“Too late,” I said, to no one in particular. “Here they come.”
A pack of reporters was just rounding the corner of the house.
In the lead was the bubbly blonde who, rumor had it, would be deserting the local TV station any day now for a job at one of the Richmond stations. Close on her heels was a far more polished-looking blonde who already worked for one of the Richmond TV stations. A chic African American woman from the Caer-philly radio station followed at a more stately pace, as if to suggest that the real excitement couldn’t possibly begin until she arrived anyway. The two TV cameramen trotted along next, each following his designated reporter, while bringing up the rear was a disheveled young man from the student newspaper, who seemed to be paying more attention to his distinguished colleagues than to the event that had lured them here. The chief looked up and scowled.
“As if we didn’t have enough damned hyenas already,” he muttered. Then he put on his bland, no-comment face and stood up to meet the press. The cameramen deployed their cameras, and all three women thrust microphones in the chief's face.
“Chief Burke, can you confirm—,” the local blonde began.
“When will you release the identity—,” the Richmond blonde said at the same time.
The radio reporter just made sure her microphone was in the thick of the pack, while the journalism student began scribbling wildly with one hand while trying to aim his digital camera at the chief with the other.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” the chief said in his rich, mellow baritone. “I see you’ve saved me the trouble of calling a press conference. We’re here to investigate the discovery of a dead body. The deceased was Dr. J. Patrick Lanahan, thirty-seven, the founder of our beloved Caerphilly Zoo. Dr. Lanahan's next of kin have been notified, and for the time being, we’re treating the death as a homicide.”
“For the time being?” I heard Dad mutter beside me.
“If he finds a suicide note I, for one, am not buying it,” I whispered back.
“I regret to say that's all the information I can give you at this time,” the chief said. The reporters started shouting more questions, but the chief raised his voice and talked through them. “However, I’m sure you’ll all be excited to learn that Dr. Montgomery Blake, the world-famous naturalist and a friend of the deceased, is here today, and would like to say a few words about the sad plight of the animals from the Caerphilly Zoo.”
I wondered if Blake and the chief had planned this for when the reporters showed up or if Blake was just normally quick on his feet. He strode over with the lemur still perched on his shoulder, shook the chief's hand as if they were old school chums, and then turned to the cameras with that familiar benevolent smile. The fact that the lemur had grabbed a double fistful of his white mane and was holding on for dear life somehow looked charming rather than silly.
I wasn’t in the mood to listen to speeches. I saw Mother going into the kitchen, and I decided to join her. So I heard Blake's short but glowing tribute to the fine work Lanahan had done at the zoo, followed by a few noncommittal words about his hope that some way could be found for this fine work to continue. Blake was well launched on an impassioned description of the plight of endangered species by the time I ducked through the kitchen door.
“So—you think he did it, don’t you?”
Chapter 13
I turned to find that the student reporter had followed me inside.
“Come on, I know you suspect Blake,” he said.
Was my reaction to Blake that obvious, or was that just a reporter's trick to make me talk?
“I’m sure I have no idea who's guilty,” I said. “What makes you think I suspect him?”
“The way you were frowning when he started speaking. What have you got on him?”
I glanced outside where Blake was still orating.
“It's called canned hunting,” Blake was saying. “Basically, it amounts to trapping animals in an enclosure and allowing so-called hunters to shoot them at will. There's no real skill or sport involved.... “
It sounded despicable. Blake was right to fight it. And he was on the side of the angels when it came to endangered species. A staunch conservationist. Why did I find him so easy to dislike? And so easy to suspect?
“I don’t have anything on him,” I said. “I approve of his work. I’ve given money to his foundation. But I hate listening to speeches—even ones I agree with. Now shoo.”
The reporter reluctantly shuffled outside again, and went over to join the crowd around Blake, who was still talking, and feeding the lemur a slice of peach. Through the screen door, I could see that Blake was keeping his face as close as possible to the lemur to make sure he stayed on camera. After all, Blake might be famous, but the lemur was a lot cuter, and endangered to boot.