Deja Dead Page 0,96
Hm.”
“Do much with primates?”
“No. Used to, but not anymore. I’m on the anthropology faculty at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. Occasionally I teach a course on primate biology or behavior, but I’m really not involved in that work anymore. I’m too busy with forensic research and consulting.”
“Right.” He waved the card. “What did you do with primates?”
I wondered who was interviewing who. Whom. “I was interested in osteoporosis, especially the interplay between social behavior and the disease process. We worked with animal models, rhesus mostly, manipulating the social groups, creating stress situations, then monitoring the bone loss.”
“Do any work in the wild?”
“Just island colonies.”
“Oh?” The amber eyebrows arched with interest.
“Cayo Santiago in Puerto Rico. For several years I taught a field school on Morgan Island, off the coast of South Carolina.”
“Rhesus monkeys?”
“Yes. Dr. Bailey, I wonder if you can tell me anything about the monkey that disappeared from your facility?”
He ignored my not so smooth segue. “How’d you get from monkey bones to corpses?”
“Skeletal biology. It’s the crux of both.”
“Yeah. True.”
“The monkey?”
“The monkey. Can’t tell you much.” He rubbed one Nike against the other, then leaned over and flicked at something. “I came in one morning and the cage was empty. We thought maybe someone had left the latch unhooked and that Alsa, that was her name, maybe she let herself out. They’ll do that, you know. She was smart as a pistol and had phenomenal manual dexterity. She had the most amazing little hands. Anyway, we searched the building, alerted campus security, jumped through all the hoops. But we never found her. Then I saw the article in the paper. The rest is history.”
“What were you doing with her?”
“Actually, Alsa wasn’t my project. A graduate student was working with her. I’m interested in animal communication systems, particularly, but not exclusively, those relying on pheromones and other olfactory signals.”
The change in cadence, along with the shift to jargon, clued me that he’d given this synopsis before. He’d launched into his “my research is” spiel, the scientist’s oral abstract for public consumption. “The spiel” is based on the KISS principle: Keep It Simple Stupid. It is trotted out for cocktail parties, fund-raisers, first meetings, and other social occasions. We all have one. I was hearing his.
“What was the project?” Enough about you.
He gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Language. Language acquisition in a New World primate. That’s where she got her name. L’Apprentissage de la Langue du Singe Americain. ALSA. Marie-Lise was going to be Quebec’s answer to Penny Patterson, and Alsa would be the KoKo of South American monkeys.” He flourished a pen above his head, gave a derisive snort, then let his arm drop heavily. It made a soft thud against the desk. I studied his face. He looked either tired or discouraged, I couldn’t tell which.
“Marie-Lise?”
“My student.”
“Was it working?”
“Who knows? She didn’t really have enough time. The monkey disappeared five months into the project.” More wry. “Followed shortly thereafter by Marie-Lise.”
“She left school?”
He nodded.
“Do you know why?”
He paused a long time before answering. “Marie-Lise was a good student. Sure, she had to start over on her thesis, but I have no doubt she could have completed her master’s. She loved what she was doing. Yeah, she was devastated when Alsa was killed, but I don’t think that was it.”
“What do you think it was?”
He drew small triangles on one of the lab books. I let him take his time.
“She had this boyfriend. He’d hassle her all the time about being in school. Badgered her to quit. She only talked to me about it once or twice, but I think it really got to her. I met him at a couple of department parties. I thought the guy was spooky.”
“How so?”
“Just . . . I don’t know, antisocial. Cynical. Antagonistic. Rude. Like he had never absorbed the basic . . . skills. He always reminded me of a Harlow monkey. You know? Like he was raised in isolation and never learned to deal with other beings. No matter what you said to him, he’d roll his eyes and smirk. God, I hated that.”
“Did you ever suspect him? That maybe he killed Alsa to sabotage Marie-Lise’s work, to get her to quit school?”
His silence told me that he had. Then, “He was supposedly in Toronto at the time.”
“Could he verify that?”
“Marie-Lise believed him. We didn’t pursue it. She was too upset. What was the point? Alsa was dead.”
I wasn’t sure how to ask the next question.