The Night Falconer (14 page)

She pressed her bee stung lips together, but said nothing.

“I’d like to hear more about your agenda in this whole thing,” I said.

She said nothing.

I waited.

“Well,” she said. “As I told you, it’s no secret I’m an active supporter of a humane-based animal rights organization with headquarters here in the city. When the article appeared in the newspapers, somehow that fact was highlighted above most of the others.”

“People want to sell newspapers,” I said.

“I suppose. But the unfortunate consequence is that another group of individuals, primarily activist birdwatchers upset with domestic cats running loose … well, you know what they do.”

“Kill small birds.”

“Yes, some have been known to do that. And these bird people have somehow become convinced, based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever, that this owl was actually attacked by my cat and that I’ve concocted the whole story about my cat being missing.”

The picture was becoming a little clearer. “So you thought you’d okay Darla bringing Nicole and me in to help placate the birdwatchers.”

“That was part of the reason, yes.”

“But now this looks like it may turn into something a whole lot more.”

“Yes.”

“Just so we’re all on the same page here,” I said.

“One more thing you should know,” she said.

“I can’t wait.”

“We have a hearing scheduled tomorrow in housing court against Watisi.”

“All right.”

“Some protestors may show up.”

“In the middle of what has become a murder investigation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sounds like the fun is just beginning,” I said.

15

Back at Grayland Tower, Apartment 11C, another end unit a few floors below Dr. Lonigan’s, belonged to a Mr. Mitchell Collins. At least, according to the list in my hand. Collins was the owner of one of the other missing pets, also a cat. With a couple of hours still to go before our appointment up in Harlem, Nicole had struck out so far. I pitched in to help. Collins’ occupation was listed as international manufacturing consultant.

Ringing the bell, I couldn’t help noticing the micro surveillance camera embedded in one of the wall sconces framing his apartment door. Apparently, Dominic Watisi wasn’t the only one concerned with hyper-security at his residence. On the other hand, maybe it was routine for the likes of Grayland Tower. Protection for the paranoid.

After pushing the bell three times to no avail, I was just about to cross Collins off my list, when I saw a shadow move across the peephole from inside. Someone was home.

A deadbolt was thrown, the regular lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal a tall, silver-haired man, trim for his age, with a runny nose and blood-soaked eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was sleeping and didn’t hear the bell.”

“Sorry to wake you, Mr. Collins.”

“That’s all right. What can I do for you?”

He was dressed in a slightly wrinkled oxford button-down and stylish corduroy trousers with pleats. An odd choice, I thought, for a sweltering summer evening, but in the air-conditioned sanctum of his apartment, perhaps not.

“My name’s Frank Pavlicek. I’m a private investigator looking into the missing pets from the building. I was hoping to talk to you about your cat.”

He looked me up and down for a moment. “Of course. Of course, come in.”

He pulled the door open wider and stepped aside, allowing me to enter. I caught a whiff of something medicinal on his breath.

Collins’ apartment was almost identical in layout to Lonigan’s, but his décor couldn’t have been more different. The place looked like a museum. From the entrance hall to the sitting room on our right, to as far as I could see down the hallway leading to the great room, the floors and walls were covered with thick oriental carpets and grass mat. Tapestries, wooden carvings, various type of weaponry including a spear, a shield and two blowguns, exotic African headdresses, paintings and photos of the Serengeti, and the like—all added to the display.

“You’re a collector, I see.”

“Yes,” he said. “My curse, I’m afraid. The fewer historical artifacts there are left in the world, the more I seem to have to have them.”

“African?”

“Yes, but that’s just what you see here. It’s why you caught me napping too. My flight from Cameroon was delayed and didn’t get into JFK until almost four a.m.”

“Cameroon. That would be Sudan, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“A buying trip?”

He looked at a side table in the hall where an ebony statue of a slender naked woman with a basket on her stomach rested between a pair of ivory candlesticks. “Not for these type of items, I’m afraid. A client of mine, a tractor parts manufacturer with a factory there, has been having some labor negotiations difficulties. Things have grown rather testy so I had to go over for a couple of days.”

“Long trip for such a short time.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“From the news, it doesn’t sound like the most stable place in the world. A lot of killing. The Janjaweed in Darfur.”

“That’s in the South of the country. I try not to involve myself in local politics.”

He led me down the hall toward the great room, but turned right down another corridor that opened into a smaller room.

“I hope you don’t mind if we talk in my office. I seem to spend most of my time here, and it’s where Domino liked to spend most of her time too.

“Domino?”

“My cat.”

“Domino your only pet?”

“Yes. She’s been missing now for a week and a half.”

“So I understand. I’m sorry.”

We entered the room, a light and palm filled atrium complete with a large desk, a desktop computer and two laptops, laser printer, and numerous engineering drawings.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, beckoning to a leather side chair in front of the desk.

“Why so many computers?” I asked.

“I’m a tech-geek, I guess. I like to play with them in my spare time.”

He sat in his own high-back chair behind the desk and flipped open an ornate silver box next to him beside the telephone. From it, he extracted a cigarette.

“You smoke?” he asked.

“No.”

“Hope you don’t mind if I do. Nasty habit. I cut way back for a while, but seem to have picked it back up again.”

“It’s your house.”

He nodded and lifted a large wooden match from a compartment inside the box, striking it against the back of the desk and lighting his cigarette. He drew in a deep draught of smoke, leaned his head back, and exhaled toward the ceiling.

“So you’re looking for the missing pets. Are you working for Korva Lonigan?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I hope you can find Domino.”

“How long have you owned her?”

“Domino? Oh, I don’t know. I’d say it must be four, five years. She belonged to my ex-wife, until the woman decided to become allergic about the same time she was throwing me out of the house.”

“So you ended up with the cat.”

“Cold bargain, eh?”

