To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (30 page)

His eyes registered disbelief. “You know of Apedemek?”

Know of him? He almost ate me. “The Great Lion of the Burning Mane?” That was pure speculative hyperbole, but you generally couldn’t go wrong heaping honorifics on a mythical figure. Besides, in Apedemek’s case it was more literal than figurative. “Some.” Said with just enough irony to imply I knew a lot more.

“Then you know how important my quest is.”

No, I don’t.
“In my experience, only the person
on
the quest can truly understand its importance. Tell me—in your own words—how your path began, and how it took you to this moment.”

Here’s another truism, just in case you’re collecting them: Most people love to talk about two things—themselves, and their passions. Ask a mystic about his beliefs and how he came to hold them, and even the most stoic of monks will talk your ear off. I know, I sat next to the Dalai Lama once.

Abazu rested both his hands gently on the weathered headstone before him and studied the rough gray rock for a moment before beginning. “I am from a place called Timbavati. In the tongue of my people, Timbavati translates as ‘the place where the star lions came down from the heavens.’ More than four centuries ago, while Queen Numbi ruled the region, a bright light tumbled from the sky to the ground. The Sacred Stone carried the spirit of Apedemek himself, but it broke apart and fell to earth in two places. One of the places was Timbavati, in southern Africa. From that time on, many of the animals born there were strange: cattle with two heads, leopards with green eyes. And one such animal was the white lion.

“Such creatures exist to the present day, but only in Timbavati; they are the children of the Sun God, the lion Apedemek. We who worship him are few, but loyal. And we live for the day that the Sacred Stone will be made whole once more, so that Apedemek can live among men and rule them as he was meant to do.”

I had a very interesting discussion with Bishop Tutu once about African secret societies, which not only still existed but were both plentiful and powerful. Apparently the one Abazu belonged to worshiped Apedemek. I’m not that well versed in African geography, but I guessed the Cullinan mine wasn’t that far from Timbavati.

And apparently Abazu believed that the largest diamond in the world was also from outer space.

None of which explained what any of this had to do with Augustus. “We all know what happened to one half of the Sacred Stone,” I said. “It’s locked up with the British Crown Jewels. So how did the other half wind up in America?”

“It has been watched over by the Priesthood of Apedemek for over four hundred years. But it was stolen by evil men, who sold it to Branco Gamboa without understanding its true worth.”

Branco Gamboa was the drug lord who previously owned Augustus. “And you believe Augustus could lead you to the Stone?”

“Oh, no, Ms. Foxtrot. I believe Augustus
is
the Stone.”

That wasn’t what I expected to hear. “But … he’s dead.”

“His physical form has ceased to move and breathe, yes. But of what concern is breath or movement to a stone? No, all that has happened is that the spell Gamboa cast on the Sacred Stone has faded away. Soon the body will return to its natural state. I must claim it before that happens, for once the Stone is identified it will be locked away forever.”

“Which is why you tried to steal the body.”

His eyes widened a little, but he nodded. “I see that I was not as stealthy as I had thought. Yes, I attempted to enter the clinic and retrieve the Stone. Obviously, I was not successful.”

And suddenly the thief’s lack of transportation made sense. “You were going to perform some magic of your own,” I said. “Transform the corpse back into a rock and just stick it in a bag. Weren’t you?”

He said nothing, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I guessed he didn’t want to admit that was a possibility, in case he got the chance at some point in the future.

And now I was faced with a conundrum. Because I wasn’t sure whether Abazu could actually do magic, or was just a fanatic with a bizarre idea.

Apedemek was real, but the one I’d met bore only a passing resemblance to a liger and none at all to a pricey chunk of raw gemstone; plus, if Augustus was really the embodiment of the lion god himself, what was his spirit doing wandering around the Great Crossroads getting high on metaphysical catnip? Either Abazu’s cult had a few important details wrong, or Apedemek wasn’t being exactly honest.

Which was when Augustus himself showed up, padding complacently behind Tango.

