Did Not Survive (7 page)

“Why don't you put your energy into saving elephants in the wild? Do you realize how endangered Asian elephants are?” Mr. Crandall had forbidden us to get sucked into this debate, but still…somebody had to push back.

“It's irresponsible to keep two elephants in an exhibit this size. They're meant to roam miles every day, not hang out in a space the size of a backyard.”

The younger one nodded and scowled.

I said, “That's why we passed the bond measure to build them a bigger, better exhibit. Why is it I don't see you demanding that construction get started?”

“Because there is no way you can build an exhibit large enough to keep them healthy and happy. They're sure to get foot and leg problems, and there isn't room for a normal size herd.” He'd had this debate before, and he was enjoying it.

I wasn't. I was getting pissed off. “People work night and day to keep them healthy and happy.” I remembered a discussion from a keepers' meeting. “Do you see the sand two feet deep in that yard? That soft surface inside the stalls? That's why their feet are fine, even though Damrey is over forty years old.” I couldn't remember exactly how old she was. “How about the full-time veterinarian, the top quality hay and produce, all the effort that goes into environmental enrichment for them? I do not see two sick, miserable animals. I see two busybodies who are wasting time here when they ought to be working for sanctuaries in Thailand and Cambodia and India, that is, if you really do care about elephants and not just about getting your pictures in the paper.”

That fired up the young sidekick. Eyes flashing, he half-shouted, “Next I suppose you'll claim that these two are ‘ambassadors for their species' and that all their suffering is so that the wild ones will survive. But you said yourself that it isn't working! You drive them crazy in zoos and then you blame them for turning on people!”

I had no idea where to begin with this jumble, but before I could try, the younger one said, “If everyone here is so nice to these elephants, where did Nakri get that gash on her thigh? Could it be that someone took an ankus and ripped her open?”

“No,” said a quiet voice. Ian. He must have seen the altercation through the window and come to back me up. “They get browse. Each week. Maple, maple and alder branches. She lay down on one. Poked herself. It abscessed.” He turned to me. “Sam called Security.”

“Of course he did,” said the junior activist. “You can't stand having the truth come out, so you evict us.”

“Enough, Dale,” said Mr. Bushy. “We've made our point. Let's go look at zebras. See you later, Ian.” He turned away, and I stepped back from his sign and backpack as they swung toward me.

“I don't believe that about the branches for one minute,” the sidekick called over his shoulder as they retreated.

The security guard rolled up in a little electric cart. I pointed at the retreating signage. “They went thataway.” The guard spun the sluggish little vehicle around and did his best to roar off.

I gathered myself back into bird keeper mode. “Thanks, Ian. Stinks to be the target.”

He nodded.

“What's
with
those two?” I asked. “They can get into the zoo before it's open, and the big-hair guy knew I wasn't an elephant keeper. How do they know all this?”

“Don't know how they got in. They know you don't work this area because they watch. All day.”

“Watch elephants the entire day? Why?”

“Short guy talks to visitors about sanctuaries. Young one hopes we hit one of them. Get it on camera.”

“That's disgusting.” I was mad all over again.

Ian shrugged and started back toward the barn.

“Ian, he knew your name,” I said to his back.

He didn't turn around or slow down. “It's on my shirt.”

That was true. I watched him disappear into the barn. But the senior sign-waver sounded as if he really knew Ian, not as if he'd just read his name. I shook it off and got on with my real work.

A little before noon, I dropped by the office to see if Jackie wanted to join me for lunch, hoping for news of Wallace. Mr. Crandall was exiting the Administration building as I approached the door. He brushed a hand over his silver hair and straightened his tie, gave me the briefest of distracted nods, and stepped toward the zoo entrance. I watched him through the gate. He positioned himself in front of the Finley Memorial Zoo entrance sign, facing a cluster of media types who bore an assortment of cameras and microphones. A press conference.

“What's up?” I asked Jackie. “The cubs?”

She shook her head, busy with the phones. I waited while she put three callers on hold and looked up, her face tight with strain.

“Not the cubs. Wallace's sister let the hospital disconnect his life support. He died an hour ago.”

I flinched in dismay. Dr. Reynolds was right. Kevin Wallace wasn't going to resolve anything.

Chapter Six

Damrey was not acting in her own best interests. She paced in the front stall, tail stuck out behind her, ears flat to her head, trunk waving around. She rumbled and blew long gusts and generally announced that she was upset, unhappy, and having a really bad day. Nakri wasn't as wound up, but neither was she the picture of pachyderm passivity. The cows milled about the barn, scuffling through straw and wood chips, pacing in and out of the two stalls.

