The Survivors Club

“Just great.”

“He called me from out of town,” Nussman said. “He wanted to put a hold on the cat until he could get here, so I charged him a hundred dollars on his credit card.”

“You have the credit card number?”

“I’m pretty sure I still have it in my records. I’m not one to throw anything away.”

“Please look for it.”

She went inside and was gone a long time. Tess could picturing her rummaging around. She didn’t think the chances were too good of seeing that credit card number—but she was wrong. The woman came back out with the name and the credit card number.

Zudowsky walked away and called it in. They waited. Tess continued to talk to Nussman, trying to get on her good side, if she had one. Asking about the animals. The woman answered her questions but wasn’t forthcoming. She seemed to have her mind on something else. Zudowsky ended the call and came their way.

“Excuse me,” Tess said to Nussman. She walked out to meet Barry Zudowsky.

“There was a Dom Derring listed,” Barry Zudowsky said, his voice low. “But the credit card was canceled almost two years ago. You think it’s your guy? DeKoven?”

“Sounds like a made-up name. He applied for it and used it for that one purpose,” Tess said.

“Unless there were others.”

Tess nodded. Time to show Nussman the photo lineup.

She had a good feeling.

Dom Derring—a made-up name.

Michael DeKoven acting cute.

Obvious.

Zudowsky produced the photos.

“Do you recognize any of these men? Could one of them be the man who bought the mountain lion?”

The woman stared at the pictures for a long time. “No, the guy who came here was blond.”

“Just look at their faces. Hair can be dyed. Do you recognize any of them?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

Driving back, Detective Zudowsky said, “I guess that’s that. He’s not your man.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He could have paid someone to buy the mountain lion.”

“You really think that happened?”

“I do.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“He wanted a mountain lion kill.”

“Why?”

Tess said, “He wanted it to look like Farley was killed by an animal. He had his reasons—it was a game.”

“A game.” He looked straight ahead.

She knew what he was thinking.

She’d tell him what she suspected. Might as well. He’d have something to yuk it up with, with his buddies. And so she ran it down for him, that DeKoven had likely killed an ex-cop named George Hanley, Peter Farley, and his own father, Quentin DeKoven. She told him about Hanley’s investigation.

“So this, uh, Hanley, wrote all this down? He called it an investigation? You said he was retired.”

“He was a homicide cop for twenty years.”

“He was how old?”

“Sixty-eight.”

“Uh-huh.” He did not look at her. “So you’re saying this was a game he played, finding people who survived accidents, then killing them?”

“That’s the theory we’re working under. He got the jump on Mr. Farley, maybe knocked him out in some way, and put him in with the lion.”

Zudowsky kept his eyes on the road. “The lion probably wouldn’t attack him even then, from what I’ve heard.”

“He would if he’d been starved.”

Silence. It hung there like the dust over the graded dirt road.

Finally Zudowsky said, “I just don’t see how your theory hangs together. I can’t see someone doing something like this. It’s much more likely that Farley was attacked by a mountain lion. It could happen, if Farley was bent over his bike. That’s what happened north of here. We’ve had two attacks of mountain bikers, and they’re both fairly recent.”

Tess said, “Did anyone do a tox on Peter Farley?”

“I don’t remember seeing anything about one. His cause of death was pretty obvious.”

“Also, I wonder if there were any marks on the body from the cage.”

“DNA wasn’t at front of mind when you’re dealing with an obvious mountain lion attack. Plus, there wasn’t enough of Farley to identify him except for his wallet, bike, and his vehicle parked at the entrance.”

Tess said, “I would like to find that cage.”

He said nothing.

Tess realized that his respect for her had run out, along with professional courtesy.

Just before they split up she said to Barry Zudowsky, “I’m going to ask you to do me one favor.”

To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes. But he said nothing.

“I’d like to pair Ms. Nussman with a sketch artist. The person who bought the lion is key.”

Zudowsky said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

When he got back in his car and drove away, she thought she’d never hear from him again.

CHAPTER 31

It wasn’t until Jaimie was up drinking tomato juice (she swore by it for a hangover if there wasn’t any menudo around) and squinting at the car coming down the hill—Marisue Jennrette’s Armada—that she realized she hadn’t canceled lessons for today.

Shit.

Felt like a crushed box in the road. But she went out anyway, squinting against the harsh sunlight, and met Marisue and her daughter as they were getting out.

Shielding her eyes against the glare, her brain throbbing in her skull, Jaimie said, “I can’t teach today. I’m sorry.”

“What?” said Marisue. Like she’d been told the sky was falling. She always was a bitch.

“I’m sorry, but my brother died. I’m just getting ready to go to his funeral,” she lied.

“Michael?”

“No, Chad.”

“Chad? Why didn’t you call me? It’s fifteen miles to get here, and I’ve got a lot to do today. I’m working on the flower committee at the Chamber of Commerce!”

God, her head! Jaimie pressed a thumb into her left temple. “I’m sorry. But it’s just this once. My brother, you know? My brother is dead.”

“Fine.”

The woman said it the way Jaimie always said it, the way women said it to men. If that’s the way it’s going to be, fine. Just fine. And by the way, fuck you.

Well fuck you, too, she thought.

After Marisue and her chunky untalented daughter drove off the property, Jaimie walked back toward the