I watched Abazu closely. If the actual presence of his supposed deity affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. Nor did Augustus seem terribly interested in one of his worshipers, sparing him no more than a brief curious glance.

Augustus? Can you try saying hello to the nice man, here?
I figured it was worth a shot.

{Hello, nice man.}

Okay, no reaction at all from Abazu, other than looking at me a bit warily.

“One more question,” I said. “The conservation group you said you represent. How did you fake that?”

“I did not. As I said before, the followers of Apedemek are few but faithful. One of them is a powerful lobbyist for the conservation movement in South Africa, and it was not difficult for him to convince a genuine organization to send me as their representative. Now—may I ask what you intend to do?”

“Did you poison Augustus?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. I did not. Such an act would be deeply disrespectful.”

“Maybe you were desperate. Maybe you realized ZZ was going to choose someone else to donate Augustus to, and you needed the time and privacy that a body on a slab would give you and a liger in a pen wouldn’t.”

“The spell does require some time to cast,” he admitted. “But it can be applied just as easily to a living creature as a dead one. Should I have chosen that path, would I not have done so the first night I was here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you saw the video cameras around the pen and didn’t want to get caught.”

He shrugged. “I cannot prove my innocence, only insist upon it. And you must follow your own beliefs—as must we all.”

I cut my eyes to the side, at Augustus. He was sitting on his haunches, licking one paw. If Abazu was the one who’d poisoned him, he seemed either blissfully unaware of the fact or extremely forgiving.

I sighed. “Okay. You’re right. Maybe you’re innocent and maybe you’re not, but I can’t prove anything either way. So I’m going to disregard the break-in and not report you to the police. But
don’t
try it again.”

“You have my word.” Abazu sounded unhappy but sincere. His shoulders slumped and he turned and walked away, in the direction of the house.

“Wait,” I called after him. “You know what kind of security the other half of the Sacred Stone has. How on earth did you ever plan to obtain it?”

He stopped, and his posture straightened. “My plans,” he said quietly, “do not originate on earth, Ms. Foxtrot. Nor am I their architect. They are sent from on high, and they will lead me wherever I need to go.”

I stared after him as he walked away. He was either a fanatic or an extremely good actor, and I couldn’t tell which. But he’d certainly given me a lot to think about.

I studied Augustus, who’d decided now was a good time for a quick nap, or at least an opportunity to lie down. I knew what had killed him, but not who or even why. I knew where it had happened, and a general idea of when. But there was one other factor that I hadn’t really given enough thought to:
how
had it been done?

I strolled over, then sat down beside Augustus. I had the urge to reach over and stroke his fur, but as that was impossible I managed to restrain myself.

Augustus? Mind if we talk for a bit?

He didn’t raise his head or even open his eyes, but I heard his reply.
{I thought that nice man was going to talk to me, but he didn’t say anything. That wasn’t very nice.}

I apologize for that. I wanted to see if he could hear you the way I can, and he couldn’t. Thanks to you, now I know.

{You are much nicer than him.}

Thank you. The night you got sick, did anyone come to visit you, other than Caroline?

{The one with the blond hair?}

That’s right.

{No.}

Did anything unusual happen? Any strange sights, smells, or noises?

{It was all strange. I was in a new place.}

Good point. I thought for a second, then tried again.
What about the pool? Did anything happen to it?

{Yes. It tasted different. I didn’t notice until after I’d swum in it and groomed myself. It tasted sweeter.}

The antifreeze.
When did it change?

He opened his eyes and raised his head to look at me.
{After the noises. I thought they were splashes at first, but even though I could hear the splashes, nothing fell in the pool.}

That must have been when the poison was added. But how? If I knew that, maybe I could figure out who had done it, too.

I knew exactly where I had to go now, and what I had to do.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

I called Caroline and arranged to meet her at the liger enclosure. Then I found Ben, told him where I was going, and made sure a feline war hadn’t broken out. After that I headed for the zoo, collecting Whiskey along the way.

