The Only Witness (32 page)

Josh came in with her long enough to pour her a big glass of wine. "You can take the first phone calls while I grab a quick shower and something to eat. I'll be back to relieve you in half an hour."

The door slammed behind him. Outside, she heard him call, "Neema! Gumu! Yogurt! Banana!"

Grace saw that Finn had called her cell phone twice. Halfway through his message about keeping the video off the television station, her cell beeped the call waiting signal. KEBR News, the caller ID flashed. She carried the cell phone and the glass of wine to her personal trailer and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

It was going to be a long night.

By the time Finn returned to his house, Cargo had made a puddle in the kitchen. Finn was grateful the dog had spared the carpet. Lok was still MIA. Kee patrolled the doors, begging to be let out into the dark yard.

"No way." Finn scooped the cat up. "At least not by yourself." He went out onto the deck and sat in a chair for a few minutes, calling Lok and listening to the hum of insects and the occasional cry of some nocturnal bird from the surrounding woods. He scratched Kee under the chin while keeping a firm hold on the squirming cat. Neither of them was happy about the situation, and Kee eventually dug his claws into Finn's thigh.

"Stop that!" He stood up, tucked the cat under his arm, and went back into the house. "You never know what's out there," he told Kee. "Could be something that wants to eat you. Could even be gorillas."

He couldn't bring himself to try Grace again, or to watch the late news. He drank two beers and went to bed. Kee slept on his spare pillow.

Chapter
22

Seventeen days after Ivy disappears

By morning, everyone in the area knew that two gorillas were on the loose in the county. Half the residents were out traipsing through the countryside, hoping to catch a glimpse of wild apes careening through the Cascade foothills. The Sheriff called in the Fish and Wildlife capture experts.

"Never dealt with gorillas before," their spokesman said on camera. "But we've got gear we use to capture mountain lions and bears. We'll figure something out."

Grace sat watching events unfold on television with Matt by her side on the couch. The kittens Snow and Nest bounced around them on the floor, attacking Neema's toys and each other. Matt had been with her for nearly two hours, fidgeting, but hanging in there. It was an awkward situation. They barely knew each other, but there was definitely an attraction between them. They were both heavily invested in bringing the gorillas home and salvaging their professional reputations. She knew Matt felt guilty for getting her into this mess, but then, he hadn't, really. She called the tip line; she provided the only lead in his case. Or actually, Neema had. Neema, his only witness, who was out there, lost in the forest.

Grace had no faith in the capture experts. "Half the time these guys injure the animals so badly during a capture that the animals have to be killed," she told Matt.

"At least Josh is there," Matt pointed to Josh on the screen. He climbed into a Jeep with a couple of uniforms.

She saw way too many guns among the crowd on the screen. "Josh can't be everywhere," she moaned. "He can't stop the trigger-happy volunteer who shoots when Gumu panics and rushes him."

The TV station manager remained true to her promise not to air the video, but the reporters kept referring to an 'anonymous YouTube video' that showed gorillas escaping from a compound in the county.

"Want me to subpoena the user record from YouTube?" Matt asked.

"What's the point?" Grace ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Had she combed it since yesterday? Her eyes felt like they were full of sand. "I just don't know what to do," she whined.

He patted her on the forearm. "Did you stay up all night?"

She nodded. "More or less. I took a sleeping bag out into the yard in case they came back. I dozed once in awhile, on top of the picnic table."

The phone buzzed again. Grace picked it up and checked the ID. "Oh lord, it's the University." She stared at the ringing phone for a moment longer. Hell, how much worse could it get? She swallowed hard, then answered, "Dr. McKenna."

"Dr. McKenna, this is Norman Childers from the University Facilities Department. I'm in charge of all physical inventory owned by the university. We've just become aware of the situation in Evansburg. Is it true your two gorillas have escaped?"

There seemed to be little point in explaining that Gumu had been let out of his pen by a trespasser. She said simply, "Yes." She stood up, the phone still held to her ear.

"Those gorillas are valuable property."

"Actually, they are valuable
beings
," she said.

A brief silence ensued. He was probably debating what to say next. "You were entrusted with their care."

"I've cared for them for almost nine years," she reminded him.

"Do the gorillas actually have something to do with this missing baby case?"

"Yes." She wasn't going to explain the complex witness situation to some bean counter.

"Please keep us posted on the situation." He hung up.

"What was that about?" Matt asked.

"My boss wanted to make sure I was suffering appropriately," she said.

"I could vouch for that if you need a witness," he told her.

The phone buzzed in her hand.
McKenna, Maureen.
"Mom," she answered.

"I got your email," her mother said. "How are you holding up? Is there any news?"

"As well as I can," Grace told her. "As for news—I lost half my grant money, my job might be next, and the gorillas are still lost out there." She bit her lip, struggling not to cry like a little girl.

"You could always come back to the Bay area. I know you could get a job teaching at one of the community colleges; get a chance to use your education."

This was a common theme with her parents. They were both full professors; they'd never understood how Grace could do research with animals. A teaching job did sound good right now, clean and safe and easy.

"But what would I do with the gorillas?" she asked.

Her mother didn't respond. They'd had this conversation a hundred times. There was never an easy answer to that question. It hung in the ether between them, even more unbearable now because Grace knew that Maureen McKenna was thinking, maybe even wishing, that the gorillas might soon disappear forever from her daughter's life.

"Well," her mother finally said, "Just remember that coming home is always an option, Gracie."

