Megan
A search of the nail technician’s apartment had led to a treasure trove of rings. While she’d had some of them resized and redesigned, the rings that had been snatched more recently had yet to be modified. Once they were no longer needed as evidence, we’d be able to return the rings to their rightful owners. I’d called the victims to let them know what had gone down, and they’d been thrilled to hear the news. Both the tech and her boyfriend would face charges. Brigit and I could add another successful bust to our ever-expanding list of successes.
The morning after Brigit and I arrested the nail technician and her barbershop boyfriend, we were on duty again. Realizing I hadn’t finished my research into Trevor Fleming, the owner of King Midas Metalworks, I ran his name through the criminal database. I got a hit. Not entirely surprising given that welding was one of the trades taught in the state’s correctional institutions and, thus, a higher than average number of welders had records. But still, I felt a little tingle nonetheless.
The records told me that Fleming had been convicted of felony theft after stealing thousands of dollars in merchandise from the toy store where he worked on the receiving dock. He’d had an earlier misdemeanor conviction for stealing from a grocery store where he’d also worked, but for that crime he’d received only a fine and community service. For the felony conviction, he’d spent eighteen months in the Darrington Unit, the same unit where convicted wildlife trafficker Bruno Molina had done time.
The dates of Fleming’s incarceration overlapped with Molina’s for three months, at the beginning of Fleming’s term and the end of Molina’s. Hmm. Still, there were over fifteen hundred men in the Darrington Unit at any given time. The two might have never even met. Fleming had been released late last year, shortly before the disappearance of Fernando and Fabiana, the hyacinth macaws, the first of the animals to go missing from the zoo.
It could all be coincidence. But it also couldn’t hurt to stop by and pay him a visit.
I headed to King Midas Metalworks. I went to the side door, Brigit coming along with me. I tried the handle. Not only was the door locked, but a piece of sheet metal had been leaned up against the window, blocking any view inside. I put an ear to the door but heard nothing. I led Brigit around to the garage door and put an ear to the edge. Still no noise. But even though my nose wasn’t as skilled as Brigit’s, it didn’t take a canine’s superior olfactory senses to smell the hint of garlic in the air.
I rapped on the bay door. “Hello? Anybody there?”
There was no answer.
I circled around to the side door again and knocked there. “Hello? Anyone inside?” Still no response from within. I supposed the garlic smell could be residual. Maybe he’d performed some welding work in the bay last night or early this morning. Or it could be coming from the food truck idling half a block away, serving up breakfast burritos and home-fried potatoes to the blue-collar folks who worked in the buildings nearby.
Brigit and I returned to our cruiser.
A half hour later, I was rolling west on Berry Street when my cell phone chimed with an incoming call from Detective Bustamente. I pulled into the parking lot of a sandwich shop that was not yet open for business and tapped the icon to accept the call. “Good mor—”
“They got a black rhino.”
What?!?
As if he’d heard my thought, he said, “One of the black rhinos is missing. A male named Mubanga. Sharon Easley says the name means ‘strong.’ The thieves must have taken him last night.”
My first thought was, How in the world could they steal such an enormous animal? My second thought was, If we don’t find that rhino right away, it will be killed for its horn!
The horn is what made the rhino so valuable to poachers. Some thought, wrongfully of course, that the horn had magical medicinal or aphrodisiac qualities. Frankly, if a guy needed rhino horn in order to perform well sexually, maybe he should just remain celibate. I had a hard time believing men ingested the powdered horn with the hope of being more pleasing to their partner, anyway. It was all about the men and making their own little “horn” happy.
Brigit and I had to get to the zoo. Now. “We’re on our way!”
I flipped on my lights and siren, and we hightailed it to the zoo. As we entered, my eyes sought out Janelle in the ticket booth. She shook her head sorrowfully. We hurried inside and found Detective Bustamente, Director Easley, the zoo’s chief security officer, and a keeper at the enclosure, along with Derek Mackey and the chief.
Every vein and capillary in the chief’s face seemed to be throbbing. As Brigit and I rushed up he turned on me and barked, “I thought I told you to put a stop to this!”
While Derek was the chief’s golden boy, I was his whipping girl. It was utterly unfair, sexist, and wrong. But it was also a matter to address at another time. Right now, priority one was finding the rhino.
I turned to Bustamente. “Same MO this time?”
He nodded. “They cut through the secured staff gates to get the rhino out. But we don’t know where they exited the zoo.”
It was no wonder. The perimeter of the zoo comprised miles of fencing. It would take humans a significant amount of time to inspect the entire outer fence and find the welding marks. But my partner could take us right to the thieves’ exit point.
“This way, girl.” I led Brigit to the secured entrance of the rhino habitat and ordered her to trail the disturbance.
The bright look in her eyes said, Sure, boss. She put her furry head down, snuffled, and picked up a trail right away. Off we went, the others trotting along behind us, leading our own little entourage. Fortunately, since the rhino’s disappearance had been discovered before the zoo opened for the day, the trail remained undisturbed by zoo visitors. Brigit led us on a direct route to a relatively short stretch of fencing.
The detective and I inspected the metal fence supports. Sure enough, they bore the telltale signs of having been cut and welded back together.
Derek put a foot up on the bottom rung and his hands on the top of the fence, raising himself up to look over it. “The street’s blocked off here. There’s signs and a bunch of orange cones. Some are knocked over.”
I looked up at him. “I’m not aware of any construction on McCart Street. Are you?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t see any trucks or a road crew, either.”
We hurried to the zoo exit and jogged our way along the fence. The chief and Derek were out front, running side by side, the CSO not far behind. Brigit and I were on their tail, my partner’s pace limited by my capabilities. Detective Bustamente, who probably hadn’t exercised in decades, lagged behind, as did the zoo director, though a glance back told me she may have been maintaining the detective’s slow pace so as not to embarrass him.
The chief and Derek reached the road first, and started scouring the dried grass and street for clues. When I arrived, my heart pumping double time and my lungs panting, I issued the order for Brigit to continue to follow the trail from the outer side of the fence. While I caught my breath, she snuffled along the fence until she caught the trail again, and followed it a few feet into the street. She sniffed around in circles, telling me the thieves had walked around in the area, probably loading the rhino into a truck or large trailer. When she realized the trail stopped there, she sat and stared ahead, issuing her passive alert.
I ruffled her ears and fed her three liver treats. “Good girl!”