To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (33 page)

“Terrible thing, an empty hand,” said Oscar. “Where is that damn drinks trolley?”

“Being serviced,” I said. “Astoria, can you get Oscar a drink before he expires of severe alcohol deficiency?”

“Something’s better than nothing,” said Karst. It appeared he’d decided to take full advantage of his last night here, and had begun by trying to empty the bar. “What’s on offer?”

“How about the truth?” said ZZ. “Let’s start with you, Mr. Karst. Or should I say Mr. Shreck?”

Jaro raised his glass in a mock salute. “If you insist. I’ve been called worse.”

“Mr. Shreck is not a conservationist at all,” said ZZ. “He’s a big-game hunter. His interest in Augustus was in auctioning off the right to kill him. Isn’t that right, Mr. Shreck?”

Karst gave her a drunken grin. “That’s about the size of it, love. Hunting things is what I’m good at, and Gus would have made one helluva trophy. Too late now, though, eh? Some coward took him out with poison instead.” He glanced around at the shocked faces of the other guests. “Which one of you was it? They say poison’s a woman’s choice of murder weapon, most times. Maybe Miss Yao thought it’d be cheaper to ship him in a box than a cage.”

Zhen glared at him. “You…” She broke off and spat something in Cantonese. It didn’t sound complimentary.

Abazu shook his head gravely. “I would not be so quick to point an accusing finger, sir. You are the person who came here with murder in his heart.”

“I’m not the only one,” snarled Karst.

“Certainly not the only one who lied to all of us,” said ZZ. “But perhaps that should wait until after we’ve eaten. Ah, here’s the soup.”

Bowls of steaming chowder were set down in front of us. ZZ smiled brightly at everyone and dipped a spoon in hers.

The table ate quietly. ZZ and I had talked about this beforehand; we’d worked out a strategy to maximize the strain on the killer through carefully spaced-out parceling of information, some of it accusatory, some of it misleading. We were going to play with the killer’s expectations like two kittens with a Ping-Pong ball, batting it back and forth until a certain person was ready to crack.

“I say,” remarked Oscar. “This is bloody good soup.”

Oscar was not privy to the plan.

The main course, when it arrived, was wild mushroom ravioli in a cream sauce, with roasted vegetables on the side. It was very good, but some people’s appetites were better than others: Zhen Yao ate only a few bites, while Abazu mostly pushed his around on his plate. Karst gobbled his, though, and Rajiv Gunturu ate with the same solemn precision he seemed to apply to all endeavors.

Finally, Zhen Yao summoned the nerve to bring up what was on her mind. “Excuse me, Ms. ZZ, but I must ask why you are reconsidering your decision. It is most unfair after you promised Augustus to my organization.”

“That was before new information came to light,” said ZZ. “Foxtrot?”

I wiped my mouth with my napkin and picked up the remote beside my plate. It was a handy little device, keyed to ZZ’s laptop, which in turn was plugged into the large wallscreens on three sides of the table. You could use the remote to perform simple functions on the laptop—like calling up a file or picture—by hitting a single button.

Which I did. Each of the three screens now displayed the same image: a picture of the raw, uncut crystal that came to be known as the Cullinan Diamond. It was virtually the same as the pic I’d found on Gunturu’s thumb drive, but I’d pulled this one off the Internet. “How many of you know what this is?” I asked.

“A big chunk of rock,” Karst volunteered. Neither Abazu nor Rajiv said a word, but they were both watching me warily.

“An uncut diamond,” Oscar said. “Rather a large one, too. I have no idea of its relevance, though. This isn’t going to devolve into a game of charades, is it?”

“No, Oscar,” said ZZ. “This is why Augustus was killed. Someone at this table thought Augustus could lead them to the other half of this diamond. Would you like to know how?”

Oscar took a sip of his drink. “Am I supposed to speculate? Very well. Augustus’s unique genetic makeup gave him the ability to detect oversized uncut gemstones at a distance.”

I sighed. “No.”

“Then perhaps the stone is in the possession of someone who values a white liger over wealth, and is therefore willing to trade.”

ZZ and I glanced at each other. “Not bad,” said ZZ.

“But untrue,” said Abazu. He took his steel-rimmed glasses off and polished them with his napkin. “I see what you are implying. But my only desire was to acquire Augustus himself, not as a means to an end.”

