Bertie and the Kinky Politician (18 page)

‘To get a cup of coffee and arrange for you to be taken to the zoo.'

‘Zoo?' Bertie found most of the sentence too difficult to understand, but zoo was a great new word. Monosyllabic. Easy to say. ‘Zoo,' he repeated thoughtfully.

‘Yes, the zoo. Maybe you'll meet some other parrots.'

‘Not a parrot.' The answer came back immediately and was very clear. Wilf could have sworn there was more than a trace of annoyance in Bertie's answer.'

‘What are you then?'

‘A macaw. A hyacinth macaw.'

‘Well I'll be damned!'

‘Now we're cooking,' said Bertie amiably.

An hour later, Bertie was taken by police van across the river to Regent's Park. Wilf carried him gingerly using a thick Kevlar gauntlet borrowed from one of the dog handlers, glad of the protection from those deadly claws. Bertie was, to his great relief, pleasantly docile during the journey. They were met by a darting, nervous little man with a knife blade for a nose and restless brown eyes. He reminded Wilf of a sparrow, so it was no real surprise he turned out to be head keeper for the bird houses.

‘Good morning, Detective Constable Thompson. Allow me to congratulate you on a remarkable find.' He seemed unusually excited. Bertie looked bored.

‘Mr Keynes?'

‘Colin Keynes, yes. My, what a magnificent specimen.'

‘Thank you. I work out, you know,' replied Wilf.

Colin hooted with laughter. ‘Very witty. Actually, apart from our Millicent, he's the only other fully grown hyacinthine we've had here for some time.'

‘Millicent?' The two men walked together past cages and on through the gardens. Children crowded around the enclosures, chattering and pointing at somnolent, spectacularly uninterested creatures. A few turned to follow their progress, goggle-eyed at the sight of Bertie.

‘Yes, our own resident and, to my best knowledge, one of only a handful of unattached females in the country. She's just reached maturity and we hope to breed her soon.'

Bertie turned and stared at Colin. Hello, this sounded interesting. He knew exactly what a female was, even though he'd never actually seen one.

‘So come on, tell me about these birds. Why are they so rare?'

‘The usual reasons, destruction of habitat and so on, and even those remaining areas are now being rapidly cleared for agriculture. If we don't stop soon we'll lose a lot more than these beauties.'

‘What do they eat? I've been feeding him Brazil nuts. Is that OK – I haven't poisoned him, have I?'

‘They're fine. Any fatty or oily nut will do. You can tell by the condition and colour of his plumage he's had a good diet.'

Bertie rather hoped the conversation would return to Millicent.

‘I have to admit I don't think I've seen anything quite so blue in all my life – apart from some seized DVDs from Amsterdam.'

Colin chuckled. ‘I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Detective Constable.'

‘Wilf.'

‘Tell me, Wilf, did Bertie say anything to you?'

‘More than I get out of the usual occupants of our cells. He was quite the chatterbox.'

‘That's not unusual. They're great mimics and in rare cases can have well-developed vocabularies, although not nearly as good as the African Grey parrot. Now they really are astonishing talkers!'

‘I've got to tell you, Colin, I found it pretty weird at first.'

‘Yes, well, that's understandable. We expect intelligence from chimps and the like, but not from birds. It can be a bit of an eye opener on your first encounter. Macaws, in particular, are extremely bright and very, very inquisitive. Cranial size doesn't equate here because their brains, although not much larger than a big walnut, appear to be structured in a unique fashion.'

‘A bit like teenagers.'

‘Tell me about it – I've got one of those at home. Anyway, they're equally as clever as dolphins and certainly much more so than dogs. I'm sure it'll come as a shock but I can assure you some parrots can understand in excess of a thousand words. Not bad when you consider the average human has a vocabulary of only about six or seven thousand words. Even budgerigars have been trained to repeat up to five hundred words and can perform surprising feats of eloquence.'

Colin's enthusiasm was delightfully infectious. It was such a pleasant change to be in the company of someone absorbed in a field of expertise that didn't involve ram raiding or spray-painting underpasses.

