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Friday
Finn discovered that Grace’s compound had been part of the original farm at 41 Old Forest Road. According to the online property records, Grace’s barn had been there at the time the Sutters were renting the place. The old farmhouse was on the other section of land that had been subdivided into two parcels. The address of the farmhouse was still on Old Forest Road, while Grace’s property had been assigned a new address on the county road that bordered it.
Finn suddenly had a suspicion that the bones in Grace’s barn were not from some pioneer settler’s grave.
Bird.
Up.
Fly.
The gorillas might not be fabricating stories after all; they could be providing the only clues they had to offer.
Unlike most of the dilapidated barns in the area, the structural beams of Grace’s barn were huge. He’d wondered at them before, astounded that the original builders could lever the massive beams into place. The building was the primary reason Grace had chosen that location to house the gorillas. According to the old photos, the building originally had hay storage on the second floor and probably a block-and-tackle system to lift and lower bales.
He remembered to call Grace, ask her how her day was going. She told him about Kanoni, who apparently was in critical condition. Measles. He couldn’t believe that some parents didn’t vaccinate their kids, and it was news to him that apes could get the disease, too. Grace made him promise not to spread that news around.
“The vet sedated her, and she’s strapped down to a bunk in the staff trailer with an IV in each arm.” Grace sounded as if she might burst into tears. “Neema’s agitated. And Gumu’s acting up, too.”
“I’m sorry you’re going through all this and I can’t be there, Grace. How are you feeling?”
“I’m a little under the weather, but I’ll live. How are you, Matt?”
“I’ll live, too.”
“To top off my day,” Grace added, “the damned inspectors showed up.”
He tried to make appropriate sympathetic noises. She told him about how Barder had been pretty easygoing, but Vollmar seemed overly worried about the construction of the posts and beams and the man-made tree, as well as the lock system.
“But guess what? Neema was telling the truth about up and birds and Snow. That darn cat climbed all the way up to the main beam. He’s hunting those swallows up there.”
Finn suspected there might be more than swallows and a cat up in the rafters. “Uh-huh,” he said, distracted by his own thoughts. He reached for his pen and notepad. “Those inspectors, what did you say their names were?”
“Barder, he’s the same one as last year. And Vollmar, he’s a trainee, I guess.”
Vollmar. His pulse sped up. Deanna Hansen told him Trevor had a new job with the county. Of course Trevor Vollmar was interested in that barn. He would remember it from when he lived on the property with Todd Sutter. “When did they leave?”
“About two hours ago.”
It was nearly six p.m. “Sounds like you’ve had a hard day, sweetheart,” he said. “I hope Kanoni gets better soon. I have to go. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He called the county agricultural department, got a message saying they’d closed for the day. After pressing zero, he connected with an operator who gave him Trevor Vollmar’s cell phone number. Nobody answered his call there. Not wanting to spook the guy, Finn left a message saying he wanted to talk to him regarding an agricultural inspection. Next, he tried the rock shop in Vantage. No answer there, either.
He paced for a minute, trying to think of a way to locate Vollmar. He didn’t have enough evidence to put out an APB. Finally, he called Grace back. “Hon, I’m going to come out in an hour or so, okay? I’ll have one or two other folks with me.”
“What’s going on, Matt?”
“It’s about . . .” He almost said “the bones,” but Miki was stacking papers on Melendez’s desk, and the young aide was an incorrigible eavesdropper. “I’ll explain when I get there. See you soon.” Ending the call, he searched for the number of a local construction rental company.
* * * * *
Two hours later, he stood inside Grace’s barn with the equipment operator. Grace had sequestered Neema and Gumu in the exterior enclosure, then gone back to confer with the vet, who had returned to check on Kanoni. She was distraught, her face streaked with tears, clearly fearful that the baby gorilla might die. Finn wished he had time to help her, or at least to comfort her, but he knew his time would be better spent here.
Robin Valdez had wanted to know if this had something to do with finding Mia. The question made him feel vaguely guilty, since he wasn’t at all sure. “I hope so,” he told her.
“This is unusual construction, must have been built by a first-timer,” the operator hollered from his position in the bucket lift up near the roof.
“Why do you say that?” Finn peered up into the shafts of dusty sunlight. He’d sent the guy up to recover the cat while he tried to psych himself up to go next.
The operator peered down at Finn, the headlamp on his helmet a bright spot in the gloom above. “This beam is so massive—must be half a tree trunk up here. A whole herd of gorillas could swing from this thing. It will last forever.” He snapped a tape measure from his belt and extended it. “The beam is twenty-two inches across. Probably weighs at least a ton.”
