The sensational death of a member of a prominent ranching family rated a headline in the Sun, a front page below-the-fold story in the Herald, and page three in the Globe and Mail. The Globe also ran a think piece—an interview with a canine behaviourial expert. The expert, one Greg Harding from Calgary, was quoted as saying that normally the German shepherd, while having the makings of an ideal guard dog, did not have the same level of aggression as had been bred into the pit bull. But the level of aggression could vary between individual animals, and the training of guard dogs necessarily encouraged aggression. German shepherds are a more agile and athletic breed than pit bulls, with their stocky build, and attacks by them are more likely to be lethal. The pit bull typically attacks the victim's legs and lower body, overpowering him with brute force. The shepherd will go for the throat, as was the case here. The expert concluded by observing that he found the name of the dog to be significant. The word blitzkreig was synonymous with aggression, and it could be inferred that aggression was a quality the owners must have wanted.
Chris clipped the item, folded it, and put it in his jacket pocket. Lost in thought, he was about to leave when he was stopped by a reproachful, "Treat?"
"Sorry about that, Nevermore," he muttered, and went back to the kitchen to prepare the parrot's breakfast treat of buttered toast.
"Sure, we've heard the horror stories about this guy and his pet snake," Lucille Mitchell, the Humane Society officer, motherly and comfortably into middle age, said. "But there's nothing we can do about it."
"You could inspect the premises," Chris suggested.
"Not without the owner's consent, we can't."
"What about a warrant?"
"A warrant? Dream on. We'd never get one."
"Don't be too sure of that," Chris told her, indicating the police officer sitting beside him. "Constable Lavoy patrols the Beltline and is prepared to swear that he has reasonable grounds to believe that Leonard is kidnapping small dogs and feeding them live to this python of his."
"That's right," Lavoy confirmed. "Nobody has ever seen him bring a dog home, but the people next door hear barking and whining from time to time. It never lasts long."
"Disgusting, I agree. But that won't get us a warrant. I don't think the Society has ever gotten a warrant. Or even applied for one."
"Maybe so. But Judge Olberg is a dog fancier. Dog fanatic might be more accurate. He breeds English bulldogs. Great dogs. I've seen a couple of them. He's a provincial court judge, but he's also an accredited dog show judge. The thought of dogs being fed to a snake will send him right up the wall. Besides, the cruel and inhumane treatment of an animal is an offence under the Criminal Code. And feeding a live dog to a python is sure as hell cruel and inhumane treatment of an animal! We'll get our warrant."
"Open the door, Mr. Leonard. This is the police."
"The fuck you are. What's going on?"
"It's the police. We have a warrant to search the premises."
"Shit."
"Do it." Chris took a step back and pointed at the lock.
"I don't like this. Not one damn bit," the building superintendent complained as he reluctantly selected a key from a metal loop.
"Get on with it, man!" Chris fumed. Leonard could be disposing of evidence or escaping through another exit.
"Okay. Okay." There was a click as the bolt shot back, and the superintendent scuttled off down the hallway to the elevator.
One hand on the Glock, Chris flung the door wide open and charged in, followed by two uniforms and the woman from the Humane Society, with Gwen in the rear. "Quick, the bathroom!" Chris ran toward the sound of a toilet being flushed.
"Freeze!" he barked the crisp one-word command, so beloved of TV cop shows. Cliché or not, it seemed to spring naturally to his lips.
The slim, jean-clad figure seemed not to hear and continued pouring the contents of a plastic bag into the toilet bowl. One of the constables brushed past Chris and grabbed him by the neck, tearing the bag from his grasp. Another bag, still sealed shut, lay on the tiled floor.
"Well, well. What do we have here? This looks surprisingly like cocaine, wouldn't you say, Gwen?" Holding up the warrant, Chris said, "This gives us the authority to search the premises."
Leonard made no reply but stared back at Chris with a look of contemptuous hatred glittering in his narrow eyes. Hibbell had been right about his ears. The one on the right side was conspicuously larger than normal and stuck straight out, while the one on the left was small and curled in on itself. A cauliflower ear, like a boxer's. Chris heard Gwen make a small choking sound in her throat.
