The Survivors Club (17 page)

CHAPTER 30

The following morning, Tess was on the road early.

Turned out that there were two wildlife sanctuaries in the Santa Anas. The first was well-run, and it was clear the people there cared. There were several birds in rehab, including a golden eagle. Many animals had been injured—shot or poisoned or rescued from some backyard hell. Most of them would stay there forever. Others were being prepared to go back into the wild. There was a veterinarian on site, and tours to educate the public about the importance of wildlife.

Some animals—antelope, mostly, were allowed acreage to roam in.

Tess asked the wildlife biologist, a tall Swedish beauty with an earnest way about her, about the possibility of a mountain lion in Asteroid Canyon. She confirmed June Hackler’s theory.

“There probably
is
a mountain lion who goes into that canyon. They have a big range, but that would be a good source of food. But it’s also possible that no one would ever see it.”

She, too, thought it highly unlikely that a mountain lion would attack Peter Farley.

The second place, Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary, was more like a circus that had pulled up stakes in the middle of the night. It wasn’t really a sanctuary at all, but a minizoo. The place sat at the end of a dirt road in open country not far from Black Star. No one was around when she went to look at the animals. There weren’t very many. Tess peered into the window of one of the modular units and saw a bear inside a smallish cage. The bear looked depressed.

Outside, there were several empty cages, none of them cleaned out. The animals that were there looked as if they had just given up. There were faded index cards stuck into plates. Tess saw a tiger, a lion, an ibex, and a deer. Two of the enclosures were empty, the gates open. The index card for one said “Cougar.”

She waited around for an hour, but nobody appeared. The house, not that much better than General Mullet’s in the canyon, was buttoned up tight.

Occasionally a wind blew through and the rank smell assaulted her nostrils.

Tess looked at the animals drowsing in the sun. At least they had ramada shelters.

She should report this facility. No way should this place have something as dangerous as a tiger here. Tess couldn’t imagine how the tiger had not found a way into the ibex’s pen. Crazy.

Tess left feeling depressed.

What she was thinking was beyond logical. It was insane.

But it made sense in the larger scheme of things.

Driving out, she looked back at the animals. Most of them appeared to be underweight.

One thing June Hackler had told her stood out:
the animal would have to be starving.

As Tess opened the door to the room—it was cool and smelled stale and no longer held the magic of her tryst with Max—her mobile sounded.

For a second she thought of Max.

That’s right, it’s rope-a-dope. And you’re the dope.

The number on the readout wasn’t his. The name was Frieda Nussman. Tess answered. Nussman ran the Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary.

She had a voice like a goose honk. Tess thought uncharitably that it might account for the nervousness of the animals at the “sanctuary.”

“I had a lion but someone bought it.”

“People can do that?”

“Sure. I checked them out, made sure the lion would go to a good home—a zoo in Palm Springs.”

“You checked their accreditation?”

“Oh, yeah. The guy was a wildlife biologist.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Goldie’s been gone a couple of years now.”

“Can you remember when you sold him?”

“No, I can’t. It could have been spring, but I’m not sure. I’d have to look at my records, and I’m outside right now.”

Why did Tess somehow doubt she had any records?

“Can you describe him?”

“It was a long time ago. I can’t describe what I had for dinner last night.”

“Try.”

“He was good-looking, I remember that, because he flirted with me.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know—midthirties?”

“Did the man have a cage?”

“Of course he had a cage. That went pretty well. I’m away from my desk right now. I’ll look up the paperwork when I get in and give you a call.”

She hung up.

Tess had a feeling she wouldn’t call back. The woman had made a quick buck off an old mountain lion, and that was that.

Tess looked at her watch—she had time.

She called Barry Zudowsky, and he agreed to meet her there.

He sounded like he wanted to get it over with. Professional courtesy, that was all.

Tess had something specific she wanted from him. He might do it, he might not, he might argue about it. She’s learned always to ask, even if it made her uncomfortable. That was part of the job description, getting into peoples’ faces and asking them to do something they didn’t feel comfortable doing, something that didn’t fit with their agenda. She did it every day, but today she felt foolish about it. So she said it right away—
another
favor.

