Bare Bones (21 page)

“Would you mind talking shop a minute?”

The perfect eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

“Not at al .”

“I’m aware il egal wildlife is big business. How big?”

“I’ve read estimates of ten to twenty bil ion dol ars a year. That’s third only to the il egal trade in drugs and arms.” I was stunned.

Ryan settled into a chair on the far side of the steamer-trunk coffee table.

“Is there much black market trade in exotic birds?” I asked.

“I suppose. If something is rare, people wil buy it.” Despite the practiced nonchalance, Cousins looked uncomfortable. “But as far as I’m concerned, the biggest problem right now is overexploitation.”

“Of?”

“Sea turtles are a good example. U.S. turtles are sold by the tons overseas. The other big problem comes from the bush-meat market.”

“Bush meat?”

“Giant cane rats and duikers from Africa. Lizards-on-a-stick from Asia. Those are reptiles that are slit along the bel y and spread like big lol ipops.

Smoked pygmy lorises, roasted pangolin scales.”

Cousins must have interpreted the revulsion on my face as confusion.

“The pangolin is also cal ed the scaly anteater. The scales are sold as a cure for syphilis.”

“People import these things for medicinal use?” Ryan asked.

“Could be anything. Take the turtles. Sea turtle shel s are used for jewelry, the meat and eggs go to restaurants and bakeries, whole cara-paces are used as wal mounts.”

“What about bears?” I asked.

Cousins’s chin tilted up a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t know much about bears.”

“The Carolinas have large populations, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Is poaching a problem?” Ryan asked.

Silken shrug. “Wouldn’t think so.”

“Has the service ever investigated that?” I asked.

“Beats me.”

Lija’s boyfriend joined us and posed a question about the merits of man-to-man versus zone defense. Cousins’s attention veered to that conversation.

So much for bear poaching.

On the way home I solicited Ryan’s reaction to Cousins’s comments.

“Odd that a wildlife agent in the Carolinas would know nothing about bears.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You don’t like the guy, do you?” Ryan asked.

“I never said I didn’t like him.”

No reply.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked after a few moments.

“I’m learning to read you.”

“It isn’t that I don’t like him,” I said defensively. What then? “It’s that I don’t like not knowing if I don’t like him.” Ryan opted not to touch that.

“He makes me uneasy,” I added.

As we arrived at the annex, Ryan made another unsettling observation.

“Maybe your uneasiness isn’t total y off base, Mom.”

I shot Ryan a look that was wasted in the dark.

“You told me Boyd made his big score during that cigar store picnic.”

“Katy was thril ed.”

“That’s where you first met Cousins.”

“Yes.”

“He saw Boyd’s find.”

“Yes.”

“That means at least one more person was at least partial y privy to the situation at the Foote farm. No pun intended.” Again my heart went into free fal .

“Palmer Cousins.”

THE EASTERN HORIZON STARTS OOZING GRAY AROUND FIVE-THIRTYin August in Piedmont North Carolina. By six the sun is heading uphil .

I awoke at first ooze, watched dawn define the objects on my dresser, nightstand, chair, and wal s.

Ryan was sprawled on his stomach beside me. Birdie lay curled in the crook of my knees.

I lasted in bed until half past six.

Birdie blinked when I slipped from under the covers. He stood and arched as I col ected my panties from the lampshade. I heard paws thump carpet as I tiptoed from the room.

The refrigerator hummed to me while I made coffee. Outside, birds exchanged the morning’s avian gossip.

Moving as quietly as possible, I poured and drank a glass of orange juice, then col ected Boyd’s leash and went to the study.

The chow was stretched ful length on the sofa, left foreleg upright against the seat back, right extended across his head.

Boyd the Protector.

“Boyd,” I whispered.

The dog went from flat on his side to four on the floor without seeming to move through any intermediary stage.

“Here, boy.”

No eye contact.

“Boyd.”

The chow rol ed his eyes up at me but didn’t budge.

