Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (21 page)

Lost in my thoughts, I jumped when my name was called.

Clark’s office was dark. Dark wood, dark wallpaper, dark green drapes at the windows. When I entered, he rose from behind a huge, curved desk, extending a hand and smiling what looked like a genuine smile. He was dressed just as he’d been on the trip — pseudo-safari — a thing which seemed odd since we were back home now, surrounded by indoor plumbing and automobiles and all the other things that make us civilized.

“Miss Belsar, hello!” he greeted me. “Good to see you again so soon. Have a seat!”

“Hello, Clark.”

He waved me into a deep leather chair and I perched on the edge uncomfortably.

“I’m here to continue my series, as you know.”

He nodded several times quickly.

“And I’d just like to thank you again for giving me this opportunity.”

Reaching into a desk drawer, he produced a packet of cigarettes. I hadn’t seen him smoke on the trip.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said. Action man. Fresh air fiend. Smoker?

He shrugged, fumbled with a match and muttered around the cigarette. “Just now and then. Not a habit or anything.” He tipped his head back and blew a long column of noxious fumes into the air.

I wrinkled my nose, and hoped for a fast exit. I had no desire to carry the scent of stale tobacco around all day, embedded in the fabric of my favorite dress.

We chatted a few more minutes, him talking up the Mardi Gras, me trying to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. Which, as far as he was concerned, were the articles on zoos.

“Sylvia’s told me all about your plans,” he said, taking another puff, and I recalled the conversation she and I had had at Altun Ha. What had she called Mart? Idealistic.

“And there is definitely a place for Mart’s vision in the world,” Clark went on, surprising me with the admission. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean we must throw out the baby with the bathwater. Evolution takes time, my dear. To shift from one model — say, tradition — to another — like Mart’s sanctuary, will not be an overnight event. Not by a long shot, as they say.”

He smiled in a practiced way.

“What steps is the Rochester zoo taking,” I asked, “to pursue a more natural model?”

Clark frowned then leaned forward aggressively. “The most important one. We are raising money. Nothing happens without funding, as I’m sure you know.”

And he was back to the Mardi Gras, down to the last detail.

Eventually, he said, “Well, I’m sure you won’t mind if I turn you over to Mart. He can tell you all you’ll need to know. And then some!” Laughing at his own joke, he stood up, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette in what looked to be —

I sucked in a breath and pointed. “Is that a monkey’s paw?”

“What? Oh, yes. It is. Confiscated by wildlife protection officers. They’re sold as souvenirs in some countries.” He picked it up, cradling the hairy, wrinkled hand in the palm of his own. The fingers curled up in grotesque imitation of life.

“That’s … that’s appalling!” I sputtered, my eyes transfixed by the gruesome sight.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I keep it here, in plain view. So others will see tangible evidence of wildlife atrocities.”

It seemed to me that by using the artifact, he was condoning the activity, not educating the public, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I turned away as he set the “ashtray” back on his desk.

“Good luck, Allison,” he said, holding the door for me. “And, if you need me, feel free to stop in any time.”

I nodded and scurried out. Out of his office, out of the building, out into the fresh, bracing air of the spring day. I gulped in a large breath, thankful to be away from the smoke in that oppressive room, occupied by that man of questionable motives.

Drawing the collar of my dress closer around me, I shut my eyes on the image of the severed monkey’s paw. Had Mart ever seen it?

I started walking, heading in the direction of the education building, where Clark told me Mart could be found. It was a long walk, past several animal enclosures. Many were empty, the animals still inside winter quarters. But I got to see several bears, a tiny herd of moose, and a few whitetail deer.

The education building was new construction and looked it, with a sharply slanting roof and plenty of big windows. Inside, my footsteps echoed in the open space. Glass cases lined several walls, waiting to be filled with eye-catching displays. A little raised area off to one side could serve as a stage, if need be, although a bright red sign clearly indicated the way to a big auditorium.

I saw no signs of life in the building and I called out hesitantly, “Mart?”