"Dealing drugs." The constable holding an unresisting Leonard hissed in his ear. "We got you, my friend."
Chris wasn't so sure about that. The warrant the outraged judge had signed referred to cruel and inhumane treatment of animals, not trafficking in drugs. The evidence about finding the cocaine might never make it to court. Time to worry about that later.
"In here," the Humane Society officer called from down the hall in an awed voice.
"Hold him, but no cuffs." Chris instructed the constable who nodded and tightened his grip on his young prisoner.
"Jesus!" Chris stood in the doorway and stared. He knew that pythons were giant constricting snakes, but that hadn't prepared him for the sheer presence of the creature. Forked tongue flicking from its triangular head, it lay coiled on a simulated stone ledge. Chris had paid a quick visit to the library and consulted a textbook, Living Snakes of the World by Mehrtens, and knew that the bold pattern of yellow and black identified it as a Burmese python, the species commonly found in zoos and, incredibly enough, in private collections as well. One of the accounts Chris had read told of a Colorado couple who returned home to find the lifeless body of their fourteen-year-old son wrapped in the coils of their pet python, which was allowed to roam free around the house. Adult specimens could attain a length of six metres and weigh close to one hundred kilos. Leonard's pet looked to be about four and a half metres and in glowing good health.
Its raised head and flicking tongue showed that the snake was aware of the humans crowding into the room and staring through the glass front of its enclosure. As they watched, it uncoiled its length and slowly lowered itself down onto the floor. Whatever cruelties Leonard may have inflicted on other members of the animal kingdom, he had spared no expense in the care and feeding of his pet snake. The room, originally meant to serve as second bedroom or study, had been converted into quarters for the reptile. Molded of sand-coloured gunite, it was a realistic duplication of what could have been the python's natural habitat, complete with a pool for the semi-aquatic snake to bathe in. Heat lamps of varying intensity were recessed into the ceiling.
"Rangoon. Very appropriate," Chris murmured appreciatively, looking at the engraved nameplate on the rear wall of the enclosure.
"The capital of Burma. Perfect for a Burmese python," Gwen agreed. "But haven't they changed the name of that country?"
"Officially, it's now Myanmar, meaning ‘the golden land,' but to most of the Western world it's still Burma."
"Come look at this." The struggle to maintain a professional calm showed on Lucille Mitchell's face. Turning around, she led them down a hallway to the kitchen.
"He must really love that snake," Gwen marvelled. One corner of the kitchen had been partitioned off with plywood panels. "The whole apartment is geared around it ..." She broke off as a muted whimper came from behind the partition.
Crooning softly, Lucille knelt in front of a portable kennel, identical to those used by airlines to transport pet dogs. Undoing the catch, she reached in and brought out a bundle of white and grey fur. It was a dog, one of the miniature breeds favoured by city dwellers. Most likely a Shih Tzu or some combination thereof, thought Chris as Lucille cradled the tiny animal to her ample bosom and undid the narrow leather strap that held its mouth shut. The little dog, tail wagging furiously, immediately began to lick its rescuer's neck.
"Poor little thing," she crooned. "You're safe now. Peppi. Is your name Peppi? Of course it is," she added as the dog wiggled excitedly in her arms. "Your mistress is going to be so happy to have you back. She misses you so much."
"You know the dog?" Chris framed it as a question, although the answer was obvious.
"I know who he is. Don't I, Peppi?" More happy wiggles. "He belongs to the Bancrofts, who live in Lakeview. He went missing from their fenced backyard three days ago. He couldn't have gotten out, so somebody must have taken him. Mrs. Bancroft called the Society the day after he went missing."
"You've had a narrow escape, haven't you, fella?" Chris patted the little dog's head, receiving frantic licks from Peppi's tongue in return.
"Okay, let's have Leonard in here," he ordered.
"You're in trouble, Mr. Leonard. Big trouble," he informed the sullen young man when he stood before him. "Feeding a live dog to a snake is a criminal offence under Section 4ffl of the Criminal Code. The court will not treat it lightly."
