MAURA’S LAST VISIT TO THE SUFFOLK ZOO HAD BEEN ON A WARM summer weekend, when the walkways were crowded with children dripping ice cream and young parents pushing baby strollers. But on this chilly November day, Maura found the zoo eerily deserted. In the flamingo enclosure, the birds preened in peace. Peacocks strutted on the path, unmolested by pursuing cameras and toddlers. How nice it would be to stroll here alone and linger at each exhibit, but Death had called her here today, and she had no time to enjoy the visit. The zoo employee led her at a brisk pace past primate cages and toward the wild dog enclosures. Carnivore territory. Her escort was a young woman named Jen, uniformed in khaki, with a blond ponytail and a healthy tan. She would have looked right at home on a Nat Geo wildlife documentary.
“We shut down the zoo right after the incident,” said Jen. “It took us about an hour to get all the visitors out. I still can’t believe this happened. We’ve never had to deal with anything like it before.”
“How long have you worked here?” asked Maura.
“Almost four years. When I was a kid, I dreamed about working in a zoo. I tried getting into vet school, but I just didn’t have the grades. Still, I get to do what I love. You have to love this job, ’cause you sure don’t do it for the pay.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“Yeah, we’re a pretty tight group.” She shook her head. “I just can’t figure out how Debbie could have made this mistake. Dr. Rhodes always warned us about Rafiki. Never turn your back on him. Never trust a leopard, he told us. And here I thought he was exaggerating.”
“Doesn’t it worry you? Working so closely with large predators?”
“It didn’t worry me before. But this changes everything.” They rounded a curve, and Jen said: “That’s the enclosure where it happened.”
There was no need for her to point it out; the grim faces of those who stood gathered outside the cage told Maura she had arrived at her destination. Among the group was Jane, who broke away to greet Maura.
“This is one case you’re not likely to see again,” said Jane.
“Are you investigating this death?”
“No, I was just about to leave. From what I’ve gathered, it’s an accident.”
“What happened, exactly?”
“It looks like the victim was cleaning the exhibit area when the cat attacked. She must have forgotten to secure the night cage, and the animal got into the main enclosure. By the time I got here, it was long over.” Jane shook her head. “Reminds you exactly where we stand in the food chain.”
“What kind of cat did it?”
“An African leopard. There was one large male in the cage.”
“Has he been secured?”
“He’s dead. Dr. Oberlin—he’s that blond guy standing over there—he tried to hit him with the dart gun, but he missed both times. He had to shoot him.”
“So it’s safe to go in now.”
“Yeah, but it’s a frigging mess. There’s buckets of blood in there.” Jane looked down at her stained footwear and shook her head. “I liked these shoes. Oh well. I’ll call you later.”
“Who’s going to walk me through the scene?”
“Alan Rhodes can do it.”
“Who?”
“He’s their large-cat expert.” Jane called out to the group of men gathered near the exhibit: “Dr. Rhodes? Dr. Isles is here, from the ME’s office. She needs to see the body.”
The dark-haired man who came toward them still looked shell-shocked by the tragedy. The trousers of his zoo uniform were bloodstained, and his attempt at a smile couldn’t disguise the strain in his face. Automatically he reached out to greet her, then realized there was dried blood on his hand, and he dropped his arm back to his side. “I’m sorry you have to see this,” he said. “I know you’ve probably encountered some terrible things, but this is awful.”
“I’ve never dealt with a large-cat attack before,” said Maura.
“This is my first time as well. I never want to see another one.” He pulled out a key ring. “I’ll take you around back, to the staff area. That’s where the gate is.”
Maura waved goodbye to Jane and followed Rhodes down the shrubbery-lined pathway marked STAFF ONLY. The walkway cut between neighboring exhibits and led to the rear of the enclosure, which was hidden from public view.
Rhodes unlocked the gate. “This will take us through the squeeze cage. There are two inner gates on either end of this cage. One leads to the public exhibit area. The other gate leads to the night room.”
“Why is it called a squeeze cage?”
“It’s a collapsible section we can use to control the cat for veterinary purposes. When he walks through this section, we push on the cage wall and it traps him against the bars. Makes it easy to vaccinate him or inject other meds in his shoulder. Minimum stress for the animal and maximum safety for the staff.”
“Is this where the victim would have entered?”
“Her name was Debra Lopez.”
“I’m sorry. Is this how Ms. Lopez entered?”
