Made to Be Broken

Chapter Nine

We were almost in Peterborough when Jack said, "What's this?" and I looked over to see my Sammi notes on his lap. I took them and slid the book down beside me.

"Just something I'm working on."

"Job?"

I shook my head, signaled, and moved into the left lane. When I was past the transport, I moved back.

"Gonna tell me?"

The truth was that I was dying to tell someone, to get a second opinion, and no one was safer than Jack. So I filled him in.

"I know," I said when I finished. "I should leave it to the police, but they've made it very clear that – "

"They aren't interested."

"That's just it. No one's interested. Her mother's a piece of work, so no big shock there, but nobody in town seems to care. These aren't bad people. If it was Tess or Kira or any of the other girls in town, there would be search teams combing the forests. But with Sammi it seems like, even if something did happen, it's…" I fumbled for the words.

"Expected."

I nodded. "Like she was heading that way all her life. Made to be broken."

The last words came out as a whisper, echoing through the years.

"Hmmm?" Jack said.

I picked up the notes. "Would you mind looking them over? Tell me if I'm… I don't know. Being paranoid."

Part of me hoped Jack would say that all signs indicated Sammi had run off and I was making a big deal out of nothing. But he agreed there were too many factors arguing against it.

We discussed it as I headed up Highway 55. I was in the middle of telling him more about Janie when the faded highway sign for Bob's Wild Kingdom flew past, and I hit the brakes.

"Cougar."

"Huh?"

I turned onto the exit ramp. "There's something I need to check out."

Sometime in the last week, kids camping near the Potter place said they'd heard a cougar in the forest. Sunday night, Meredith had watched Sammi and Destiny walk heading toward the road that led past the Potter place.

"The only cougars within an hour's drive are the ones in this roadside zoo," I told Jack. "A big cat raised in captivity wouldn't know how to hunt normal prey, meaning if one did escape, it would get very hungry and it wouldn't be afraid of humans."

He nodded slowly. "It could kill the girl. Drag her off. Come back for the baby."

He said it without emotion. Not coldly, just matter-of-fact. I tried to keep my thoughts as logical, not to picture the scenario he'd described.

"I didn't see any signs of a struggle near the road," I said. "But it had been a few days and there was rain… Still, it doesn't account for the missing stroller."

"Could have fallen into the ditch. Or been dragged. Cat trying to get the baby out."

I looked out the passenger window.

"Or maybe it wasn't a cat," he said after a moment.

"Maybe."

I made a cell phone call before we reached the zoo. Kira's mother, Meredith, was a member of Zoocheck Canada, an animal protection agency that monitored the conditions of circuses and roadside zoos. Meredith had been trying to get Bob's Wild Kingdom closed for years. Every few months, I signed her petition.

Before storming in there, I needed to know how many cougars they had. If one did escape, the owner obviously hadn't reported it. And if I didn't know my facts, he could bullshit me from here to Newfoundland.

The first time we drove by, I took one look at the hap hazard maze of mesh wire enclosures and dismissed it as an abandoned farm. At the next intersection, another sign for Bob's Wild Kingdom pointed back the way we'd come and I realized that the "abandoned farm" had been the zoo.

It was certainly no kingdom. Those wire mesh enclosures housed deer, ostriches, llamas, two mangy camels, and one yak with matted fur. Each fenced area was no larger than fifteen feet square. The ground was bare dirt and muddy straw. For food and water dishes, they had plastic buckets and ice cream pails.

Meredith had said that Bob wasn't a Robert, but Roberta MacNeil, as the crooked sign on her trailer proclaimed. In the spring, the zoo was open from Friday to Sunday only, so I went up to the trailer and rapped on the door. No answer. Jack knocked louder. Still nothing. He peered into a window.

"Dark," he said.

I walked to the gate. No sign of anyone. I glanced up at the six-foot chain-link fence. Easy to scale.

"Slow down," Jack murmured, though I hadn't taken a step toward it.

"Meredith said there are two cougars here," I said as I walked to the fence and put my fingers through the links. "All I have to do is find them, and this place is so small it'll only take a minute. Just stand guard for five minutes while – "

Curses rang out from one of the buildings.

Jack gave me a "told you" look. I pretended not to see it.

"Hello?" I called. "Hello!"

A short, stocky woman emerged from a rusty metal shed.

"We're closed."

"I just wanted – "

"Bill Bryson, SPCA, Investigations Department," Jack said, flashing his wallet too fast for her to see more than a card. He didn't introduce me, which, I admitted, was wiser than my plan. Roberta and I had never met, but if she bumped into me around town after this, I could claim I'd been escorting "Bill."

Jack continued, his faint brogue swallowed as he affected what I called his "national newscaster" voice, no trace of any regional accent. "I need to talk to you about your big cats."

"I didn't lose no cougars." She opened the gate and ushered us through. "Look around all you want. Tex and Mex are right where they should be. In their cage back here." She started walking, then turned and gestured to Jack's cast. "Watch your step. It's mud season. Damned slippery."

We passed cages of monkeys, foxes, and one lynx that lay draped over a branch like it'd died there. Judging by the smell, it had. All the other animals moved to the edge of their cages and stared out at us with the hardened bitterness of lifers.

People paid to come in here. In summer, kids raced along these rows, parents scurrying after them, and they had a good time. What kept them from taking one look, one sniff, and running to the nearest exit?

"Here they are," Roberta said. " Tex and Mex. My cougars."

One of the tawny big cats lay in the lone beam of sunlight that filtered past the heavy bars. The other paced the shadows at the back. Both were old, with rotting teeth and mangy fur, just as Meredith had said. I couldn't imagine either having the strength to cover the twenty kilometers between here and the Potter place, let alone kill a healthy teenager.

I glanced at Jack, but he was watching the cat pace in its dirty cage. It turned to look at him, a haunted, half-mad emptiness in its eyes.

I checked the cage. No broken door bound shut with rope. No recent welds on the bars. No signs of any recent repairs. The pacing cat slumped into an exhausted heap and fell asleep almost as soon as it hit the floor.

The cat lying in the sun turned its empty eyes on me. I shivered. Even if Roberta left the door open, I doubted these cougars would get farther than the front gate.

"Everything seems to be in order," Jack said.

"Like I told those cops when they called last night, I run a tight ship. Nothing gets in or out."

"A life sentence," I murmured. "No chance of parole."

Roberta frowned and scratched her head hard, as if something was nibbling at her scalp.

"That's all I needed to see," Jack said. "Thank you for your time."

"No trouble."

As we turned away, the one cougar stood and stretched, sniffing the air.

"You'll get fed soon enough, Mex," Roberta said. "Don't start your complaining now."

Roberta escorted us to the gate and held it open. As we exchanged good-byes, an unearthly scream ripped through the morning quiet.

Roberta laughed when I jumped. "That's just Mex, bitching for her food."

"It sounded like – "

"A woman screaming, I know. That's what everyone says. When I lived out West, tourists used to call the cops all the time, saying some poor woman was screaming in the forest."

Now I knew what those city kids had heard out near the Potter place. And it hadn't been a cougar.