“How did anyone get it up there?” Finn wondered aloud.
“I’d guess block-and-tackle, pulleys. And maybe a draft-horse team or two. I’ve seen old-timey photos of barn raisings like that. Pretty interesting.” His tape measure retracted with a snap. “Anyhoo, the rafters just rest on the beam, and then they meet up above at the peak. There’s plenty of space for birds’ nests, for sure. No wonder that cat’s up here.”
“At least these birds are swallows,” the operator said, moving his headlamp along the beam. “Not starlings; you definitely don’t want starlings. I can fix that vent so swallows can’t get in, but you might want to wait until they leave for the season because they’re nesting right now. Swallows are nice birds; they eat mosquitoes. That cat probably ate all the chicks, but I can still see a nest with eggs. Come here, you white devil.” The bucket shifted sideways a few feet. “Gotcha!” A shower of dust drifted down from the side of the main beam. “I got him.” Then the operator yelped, “Oh, shit!”
Finn shielded his eyes. “What?”
The operator pushed a control and the bucket hummed sideways for several feet. “Oh shit,” he repeated. Finn could see a bundle of white fur struggling in the man’s arms. “You’d better come up here, Detective. You need to see this. You’ll want your camera.” Pressing the controls, he shakily maneuvered the bucket back to the ground, and dumped the cat out onto the ground.
Snow ran to a bench along the far wall and perched there, insulted, licking his fur back into place.
The operator unsnapped his harness and stepped out, gesturing for Finn to take his place. Removing his helmet, he swiped his fingers through his hair. “Christ, I didn’t want to see that.”
A twinge of guilt cramped Finn’s gut. He’d suspected what the operator might find up there but had hoped he was wrong.
The last thing Finn wanted to do was to climb into that boom lift bucket. The contraption looked as if it could topple over at any second. Suck it up, he told himself; detectives couldn’t afford to have acrophobia. If he didn’t go up there, that tale would be all over town in a flash. He’d no longer be the ape detective or the sap whose wife left him, but the chicken-shit ape detective or the cowardly sap whose wife left him.
“You’re gonna need this.” The operator handed Finn his helmet with the headlamp still illuminated.
Finn stepped into the bucket. The control was basically a joystick, with the directions clearly labeled: up, down, right, left. There was also a lock lever and a power button. And a safety harness that clipped to the bar at the top of the bucket. That seemed ominous.
“Always a good idea to attach the harness,” the operator told him. “The bucket’s not supposed to tilt much, but I’ve seen it happen.”
Well, that’s great news. Finn shrugged his way into the harness and tugged on the short line to be sure it was securely attached. Then he took a deep breath and shoved the joystick toward Up. The bucket leapt up from the ground with a jolt. Finn took his hand off the stick and grabbed the rail as the bucket bounced in the air like a rodeo bronc.
“Steady there,” the operator told him, failing to completely stifle a laugh. “A gentle pressure is best.”
“No shit.” Finn pressed his thumb gingerly against the stick, nudging it toward up. The contraption rose in a slightly less terrifying way, the articulating arm unfolding beneath him with a whine. Glancing up, he realized he was going to smash his head into the beam, so he nudged the stick toward right until he’d cleared, and then pressed back toward up, finally bringing the bucket up just below and beside the beam. His head cleared the roof by only a couple of inches.
A swallow swooped by, nearly taking off his nose, and he startled, rocking the bucket. Grabbing onto the safety bar, he took a breath. Focus.
He studied the space on top of the main beam. The roof trusses were not nailed into the side of the beam as they would have been in more modern construction. Instead, the trusses rose above the beam and met overhead in a peak, leaving a triangular space about a foot high above the beam. He adjusted his helmet and headlamp to shine into that space.
“At the far end,” the operator told him from below.
Finn pressed the stick toward right, and the bucket slid sideways toward the end of the beam. Wedged into the triangular space was a wad of clothing. Although the fabric was gray with dust and riddled with holes, he could tell that it was denim. Jeans. And a long-sleeved flannel shirt that at one time had been some shade of red. The clothing lay in clumps, held up by the skeleton’s kneecaps and pelvic bones and ribcage.