“No?” I said. “Mr. Chukwukadibia has also been less than honest about his motives, which leads me to question his sincerity now. It seems he came here not as the representative of an environmental group, but as a member of an African secret society—one with its own agenda concerning Augustus.”

Abazu’s face was impassive. He replaced his glasses carefully, then said, “That claim is absurd. I invite you to prove otherwise.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” said ZZ. “At least until after dessert.”

“This is why I hate charades,” declared Oscar. “Delayed gratification. Two words that should never be seated next to each other.”

Dessert was cherries jubilee. Ben himself came out to flambé them, and took the excuse to lean over and murmur in my ear. “How’s it going?”

“We’re turning up the heat,” I murmured back.

Dessert was consumed quickly and nervously. Glasses were refilled, coffee was served.

Rajiv Gunturu was the one who finally spoke. “I suppose it’s my turn next.”

ZZ gave him a cold smile as she stirred her coffee. “And why would you suppose that, Mr. Gunturu?”

Rajiv shrugged. “A simple process of elimination. As you’ve uncovered the true motives of both Mr. Karst and Mr. Chukwukadibia, I presume you’ve done the same for me. Or am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong,” said ZZ.

“Very well, then. This stone of which you speak—it is a legend. Speculation on behalf of the man who originally examined the Cullinan. No hard evidence of such a stone exists—though for many years it was rumored to be in the possession of a secretive cult.” He glanced at Abazu as he said this, who stared calmly back. “Until recently, that is. Bandits in Mpumalanga Province, South Africa, raided a small village and took away with them an ornate, locked box. Within it they discovered what they took for a large chunk of quartz or some other such mineral. They sold it to an arms merchant who then traded it to a drug dealer. No one suspected its true value for some time. When that value was finally uncovered, much blood was shed. Those who possessed the stone found themselves cursed, for they could neither claim it nor sell it without risking prison or death. In this way it passed through several hands, until it came into the possession of a man named Branco Gamboa.”

“Augustus’s previous owner,” I said. “An associate of yours.”

If the revelation bothered him, he didn’t show it. “Strictly in a professional sense. And by that, I mean my profession, not his. I am, you see, a professional lapidary—a gem cutter. I can say with perfect certainty that the other half of the Cullinan crystal exists, for I am the one who cut it.”

“You did
what
?” Abazu gasped.

“Cut, shaped, and polished it,” answered Rajiv calmly. “It produced a gemstone of approximately seven hundred and five carats, the largest diamond in the world. As such, it is literally without price. But Gamboa, like many of his ilk, cared less about adding to his illicit fortune than he did about his pride. He already owned the only white liger in existence, and now he owned the largest diamond. I am quite sure that he intended to have me killed as soon as my job was finished, but I managed to escape and alert the authorities. Gamboa was killed in the resulting battle.”

“But the diamond wasn’t found,” I said. “And you thought that somehow Augustus would lead you to it?”

“I know he will. Gamboa used to brag that his mightiest treasure would guard his most valuable, and I believe I know what he meant. The gem is hidden, but the liger holds the location.”

“You are more right than you know,” said Abazu. “But you will never find it, for you do not have eyes to see.”

“A tattoo,” said Karst. “That’s what he’s talking about, isn’t he? A bloody treasure map, tattooed on Augustus’s skin.”

Zhen Yao shook her head. “This is all very confusing. Diamonds? Cults? Treasure maps? I thought we were all here for the same reason.”

“I am sorry to disillusion you, Ms. Yao,” said Rajiv. “But the truth of the matter is far stranger—and more dangerous—than you know.”

“Good Lord,” said Oscar. “Is this why that hoodlum Navarro was so keen?”

“Perhaps,” said Rajiv. “His master and Gamboa are no doubt known to each other, and competition for the gaudiest trophy amongst these kind of criminals is legendary.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “For a gem worth that much, Navarro’s boss wouldn’t have given up so easily; he would have taken it by force.”

Rajiv leaned forward intently. “Exactly. Which is why I suggest a partnership.”

“Explain,” said ZZ.

“It is not merely a matter of searching Augustus’s body for a map, like some zoological version of
Treasure Island,
” said Rajiv. “Gamboa was far more cunning than that. The information to be gleaned is encoded, and only I possess the key to understanding it.”

“You have the key,” said ZZ, “and we have the body. What are you proposing?”