"You can't prove I did that."
"Oh, I think we can." What was Gwen looking at? She was staring at the electric stove as if it held some vital clue. "What are we going to find when we do an autopsy on Rangoon?"
"You crazy, man? You can't do that!"
It was a bluff on Chris's part, but Leonard couldn't know that. Not for sure. "I want a lawyer," he announced with the air of one who has trumped his opponent's ace. "I'm going to call my dad. He'll get me the best."
"Go ahead and make the call. We'll be in the snake room."
"Lawyer or no lawyer," one of the uniforms said, "we got him on possession of drugs. There's enough cocaine so we can charge him with possession for the purpose of trafficking."
"Right," Chris agreed absently. What the constable said was probably true, despite the limited scope of the warrant, but that wasn't the point. The woman from the Humane Society was peering in at the snake now moving restlessly around the floor with raised head and flicking tongue. She was looking for traces of dog, but that wasn't the point either.
"My lawyer ..." Leonard paused for effect in the doorway. Gwen was doing it again. Deliberately averting her gaze. For sure the mean-faced, squinty-eyed Leonard was no pleasure to look upon, but even so. A look of what could only be relief washed over that unlovely visage, quickly replaced by its habitual air of scornful hostility as the suspect continued, "Millard, Mr. Scott Millard, will be here as soon as he finishes in court. His assistant has instructed me to say nothing."
"That won't be until late this afternoon. In the meantime we'll continue to execute our warrant." Why had Leonard looked so relieved a minute ago? True, he had obtained legal counsel, but that wouldn't account for it. It was much more immediate than that. He had been looking up, over their heads. The nameplate. High on the rear wall, it was the only thing not faux naturel in the enclosure. It fitted seamlessly against the wall, with no cracks or lines around it.
"We'll need to search the snake ..." Chris hesitated, seeking the right word. The set-up was too elaborate to be called a cage. "Habitat," he said finally. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the look of dismay on Leonard's face. Recovering, the suspect smirked, "Rangoon won't like that."
"Oh, I think our friends at the zoo can take care of that little problem."
Four members of the zoo staff arrived within the hour. The three men wore green keeper's uniforms, and the fourth, a woman in her early thirties with straight, cropped hair, and whose name was Katherine, wore a dark leather jacket and a grey woollen skirt. "What is it you want us to do?" she asked Chris after the brief introductions were over.
"I need the snake out of there so we can examine the cage. It shouldn't take long."
"He's prime," the youngest of the keepers muttered, nodding at Leonard. "Good on you, man."
Leonard nodded grim acknowledgment.
One of the keepers entered the enclosure through the side door, moving quietly and carrying a white canvas bag in his right hand. In one deft motion he laid it over the snake's head and grabbed its neck, just behind the jaw. Katherine and the other keepers followed him in and took hold of the writhing body as the monster serpent struggled with its captors. Wrapping their arms around its muscular length, they slowly backed it out of the cage. Holding the neck with one hand, the keeper shook the canvas bag open and guided the snake's head into it. Welcoming the darkness and sensing that the bag offered safety, the python slithered all the way into it, helped along by its handlers.
"It's all yours," Katherine told Chris as she tied the top of the capacious and now bulging bag.
There were no screws or bolts attaching the name-plate to the wall, and closer inspection confirmed the absence of any sill or open space, however narrow, around it. But the plate had to be attached to the wall in some fashion. Chris gripped it on the sides with both hands and pulled. After some initial resistance it came away. Magnets. Two of them were embedded in the wall, matching the metal plates on the back of the name-plate. Behind the wall was a small wooden door, like a medicine cabinet. Chris couldn't see any sign of a lock. The giant snake was a more effective deterrent than any lock. A tug, and the door opened.
The ears, dry and shrivelled, were arranged in pairs on a strip of blue velvet. The velvet was mounted on a piece of plywood, making it easy for Chris to pull it out of the hidden recess. Feeling somewhat like a headwaiter offering a delicacy for a patron's approval, Chris confronted Leonard with it. Leonard stared stonily ahead, lips clamped shut.
