Authors: Nadja Bernitt
“Jack and Meri Ann,” Mendiola said, keeping it light and social. “Nice gun. A 20-gauge?”
“Sure is, but this ain’t nothing to brag on.” The man’s small chest expanded with pride. “Basic double-gun’s all, a Steven’s 311. Wasn’t much more than a kid when I got it. Good for bird and marmot.” He held up his catch. “If you like guns, then you know about Harold’s. He’s got the doozie.”
Mendiola encouraged him. “What’s he got?”
“A Parker 28, the Little Persuader. Yes, sir, an A-1 Special. Now that’s worth a penny or two.”
A bloody fortune is what it was worth.
Fehr offered an engaging smile at the fellow, warm and congenial. “Been neighbors for long?” she asked.
It tweaked Mendiola’s curiosity. This chance meeting had turned into an interrogation of sorts, and now she had given it a feminine twist, one he didn’t associate with her. Kari survived on charm, the slow lift of her long-lashed eyes or a soft helpless shrug of her shoulders. But Detective Meri Ann Fehr, hot damn if he’d ever seen that smile.
“Near twenty-five years,” Leroy said amiably. “Yes indeedy, knew him since his dad had the big place up in Idaho City proper. Lot of money in that family, old mining money. Harold could’ve had anything: fancy eastern school, mansions in any country in the world, anything. He didn’t want none of that. For a while, he kept friends with a boy from town, but in the end came back to the hills.”
“He’s always alone, isn’t he?” she said.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with that, last time I checked.”
Mendiola shifted uneasily, thinking her charm was wearing thin and not sure if he should intervene and lead the conversation in another direction.
“It wasn’t a criticism,” she said.
Leroy nodded as if he understood. “I’m first to admit Harold gives a man pause. Looks downright loco with that long hair flying and that rat-tangle range coat. Looks like some old hippie from a Calgary roundup. Coddles his odd flock of stinking birds, but he’s salt of the earth.” The man lifted his quarry. “Pardon, ma’am, but I got a job to do. Better get this cut up.”
She stepped aside. “Birdie,” she said.
Leroy squinted, as if he hadn’t heard right. “What’s that?”
“Isn’t that Harold’s nickname?” she asked.
Leroy scratched the side of his cheek, looked askance. “Don’t recollect Harold taking to nicknames, especially ones that demean his birds. No ma’am, somebody called him that he’d take offense. Nope, I wouldn’t call him that if I was you.” With a nod of his head, he started for a high wooden table to the far side of the cabin.
Mendiola wanted to ask more questions and didn’t want the fellow to get away, but wasn’t sure how to hold him.
“Just a minute,” Fehr said. “I need to use the restroom. I hate to bother you, but any chance you’ve got the key to Harold’s place?”
Her swift thinking amazed Mendiola, and then made him nervous.
Leroy turned around, somewhat annoyed. “Couldn’t let you inside,” he said. “Harold locks up good and keeps the keys. But I suppose you could use the outside crapper. I’ll warn you right now, it ain’t no place to rest.” He winked at Fehr.
Mendiola knew what she was doing. She wanted to look around, but without the proper warrants, they’d be screwed; possibly put the case in jeopardy if Graber turned out to be their suspect. “Thanks anyway Mister, but we can use the facilities at the Hill Top Cafe.”
She shook her head, as if that wasn’t an option.
Leroy shrugged. He tilted his head, indicating the direction of the privy. “It’s straight ahead. And, ma’am, it ain’t no real bathroom with running water, just a hole in the ground with a fancy oak board to sit on and a bucket of lye to keep it clean. But if a man’s got to go, he’s got to go. Just keep your hands away from them cages when you pass the birds. It’s tight in there, and they don’t cotton to strangers.”
Fehr stood like a statue, her gaze fixed on the breezeway. She suddenly seemed reluctant to move.
“You’d better get going,” he grumbled. “I’ll wait here with Leroy.”
He prodded her with his elbow. “We’ve got no probable cause, so hurry up,” he whispered. “I mean it.”
“I won’t be a minute.”
Before he blinked, she broke into a jog and was half way there. What the hell. Maybe she really had to go.
M
eri Ann listened for the birds as she rounded the corner of Graber’s cabin. The passageway lay ahead, a dim tunnel between the cabin and a large shed the size of a one-car garage. Her discomfort grew with each footstep. Leroy’s words played on her mind: It’s tight in there.
