Die Again (Rizzoli & Isles, #11)(29)

“How about keeping track of those callers for us? Next time you get a threat like that, give us a log of the phone numbers.”

O’Brien looked at his personal assistant, who’d just walked into the room. “Rick, can you take care of that? Get ’em names and numbers?”

“Sure thing, Jerry.”

“But I can’t see any of those weirdos following through on their threats,” O’Brien said. “They’re just a bunch of hot air.”

“I’d take any threat seriously,” said Jane.

“Oh, I’ll take it dead seriously.” He tugged up the edge of his billowing aloha shirt to reveal a Glock in his under-the-waistband holster. “No point having a CCW if I don’t keep one on me, right?”

“Did Leon say he was getting any threats?” asked Frost.

“Nothing that worried him.”

“Any enemies? Any colleagues or family members who might profit from his death?”

O’Brien paused, lips pursed like a bullfrog. He’d picked up his whiskey glass again and sat staring at it for a moment. “Only family member he ever talked about was his son.”

“The one who passed away.”

“Yeah. Talked about him a lot on our last trip to Kenya. You sit around a campfire with a bottle of whiskey, you get to talking about a lot of things. Bag your game, dine on bush meat, talk under the stars. For men, that’s what it’s all about.” He glanced at his personal assistant. “Right, Rick?”

“You said it, Jerry,” Dolan answered, smoothly refilling his boss’s whiskey.

“No women go on these trips?” Jane asked.

O’Brien gave her a look usually reserved for the insane. “Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good time? Women only screw things up.” He nodded. “Present company excepted. I’ve had four wives, and they’re still bleeding me dry. Leon had his own lousy marriage. Wife left with their only son, turned the boy against him. Broke Leon’s heart. Even after the bitch died, that son went out of his way to piss off Leon. Makes me glad I never had kids.” He sipped his whiskey and shook his head. “Damn, I’m gonna miss him. How can I help you catch the bastard who did it?”

“Just keep answering our questions.”

“I’m not, like, a suspect am I?”

“Should you be?”

“No games, okay? Just ask your questions.”

“The Suffolk Zoo says you agreed to donate five million dollars in exchange for the snow leopard.”

“Absolutely true. I told ’em I’d allow only one taxidermist to do the mounting, and that was Leon.”

“And the last time you spoke to Mr. Gott?”

“We heard from him on Sunday, when he called to tell us he’d skinned and gutted the animal, and did we want the carcass?”

“What time was this call?”

“Around noon or so.” O’Brien paused. “Come on, you guys must already have the phone records. You know about that call.”

Jane and Frost exchanged irritated looks. Despite a subpoena for Gott’s phone records, the carrier hadn’t delivered. With nearly a thousand daily requests from police departments across the country, it might take days, even weeks, for a phone company to comply.

“So he called you about the carcass,” said Frost. “What happened then?”

“I drove over and picked it up,” said O’Brien’s assistant. “Got to Leon’s place about two P.M., loaded the animal into my truck. Brought it straight back here.”

“Why? I mean, you wouldn’t want to eat leopard meat, would you?”

O’Brien said, “I’ll try any meat at least once. Hell, I’d chomp down on a juicy human butt roast if it’s offered to me. But no, I wouldn’t eat an animal that’s been euthanized with drugs. I wanted it for the skeleton. After Rick brought it back, we dug a hole and buried it. Give it a few months, let Mother Nature and the worms do their work, and I’ll have bones to mount.”

And that’s why they’d found only the leopard’s internal organs, thought Jane. Because the carcass was already here on O’Brien’s property, decomposing in a grave.

“Did you and Mr. Gott talk when you were there on Sunday?” Jane asked Dolan.

“Hardly. He was on the phone with someone. I waited around for a few minutes, but he just waved me away. So I took the carcass and left.”

“Who was he talking to?”

“I don’t know. He said something about wanting more photos of Elliot in Africa. ‘Everything you’ve got,’ he said.”

“Elliot?” Jane looked at O’Brien.

“That was his dead son,” said O’Brien. “Like I said, he’d been talking about Elliot a lot lately. It happened six years ago, but I think the guilt was finally getting to him.”

“Why would Leon feel guilty?”

“Because he had almost nothing to do with him after the divorce. His ex-wife raised the boy, turned him into a girlie-man, according to Leon. The kid hooked up with some wacko PETA girlfriend, probably just to piss off his old man. Leon tried to make contact, but his son wasn’t too keen on staying in touch. So when Elliot died, it really hit Leon hard. All he had left of his son was a photo. Had it hanging in his house, one of the last pictures ever taken of Elliot.”