws is missing. Fabiana and Fernando. They must have escaped when Mr. Landis was cleaning the entrance area.”

  Landis. Now I knew what the L on the custodian’s name tag stood for. “And you are…?” I asked, sticking out my hand.

  “Sharon Easley.” She took my hand. “The zoo’s director.”

  After introducing myself and my partner, I nodded to the custodian and likewise stuck out my hand. “Mr. Landis.”

  He pulled off his work glove, again revealing the prison tattoo by his thumb. He gave my hand a single, firm shake before slipping the glove back on. Niceties complete, I glanced over at the bird exhibit. The entrance was designed with self-closing gates at either end of an enclosed walkway to prevent the birds from making an easy escape. Dog parks had similar gates, the outer gate designed to trap animals in the entry area if they managed to sneak
out the interior gate. The sally port at the police station served the same purpose, giving officers a contained environment in which to safely unload suspects from a cruiser before taking them into the building for booking. Of course the design could fail if both ends were open at the same time. Hence the posted warnings, advising visitors not to hold gates open and to ensure the gate closed behind them.

  His boss having already determined him guilty, Mr. Landis attempted to defend himself to me. “Some kid dropped a full bottle of apple juice from a stroller. It made a big, sticky mess all over the concrete. I made sure no birds were by the inside gate before I propped it open, and I only had both gates open long enough to hose down the pavement.” He released his bin and threw up his hand. “I’m sure I would’ve seen those birds if they’d flown out!”

  He had a point. The hyacinth macaws not only bore bright blue feathers, but they were also large, measuring around three feet long, including the tail feathers. A parakeet might not be spotted making an escape, but the macaws would’ve had a hard time sneaking out unnoticed.

  Easley wasn’t having it, though. “The birds were in the exhibit earlier and now they aren’t. There’s no other explanation.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. The aspiring detective in me knew every angle should be examined before reaching conclusions. Plus, I’d hate to see an ex-con lose gainful employment. Getting fired could increase the odds Landis would reoffend. At the risk of overstepping my bounds, I asked, “Could the enclosure have been breached in some other way?” Maybe a limb had come off a tree and damaged the wire roof, bent it to allow escape.

  “Several employees inspected the exhibit,” the director replied. “Everything looks fine.”

  I’d been inside the Parrot Paradise exhibit before and had noted a private door built into a fake stone façade at the back. The door had a tinted window on the top half and a security keypad mounted on the wall beside it. Presumably, the door was used by zoo personnel and led to a room used for storage or for veterinary examinations. More than likely, there was another door that led from that space to the outside. “What about the door at the back of the exhibit? Could the macaws have gone out that way?”

  “I checked with security,” she said. “That door was last used early this morning, before the zoo opened, when staff put out feed for the birds. The macaws were seen afterward.”

  “By whom?” I asked.

  “One of our ornithologists. He was checking the winter birdhouses that were installed a few days ago. He went in and out through the visitor entrance, not the staff entrance.”

  In other words, it was likely Landis or a guest was responsible for the birds’ disappearance. But weren’t other precautions taken to keep the birds from flying off? “Were the birds pinioned?”

  “No,” Easley said, “but their flight feathers are clipped every few weeks. The macaws were due.”

  With their feathers grown out, it was the perfect time for the birds to mount an escape.

  A beefy black man in a jacket embossed with the word SECURITY stepped up to our impromptu powwow. Apparently, he’d been summoned to assist. He gave me and Easley a nod.

  Landis was clearly having mixed emotions, his expression vacillating between fear and anger. “Please don’t fire me!” he begged Easley. “I been doing good. Ask my supervisor. He’ll tell you. I don’t know what happened to the birds, but I was very careful!”

  A horrible thought crossed my mind. “Could the birds have been intentionally taken?”

  “Intentionally taken?” Easley repeated. “You mean stolen?”

  The custodian’s voice reached a pitch so high he seemed to be channeling the itty-bitty blond Broadway star Kristin Chenoweth. “Are you accusing me of stealing those birds?”

  I raised my palms. “Just trying to consider all possibilities. If they were stolen, I’m not saying you were necessarily responsible.” But I wasn’t saying Landis wasn’t responsible, either.

  Landis seemed to realize my theory could work in his favor. His face brightened and he stood straighter. “If somebody stole the birds, that means it’s not my fault they’re gone.”

  “Zoo thefts are rare,” Easley said, her gaze shifting between me and Landis, “but they’re not unheard of. I suppose it’s possible the birds were stolen. They’re worth thousands of dollars.”

  I eyed Landis, wishing I could read his mind. Did the saying “once a thief, always a thief” apply here? He’d stolen from an employer before, and a moment earlier he’d mentioned having mouths to feed. A person under pressure could do something stupid or wrong. But before I threw accusations around, I’d better get my ducks in a row. “Are there cameras on the aviary?”