“Walk?”

Boyd held steady, a picture of skepticism.

I dangled the leash.

No go.

“I’m not upset about the couch.”

Boyd dropped his head, looked up, and did a demi-twirl with each eyebrow.

“Real y.”

Boyd’s ears pricked forward and his head canted.

“Come on.” I uncoiled the leash.

Realizing it was not a trap, and that a walk was actual y afoot, Boyd raced around the sofa, ran back to me and jumped up with his forepaws on my chest, dropped, spun, jumped up again, and began lapping my cheek.

“Don’t push it,” I said, clipping the leash to his col ar.

A fine mist floated among the trees and shrubs at Sharon Hal . Though I felt reassured by the presence of a seventy-pound chow, I was stil fil ed with a formless apprehension as we moved about the grounds, kept watching for a flash, or the flicker of light on a camera lens.

Four squirrels and twenty minutes later, Boyd and I were back at the annex. Ryan was at the kitchen table, ful mug of coffee and unopenedObserverin front of him. He smiled when we entered, but I saw something in his eyes, like the shadow of a cloud passing over waves.

Boyd trotted to the table, placed his chin on Ryan’s knee, and looked up with the expectation of bacon. Ryan patted his head.

I poured myself coffee and joined them.

“Hey,” I said.

Ryan leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth.

“Hey.” Taking both my hands, he looked into my eyes. It was not a happy look.

“What’s happened?” I asked, fear pricking my stomach.

“My sister cal ed.”

I waited.

“My niece has been hospitalized.”

“I’m so sorry.” I squeezed his hands. “An accident?”

“No.” Ryan’s jaw muscles bulged. “Daniel e did it on purpose.”

I could think of nothing to say.

“My sister is pretty fragmented. Crises are not her forte.”

Ryan’s Adam’s apple rose and fel .

“Motherhood is not her forte.”

Though curious to know what had happened, I didn’t push. Ryan would tel the story in his own way.

“Daniel e’s had problems with substance abuse in the past, but she’s never done anything like this.” Boyd licked Ryan’s pants leg. The refrigerator hummed on.

“Why the hel —” Shaking his head, Ryan let the question die on the air.

“Your niece may be crying out for attention.” The words sounded clichéd as I said them. Spoken solace is not my forte.

“That poor kid doesn’t know what attention is.”

Boyd nudged Ryan’s knee. Ryan did not respond.

“When is your flight?” I asked.

Ryan blew air through his lips and slumped back in his chair.

“I’m not going anywhere while some brain-fried psycho’s got you in his viewfinder.”

“You have to go.” I couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving, but wouldn’t let on.

“No way.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Your niece and sister need you.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ve outwitted the bad guys before.”

“You’re saying you don’t need me around?”

“No, handsome. I don’t need you around.” I reached out and stroked his cheek. His hand rose and made a strange, faltering movement. “Iwantyou around.

But that’s my problem. Right now your family needs you.”

Ryan’s whole body radiated tension.

I looked at my watch. Seven thirty-five.

God, why now? As I picked up the phone to dial US Airways, I realized how very much I wanted him to stay.

Ryan’s flight departed at nine-twenty. Boyd looked deeply wounded as we left him at the annex.

From the airport, I went directly to the MCME. No fax had arrived from Cagle. Settling in my office, I looked up the number, and phoned the FWS field office in Raleigh.

A female voice informed me that the resident agent in charge was Hershey Zamzow.

Zamzow came on after a brief hold.

I explained who I was.

“No need for introductions, Doc. I know who you are. Hot down there as it is up here?”

“Yes, sir.”

The temperature at nine had been eighty-two.

“What can I do for you this fine summer morning?”

I told him about the Spix’s feathers, and asked if there was any local black market trade in exotic birds.

“A huge amount of wildlife flows through the Southeast from the Southern Hemisphere. Snakes, lizards, birds. You name it. If a species is rare, some pissant with mush for brains wil want it. Hel , the Southeast is one big poachers’ paradise.”