The birds were housed in wooden-frame cages wrapped in fine-gauge link fencing, each about the size of a London telephone booth. They lined the left side of the passageway, close to the house with one bird per cage.
Their feathers rustled. They shrieked alarm.
“Hush. You’re okay,” she said to allay their fears and her own. She clamped her hands at her sides and started in.
Their racket grew louder. Baby’s sinewy claws clenched a rugged branch as she flapped her injured wing. Two smaller birds, maybe hawks or falcons, sat in cages on either side, equally as upset. Their yellow eyes bored like lasers. They were pitiful and terrifying at once. The shrieks, the stink of their cages… She held her breath and kept to the right, close to the shed.
With Mendiola and Leroy waiting below, she didn’t have time for nerves. Her eyes darted right and left, searching for a window or open door, but all she saw were curtains behind glass.
The outhouse stood about thirty feet ahead. Sage and tumbleweeds littered a seldom-used path leading from the privy to Graber’s backdoor. She turned her attention to the door, then to a window beside it. It was the only one so far without a curtain.
She cupped her hands to shield the glare, peeked in at a slice of living room and a part of the kitchen.
Papers littered his desk and the surrounding floor. Several drawers stood open and their contents spilled out as if he had looked for something, perhaps had found it and left in a hurry.
The chaos worried her, not that it looked like foul play, but it pointed to Graber’s disturbed state of mind. She recalled their meeting the day before, the way he’d sized her up and the burning calculation in his deep-set eyes. He was a man with secrets.
She jiggled the doorknob but it didn’t budge. Despite a hasty departure, he had taken time to lock up. Two top-of-the-line Schlage locks secured the door. No way she’d get inside without breaking a window.
She paused, pondered another option—the storage facility. She backtracked to the passageway, past the birds. She felt more at ease the second time and barely heard their rustling as she neared the shed.
A heavy padlock dangled from a hasp, not locked but looped through it. It crossed her mind that only fools hide evidence in unlocked rooms. She paused, thought about Mendiola’s warning, then gave in to her curiosity. She checked over her shoulder to make sure Leroy and Mendiola were out of sight. Reassured, she lifted the padlock and parted the door.
The room’s musty smell made her cough, a dense mix of dust, decay, and old leather. A cobwebbed window on the far wall provided dim light. Still, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then the silhouettes of stuffed animals appeared, half hidden under a shroud of cobwebs: snowy egrets on steely stiff legs with beaks like yellow daggers, heads of rocky mountain sheep with curly horns and flared nostrils, beaver, ducks, deer with soulful eyes, a black bear in the corner, claws bared. A petrified zoo.
The tools of their dissection cluttered a wooden work table in the center of the room: saws, small picks, and knives. Most were rusty except for a lethal-looking set of stainless steel surgical instruments. Their ornate handles gleamed like fine patterned flatware.
Her thoughts raced, recalling Uberuaga’s analysis of the bones that included chemicals used in taxidermy. She scanned the room and found a dozen or so brown medicinal-looking jars, old ones with rusted lids and unreadable labels, but chemicals, no doubt about that. It was a solid link, and she felt like Howard Carter in King Tut’s tomb.
An Idaho State taxidermist’s license, dusty and yellowed with age, hung askew beside the window. She moved closer to it, drawn by Harold Graber Senior’s name.
Below the license was a faded photograph of his son, the Harold Graber she knew. Two men stood beside him puffed up like boastful bookends. Something dark was smeared across Harold’s face. Probably blood, indicating the photo of a first kill. He held the limp head of a deer by his rack. She studied young Graber’s expression, trying to understand… .
A light flashed on. Startled, she spun toward it.
Leroy stood in the doorway, a plastic bucket of raw meat in his hand. He peered at her with eyes as cool as Baby’s. “What the Sam Hill’s going on here?”
“I thought I heard someone inside Harold’s house. I looked in his window. I wondered if he was all right. I was looking for him.”
She noted Mendiola’s disapproval, then his amazement as he checked out the room and its contents. He understood at a glance—as she had—the implication of their find. Her moment of pride was sublime.
“You think something’s happened to Graber?” he asked.