“I’m going to send a photo to you of a man I suspect could be involved in Peter Farley’s death. Frieda Nussman might recognize him. Could you make up a photo lineup with this photo in it?”

He agreed that he could. The he asked, “You think he killed Farley?”

“Yes.”

“How? Farley was killed by an animal. That’s indisputable.”

“I know that.”

Just saying it emboldened him. “He was killed by a mountain lion. The jaw size, the tooth marks. This was a death by misadventure, just as we pegged it.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“You think someone faked it?” He was incredulous. “How could they do that?”

“I’m not sure if they could.”

He said nothing. She knew he was thinking:
Wild goose chase
.

He was thinking:
Wasted day
.

Tess said, “I’ll see you there. You’ll bring the photo lineup?”

“Will do.”

She put her bag in the car and drove back out to Desert Winds Animal Sanctuary, this time pulling off the road outside the gate to the property and waiting for Detective Zudowksy.

He pulled up behind her.

As she got out she saw that he was still sitting in his car. It looked like he was writing something down. Defending himself, maybe, for spending the day with a madwoman? She saw him shift in the car and unlatch his shoulder harness. She couldn’t see much past the windshield except for his shape. Finally, he levered his tall beanpole of a body out of the car. Reluctance in every line.
A waste of time.

He approached. He said hello and then after that he said nothing. She knew he was trying to figure out what her game was. She hadn’t been completely forthcoming about her theory because it sounded outlandish and she wanted to keep him on her side.

He hadn’t pushed.

But now she could see he was getting fed up.

A waste of a day. Nothing in it for him.

“I brought the photos.”

“Good.”

She followed him to his car and went around and opened up the passenger’s side. He gave her the lineup. He’d used driver’s licenses to match the photo of Michael DeKoven’s DL.

“Good job,” she said.

He didn’t reply. Just looked straight ahead.

Tess just had to deal with it. She needed Zudowsky. Having him there in his official capacity might make Frieda Nussman more cooperative.

They bumped up the road and got out.

Nussman wore a flannel shirt and jeans. Her hair was long, down to the small of her back. She had an angular face, and was thin, almost skeletal. Tess wondered if she might have an eating disorder.

Nussman was prepared. She had the bill of sale in her hand. She described the man, who’d paid her one thousand dollars in cash for the mountain lion and a large cage she’d had rusting around the place. Tess shivered when the woman described it—she’d purchased it at a swap meet, the cage had been used in a circus that had gone out of business. “Paid a pretty penny for it, too,” she said. “I thought it would draw people, but…” She glanced around the yard.

The name on the bill of sale was a Dom Derring.

“He paid you in cash.”

“I told you that.”

“Just great.”

“He called me from out of town,” Nussman said. “He wanted to put a hold on the cat until he could get here, so I charged him a hundred dollars on his credit card.”

“You have the credit card number?”

“I’m pretty sure I still have it in my records. I’m not one to throw anything away.”

“Please look for it.”

She went inside and was gone a long time. Tess could picturing her rummaging around. She didn’t think the chances were too good of seeing that credit card number—but she was wrong. The woman came back out with the name and the credit card number.

Zudowsky walked away and called it in. They waited. Tess continued to talk to Nussman, trying to get on her good side, if she had one. Asking about the animals. The woman answered her questions but wasn’t forthcoming. She seemed to have her mind on something else. Zudowsky ended the call and came their way.

“Excuse me,” Tess said to Nussman. She walked out to meet Barry Zudowsky.

“There was a Dom Derring listed,” Barry Zudowsky said, his voice low. “But the credit card was canceled almost two years ago. You think it’s your guy? DeKoven?”

“Sounds like a made-up name. He applied for it and used it for that one purpose,” Tess said.

“Unless there were others.”

Tess nodded. Time to show Nussman the photo lineup.

She had a good feeling.

Dom Derring
—a made-up name.

Michael DeKoven acting cute.

Obvious.

Zudowsky produced the photos.

“Do you recognize any of these men? Could one of them be the man who bought the mountain lion?”

The woman stared at the pictures for a long time. “No, the guy who came here was blond.”

“Just look at their faces. Hair can be dyed. Do you recognize any of them?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

Driving back, Detective Zudowsky said, “I guess that’s that. He’s not your man.”