A mechanical hum from somewhere close at hand announced the presence of an elevator in operation. I heard the bell ring as the doors slid open and turned to see Mart emerging from an alcove I’d overlooked.

“For a minute there I thought Clark had sent me on another wild goose chase,” I said, hurrying over and into his embrace.

He dropped a kiss on my forehead and slipped his arms around my waist. I could feel my heart hammering just because he was near and knew my smile stretched full across my face. For those first few seconds, I forgot all the other reasons I should be glad to see him, all the other things we had to discuss. It was enough to just be held tight in his arms.

“How’s it going, Allison?” he asked in a husky tone, nuzzling at my ear.

“Mmm, it’s going,” I told him, stepping reluctantly away.

“Did you bring the photographs?” His voice dropped low, coming out in a whisper. I half-expected him to shoot nervous glances over each shoulder even though we were obviously alone.

“Yes,” I said, my hand going out to close protectively around my purse. “They’re here. Do you want to see them now?”

“Um.” Now, he did glance around. There was no one in evidence, but apparently, this public area didn’t suit him. “Follow me. We’ll go to the new aviary. It’s under construction. Closed to the public.” He took my hand and tugged. Then tugged again.

“Aviary?” My question was simple and immediately understood.

“Oh, Allison, don’t worry. I told you it’s being built now. All the birds are still in their old quarters. This new one won’t be ready for them until summer.” He punctuated the last with another firmer tug and I followed with hesitation.

We left the education building and crossed a limestone path, then proceeded up a winding brick walkway to the new aviary. The exterior was completed and labeled in big, bright letters. Using one of the many keys on his ring, Mart opened the door, stepping inside first.

“Mind the cables,” he instructed, keeping a guiding hand on my elbow.

It was dim inside since the electricity hadn’t been connected and there were no lights. The air was heavy with the dust of construction, the walls blank grey slabs of concrete.

I shivered in the dampness and looked around the eerie interior. Bags of supplies were scattered across the floor and scaffolding rose to the ceiling in the middle of the room. The silence only added to the unreal atmosphere; there were no workers here today.

Mart put his hands on his hips and looked around, surveying the operation with a critical eye. “We’re behind schedule on this,” he told me, sounding frustrated. “But I guess you have to expect some delays.”

He seemed to be merely thinking out loud, so I let him scan the area, turning my attention to the deepest, darkest regions of my purse, where the envelope containing the two pictures was hiding.

By the time he had mentally returned, I had it located, held between fingers that quivered, but just a little. I waved the packet at him.

“Take a look.”

Mart slipped the photos out of the envelope and peered at them intently, his head bent low. “Let’s go in the other room. The light’s better.”

We moved slowly across the littered floor, stepping carefully over tools and cords and sacks. I found myself hunching up my shoulders so they wouldn’t brush against the dusty wall. We went about ten feet down a hallway, then veered right, into a room at the rear of the building.

The entire back wall was made of thick, double-paned glass, looking out at a heavily wooded area. Here, the sunlight filtered gently in, making this room considerably brighter than the one we’d left.

Mart’s footsteps echoed in staccato fashion against the concrete as he hurried over to the window.

My hands were clenched deep in the pockets of my dress and I felt afraid suddenly, watching him as he studied the pictures. The scowl etched into Mart’s features gave me a clue, but I questioned him anyway.

“What are you thinking?”

He glanced up at me. “Remember how I told you I had some news?”

Of course I remembered. I’d spent half the night awake and wondering what it could be. I nodded impatiently.

“I got an e-mail yesterday. They’ve confirmed the identity of the man in your photo.” He flapped the picture. “If he’s into drug running, it’s a new line of work.”

He tapped an angry finger at the image on the paper.

“This man’s a well-known dealer in illegal animal products.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Our eyes locked and held and I could practically see the thought we shared hanging in the air between us. I knew Mart would never give the idea words and cleared my throat.

“Seems to me there never were any drugs. I think this whole thing all the way back may have been about animal trafficking.”

