Who did the guy think he was, anyway, acting like a cop? He had always been a suspect in her book, and he was still one. For the fact was, every time and every place that Rafi Nadir had been on the scene and easily capable of doing the crime, Max Kinsella had been there too, whether he was got up as “Vince” or as some self-appointed vigilante.
No, the suspect list for the death of Cher Smith wasn’t narrowing down. It was getting longer.
Carmen eyed her icing-free cookie and tossed it toward the wastebasket at the end of the kitchen/living room divider.
She made a basket.
“Max! I expected you to call hours ago.”
“I had some thinking to do.”
“Kirby, you mean.”
“I worked with him, Temple. He was my Birdman of the Mojave when I was doing my act. I had to figure out why he did it.”
“Killed Van Burkleo?”
“Hell, no! That’s understandable. It’s even more understandable when you realize that the Animal Oasis and Rancho Exotica touch borders. I haven’t finished looking into it, but I’ve uncovered a money trail. Cyrus had bought into a consortium that held the mortgage on the Oasis land and wanted to add it to the hunt ranch. I’ve discovered that Granger couldn’t stop a foreclosure. He owed a lot of money, especially since he stopped working with trained animals. High principles often mean no profit. Apparently, he had trouble with it philosophically. Even with my innocent cockatoo illusion. You know, animals that are trainable thrive on challenge, but more recently Kirb saw it all as exploitation. That’s what I’ve been able to figure out so far.”
“So…he killed Van Burkleo to stop the brutal acquisition of his peaceable animal kingdom for a murderous purpose.”
“I don’t think he meant to kill Van Burkleo. He went over there in a rage when he discovered what was up. I think the death was accidental. Then he began figuring out how to cover it up.”
“To save his skin.”
“No. It was always the animals’ skins he wanted to save. That’s what got him off the rails in the first place.”
“Then what haven’t you figured out? You’ve unraveled how and why.”
“Shooting at the panther was so out of character. He’d killed to protect the animals. Why kill an animal?”
“So. You tell me.”
“The panther was trained, I told you that.”
“Like the leopard. Who, by the way, is cleared of all charges, right?”
“I don’t see Molina bringing even a second-degree murder charge against a leopard. Not even Molina.”
“Your favorite long arm of the law.”
“Yeah. And not often long enough away. My theory is that the panther was trained by Kirby, long ago. It was a witness when he took the leopard inside. He got the leopard back. The panther was out there. It must have preyed on Kirby’s mind. What if the panther was sent to his facility because the ranch was sold or shut down on Van Burkleo’s death? What if his relationship with the panther was observed by somebody who could put leopard and panther together? And then him as trainer of them both?”
“Somebody like you, Max. You coming around, with me. Asking questions. Looking at files.”
“Don’t say it! Don’t say that I precipitated it. I think what happened to Van Burkleo unhinged Kirby. He was so…antiviolence, and here he’d become an example for the other side. He never underestimated animals, how smart they were, what they knew and how they showed their emotions, their perceptions. He respected them enough to panic, talked himself into believing he had to kill the panther to protect the Animal Oasis. He killed, and he became what he most hated.”
“Max, everybody who murders kills the thing he or she hates the most. When I think about it, there’s usually a noble reason underneath it all. Every killer is a wronged person in his or her own mind. Every victim is wrong. Somehow.”
“Somehow. Anyway, you say that Molina took Granger into custody. And Raf?”
“I told him to run, and he did. I don’t understand why you wanted him out of it.”
Max chuckled bitterly over the phone. “I don’t understand it either, Temple. Were you able to handle him all right?”
“Fine. He…it was funny, he had this weird pull to stay and be in charge of things, like he was responsible somehow. But he also had this instinct to run. Is he…someone to worry about?”
“Oh, yes. But not for you, I think. Not for you.”
“‘Not for you.’ Isn’t that a line from a song? ‘But not for you.’ I can’t quite place it.”
“Don’t try, darling Temple. I’m just glad you’re safe at home, even if Molina made you get there with Devine.”
“How did you know?”
“I always know what’s important to me. Don’t you know you’ve got someone to watch over you?”
“Another song, another line. You are full of lines, Max Kinsella.”
“And you are worthy of every one.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Good night, Temple.”
“Good night, Max.”
Chapter 53
Cat Burglar
“This is the first time I’ve ever literally been a cat burglar,” the first man in black whispered to the second man in black.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this stunt,” the second man in black said, “but I have to admit I’m enjoying it.”
Their voices came soft and distorted, like the buzzing of insects more than human syllables.
But they understood each other.
Like twins, they both wore tiger-striped cat faces that resembled camouflage paint. It was hard to see the human features beneath the feline.
They crouched together, catlike, in obscuring foliage as dark as the night itself, watching a dappled big cat lying in the moonlight.
“You’ll have to lose the gloves when you handle him,” the first man warned. “He needs to recognize your scent immediately.”
“And what are you going to do to handle yours?”
“Hope he remembers me. Get yours first.”
The man rose, tall as a Joshua tree it seemed, and approached the fence. He stripped off his black gloves and thrust them through his broad black belt, then held his fingers to the wires and made a scratching noise with his bare fingers against the metal-studded leather of his belt.
The leopard rose, darted to him, and sniffed his hand. It rubbed its side against the fence as the man bent and began snipping thick wires with the heavy-duty cutter he removed from his boot.
When he pulled the torn section away, he bent to put a collar almost as big as his belt around the leopard’s neck. “Hello, Osiris,” the odd mechanical voice whispered. “I’ve come to take you home.” A lead clicked onto the collar ring as Osiris stepped through the gaping wires like an obedience-school dog.
The second man in black edged nearer, cautiously extending his bare hand to Osiris. After the big cat had sniffed his fill, the man straightened and took the wire cutters from his partner in crime.
“That other cat doesn’t know you,” Osiris’s master warned. “It might be a lot harder to bring along.”
“That’s why you’ll take Osiris to the van first. I’ll come along after you’ve got him caged again.”
The man nodded, and led the leopard off into the moonlit desert landscape.
Max prowled past some other containment areas, evoking a guttural noise from a majestically maned lion.
His prey was in the next enclosure, and harder than the leopard to spot: black as any shadow. Max tried the same trick of scraping his nails on fabric, but nothing happened. He bent to begin cutting the fence. Though the sound snapped at the night’s quiet no one came. This visit had been timed to avoid the guard’s nightly rounds.