“The decision is out of my hands.”
“Perhaps you could retain her temporarily on a contract basis. After all, this incident did arise to some degree as a result of Christina’s work for your firm.”
“That’s just the difficulty,” Reynolds said. “She’s been accused of killing a client, someone the firm owes a duty of zealous loyalty. It was an unpleasant decision, but the members of the Executive Committee have spoken.”
“The members of the Executive Committee are puppets,” Christina said. “They do what you tell them to do.”
Reynolds stiffened. “I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”
Christina grabbed his lapel. “Not until you explain to me—”
“If you don’t,” Reynolds continued, “I will call security. Would you like charges for trespassing and assault to add to your collection?”
“Come on, Christina,” Ben said, tugging her arm. “This isn’t doing you any good. Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine.” Christina stomped toward the lobby. “Make sure my check gets sent to my home address,” she shouted back at Reynolds. “If it isn’t, I’ll come back for one of your Louis the Fourteenths!”
Happily, Ben managed to prevent her from kicking any priceless antiques on her way out.
Shortly after Ben and Christina left, Reynolds punched the button on his intercom phone.
“Marjorie?”
“Yes, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Can you requisition some office equipment from Central Supply? Without filling out the usual dreary forms?”
“Well…” She thought for a moment. “I can try.”
“I would appreciate it. I don’t wish to leave a written record if I can avoid it. It might, um, be accidentally produced during discovery.”
“I can probably bring it off,” she said cheerily. “Those guys in Central Supply can’t resist a pregnant woman. What do you need?”
“A paper shredder,” he said, slowly and carefully. “A large one. Industrial strength.”
17
BEN AND CHRISTINA APPROACHED a small booth in the front plaza of the Tulsa Zoo. A banner stretched across the booth identified it as belonging to the Oklahoma Society for the Protection of Other-Than-Human Lives.
“May I help you?” the woman behind the booth asked.
“We’re here to see Clayton Langdell,” Ben said. “We have an appointment.”
“He’s in the aviary at the moment. Can I interest you in a bumper sticker?”
She had two different stacks of bumper stickers; one read SAVE A SEAGULL—CLIP SIX-PACK RINGS, while the other explained that FUR ISN’T FASHIONABLE, with a bloody raccoon draped around a woman’s neck.
Ben took one of the brochures and began to read.
In 1980, the population of Spaceship Earth was 4.4 billion. In 1990, the population was 5.2 billion. Every single day, human beings move into rain forests, oceans, ice caps and prairies where once only plants and animals lived.
I get the message, Ben thought. He skipped to the last page.
Extinctions are accelerating on an exponential basis. Spaceship Earth loses as many as three species per day. By 1995, we may lose three species per hour. By 2000, twenty percent of all species currently living on this planet may be gone.
“Got anything lighter?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” the woman replied.
“I’m not surprised.” He put the brochure back on the desk.
“They’re free. Take as many as you want.”
“No thanks. Just point me to the aviary.”
The aviary was a huge sunlit building surrounded by transparent glass walls. The interior replicated a natural woodland area; it was filled with tall trees and plants and brush. Perches disguised as branches provided numerous places to rest. Exotic birds of every color and variety fluttered across the aviary, nesting, swooping, or making the proverbial lazy circles in the sky.
Ben and Christina stepped inside. “Have you ever seen that Hitchcock movie?” she asked.
“Which? North by Northwest?”
“No, stupid. The Birds.” She looked around uneasily. “They kind of give me the creeps.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re in a zoo. What could be more harmless?” Ben spotted a short, pudgy man with a bird perched on each shoulder. “That must be Langdell.”
“You go chat with him,” Christina said. “He might be inhibited if I’m around. I’ll just stay here and try not to look like carrion.”
Ben approached the man with the birds, his arm extended, and introduced himself. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“Not at all.” Langdell had improbable orange hair and a speckled turnip of a nose. He seemed born to seriousness, his face set in stern lines. “Your secretary indicated you had some vital information about cruelty to animals.”
Oh great, Ben thought. This was going to get them off to a fine start. “Well, he may have been a bit misleading.”
“You’re not here to discuss cruelty to animals?”
“Well, I am, but the animal suffering cruelty was a human animal. I’m here about Tony Lombardi.”
Langdell’s movements slowed. He shrugged slightly and the two birds on his shoulders flew off.
“I’m representing the woman accused of murdering him,” Ben added.
A tiny light flickered in Langdell’s eyes. “There’s no question about her guilt, is there?”
“There’s a supremely big question. I’m convinced she didn’t murder Tony Lombardi, and I ‘m trying to find out who did.”
“Very well then. What do you want to know?”
“Why did you go to Lombardi’s apartment the night he was killed?”
To Ben’s relief, Langdell didn’t try to deny it. “I wanted to talk to him privately.”
“Why?”
“I’d been writing letters to him for months. And attempting to reach him by telephone. He never answered, and he never returned my calls. So I decided to confront him face-to-face.”
“About what?”
“About his despicable parrot trade.”
“Despicable? Because he was using parrots as a front to smuggle drugs?”
“Is that true? I knew nothing about that, although I’m not surprised. I just wanted Lombardi to terminate his cruelty to fellow members of the animal kingdom.”
“Lombardi was cruel to the parrots he imported?”
“The practice of importing parrots is cruel in and of itself, and it ought to be abolished. Do you know how parrots are caught? Lombardi’s men, like all parrot trappers, will do anything, so long as it’s quick, efficient, and heartless. They invade the birds’ South American habitat and wantonly cut down trees so they can rob the nests. Or they trap the birds with leg snares from which the birds dangle helplessly for extended periods. Or they ignite a sulfur smudge to create a dense cloud of smoke, until the birds fall out of the trees unconscious. Then they can be plucked off the ground like ripe fruit.
“Or they simply shoot the birds’ wings with pellets to wound them so they can’t fly and can be captured easily. Of course, since wing-shooting requires good aim, which most of the trappers don’t have, more birds are killed than crippled.” Langdell’s lips tightened. “Some poor birds never have the opportunity to fly free; thanks to Lombardi and his ilk, their life begins in captivity. And ends in death.”
“Mr. Langdell, I like animals as much as the next man, but that’s not why I came here.”
Langdell glared at him. “Thirty million wild birds world-wide are caught each year for resale as pets, Kincaid.”
Ben was stunned. “Thirty million?”
“That’s right.”
“There must be some restrictions…something at Customs.”