“How are live animals smuggled into the country?”

“Al sorts of clever ways. They’re drugged and stuffed into poster tubes. They’re hidden inside elasticized vests.” Zamzow didn’t try to conceal his disgust.

“And the mortality rate is astronomical. Think about it. You taken a flight lately that ran on time? How clever do you think these cretins are at calculating the amount of oxygen in a concealed storage space?

“But getting back to your feathers, birds are a popular sideline for South American cocaine smugglers. Guy scores a few parrots from the vil age poacher, runs them up to the States with his next shipment of blow. Birds live, he turns a nice profit. Birds die, he’s out beer money for the week.”

“What about bears?” I asked.

“Ursus americanus.No need for smuggling. Got black bears right here in the Carolinas. Handful of young bears are trapped each year for ‘bear baiting’

—that’s bear fighting for the unenlightened. Genteel entertainment for the red of neck. Used to be a market for live bears, but with zoo populations skyrocketing, that’s pretty much dried up.”

“Are there a lot of bears in North Carolina?”

“Not as many as there ought to be.”

“Why is that?”

“Habitat destruction and poaching.”

“There’s a season when bears are hunted legal y?”

“Yes, ma’am. Varies by county, but mostly in the fal and early winter. Some South Carolina counties distinguish between hunting stationary and hunting with dogs.”

“Tel me about the poaching.”

“My favorite topic.” His voice sounded bitter. “Il egal kil ing of black bears was made a misdemeanor by the Lacy Act in 1901, a felony in 1981. But that doesn’t stop the poachers. In season, hunters take the whole bear, use the meat and fur. Out of season, poachers take the parts they want and leave the carcasses to rot.”

“Where does most bear poaching take place?”

“Ten, twenty years ago it was pretty much restricted to the mountains. Nowadays coastal animals are getting hit just as hard. But it’s not just a Carolina problem. There are less than half a mil ion bears left in North America. Every year hundreds of carcasses turn up intact except for the paws and gal bladders.”

“Gal bladders?” I couldn’t mask my shock.

“Hel of a black market. In traditional Asian medicine, bear gal ranks right up there with rhino horn, ginseng, and deer musk. Bear bile is thought to cure fever, convulsions, swel ing, eye pain, heart disease, hangover, you name it. And the meat ain’t chopped liver, either. Some Asian cultures view bear paw soup as a real delicacy. A bowl can sel for as much as fifteen hundred bucks in certain restaurants. Off the menu, of course.”

“What are the main markets for bear gal s?”

“South Korea ranks number one, since the native supply is nonexistent. Hong Kong, China, and Japan aren’t far behind.” I took a moment to digest al that.

“And bear hunting is legal in season in North Carolina?”

“As in many states, yes. But sel ing animal body parts, including gal bladders, heads, hides, claws, and teeth, is il egal. Few years back, Congress considered legislation aimed at halting the trade in bear organs. Didn’t pass.”

Before I could comment, he went on.

“Look at Virginia. State has about four thousand bears. Officials estimate six hundred to nine hundred are kil ed legal y every year, but have no numbers as to how many are poached. Busted a ring up there not long ago, seized about three hundred gal bladders and arrested twenty-five people.”

“How?” I was so repulsed I could hardly form questions.

“Hunters tipped officials to poaching in and around Shenandoah National Park. Agents ultimately infiltrated the ring, posed as middlemen, accompanied poachers on hunts, that sort of thing. I worked a similar sting up in Graham County about ten years back.”

“Not the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest?”

“The very same. The trees may be lovely, but the bears are profit.”

The line hummed as Zamzow sorted through recol ections.

“One couple up there had been in business seventeen years. Jackie Jo and Bobby Ray Jackson. What pieces of work they were. Claimed to sel three hundred gal s annual y to customers up and down the eastern seaboard. Claimed they got their gal s from hunt clubs, farmers, and by their own hunting and trapping.”