Rajiv leaned back. “A fair split. One half of the profits for you, one half for me. Otherwise, neither of us gets a thing.”

“Hold on now,” said Karst. “Shouldn’t we be included in this little endeavor?”

“I don’t see why,” said Rajiv coldly. “You have nothing to offer.”

“Untrue,” said Oscar. “Silence, after all, is golden. And gold, while not worth as much as diamonds, is still a valuable commodity. So perhaps you should consider investing in the benefits of bullion so as to acquire even greater profits in the field of gem acquisition.”

“Or,” said Karst, “you could just pay us to keep our mouths shut. Seeing as how this little sparkler of yours seems to come linked to a whole series of murders and whatnot.”

Rajiv glared at him. “Very well. Five percent to each of you for your cooperation. That is a great deal of money for doing absolutely nothing.”

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” ZZ said. “But completely speculative. After all, we don’t even know if there is anything on Augustus’s body.”

“Then we should find out,” said Rajiv.

“Wait!” said Zhen. “What are you suggesting? That you remove all the fur from his corpse? I cannot allow this!”

“Nor can I,” said Abazu. “It is disrespectful.”

“Neither of you has any say in the matter,” snapped ZZ. “The disposition of the body is my decision to make, and I don’t intend to make any decision at all until I know one thing for certain:
Which one of you killed Augustus?”

Silence.

“I did,” said Oscar. “To mitigate my crime I’d like to offer the services of my electric razor. Also, I’d prefer my five percent in bearer bonds if at all possible.”

“Hush, Oscar,” said ZZ. “Well? Is no one willing to step forward?”

Rajiv Gunturu shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was me,” he said.

“Was it?” said Abazu. “You greedy, greedy man. You’d confess to anything to get your money.”

“If you did it, tell us how,” I said. I already knew, of course—but I wanted corroboration.

“I used balloons filled with antifreeze,” said Rajiv. “Launched from the third-floor deck with a large slingshot. I filled them with a pump designed to inflate sports balls—all obtained from what is called, I believe, a ‘dollar store.’ I disposed of the materials afterward in a Dumpster, and was careful to leave no evidence of my presence behind.”

And it was that lack of evidence that had told Whiskey and I who the killer had to be. If it had been Karst, there would have been traces of nicotine from his fingers; if it had been Abazu, Whiskey would have detected chemicals like monosodium glutamate from the American junk food he was so enamored of. Zhen Yao, of course, had no reason to kill Augustus, and Navarro had stayed in his room all night.

But it was still satisfying to hear the killer confess.

Yao was staring at him with horror, Abazu stonily. Karst seemed more amused than anything, and ZZ was carefully showing no emotion at all. And Oscar? Oscar was having another drink.

Rajiv wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Do not judge me. What is the life of one animal—no matter how singular—compared with the largest diamond in existence?”

“There is no comparison,” said Abazu. His voice held more grief than anger. “None at all.”

“My actions do not matter now,” said Rajiv. “There is still the matter of the stone itself. Do we have an agreement?”

Everyone looked to ZZ for her answer.

“Mr. Gunturu,” she said. “There is—”

She was interrupted by a loud sound from outside. A powerful motor revving, followed by metal smashing into metal.

“What was that?” ZZ asked.

The engine noise was getting louder. I sprang to my feet and rushed over to the window, where I had a view of the front drive. A large dump truck was roaring up it, the remains of the locked gate still hanging crookedly from one fender.

“We’re being invaded,” I said. “By angry landscapers, apparently.” I already had my mobile out and had punched in 911. Nothing. My phone told me I had no service.

“Foxtrot, what’s happening?” Oscar demanded.

The dump truck slammed to a halt. Half a dozen men jumped out of the truck bed, and they did indeed fit the stereotype of groundskeepers: Latino, dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, wearing work boots and bandannas.

But their bandannas covered their lower faces, and those weren’t leaf blowers or shovels in their hands. They were automatic weapons.

“Looks like Navarro wasn’t willing to take no for an answer after all,” I said.

*   *   *

ZZ didn’t have a panic room.

It was the first big fight Shondra and ZZ had. Shondra insisted on one, while ZZ absolutely refused. “This is my home, not a fortress,” she said. “I hired you so I wouldn’t
need
a panic room. Are you telling me you can’t do your job?”