Grace put the phone on the end table and plopped back down on the couch. She caught herself rubbing the scar on her lip. Matt was watching. Why couldn't she break that habit? She lowered her hand. "Cleft palate repair," she told him. "I had multiple surgeries; I didn't learn to talk properly until I was five."

"That explains the sign language."

"You got it," she told him.

A helicopter cruised low over the compound for the third time, its rotor blades thundering through the flimsy trailer walls. Matt stepped outside to study it, and she followed. Medium-sized, plain black. Probably a rental. Could be a news crew or Fish and Wildlife personnel inside.

"They're like buzzards," Matt remarked.

Like raptors hovering in the sky. Yes. Why hadn't she thought of the opportunity before? She stepped off the tiny porch, waving to the chopper. "Hey!" She galloped to the center of the yard, yelling, "Hey!" and pointing alternately to the helicopter and to the ground. "Come down!" she shouted. "Land!"

She could barely hear her own words over the whop-whop-whop of the blades. After a few seconds, Matt pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Bringing it to his ear, he shouted, "Detective Finn."

Then he trotted to her, holding out the phone. "The chopper pilot. For you."

"I want a ride," she shouted into the phone. She gestured to the ground again and backed away from the open space. Finn followed. She cupped her hands around the phone to shield it from the surrounding noise. "Please land."

To her amazement, the helicopter descended. The Forest Service ranger inside agreed to take her to help spot the gorillas. She piled in. In a cloud of blowing grit and thundering racket, they took off. As they headed for the forest, she saw Matt slide into his car.

Noah Morgan looked surprised to see Finn standing on his doorstep. "Detective?"

"No news," Finn told him. He held out the laptop. "I brought Brittany's computer back."

"C'mon in," the man waved him inside. "Susan's at work. The rest of us are in the living room."

Brittany sat on the couch in front of the television, which displayed a movie. In a chair to the left sprawled little brother Danny, using rapid-fire thumbs to play a game on a small device he held in his hands. Brittany's hands were folded in her lap, her gaze fixed on her knees.

Noah forced a bright note into his voice. "Detective Finn! We saw that story about gorillas last night on the news. What in the world is going on?"

"I can't talk about it," Finn told him. He turned to Brittany and held out the laptop with both hands. "Brittany, I brought your computer back."

She didn't even raise her head. Her hair was clean and combed into a ponytail, and she was dressed neatly in jeans and a T-shirt, but she was as lifeless as a mannequin. Pale yellow and purple bruises still circled her neck.

"Brittany…" Noah said in the low tone that parents used to warn their children.

The girl's gaze rose to meet Finn's. Her blue eyes were as cool and vacant as lake water. Moving robotically, she held out her arms. He placed the laptop in her hands.

"Thanks." She settled it in her lap, folded her hands on top of the computer, and looked up at the television.

On the screen, a girl in a soccer uniform scored a goal and the room filled with raucous cheers of the television crowd.

"Good one," Noah said. His reaction seemed forced.

It was like watching a movie at a funeral. The atmosphere was claustrophobic. Danny was probably oblivious, but Noah radiated anxiety, and Brittany was the embodiment of total despair. This was worse than informing a family about the death of a loved one. At least that was final. This was like awaiting the walk to the electric chair, all the while hoping for a last-minute reprieve.

"Can I talk to Brittany alone for a moment?" Finn finally asked.

"I guess so," Noah murmured. He placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Brittany, why don't you take your computer and Detective Finn up to your room? But remember—say nothing about the case. Just like the lawyer told you."

Finn cringed inwardly. Obviously, Brittany's father thought he was out to convict the girl. "I won't ask her any questions," he said. "I assure you, I have her best interests at heart."

"Right," Noah said.

"Come if you want," Finn told him.

Noah eyed his daughter. She seemed nearly catatonic.

The phone rang three times, and then the answering machine picked up. "If you have a tip about Ivy—"

Noah was clearly straining to listen. Brittany didn't seem interested. Her father flapped a hand in her direction. "Just go," he said. "I'll be up in a second."

The girl stood up, tucked the laptop under her arm, and marched woodenly up the stairs. Finn followed her to her bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

She put her computer on her desk. There was an odd little winged baby dress lying over the desk chair. Brittany sat on her neatly made bed and pulled a little white teddy bear into her lap. Her eyes watched the floor.

"Brittany, please look at me."

She did. Her expression was as flat as if Botox flooded every facial muscle. She was probably full of tranquilizers. He had to give this poor girl something to think about other than death. "You know that news story about the gorillas?" he asked.

She nodded dully, as if it were an everyday occurrence for gorillas to romp through the woods around Evansburg. He moved the winged green thing from the chair to the desk. Then he pulled out her chair and turned it around, straddled it and crossed his arms on the top of the backrest.

He caught her gaze, and said softly, "You can't tell anyone what I'm going to say to you. It's our secret."

She swallowed, but didn't even blink. She was paying attention, though. He could feel her waiting.

"One of those gorillas—her name is Neema—might have the key to finding Ivy."

Life returned to Brittany's eyes, as if a different person had suddenly dropped into her body. She leaned forward. "How?" she asked.

What had she expected to see from the helicopter? Grace frowned. There was little to view below except for endless treetops, an occasional rock outcropping, logging roads and trailside parking lots. No shaggy black lumps of apes careening through the trees.

Grace tried to visualize the wilderness surroundings through Neema's eyes. Trees everywhere. Neema loved to climb trees, but the straight tall firs with their closely packed branches didn't lend themselves to easy climbing by thick-bodied apes.