Looking stunned, Mart paced a few steps in one direction, then back again, slapping the envelope containing the pictures against his thigh. “I just can’t believe that Clark would be part of something like that! It could be his involvement is all part of his pursuit of Mendoza’s killer,” he said in a desperate tone, trying unsuccessfully to convince himself. “Maybe the feds — ”

“You mean maybe Clark’s still got some noble aim?” I shook my head. “I can’t buy that anymore.”

“He’s sworn to protect endangered species, to educate the public about the need to preserve. We — we hold workshops for kids here at the zoo and he conducts them. How? How can he — ” he broke off, turning away.

My heart ached for Mart, for the anguish I read in the slump of his shoulders. I sighed and looked around for a place to sit down. My legs had gone all wobbly.

Over against the window, several white sacks labeled MORTAR BOND were stacked about three feet high. They didn’t look too dirty, and they were the right height.

As I walked toward them, I said, “This whole thing has gotten so twisted I can’t tell up from down anymore. And we’re no closer to any conclusion.”

Whirling around, he took several rapid steps in my direction. “Are you thinking about the great break this is for you? What a scoop you’ll have when you finally get to write the story?”

I held out both hands to ward off this unwarranted verbal attack. Backing up, I bumped into the stack of bags. The top one started to slip and I made a grab for it, my hands catching the end of the bag as it slithered to the floor.

Mart continued to range around the space as I struggled to hoist the heavy sack. It must have gone forty pounds at least, awkward and cumbersome. I lifted the thing into my arms, bent my knees and rose. When I let it down, none too gently, on top of the others, it landed off balance.

“Oh!” I gave a cry of dismay, interrupting Mart’s continuing tirade, as all the sacks tilted like the tower of Pisa.

The first one hit the concrete floor with a thud, rapidly followed by the raspy sound of tearing and the clatter of many tiny objects spilling onto the floor.

Mart broke off in mid-sentence, but I couldn’t see him as I struggled mightily to keep the other bags from falling as well.

Then he found his voice.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!”

He sounded shocked, horrified, and I straightened up in a rush, hardly noticing when another sack teetered and fell.

Mart was crouched down low, his hands buried deep in a pile of small, ivory items that glowed in the faint light like polished porcelain. I dropped to my knees and put my hand on his shoulder, swiveling around so I could see his face.

Harsh, deep lines had been driven into the set of his mouth. One vertical crevice halved his brow as he frowned. His eyes were rock-hard chips, swimming under a glaze of hot tears.

“Mart! Mart, what is it?” My own heart swelled at the sight of his pain and my question ended on a ragged scrap of breath.

He closed his eyes, heavy lids sinking slowly and staying down. Beneath my hand, his shoulders shook with deep emotion.

I patted him on the back as if he were a colicky baby and waited, feeling utterly and totally powerless. I knew I was watching a man’s illusions shatter and it was a terrible sight.

He drew a sharp breath and let the little trinkets flow from his hand. The face he turned to me was strained, incredulous. “Do you know what these are, Allison? Have you any idea?”

I shook my head.

“It’s ivory. Genuine, illegal ivory. It comes from elephant tusks and walrus tusks. The animals are killed — by machine gun! Then, their tusks are sawn off their faces. Turned into this!” He spat out the last, pushing at the pile in disgust. “Allison, elephants may be gone from this earth very soon, because of man’s greed. Because there is money to be made selling baubles like this.”

The plight of elephants wasn’t new to me. I’d seen it on television and read about it in national magazines. The images were vivid ones of the huge, rotting corpses with no faces, the bodies picked at by scavengers and covered in bird dung.

“Webster is a monster,” Mart went on, his fists clenching. The words barely squeezed out between his gritted teeth. “He’s in zoo management. He knows better than anyone what’s happening in the wild. He lectures on it! I always knew he was out for a quick buck, but I never suspected he’d stooped this low. Profiting from death!” He broke off, shaking his head in mournful lament.

I covered his hands with my own and leaned closer, moving to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Oh, Mart, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “For the animals. For you.”

“I could kill him,” he ignored my sympathetic gesture and raged on. “I could march right into that office and strangle him where he stands. The savage!”