Most horrific of all was the skull. Strands of long black hair straggled from scraps of leathery skin still attached to the crown. The lower jaw was detached and lay tilted off the side of the vertebrae, along with a tiny crucifix on a delicate chain. In the space between the lower and upper teeth was a swallow nest, with three eggs. One was cracking and as he watched, a scrawny chick emerged, all huge eyes and beak, downy feathers plastered against its head. The chick trembled with the effort of escaping the shell. It was a macabre and strangely beautiful scene, new life cradled by death.
He pulled out his cell phone, made sure the setting was right, and took a series of photos. Rodrigo would do a better job, but he wanted to be sure he documented this in case something got rearranged before the tech got here. Sure enough, a couple of finger bones were missing, and a toe, too, dislodged by birds or the cat. He wondered what had happened to her shoes.
Crucifix. Black hair. Finn guessed the woman may have been Hispanic. Although the evangelical religions were growing faster now, most Hispanic immigrants in the area were still Catholic. He was expecting Heidi Skouras or Anna Moran, Todd Sutter’s suspected-but-so-far-unfound victims. But according to their descriptions, they were both fair-haired. Finn was reasonably sure he’d found Cristina Disanto.
If he remembered correctly, Disanto had been reported missing in 2007, a year after Sutter had been imprisoned. A year after Deanna had lost the foster kids and moved away. The barn would likely have been empty then.
His heartbeat leapt into overdrive. He needed to catch up with Trevor Lee Vollmar as soon as he could.
A swallow, tired of waiting for Finn to leave, flitted in and stuffed a still-thrashing moth into the chick’s mouth, then swooped off again. Finn lowered the bucket to the ground, slightly more sure-fingered than he had been on the way up.
The operator had been pacing across the floor, but now he had folded his arms around himself as if he had a chill. Dipping his head, he said, “That’s something, huh?” He blew out a long slow breath. “I’m gonna have a hard time getting that vision out of my head.”
“You and me both,” Finn agreed. “Looks like we’ll need to keep this boom lift for another day.”
“Roger that,” the guy said. “I’ll tell the boss.” Taking back his safety helmet, he tucked it under one arm. “If you’re done with me, I’ll take the truck and get out of your hair.”
Finn nodded, and the operator left through the sliding back door of the barn. Pulling out his cell phone again, Finn called Rodrigo to tell him about another crime scene he needed to process.
As he listened to the rings on the other end, Grace opened the door to the exterior enclosure. “I saw the truck leave,” she told him. “Now, what’s up, Matt?”
Behind her was Robin Valdez. And then Neema and Gumu trailed in as well, and Finn rushed to close the back door before a gorilla escaped.
“You’re going to need to keep the gorillas outside,” Finn told them. “Crime Scene will need access to the interior.”
“This is about those bones, right?” Grace wanted to know. Violet shadows underscored her eyes, and her cheeks were gaunt. Her hair was dull. He was pretty sure she was wearing the same clothes as she had yesterday.
“Bones?” Robin asked.
There was no longer any point in being cagey about the situation. “There’s a body up there,” Finn said.
Robin gasped, put a hand to her cheek.
“Sorry,” he said. “Not a recent body. A skeleton. From years ago.”
“What?” Rodrigo yelled in his ear.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” Finn told the two women, turning his back on them to speak to his crime scene technician.
Rodrigo complained, “It’s already getting dark. I’d have to bring in major lights. And I’ve never used a lift gizmo before. I’d need help. And what about those gorillas? Who’s gonna keep them away? I mean, really, how many years has that skeleton been up there? Can’t this wait until morning?”
Finn considered. “I suppose it can. Put it on your schedule for tomorrow.”
He was already tapping in his second call, to Miki at the station. “I need everything you’ve got on Trevor Lee Vollmar. Send it to my cell now.”
When he hung up, Grace asked, “Did you say Vollmar? The inspector?” When she looked back at him, her eyes seemed to lose focus. She held a hand to her forehead, then moved it to her abdomen.
“Grace, honey, are you all right?” He touched her arm. “You’re not getting sick, too, are you?”
She swallowed. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve got to get some rest. Robin can watch Kanoni; you know she’ll take good care of her.”
“I will,” Robin promised. “And the vet is checking in every few hours.”
Wavering a bit on her feet, Grace shut her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”
“Does this,” Robin began, waving her arm to encompass the boom lift, the barn roof, and him, “any of this, have anything to do with Mia?”
Should he tell her his suspicions? No, it was too soon. And he didn’t yet have all the pieces to put the puzzle together. Still, the desperate mother needed hope.
“Maybe,” he admitted.
Grace collapsed onto the sawdust floor.
