“Deputy Cooper, I have heard this amendment used to sanitize outrageous acts against other living creatures.” He paused. “Including humans. I would hazard a guess that more people have been maimed and killed in the name of our amendment or God than anything else.”
“I fear you’re right. So Pierre seemed to be investigating this black market?”
“Here. Yes. I could tell from his line of questioning that he had studied the issue, and he had to have been working for either a government agency or someone running a national nonprofit.”
“And whoever hired him probably had to be protected. At least until Pierre had enough evidence for a possible conviction.”
Ed took a deep breath. “Yes, but as all such government agencies are mandated to be transparent, that presents tremendous problems for a director, especially a director trying to slow down or halt this trade.”
“No slush funds?”
He held his hands palms upward. “I would expect every agency has some, but I would also expect that there are reporters, media people, whose entire purpose for living is to expose wrongdoing in government and this could be perceived as wrongdoing even though they were trying to halt an illegal activity.”
“Ah, yes, the principle is always more important than life itself.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice.
He stared at her. “You’ve seen it, too. People who are enraged concerning so-called abuse of power or language which offends them but they do nothing to stop child abuse, violence against women or animals. Obviously, I’m focused on the animals, but I swear to you—and I mean swear, I will swear on a Bible—that the abuse of children and women begins with animals.”
She remained silent for a long time. “Yes. As a law enforcement officer, I know that, but I have to keep my mouth shut.”
“Fortunately, I don’t. Let me tell you what I think Pierre Rice was doing. He may have been investigating for an agency, but my hunch is he was working for a congressman or -woman who needed facts, and even better a huge bust so he or she could introduce legislation to ban these activities. It’s also probable that the profits from these activities could be going into the pockets of those who had contributed greatly to some elected official’s company, or worse, been directed toward a dark account which couldn’t be traced to, say, a senator. It’s easy to do.”
This jibed with everything Cooper had learned about Pierre’s activities, but she didn’t have his political experience. “Ed, why can’t a clean congressman just introduce the legislation?”
“There isn’t enough interest right now. Other congressmen have to see that working for this makes them look good, enlivens their constituency, so to speak. Gets their face in front of the camera. If the lid can be blown off even just one black-market activity like eagle feathers, they have their chance.”
“So this congressman would be one of the good guys?”
Ed nodded in agreement as Cooper went on. “And smart enough to bide his time. Good intentions mean nothing in D.C. And let us not forget those who had profited would make life uncomfortable for our good guy or woman. The proverbial hornet’s nest.”
Ed shrugged. “Add to that, there are so many layers to government right now, it’s all ‘cover your ass.’ It’s all about the paycheck and for the really disgusting, their egos. There, I’ve been indiscreet and said it.”
“I’d like to think you’re wrong, Ed, but I see it even in law enforcement. I hasten to add that our department is good, good people and woefully underfunded, but I look at some of these megacity police departments and I have to wonder. I always thought I wanted to work, say, in Atlanta or even Washington but now I don’t. Too much pressure from without and also from within.”
“I understand.”
“Did Pierre appear troubled or worried?”
“No. Very cool.”
“What about a company whose product, say animal food, is under review?”
“Same thing. Graft. Cover-ups. Done every day whether it’s corn meal or dog food. The corporation doesn’t give the congressman money but perhaps a second home will come his way dirt cheap. Then again, one can always dump millions in his aunt’s bank account. The permutations are endless.”
“I see. One last question. Do you think whoever Pierre was working for or with could be in danger?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he answered, “Without a doubt and as we speak, if the ring is big enough, profitable enough, the bad guys are trying to find out who initiated the investigation.”
“Like I said, finding your card was our first true break in this case. I know I’ll have more questions over time. I’ll call and if you think of anything you call me. Now, just one more thing…” She reached in her black carry bag.
“Could you tell me what bird these feathers are from?” She put three brownish feathers in his hand.
“Bald eagle,” Ed instantly said. “I’m not a man to spread fear, but, Deputy, you are up against what I think is a powerful ring, given the protection status of bald eagles. Only the big guys will have a secure network to get away with killing them, selling live ones, selling feathers, claws. Any protected species is important, but the bald eagle is the most important, to Americans anyway. They won’t hesitate to kill.”
March 15, 1786 Wednesday
Walking toward her father’s house, Catherine noticed the plume of smoke from the chimney hanging low, spreading out. That meant more weather on the way.
She passed her mother’s garden on which Isabelle had lavished so much attention. Each season was represented by colors selected to demonstrate what Isabelle thought of that season. A few brave snowdrops pushed up through the snow on the ground. Her mother’s spring color scheme always started with white, then moved into the yellows, pinks, and purples of croci, from there to jonquils and daffodils. As she passed the rows of snowdrops, Catherine thought how organized her mother’s mind was in terms of space, color, harmony, and height. Her father, on the other hand, could remember columns of figures from years back. His mind, very good, was organized in a different fashion. The two complemented each other.
Catherine looked up to her parents’ marriage. She and John proved a strong team, radiantly in love. Rachel and Charles surprised each other by their newfound passion for architecture. Rachel had inherited her mother’s sense of proportion, color, aesthetics; Catherine truly was her father’s daughter, a fact recognized by men. Women may have been seen as helpmates to their fathers and husbands, but it was a slow-witted man who did not realize Catherine possessed her father’s business brilliance. She could see far beyond the nose on her face.
The aroma of maple syrup greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen through the back door. Serena, putting away the cleaned dishes, smiled at Catherine.
“Missus, there’s plenty batter left over. Would you like some pancakes?”
“No, thank you, Serena. I made a big breakfast today as John will be at the back bridges shoring up a damaged foot. Well, I call it a foot. And do you know my husband can cook? He made his special eggs while I brewed coffee, wonderful coffee from those beans Father bought from that Jamaican trader. I’m nattering on. Where’s Father?”
“Usual.”
“Where’s Bettina?”
“Down in the root cellar, looking for those peaches we put up this summer. She’s determined to make peach cobbler. She says if she does, winter will finally release his icy grip.”
“Serena, if you look outside, I think we’re due for another handshake.”
Serena walked to the paned-glass windows. “Oh, dear. March is cruel.”