"You don't have to say anything, Mr. Leonard. The evidence speaks for itself. But you could save time by showing us where the new ones are."
As expected, Leonard remained mute, but Chris caught a fleeting glint in his eyes. Almost gleeful.
"Then I guess we'll have to take the place apart until we find them. We'll start with the kitchen, Gwen."
"Hang on a sec. I've found something." Kneeling in a corner of the cage, Gwen held up a pair of tweezers gripping a minute quantity of something dry and brown. "If this isn't dogshit, I'll eat it."
Momentarily taken aback by her emphatic outburst, Chris replied, "I'm sure that won't be necessary. Bag it and the lab can check it out. The cage has turned out to be a regular goldmine," he went on. "Do you think it has anything more to tell us?" Both Gwen and Lucille shook their heads, and he went out into the hall to tell the zoo people they could put the python back. That proved to be an easy task. As soon as the bag was opened, Rangoon glided eagerly into his home.
"What about him?" asked the young keeper, the one who had admired the snake. "Who's going to look after him?"
"Good question." Chris looked at Katherine, who by now he had learned was the supervisor of the African Pavilion, which housed the snakes the zoo had on display. "Would the zoo like to have him?"
When she looked doubtful, the young keeper chimed in, "C'mon, Kathy. He's sweet. We'll never get a better specimen."
"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself," said Chris. "Will he be okay for a day or so?"
"Sure. He's hungry, but another couple of days won't matter. If necessary, they can go for weeks without eating."
"That's okay then. This gentleman"—indicating Leonard, who had become visibly agitated but remained silent while the fate of his pet was discussed—"will be released on bail in the morning. The problem will arise if and when he's convicted and sent to jail."
"We'll take over in that case. He'll be well looked after, although he won't be living as high on the hog. He'll have to make do with freshly killed chickens instead of live food. It may take a while to wean him, but he'll go for it when he gets hungry enough."
Anxious to get on with the search, Chris fervently thanked the zoo staff for their help. "Absolutely vital. We would have been completely stymied without you."
While they prepared to leave, he formally arrested Leonard, reading him his rights, and detailed one of the constables to escort him to the Remand Centre. "I'll get in touch with Mr. Millard's office and let them know where he can find you," he told the prisoner, who shrugged and said nothing.
"Right. Now let's find those ears. The fresh ones. Gwen, you and Lucille start with the kitchen and the bathroom. Constable Peplinski and I will do the living room and the hallway and closets. Then we'll backtrack over the other team's territory if we don't come up with anything on the first pass."
When an hour's intensive search proved fruitless, they pressured the reluctant building supervisor to show them where Leonard's car was parked and to unlock his storage space. A rifle in its carrying case lay in plain view on a shelf on the rear wall of the storage room. Leonard obviously relied on his pet to keep his secret secure, thought Chris as he unfastened the case and examined the rifle. A .270 Winchester, it was the same calibre as the bullets that had been recovered from the bulls killed in prior attacks. It was almost certain that those bullets would be a match for the rifle. But it wasn't the weapon that had killed the Taylor bull. Nor was there any trace of freshly harvested ears in either the storage compartment or the car.
Chris felt a sense of disappointment that he admitted to himself was more than professional—he had been hoping to announce to the Taylors that the "cattle bandit's" reign was finally over. But they already had conclusive proof that Leonard was the villain. Still, thought Chris as he slammed shut the trunk of Leonard's Honda, it would have been the final touch to be able to tell Cameron Taylor that the man who had indirectly caused his daughter-in-law's death had been arrested. Sooner or later, they would find where the little prick had hidden Apollo's ears.
"Mind telling me what was going on with you back there?" Chris asked Gwen when they were alone in the cruiser heading back downtown.
"Those ears. Leonard's ears. I knew they would be different, and that they were what had led you to connect him with the cattle killings. I thought I was prepared mentally. Until I saw him. My stepfather had ears like that. Exactly like that. My stepfather was not a nice man."