“It’s one of the access points. There’s also a separate entrance for the night room, where the animal stays during off-exhibit hours.” They walked into the cage and Rhodes shut the door behind them, trapping them in the claustrophobically narrow passage. “As you can see, there are gates at both ends. Before you enter any cage, you confirm the animal is secured in the opposite section. That’s Zoo Safety One Oh One: Always know where the cat is. Especially Rafiki.”
“Was he particularly dangerous?”
“Every leopard is potentially dangerous, especially Panthera pardus. The African leopard. They’re smaller than lions or tigers, but they’re silent and unpredictable and powerful. A leopard can drag a carcass much heavier than he is straight up a tree. Rafiki was in his prime, and extremely aggressive. He was kept in solitary because he attacked the female leopard we tried to place with him in this exhibit. Debbie knew how dangerous he was. We all did.”
“So how could she make this kind of mistake? Was she new to the job?”
“Debbie worked here at least seven years, so it certainly wasn’t lack of experience. But even veteran zookeepers sometimes get careless. They fail to confirm the animal’s whereabouts, or they forget to latch a gate. Greg told me that when he got here, he found the gate to the night cage wide open.”
“Greg?”
“Dr. Greg Oberlin, our veterinarian.”
Maura focused on the night cage gate. “This latch didn’t malfunction?”
“I tested it. So did Detective Rizzoli. It’s in working order.”
“Dr. Rhodes, I’m having a lot of trouble understanding how an experienced zookeeper leaves a leopard’s cage door wide open.”
“It’s hard to believe, I know. But I can show you a spreadsheet of similar accidents involving big cats. It’s happened in zoos around the world. Since 1990, there’ve been more than seven hundred incidents in the US alone, with twenty-two people killed. Just last year, in Germany and the UK, experienced zookeepers were killed by tigers. In both cases, they simply forgot to lock the gates. People get distracted or careless. Or they start to believe the cats are friends who’d never hurt them. I keep telling our staff, never trust a big cat. Never turn your back. These are not pet kitties.”
Maura thought about the gray tabby she’d just adopted, the cat whose affections she was now trying to win with expensive sardines and bowls of half-and-half. He was just another wily predator who had claimed Maura as his personal servant. If he were a hundred pounds heavier, she had little doubt he’d see her not as a friend, but as a tasty source of meat. Could anyone truly trust a cat?
Rhodes unlocked the inner gate, which led to the public exhibit. “This is the way Debbie would have entered,” he said. “We found a lot of blood next to the bucket and broom, so she was probably attacked while doing morning cleanup.”
“What time would this have been?”
“Around eight or nine o’clock. The zoo opens at nine for visitors. Rafiki’s fed in the night room before he’s let into the exhibit.”
“Are there any security cameras back here?”
“Unfortunately not, so we have no footage of the incident, or what preceded it.”
“What about the victim’s—Debbie’s—state of mind? Was she depressed? Troubled about anything?”
“Detective Rizzoli asked that same question. Was this a suicide by cat?” Rhodes shook his head. “She was such a positive, optimistic woman. I can’t imagine her committing suicide, despite what was going on in her life.”
“Was something going on?”
He paused, his hand still on the gate. “Isn’t there always something going on in people’s lives? I know she’d just broken up with Greg.”
“That’s Dr. Oberlin, the veterinarian?”
He nodded. “Debbie and I talked about it on Sunday, when we brought Kovo’s body to the taxidermist. She didn’t seem too upset about it. More … relieved. I think Greg took it a lot harder. It didn’t make things easy for him, since they both work here and they see each other at least once a week.”
“Yet they got along?”
“As far as I could tell. Detective Rizzoli spoke to Greg, and he’s pretty devastated about this. And before you ask the obvious question, Greg said he was nowhere near this cage when it happened. He said he came running when he heard the screams.”
“Debbie’s?”
Rhodes looked pained. “I doubt she lived long enough to make a sound. No, it was some visitor screaming. She saw blood and started yelling for help.” He swung open the exhibit gate. “She’s lying in the back, near the boulders.”
Only three paces into the enclosure, Maura halted, disturbed by the evidence of carnage. This was what Jane had described as “buckets of blood,” and it was splashed across foliage, congealed in pools on the concrete pathway. Arterial splatters arced in multiple directions, sprayed out by the victim’s last, desperate heartbeats.
Rhodes looked down at the toppled bucket and rake. “She probably never saw him coming.”