[You think we missed something?] Whiskey asked as we walked along.

“We must have. Augustus heard splashing noises, but didn’t see anything being added to the pool.”

We got to the enclosure, where Caroline was waiting. She’d repaired the hole she’d cut in the fence to get the forklift inside. “I haven’t touched anything since Augustus died,” she said. “Haven’t had the heart.”

She unlocked the gate and came in with me, but closed it on Whiskey’s face. “Sorry, pooch. Antifreeze is almost as dangerous for dogs as it is cats.”

I went straight to the pool. “How deep is this?”

“About five feet. Deep enough for him to actually swim in.”

I got down on my haunches and examined the lip. It was concrete, sculpted to look like natural rock. “The water looks very dark.”

“That’s because the bottom is painted black. Helps with heat retention, and makes it look more like a real jungle pool.”

I glanced up. The waterfall had been turned off, and the rocks it normally tumbled over were exposed. The artificial stone cliff the waterfall fell from was around twelve feet high, with a lip at the top that jutted out a foot or so. There was more cliff face above the lip, set back into the wall itself, with a little man-made cave mouth no more than a few inches in diameter that the water flowed from. The wall itself was quite tall, going up another twenty feet or so. The extra height must have been to eliminate any possibility of the pen’s resident trying to escape by using the top of the waterfall as a jumping-off point.

I walked around the edge of the pool and got as close to the artificial cliff as I could. I peered at the rocks intently, starting at the bottom and working my way up.

And then, near the top, I saw something.

“Caroline, can you get me a ladder? I want to look at something near the lip, but my rock-climbing skills are a little rusty.”

“Sure. Be right back.”

When she was gone, Whiskey said, [What do you see?]

“I’m not sure. I think there’s something caught between two rocks near the top. Might just be a shadow, but I want to check.”

Caroline was back within a minute with a lightweight aluminum stepladder. I took it from her at the gate, propped it open next to the cliff face, and climbed up.

There was something caught between two of the rocks, something thin and flimsy and black, almost invisible against the darkness of the stone. I took it gently between two fingers and tried to pull it out. It stretched, but didn’t come free. I tried harder and got it out.

I knew what it was immediately. This was how the poison was delivered.

“Caroline? I’m going to need you to drain the pool.”

“Did you find something?”

[And what is it?]

“Oh, I found something,” I said grimly. “And there’ll be more at the bottom of the pool. Make sure you use a screen on the pump; otherwise, it’ll clog.”

I climbed down from the ladder and showed Caroline what was in my hand. A tiny piece of black rubber, tied in a knot.

The remains of a balloon.

*   *   *

Caroline wheeled a portable pump in and drained the pool into a number of large blue plastic barrels. Sure enough, every couple of minutes the pump would start to whine and the flow would slow to a trickle as another scrap of black rubber got sucked onto the mesh screen on the nozzle of the hose. She’d pull the hose out, pluck the rubber off, and toss it onto the ground.

By the time the pool was empty, there was an impressive little pile of black rubber scraps. More littered the bottom of the pool, but they were much harder to see.

Caroline shut off the pump. “Water balloons,” she said. “Except they didn’t contain water, did they?”

I shook my head. “No. They were loaded with ethylene glycol. Thrown so they would burst against the rocks of the waterfall and the scraps would vanish into the pool.”

“But how? Security footage doesn’t show anyone near the pen.”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. But this is how it was done.”

[Perhaps they were dropped from overhead.]

Right. Because our killer has his own stealth zeppelin.

“I’m going to inform Shondra,” I said. “Maybe she has some ideas.”

That was my plan, anyway. It was about time I brought Shondra up to speed on Karst, Abazu, and Gunturu, even though I might have to fudge a few details on exactly how I’d obtained some of my information. Let’s see: Abazu more or less admitted who he was and what he’d done, Karst let something slip to Oscar, and Gunturu … well, I broke into his room with the help of my shape-changing dog and stole some of his personal property. Yeah, that one was going to need a little work.