  “No,” Easley said. “We didn’t see the need for cameras inside the zoo. Staff keep an eye on things while the zoo’s open, and we’ve never had problems after hours. We’ve got some cameras on the perimeter. Not sure they’ll help. Most are aimed at the parking lot.”

  The decision was understandable. Why spend funds on cameras when it could be better spent improving the habitats? Still, staff couldn’t keep a constant eye on every corner of the zoo.

  “Can’t hurt to take a look at the footage,” I suggested.

  The custodian’s cart rattled as Easley and the security guard escorted me, Brigit, and Landis to the main administrative building. Landis left his bin outside by the door. We walked down the hall and into the security office, where Easley introduced us to the chief security officer, or CSO, a burly man with close-cropped curls the same dark brown as the zoo’s bears.

  After names and handshakes were exchanged, the CSO turned to Landis. “Wait outside.”

  The custodian’s nostrils flared. “I got a right to see the video, too!”

  The CSO stepped toward Landis, forcing him to back out the door. “You can take a look after we’ve gone through it.” The chief cut his eyes to the guard who’d escorted us here, silently directing him to watch over the janitor. The man stepped out into the hallway with Landis.

  The CSO retook his seat at his desk and turned his attention to the oversized monitor in front of him. “I’ll start the footage at eleven fifteen. That’s when the birds were last seen.”

  As Easley and I gathered behind him, he maneuvered his mouse and started the video stream, running it at several times the real-time rate for efficiency’s sake. The feeds from half a dozen cameras ran simultaneously on his screen, showing views of the zoo’s entrances and exits, as well as the parking lot. Adults and children filtered in and out of the camera range, their movements robotic and awkward at high speed. Many wore bulky winter coats or pushed large strollers draped with blankets, but none was obviously smuggling two large birds out of the zoo.

  As we watched, Landis rolled his big garbage bin out of the zoo’s front gate. The CSO clicked on the pane to enlarge the feed to full screen and slowed it so we could take a closer look. We leaned in and watched intently. Several garbage bags were inside the huge bin. They shook as the bin rattled down the sidewalk, but none moved enough to evidence animals inside, struggling to escape. Of course I wasn’t an expert on bird behavior. Don’t birds become quiet and still in the dark? Isn’t that why people cover their cages? I raised the issue.

  Easley shrugged. “Animals may behave atypically when they’re frightened.”

  The security guard made another point. “He could have hidden a cage under the bags.”

  If the birds were in a cage, it would explain the lack of movement among the bags. Hmm.

  Landis continued to a trash can on the sidewalk that led to the parking lot, removed the plastic lid, and tied the bag inside closed. He lifted the bag from the receptacle, placed it in his rolling bin, and lined the can with a new bag before returning the lid. He repeated this process with a second trash can farther down. He then rolled the bin out of camera range.

  I wondered aloud. “Could he be taking the birds to his car? Or handing them off to someone?”

  “Could be,” the CSO mused. “But there’s
a dumpster at the far end of the lot. He might have only been taking his bin there to empty it.”

  We continued to watch. Minutes later, Landis rolled back into sight, his bin empty. Had the birds been in the bin? Who knew. I had nothing definitive, certainly not enough evidence to get a search warrant. Even so, the guy seemed eager to clear himself. Maybe he’d voluntarily allow us to search his vehicle. We watched until the time the birds were discovered missing, then invited Landis in to view the footage himself.

  “The video’s inconclusive,” I pointed out. “Will you allow us to search your car?”

  “Be my guest,” he said. “You won’t find anything.”

  The CSO, my partner, and I followed Landis out to the parking lot. Easley opted to remain in the administrative building where it was warm. Couldn’t say I blamed her. Landis stopped at a cheap white sedan produced a decade earlier. The steering wheel and seats sported fuzzy purple covers that looked to be made of Muppet pelts.

  The CSO slid Landis some side-eye. “This is your vehicle?”

  “No.” Landis pointed the fob at the car to unlock it. “I drove this one today because mine’s in the shop getting brake work done.”

  The CSO and I opened the doors and looked around, searching for feathers or other evidence the birds had been in the vehicle. We removed the seat covers and checked the trunk. Nothing. We returned to the security office. The CSO informed Easley we’d come up empty.

  “So?” Landis asked, his hopeful gaze moving among us. “We good?”

  Easley exhaled a sharp breath and shook her head. “If anything, I’m more convinced than ever that the birds escaped while you were cleaning. I’ve got to let you go. Sorry.”

  Clearly, that wasn’t what the guy wanted to hear. “This is bullshit!”

  The CSO gestured to the staff ID card hanging from a lanyard around the custodian’s neck and held out his hand. “I’ll need your badge, Mr. Landis.”