‘Most people simply cannot accept a lower creature has cognitive powers but I can assure you it's true. Macaws are extremely long-lived and you simply can't go through an extended lifespan relying purely on instinct on a day-by-day basis. There must be some accumulated powers of understanding and reasoning in there that slowly build up over the years.'

‘Makes sense. So, tell me more about Millicent,' enquired Wilf. It was a question Bertie was on the point of asking himself.

‘She was a gift from the Brazilian Government to help with a world-wide breeding programme and has developed a significant relationship with us. She's mastered all the important words, such as “cold” and “hungry” or “thirsty”, but we haven't quite got on to
War and Peace
yet. Macaws have the lowest threshold of boredom of any animal and need constant stimulus or they begin to develop severe behavioural problems. It's cruel to keep solitary specimens unless you can devote hours of constant attention to keep them occupied. That's why we try to pair them as soon as they reach maturity. Once they've mated they stay with the same partner for the rest of their lives. It's all rather sweet, when you think about it.'

‘No divorce?'

‘Not with these blue beauties. Hyacinths are compulsively social and live in large family groups in the wild, communicating with such a complex range of sounds it can really only be described as a language. Obviously with our limited resources we can't devote individual attention to Millicent so we had a radio installed in her aviary. I can tell you she's quite well up on classical music, can whistle snatches of Mozart, and simply adores the shipping forecast.' Colin grinned at Wilf's sceptical glance. ‘It's the clear enunciation and repetition, you see. Easy to pick up.' Wilf couldn't figure if he was being ribbed or not, but having spent some time with Bertie he could quite believe what he'd just been told. ‘What surprises me is that he is not ringed. It's not exactly against the law but it certainly helps identification.'

‘We ought to ring some of the nasty little specimens I have to deal with,' observed Wilf dryly.

‘Around the ankle?'

‘Well, I can think of somewhere much more interesting.'

‘Ouch!' Keynes winced. He was glad Wilf declined to explain further. ‘It seems strange Bertie has been unable to tell you his address. Most owners teach their birds that right at the start. Ah, here we are.'

Address! Now there was a word Bertie instantly recognised. If only Wilf had asked the right question. Of course he knew his address, but he wasn't going to tell them just yet, not until he'd seen Millicent anyway – what did they think he was, stupid?

Wilf had been conscious for some time of a rising background cacophony of cheeps and tweets, chirrups and twitters, hoots, squeaks, trills and screeches that signified the approaching aviaries. Colin led him to an extremely capacious enclosure perhaps twenty feet high and more than three times that in width and depth. The interior was filled with luxuriant foliage and numerous wooden perches. Plump, colourful ground birds strutted around on spindly legs amongst the bushes and bamboos, pecking at the soil with jerky movements like epileptic robots. Above, sitting here and there on sturdy branches, a number of large parrots observed the newcomers with interest and squawked discordantly at their approach. Some sat in solitary splendour, others squeezed against each other like pensioners cuddling up on a sea front bench during a February gale.

‘We've got a good selection in here,' said Colin. ‘They're very sociable and all get on well together.'

‘What are those?' Wilf pointed to a restless group of spectacular multi-coloured birds – vibrant blue, yellow and red.

‘That gang of delinquents? They're scarlets. Quite something, aren't they? Absolutely beautiful, but full of mischief.' Colin peered into the aviary. ‘Now then, where is she? Up there, somewhere, is
Anodorhynchus hyacinthinus
.'

‘Who?' Latin was not one of Wilf's stronger subjects.

‘The hyacinth macaw. Ah, there she is, behind that big branch.' All three craned their necks and peered through the wire. There was a distant flash of deep blue amongst the leaves, but no more.

‘Millicent! Come here, sweetie!' Colin called, scratching at the wire. ‘Come on, Milly! Show yourself.'

‘Dogger! Irish Sea! Fair to moderate; falling slowly!' was all Millicent deigned to utter from her lofty perch, despite Colin's entreaties.

He shrugged and apologised. ‘Sorry, but you can't force her to come,' he said, and began to walk away.

‘Hang on, aren't you going to put him in with her?' asked Wilf. It was a question of burning importance for Bertie as well.

‘Good Lord, no!'

