Marked Fur Murder (27 page)

“What would you have me do? Fly up to the sun to pluck its brilliance from the sky? Steal the feathers of a condor to line our nest? Anything for you.”

“What? Never! Such a thing simply could not be so. Tell me who made such terrible false accusations and I shall rend him limb from limb!”

“Ah, I see. You need me to ask her for him. I shall do my best, though I fear my command of her language is rudimentary. It is my only failing.”

I was starting to warm up to Rudolfo. He might be an avian Lothario, but I sensed some genuine loneliness beneath his bluster.

“Yes, of course. Many times.”

“I hear many things,
se
ñ
orita
. Many,
many
things.”

“Ah. You are hoping, perhaps, to glean any information on this Anna Metcalfe autopsy that you can, in order to relay it to your caregiver, salvage his reputation, and thus redeem yourself in his eyes. A noble endeavor, indeed.
But
.”

Uh-oh. This was the part where he wanted his paramour to promise something she couldn't deliver.

But Rudolfo surprised me.

“My memory, sadly, is not the equivalent of my other attributes. It pales, for instance, beside my abilities at lovemaking. It is as nothing when compared with my skill as a nest builder, and no more than a joke when viewed next to my magnificent plumage. I apologize deeply for this.”

I sighed under my breath.

“Try? Try? You misunderstand me, madame. I will not just try, I will succeed. I am merely apologizing in advance for not living up to my own exacting standards.”

There was a pause, which I supposed was Rudolfo concentrating. And then:

“Dr. Kaufman? I've finished typing up the forms for the Metcalfe autopsy. Thank you, Harriet. How about the tox screen? Yeah, that's done, too. You want me to send it right over to Forrester? No, I'll do that in person. He's going to have questions about the results and I'll probably have to walk him through it. Suxamethonium chloride isn't going to be something he's familiar with. Is that unusual? It is in a drowning victim. In fact, it pretty much proves this was no accident. Hey, Rudolfo. Who's a pretty bird? Who's a pretty bird?”

Rudolfo paused. “There is more in that vein, but I believe we have already covered that. Do you wish me to continue?”

“It was my pleasure. And now … it is time you told
me
the truth, my sweet.”

“Aha! You are revealed! It all makes sense, now: the long pauses, the hesitation, that maddeningly alluring accent. You are not what you claim to be, are you?”

I motioned for Tango to follow me, but she stayed right where she was, listening intently at the door and continuing to translate.

“You do not dwell in an office down the hall. You are not a domesticated parakeet at all.”

“Tango!” I hissed. “Let's go!”

she told me.

“You are … a pigeon! Drawn inside by your inescapable attraction to me!”

“Not a pigeon, then. A robin?”

“A sparrow? A blue jay? A grackle? You have the insouciance of a grackle.”

Tango shook her head, then got to her feet and padded down the hall after me.

“You just couldn't tear yourself away from his adoration, huh?” I asked.

*   *   *

When we got back to the mansion I looked up suxamethonium chloride online. It was a depolarizing neuromuscular blocker, commonly used to help intubate patients through muscle relaxation and short-term paralysis. It acted quickly and was metabolized just as fast. Most important, though, it mimicked the effects of electric shock drowning, making it impossible for the subject to move while still retaining consciousness. Under certain conditions—like drowning—the drug could also lead to hyperkalemia, a massive release of potassium in the body that often induced cardiac arrest.

“So that's how she was killed,” I murmured. Tango was napping on my office couch while Whiskey was sitting next to me, staring at the screen attentively. “But how was it administered—and by whom?”

[Someone with medical credentials, perhaps?]

“Or access to hospital-grade drugs. Theodora Bonkle is no stranger to that environment.”

[Being a patient is hardly qualification for administering drugs.]

“Granted. I mean, Fimsby has a doctorate, but that doesn't make him a doctor. But maybe we're not asking the right question, either.”

[Which would be?]

“If the big bad guy is a shape-changing, psychic snake, why would it kill Anna with a drug?”

[Misdirection? The Unktehila seems to be a creature that thrives on deception. That would color its entire approach to life—and death.]

That did make sense, in a very primal way. Big powerful people often favored the charging-headlong strategy, smart people preferred to negotiate, charismatic people were inclined toward seduction. Go with your strengths, right?

The problem was, the Unktehila seemed to possess all three of those traits in addition to a talent for fooling people. It could be posing as any of the guests, really. Couldn't it?

“Let's try to break this down,” I said. “Unless the Unktehila can mimic a Thunderbird, it can't be Teresa Firstcharger. I think we can cross her off the list. That leaves Gorshkov, Bonkle, Fimsby, and Kaci.”

[It can't be Kaci.]

“Why not?”

[It just can't. My instincts tell me so.]

I shook my head. “Instincts can be fooled, Whiskey. But let's leave Kaci out for now. That leaves three other prime suspects. Fimsby seems desperate to help, Gorshkov wants to protect his investment, Bonkle is wrapped up in another case. Any of them could be creating an elaborate smokescreen and none of them has an alibi.”