“See for yourself.” She pointed over their shoulders. “Take a look in the window beside the backdoor. His files are scattered on the floor, drawers left open. Those files meant a lot to him and he kept them in order. Something upset him to make him leave it this way.”
“I’ll check it out.” Mendiola proceeded around back.
Leroy shadowed him, taking a peek himself when Mendiola stepped away from the window.
“When did Mr. Graber leave?” Mendiola asked him.
Leroy played with his beard. “Last night. Said his birds would need feeding tonight.”
Graber must have left moments after she had talked to him and he’d shown her the clippings. He might have been driving down the mountain moments behind her. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, “can you give us a call when Harold gets back? We’d like to know he’s all right.”
She nudged Mendiola. “Your card.”
Mendiola reached into his jacket pocket and produced his card.
Leroy eyed it suspiciously. “You said you was friends of his. Well,” he snorted. “The law’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing and you two a pair of bold-faced liars.” He glared at Meri Ann.
“I’m sorry if we misled you. It wasn’t our intention.” It was, of course, and nothing could stop her. She had to know if Graber was the one. “I’m not sure what’s going on here,” she said, “but our concerns about Harold are serious. If you care about your friend, you’ll call when he gets back.”
Leroy straightened his shoulders in defiance. “Make no mistake, I care about Harold. And, before you head out, I think you’d best set that lock back on his shed. Harold don’t cotton to folks messing with his things.”
Meri Ann hung the lock back in place and snapped it shut. “That’s the least of his problems,” she said beneath her breath.
T
he Law Enforcement Plaza had the feel of a school after hours. No one was there except for the lieutenant and a minimal night shift. Meri Ann’s and Mendiola’s footsteps clicked on the stairwell’s polished floor treads as they climbed to the second floor.
“I told you, the shed wasn’t locked.” Her voice echoed through the passageway as she and Mendiola climbed the stairs to Lt. Dillon’s office.
“It sure as hell wasn’t open,” he said from two steps above her. “You waltz across state lines, stick your nose in another state’s jurisdiction, then you have the balls to act like evidence rules don’t apply to you.”
“Maybe I didn’t respect his right to privacy, but if I hadn’t gone in that room, we wouldn’t know about Graber’s taxidermy studio. Now would we?”
Still, the incident left her uneasy. They’d need another reason for probable cause against Graber. A tricky situation since Mendiola didn’t want to disclose Tony’s revelation of the name, Birdie, the reason they had gone to Graber’s in the first place. Mendiola was sure to suffer sanctions if Dillon found out about the omitted testimony. At this point he felt like her partner, and she would not expose him if it could be avoided.
“What we’ve got is a tangled web,” she said. “And you’re in the middle.”
He held the stairwell door open. “If the shit hits the fan, so be it.”
His bravado didn’t fool her. He cared all right.
“Trouble is,” he said, “I want an arrest, a charge that sticks and a case that ends in conviction.”
“I do too.”
“Graber’s got the instincts of a grizzly and probably more lairs. He’ll be hell to find now that he knows we’re looking for him.”
He looked grim as he pushed through the stairwell door and on to their offices.
Lt. Dillon stood at her window, tapping at the glass, waving them inside.
Meri Ann took the seat nearest Dillon’s desk, moving a Toys-R-Us bag before she sat down. “Some kid’s going to be happy tonight.”
“Not if I can’t cover this Graber business and get out of here in half an hour.” Dillon rolled her blue eyes in the direction of a family photo of her and three boys. “It’s Scott’s birthday, my hormone driven thirteen-year-old. He wants his new Game Boy and to be dropped with his buddies at the Cineplex in time for this month’s violent PG-thirteen flic. I was picking up his cake when you paged me. Haven’t got his present wrapped or the pizza ordered.”
Mendiola leaned against Dillon’s credenza, seemingly his favorite place. “We won’t keep you long.”
Dillon rocked back in her chair and picked up what looked like the same pencil she’d toyed with that morning. “I hope that’s the case, but it appears we got a plateful to cover. As I seem to recall, Wheatley was our target this morning.”
Only this morning? Meri Ann raked her fingers through her limp hair. It seemed like days ago to her.
Dillon pointed the pencil at her. “I’m not going to ask what you were doing at Graber’s, let alone what you were doing in his shed. May I remind you, we work by the books, Fehr. No band-standing theatrics and no illegal shit.”