“KOVO WAS ONE OF OUR MOST POPULAR EXHIBITS. HE WAS WITH US nearly eighteen years, so we were all heartbroken when he had to be euthanized.” Dr. Mikovitz spoke in the hushed voice of a grieving family member, and judging by the many photos displayed on the walls of his office, the animals in the Suffolk Zoo were indeed like family to him. With his wiry red hair and wisp of a goatee, Dr. Mikovitz looked like a zoo denizen himself, perhaps some exotic species of monkey with wise dark eyes that now regarded Jane and Frost across his desk. “We haven’t yet issued any press release about it, so I was startled when Dr. Isles inquired whether we’d had any recent losses in our large-cat collection. How on earth did she know?”
“Dr. Isles is good at sniffing out all sorts of obscure information,” said Jane.
“Yes, well, she certainly caught us by surprise. It’s something of a, well, sensitive matter.”
“The death of a zoo animal? Why?”
“Because he had to be euthanized. That always gets negative reactions. And Kovo was a very rare animal.”
“What day was this done?”
“It was Sunday morning. Our veterinarian Dr. Oberlin came in to administer the lethal injection. Kovo’s kidneys had been failing for some time and he’d lost a great deal of weight. Dr. Rhodes pulled him off exhibit a month ago, to spare him the stress of being in public. We hoped we could pull him through this illness, but Dr. Oberlin and Dr. Rhodes finally agreed that it was time to do it. Much as it grieved them both.”
“Dr. Rhodes is another veterinarian?”
“No, Alan is an expert on large-cat behavior. He knew Kovo better than anyone else did. He’s the one who delivered Kovo to the taxidermist.” Dr. Mikovitz glanced up at a knock on his door. “Ah, here’s Alan now.”
The title Large-Cat Expert conjured up images of a rugged outdoorsman in safari clothes. The man who walked into the office was indeed wearing a khaki uniform with dusty trousers and stray burrs clinging to his fleece jacket, as if he’d just come off a hiking trail, but there was nothing particularly rugged about Rhodes’s pleasantly open face. In his late thirties, with springy dark hair, he had the block-shaped head of Frankenstein’s monster, but a friendly version.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Rhodes, clapping dust from his pant legs. “We had an incident at the lion enclosure.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” said Dr. Mikovitz.
“No fault of the cats. It’s the damn kids. Some teenager thought he’d prove his manhood, so he climbed the outer fence and fell into the moat. I had to go in and drag him out.”
“Oh my God. Are we going to have any liability issues?”
“I doubt it. He was never in any real danger, and I think he found it so humiliating he’ll never tell a soul.” Rhodes gave a pained smile to Jane and Frost. “Just another fun day with idiot humans. My lions, at least, have more than an ounce of common sense.”
“This is Detective Rizzoli, Detective Frost,” said Mikovitz.
Rhodes extended a callused hand to them. “I’m Dr. Alan Rhodes. I’m a wildlife biologist specializing in felid behavior. All cats, large and small.” He glanced at Mikovitz. “So have they found Kovo?”
“I don’t know, Alan. They just arrived, and we haven’t gotten to that subject yet.”
“Well, we need to know.” Rhodes turned back to Jane and Frost. “Animal pelts deteriorate quite rapidly after death. If it isn’t immediately harvested and processed, it loses its value.”
“How valuable is a snow leopard pelt?” asked Frost.
“Considering how few of the animals there are in the world?” Rhodes shook his head. “I’d say priceless.”
“And that’s why you wanted the animal stuffed.”
“Stuffed is rather an inelegant term,” said Mikovitz. “We wanted Kovo preserved in all his beauty.”
“And that’s why you brought him to Leon Gott.”
“For skinning and mounting. Mr. Gott is—was—one of the best taxidermists in the country.”
“Did you know him personally?” asked Jane.
“Only by reputation.”
Jane looked at the large-cat expert. “And you, Dr. Rhodes?”
“I met him for the first time when Debra and I delivered Kovo to his house,” said Rhodes. “I was shocked this morning when I heard about his murder. I mean, we’d just seen him alive on Sunday.”
“Tell me about that day. What you saw, what you heard at his house.”
Rhodes glanced at Mikovitz, as if to confirm he should answer their questions.
“Go ahead, Alan,” said Mikovitz. “It’s a murder investigation, after all.”
“Okay.” Rhodes took a breath. “On Sunday morning, Greg—Dr. Oberlin, our veterinarian—euthanized Kovo. According to the agreement, we had to deliver the carcass immediately to the taxidermist. Kovo weighed over a hundred pounds, so one of our zookeepers, Debra Lopez, assisted me. It was a pretty sad drive. I worked with that cat for twelve years, and we had a bond, the two of us. Which sounds insane, because you can’t really trust a leopard. Even a supposedly tame one can kill you, and Kovo was certainly large enough to bring down a man. But I never felt threatened by him. I never sensed any aggression in him at all. It’s almost as if he understood I was his friend.”
“What time did you arrive at Mr. Gott’s house on Sunday?”
“Around ten A.M., I guess. Debra and I brought him straight there, because the carcass needs to be skinned as soon as possible.”
“Did you talk much with Mr. Gott?”
“We stayed awhile. He was really excited about working on a snow leopard. It’s such a rare animal, he’d never handled one before.”
“Did he seem at all worried about anything?”
“No. Just euphoric about the opportunity. We carried Kovo into his garage, then he brought us into the house to show us the animals he’s mounted over the years.” Rhodes shook his head. “I know he was proud of his work, but I found it sad. All those beautiful creatures killed just to be trophies. But then, I’m a biologist.”
“I’m not a biologist,” said Frost. “But I found it pretty sad, too.”
“That’s their culture. Most taxidermists are also hunters, and they don’t understand why anyone would object to it. Debra and I tried to be polite about it. We left his house around eleven, and that was it. I don’t know what else I can tell you.” He looked back and forth at Jane and Frost. “So what about the pelt? I’m anxious to know whether you found it, because it’s worth a hell of a lot to—”
“Alan,” said Mikovitz.
The two men glanced at each other, and both fell silent. For a few seconds, no one said anything, a pause so significant that it might as well have come with a blinking alert: Something is wrong. There’s something they’re trying to hide.
“This pelt is worth a hell of a lot to whom?” said Jane.
Mikovitz answered, too glibly: “Everyone. These animals are extremely rare.”
“How rare, exactly?”
“Kovo was a snow leopard,” said Rhodes. “Panthera uncia, from the mountainous regions of Central Asia. Their fur is thicker and paler than an African leopard’s, and there are fewer than five thousand left in the world. They’re like phantoms, solitary and hard to spot, and they’re getting more and more rare by the day. It’s illegal to import their skins. It’s even illegal to sell a pelt, new or old, across state lines. You can’t buy or sell them on the open market. That’s why we’re anxious to know. Did you find Kovo’s?”
Instead of answering his question, Jane asked another. “You mentioned something earlier, Dr. Rhodes. About an agreement.”
“What?”