“Was that when you moved in here?”

“That’s right. About ten months ago, just after the building opened up again.”

“And your wife, excuse me, I mean your ex-wife still lives in your old home?”

“Yes. Over in Saddlebrook.”

“Any kids?”

“No. Just the two of us and the kitty.”

“What made you decide to move into the city?”

He blew out another puff of smoke. “I wanted to be where the action is. I’ve always wanted to live in Manhattan, especially here on the park. Business is going well, despite the divorce. I’m single again. I could afford it.” He shrugged.

“How’d you pick this particular building?”

“A realtor showed it to me when it was under renovation.”

“Maybe Domino had trouble adjusting to her new environment, somehow found her way downstairs, and decided to strike out for greener pastures.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. My wife was the one who adored Domino, but at least I wasn’t sneezing all over her every other second. She was safe here. I gave her her space. A cat needs space. You own one?”

“No.”

“No pets of any kind?”

“I have a bird.”

“Really?” He stamped out his cigarette looking interested. “What type of bird?”

“A hawk named Torch.”

“A hawk. Hey, now that is cool.”

“Yes,” I said. “Tell me about what happened when you first noticed Domino was missing.”

“If you’re working for Dr. Lonigan, you’re no doubt already aware about her theory regarding what happened to our pets.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever owned an owl?”

“No, but I know people who do.”

“Could someone have made one kill our pets?”

“First of all, if it’s a wild bird, you don’t really make a wild bird of prey do anything. You work with their natural instincts. They respond because of their hunger.”

“All right then, assuming the owl was hungry enough. Theoretically, could it have killed my cat?”

“Yes.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“But before we start jumping to assumptions, which is what everybody seems to want to do around here, why don’t you tell me exactly how you found out Domino was missing.”

“I … “ He looked down at hands. “It was all so idiotic.”

I waited.

“I’d been out with some customers. Drinking. We’d hit quite a few bars in midtown. I took a cab home. It was late.” He laughed, shaking his head in a mocking sort of way. “It was my own stupidity, you see? For some reason I got it in my head that Domino needed a walk. He’s an indoor cat with a litter box in New York City, but, as I say, I’d had a little too much too drink. And Domino has a leash, from when we used to live in New Jersey.”

“So you took him outside.”

“Yes.”

“What time was this?”

“I don’t remember, exactly. But it must have been well after two. The bar closed at two.”

“Anybody see you?”

“Yes, the security guard downstairs, I think, although I wasn’t really paying all that much attention.”

“What happened then?”

“That’s where it gets strange, you see. I’m not really sure what happened. I mean, I remember going out with Domino on her leash, but I don’t remember coming back in with her. The next thing I remember I was back upstairs in bed in my apartment.”

“Was that when you realized Domino was gone?”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “I’m afraid it might have been all my fault.”

“Had you heard of any other missing pets in the building before this happened?”

“No. I think mine might have been the first.”

“And the guard didn’t say anything when you walked back in without your cat? You don’t remember doing or seeing anything else?”

“No. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m to blame for this whole mess. Maybe I let my cat go when I shouldn’t have and this owl caught him and got a taste for cat blood or whatever.”

“Have you found any trace of Domino since she disappeared?”

“No. Not like some of the others. Nothing.”

I looked over the list of apartment owners Darla had given us and compared it with the list of those involved in the lawsuit with Watisi.

“I see you’re not involved in the dispute that some of the other owners are having with the developer.”

“No,” he said. “That is, not directly. I guess we all are though, in a way. It affects all of our properties.”

“Good point.”

“Do you think my cat’s dead, Mr. Pavlicek?”

“She could be.”

He drew in a raggedy breath, as if he were struggling to get hold of his emotions.

“I’m sorry. You must have really cared for this cat.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it at all. Don’t you see?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“This thing keeps hitting the papers like it has?”

“Yeah.”

“Sooner or later my ex-wife is going to find out.”

“You mean you haven’t told her?”

He shook his head.

We stared at one another in silence for a moment.

“She’s going to eviscerate me,” he finally said.

16

“Oh, boy,” I said.

“What?”

We were about to head out the door for our appointment with Damon Hicks’ sister and brother. Nicole, deep in thought, was clicking away at her laptop on the kitchen table of our temporary apartment. I had just finished talking on my cell phone, which had purred as I was looking over her shoulder.

“That was Jackson Miller.”

“I thought he wasn’t going to get back to you for a couple of days,” Nicole said.

“He said after he talked to me, curiosity got the better of him. He was able to track down a friend who’s a dealer on Long Island, who Emailed another dealer here in the city, who talked to another dealer who was able to document the existence of The Book Of The Mews.”

“Awesome.”

“It gets even better. Jackson is forwarding us an Email from the dealer who actually sold the book five years ago.”

“Does he remember who he sold it to?”

“Oh yeah. He remembers. It was Dominic Watisi.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Couldn’t make that one up if I tried. Anyway, we’ve got documentary evidence of the sale.”

“Watisi’s fingerprints are all over this now.”

“Maybe.”

“What should we do now?”

I picked up the keys to Lonigan’s Porsche that Nicole had left on the table. “We keep our appointment. We still need to try to find out what Cato Raines’ role is in this and how that falconry lure ended up next to those two bodies last night. After that, we’ll talk with Darla and Dr. Lonigan, hook up with Darla, and see if our falconer shows up tonight.”

“What about going to the police, see if we can get them to serve a search warrant on Watisi?”

“It’s still only circumstantial evidence,” I said.

“But that’s a pretty big circumstance.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s bothering you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just getting a funny feeling that there is more to this story than we’re seeing.”

“One step at a time, you’ve always told me.”

“Sure. One step at a time.”

We took the elevator downstairs. Jayani Miller was working the security desk again, this time by herself.