The human body contains five liters of blood, and this was where Debbie Lopez had spilled most of hers. It had still been wet when others walked through it; Maura saw multiple footprints and smears across the concrete. “If he attacked her here,” she said, “why did he drag her to the back of the cage? Why not consume her where she fell?”
“Because a leopard’s instinct is to guard his kill. In the wild, there’d be scavengers who’d fight him for it. Lions and hyenas. So leopards move their kill out of reach.”
Blood smears marked the leopard’s progress as he had dragged his prize of human flesh along the concrete path. In that trail of streaks and swipes, one clear paw print stood out, startling evidence of the size and power of this killer. The trail led to the rear of the enclosure. At the base of a massive artificial boulder lay the body, covered with an olive-green blanket. The dead leopard sprawled nearby, jaws gaping open.
“He dragged the body up onto the ledge,” said Rhodes. “We pulled her down to do CPR.”
Maura looked up at the boulder and saw the dried stream of blood that had trickled from the ledge. “He got her all the way up there?”
Rhodes nodded. “That’s how powerful they are. They can haul a heavy kudu into a tree. Their instinct is to go high and leave the carcass hanging over a branch, where they can gorge undisturbed. That’s what he was about to do when Greg shot him. By then, Debbie was already gone.”
Maura donned gloves and crouched down to pull aside the blanket. One glance at what was left of the victim’s throat told her that the attack was not survivable. In appalled silence she stared at the crushed larynx and exposed trachea, at a neck ripped open so deeply that the head lolled back, nearly decapitated.
“That’s how they do it,” said Rhodes, his gaze averted, his voice unsteady. “Cats are designed by nature to be perfect killing machines, and they go straight for the throat. They crush the spine, tear open the jugular and carotids. At least they make sure their prey’s dead before they start feeding. I’m told it’s a quick death. Exsanguination.”
Not quick enough. Maura pictured Debbie Lopez’s agonal seconds, the blood pulsing like a water cannon from her severed carotids. It would also flood into her torn trachea, drowning her lungs. A rapid death, yes, but for this victim, those final seconds of terror and suffocation must have seemed an eternity.
She pulled the blanket back over the dead woman’s face and turned her attention to the leopard. It was a magnificent animal, with a massive chest and a lustrous pelt that gleamed in the dappled sunlight. She stared at razor-sharp teeth and imagined how easily they would crush and tear a woman’s throat. With a shudder she rose to her feet and saw, through the exhibit bars, that the morgue retrieval team had arrived.
“She loved this cat,” said Rhodes, gazing down at Rafiki. “After he was born, she bottle-fed him like a baby. I don’t think she ever imagined he’d do this to her. And that’s what really killed her. She forgot he was the predator, and we’re his prey.”
Maura peeled off her gloves. “Has the family been notified?”
“She has a mother in St. Louis. Our director, Dr. Mikovitz, has already called her.”
“My office will need her contact information. For the funeral arrangements after the autopsy.”
“Is an autopsy really necessary?”
“The cause of death seems obvious, but there are always questions that need to be answered. Why did she make this fatal mistake? Was she impaired by drugs or alcohol or some medical condition?”
He nodded. “Of course. I didn’t even think of that. But I’d be shocked if you found any drugs in her system. That just wouldn’t be the woman I knew.”
The woman you believed you knew, thought Maura as she walked out of the cage. Every human on this earth had secrets. She thought of her own, so closely guarded, and how startled her colleagues would be to learn of them. Even Jane, who knew her best of all.
As the morgue retrieval team wheeled the stretcher into the enclosure, Maura stood on the public pathway, gazing over the railing at what the visitors would have seen. The spot where the leopard first attacked was out of view, hidden by a wall, and shrubbery would have obscured the dragging of the body. But the rock ledge where he’d guarded his kill was clearly visible, and it was now marked by the gruesome trail of blood that had dripped down the boulder.
No wonder people had been shrieking.
A shiver rippled across Maura’s skin, like the chill breath of a predator. Turning, she glanced around. Saw Dr. Rhodes huddled in conversation with worried zoo officials. Saw a pair of zookeepers comforting each other. No one was looking at Maura; no one even seemed to notice she was there. But she could not shake the sensation of being watched.
Then she spotted him, through the bars of a nearby enclosure. His tawny coat was almost invisible against the sand-colored boulder where he crouched. His powerful muscles were poised to spring. Silently tracking his prey, his eyes were fixed on her. Only on her.
She looked at the placard mounted on the railing. PUMA CONCOLOR. A cougar.
And she thought: I never would have seen him coming, either.