Die Again (37 page)

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 eye 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.”

“B
REAK 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?

From the bedroom window, she looked down at the street, where yet another Danvers PD patrol car had just pulled up. This neighborhood was outside Boston PD’s jurisdiction, but in their rush to capture Rhodes she and Frost had not wasted time waiting for Danvers detectives to assist. Now there’d be bureaucratic hell to pay.

“There’s a trapdoor up here,” said Frost, standing in the closet.

She squeezed in beside him and looked up at the ceiling panel, where a pull rope dangled. It probably led to attic storage space, where families stash boxes they never open, filled with items they couldn’t bring themselves to throw out. Frost tugged on the rope and the panel swung open, revealing a drop-down ladder and a shadowy space overhead. They shot a tense glance at each other, then Frost climbed the ladder.

“All clear!” he called down. “Just a bunch of stuff.”

She followed him through the trapdoor and turned on her pocket flashlight. In the gloom she glimpsed a row of cardboard boxes. This could be anyone’s attic, a depository for clutter, for the reams of tax documents and financial papers you fear you might need someday when the IRS comes calling. She opened one box and saw bank statements and loan documents. Moved on to the next and the next. Found
copies of
Biodiversity and Conservation
. Old sheets and towels. Books and more books. There was nothing here to tie Rhodes to any crimes at all, much less murder.

Have we made another mistake?

She climbed back down the ladder, into the bedroom with its bare walls and spotless bedspread. Her uneasiness grew as another car pulled up outside. Detective Crowe climbed out, and she felt her blood pressure shoot up as he strutted toward the house. Seconds later, someone pounded on the front door. She went downstairs and found Crowe grinning at her from the front porch.

“So, Rizzoli, I hear the city of Boston’s not big enough for you. You breaking down doors in the suburbs now?” He walked in and made a lazy stroll around the living room. “What’ve you got on this guy Rhodes?”

“We’re still looking.”

“Funny, ’cause he’s got a clean record. No arrests, no convictions. You sure you tagged the right guy?”

“He ran, Crowe. He released two large cats to cover his escape, and he hasn’t been seen since. It makes the death of Debra Lopez look less and less like an accident.”

“Murder by leopard?” Crowe shot her a skeptical look. “Why would he kill a zookeeper?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did he kill Gott? And Jodi Underwood?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a lot of
don’t knows
.”

“There’s trace evidence linking him to Jodi Underwood. That tiger hair on her bathrobe. We also know he was a student at Curry College, the same year Natalie Toombs vanished, so there’s a link to her as well. Remember how Natalie was last seen leaving for a study date with someone named Ted? Rhodes’s middle name is Theodore. According to his bio at the zoo, before he started college, he spent a year in Tanzania. Maybe that’s where he learned about the leopard cult.”