‘What! Why not? If they're that rare, surely this is a golden opportunity to increase the species.'

Too right it is. Bertie glared at Colin.

‘Wilf, we would have to make all kinds of preparations before we could mate them, not even counting the formal permission of Bertie's owner. There would have to be tests to check both birds were completely healthy and DNA testing to ensure the widest spread of the gene pool to keep the species viable. Other zoos may have more suitable partners for Bertie. With so few hyacinths in captivity we must get the very best breeding match possible. You have to understand this is a very delicate matter.'

Bertie wished they would stop talking and just let him get on with it; all he wanted to do was woo and hump her! A minute, maybe two. Tops!

Wilf's reasoning was roughly analogous to Bertie's. ‘I'm sure they don't wait for the results of gene testing in sunny Brazil, so why don't you just let him have a go?' It appeared Bertie's chances of a jump were substantially more rosy than his had ever been. Anything he could do to help, he would.

‘Sorry, but we simply can't risk it. What if they fight, or Millicent gets injured? No, it could be disastrous without detailed preparation. We're not even sure if she's receptive.'

She is, you idiot!

‘Pity.' Wilf really felt quite sorry for Bertie. He followed Colin through a gate marked “Private” to an area segregated from the public by a tall wooden fence. There, a few sheds contained feed and tools and all manner of sundry items required to keep the aviaries clean and well-stocked. They passed an access door at the rear of the macaw enclosure, hidden from public view by foliage. Bertie stared long and hard at the receding aviary. He'd be back. An empty holding pen stood nearby, a temptingly short distance from the maidenly virtuous Millicent. Wilf climbed inside carefully and looked around, nodding with approval at the spacious cage. ‘Nice billet.' He gently urged Bertie onto a perch. ‘See you, kid.'

‘Goodbye, Wilf. Thanks for the nuts.'

Colin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Wilf gently stroked Bertie's neck and grinned. ‘I told you he was sharp.' He slipped a tangerine and the remaining Brazil nuts into a feeding pan attached to the perch and levered himself out of the door.

‘How long will he be with us?' asked Colin, securing the latch.

‘Difficult to say. We'll continue with our enquiries, but I have to tell you this is pretty low priority stuff. We know he lives around Greenwich somewhere, has a hamster pal called Barnstaple and his owner's name is Celeste, but that's about it. Our best bet is when Celeste reports him missing, which she must surely do. She obviously loves him because he's so attached to her. With a spot of luck, we might have him home by tomorrow.'

‘Good. This must be quite disturbing for him. Meanwhile, I'll check up with the local bird societies to see if they can trace him. Have you thought about approaching your pals in Customs? If he's been brought in legally then they'll certainly have a record of his entry into the country.'

‘Exactly what I'm going to do when I get back to the station.'

‘The import regulations are unbelievably strict concerning endangered birds, but if it can be proved he's been hand-reared and a pet for a significant period of time then there wouldn't have been any trouble getting him into the UK, although I suppose he could have come to Britain long before we had the regs.'

‘Is that likely?'

‘It's certainly possible. Bertie's in his prime and could already be well over thirty. That's another wonderful thing about macaws. Once you have one, you literally have one for life – they can live for up to sixty years!'

The gate closed again and the two men disappeared, leaving Bertie to sit in silence. He waited until he was thoroughly alone and hopped over to examine the door lock. He didn't like cages very much. Having bonded to Celeste as a chick no cage was ever needed to keep him by her side as they cruised the rainforest rivers. He followed her everywhere, waddling up and down the wooden deck like an obedient dog, chattering away to the amused crew.

The latch was a ludicrously simple affair, the kind he learnt to pick while he was still a fledgling. This was going to be easy. An examination of the aviary floor produced a twig of the necessary size and strength. He climbed up the wire, hooked his claws into the grille beside the door, gripped the twig in his powerful bill and threading it through the mesh, neatly releasing the latch with a controlled flick of the head – and those arrogant monkey boys thought they had a monopoly on the use of tools! He flew to the back door of the other aviary. Again, the bolt succumbed to his expert manipulation and he scampered eagerly into the enclosure.