We stared at each other in frustration for a moment. Whiskey actually whined.

“Let's take this step by step. How did this all start? What was the very first thing that happened?”

[Chronologically? That would be Anna realizing she had Thunderbird abilities.]

“Right. She comes here, drops a few hints to Ben, then freaks out and runs when her powers come on even stronger. Lands in Australia, looks up the local expert, uses him to run a few tests, and gets herself under control. Then—according to Fimsby—they discover the Unktehila threat, realize they can't trust anyone, and arrange to get together with Ben to warn him in person. Does that seem right?”

[No. They could have warned him from afar.]

“Especially with something as ominous as a shape-shifting, mind-warping monster. Then again, maybe that's why it had to be face-to-face; it's too easy to dismiss a phone call, especially one as crazy sounding as that one would have been.”

[True. But it tells us one important thing: They learned of the Unktehila while still in Australia.]

That was something I hadn't considered. I'd been thinking of the Unktehila as a North American beastie … but then I remembered what Keene had told me about bush babies and how their cries had been attributed to a rainbow-hued serpent that bored into your skull. Could it be that the Unktehila were global in scope?

[I know that scent. You're about to do research, aren't you?]

I frowned at him. “I smell a particular way when I'm about to do research?”

[Yes. I call it
eau de Google
.]

“That's the aroma of curiosity and intellectual pursuit, my friend.
Tally ho!
”

I bent over my keyboard and started tapping keys.
Rainbow
plus
snake
plus
Australia
. Just for good measure I added
mythic,
then hit search.

Hmmm. Interesting, and not what I expected. There was an aboriginal myth about something called the Rainbow Serpent, but it wasn't nearly as nasty as the Unktehila was supposed to be. In fact, it was more like a god than a monster, one often associated with water and creation rather than death and destruction. It was a myth found the length and breadth of the Australian continent, rearing its scaly head in every tribe, and though the story always had a few constants—association with deep water holes and rainbows—local variants connected the serpent to many other things: land, life, the moon, social relationships, weather, menstruation, falling stars, coming-of-age rituals, geological formations, fertility, rivers, and floods. “Well, that narrows it down,” I muttered.

There was a knock at the door. I looked up to see ZZ standing there, a large, brightly colored woven bag slung over her shoulder. “Hello, dear. I'm running into town to pick up a few things and I just wanted to see how things were going with you.”

“Going? With me? Smooth and steady, as always.”

ZZ sighed. “And with Ben?”

“Ah. I haven't talked to him since … you know.”

“Don't leave it too long, dear. I know you're busy, but keep your priorities straight.”

“Plus, you want your chef back.”

“That, too.” She took a step into the room and glanced at the screen of my laptop. “Snakes? Whatever are you studying now?”

“Oh, it's nothing, really. Caroline's been getting reports of a large snake on the grounds, and I'm trying to figure out what species it might be.
Imaginary
is high on list, so you don't have to worry.”

She peered down at the screen intently. “Oh, I'm not worried. I like snakes, especially the larger ones. I used to own a few, many years ago. Had to leave them behind, sadly.”

“Leave them behind? Where?”

“Peru. The Zoransky family lived there for a while when I was a child, and I took an interest in the local wildlife; I suppose that's where my interests in animal conservation started. I had a couple of lovely
Epicrates cenchria
I got locally, and a few more from Colombia. My father didn't know about them until we moved back to the States; then he wouldn't let me bring them along. Against the law, he claimed—though I later learned snakes of that type were common in the pet trade and were imported to the US all the time. I suspect he just wanted an excuse to get rid of them.”

“
Epicrates cenchria
? What kind of snakes were those, exactly?”

ZZ smiled. “Rainbow boas, dear. Different coloration from species to species, but they all had the same lovely iridescent sheen when the light struck them. Beautiful creatures; I hope they lived long and happy lives after their time with me.”

And then, with a wave of her hand, she was off. Leaving me with a dumbfounded expression on my face and way too many questions.

*   *   *

I'd been having this argument with Tango ever since she woke up. She'd caught the last part of my conversation with ZZ and had, with maddening feline logic, abruptly, completely, and stubbornly changed her opinion on what it was we were chasing.

“Look, I agree it's something of a coincidence that ZZ used to own snakes—”

rainbow
right in their name.>

“Yes, all right, but this is ZZ we're talking about. She's owned practically every kind of animal at one time or another, and rainbow is her favorite color.”

[Hardly the most reliable of witnesses,] Whiskey pointed out.

“That still doesn't
prove
—”

I thought back to our conversation. “No,” I admitted.

“Not … as such.”

Tango has the annoying habit of grooming when she thinks she's winning an argument. Which is to say, constantly.

[You have the singular ability to trivialize the most momentous events.]

[That wasn't—]

“Guys. A woman was killed. Now, I know I'm a little unclear on the rules, but I'm pretty sure deceased, limbless pets don't go around murdering people with paralytic anesthetics.” I paused, then dug out a notepad I'd crammed in my hip pocket earlier.