This was a change from their calm cooperation half an hour earlier in the morning. Ian had stood by while I wielded the cup on a stick, tooted the whistle, and pitched out dried fruit. Damrey was no dummy and had searched the floor in front of the hay rack for her raisin reward before realizing that this time I had managed to dunk the wad properly into the hay rack. Nakri was the soul of cooperation. Anything for dried mango seemed to be her operating principle.

But now people were gathering inside the barn, in clusters by the service door and in the aisle along the viewing window. The zoo was not yet open, so no visitors or activists would be observing, or so I hoped.

Damrey was apparently not pleased to have all these strangers nearby. I relaxed my jaw and opened my fists. No one was at risk. It was only an excited elephant safely behind bars. I joined our team—Sam, Ian, Dr. Reynolds, Hap, Kayla, and Mr. Crandall. Two uniformed police officers, the two who responded to my emergency call when Wallace was first injured, stood with Detective Quintana to make the second team. They all stayed well clear of the elephants.

Mr. Crandall introduced three strangers who had to be the National Association of Zoos committee. Ed Berchtold was a small, handsome man of about fifty, the senior elephant keeper at a major Eastern zoo, wearing jeans, a thick green chambray shirt, and steel-toed boots. Dr. Barry Morgan, a veterinarian specializing in elephants, was casual in boots, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. The third, Dr. Lorene Rasmussen, was a research biologist. Mr. Crandall said she had spent twenty-five years studying Asian elephants in zoos and in the wild. She sported khaki safari pants with cargo pockets and a short-sleeved blue shirt with snaps. The three seemed to know each other well.

Mr. Crandall announced the Finley Zoo staff's names and roles. He said, “Having us all here is an opportunity for a complete review of the events that led to Kevin Wallace's death, with all interested parties present.”

I heard no gasps. Word had gotten to us all that Wallace had died.

Mr. Crandall continued. “The police are here because every unattended death requires an investigation. I am grateful they agreed to participate with the committee instead of requiring another disruptive session with the zoo staff. Unfortunately the OSHA representative has the flu and can't make this meeting. I'll address their concerns at a later date.” He folded his hands in front and stepped back, ceding leadership.

I assumed that the vet in the tropical shirt, Dr. Morgan, was in charge, but it was the tanned, weathered Dr. Rasmussen who led off with a second formal statement. “First, I want to express to those of you who worked with Mr. Wallace that the committee is very sorry for your loss.” She let that sit a beat. “Today we are here to determine, if possible, what led to the accident that occurred last Saturday and how to prevent anything similar from happening again. We will walk through background information and then the entire incident. We will follow up as needed tomorrow before we fly out in the afternoon.” She turned to Dr. Morgan, who knew his lines.

He said, “I draft the report. Barry and Lorene review it. Fred Crandall should have the preliminary draft in about two weeks. We may or may not have recommendations for managing the elephants here. It may affect the process to get this zoo fully accredited. We'll have to see.”

Dr. Rasmussen picked up. “For now, our goal is simply to understand what happened. It is not our job to assign blame. We will begin with background information. Sam, could you describe the history of these two animals.”

Damrey stood with her back to us, a hind foot stuck out behind her, and rocked rhythmically. Sam said that both had been circus performers and arrived years ago. “I was working hoofstock when we finished building this elephant exhibit, and Damrey was added to my string. She was pretty thin and had bad digestion when we got her. You could see all her vertebrae. I had to try a lot of different diets to get her settled in. I called five or six zoos for advice. I'd guess the circus sold her because she was such a mess. She was about twenty then, and we think she was originally from Thailand. Nakri came several years later, probably born in Cambodia. She was just a kid, only about six, and this little circus sold her in a bankruptcy before she was confiscated. She was chained most of the time and had a sore on her leg. She healed right up, and Damrey loved having her.” Sam's pride in his care of these two animals leaked through his matter-of-fact account. “Damrey's always been dominant, and Nakri's never challenged her. But Nakri takes the lead now more than she used to. Damrey seems happy to follow. She's getting on in years.” He added, almost as a plea, “She's always been reliable.”

Directed by the researcher's quiet questions, Sam described the daily routine, foot care, training, bathing, cleaning, and so on. Dr. Rasmussen said she was glad to see the soft floor covering in the stalls and the deep sand in the yard. “That's why Damrey walks sound even at her age. We see so many in captivity with arthritis from the hard surfaces. What about exercise?”

Sam glanced at Mr. Crandall. “We need the new exhibit for that. I walked them on the grounds up until a few years ago, even did elephant rides for awhile with Damrey, but the insurance company clamped down on that. Can't even walk them before visitors come in.”

Mr. Crandall nodded in confirmation. This was before my time. The idea of two elephants wandering the grounds was startling. I sensed old friction over ceasing the exercise program and wondered where Wallace had figured in that. My bet was he had sided with Sam.

Dr. Rasmussen turned to Ian, who seemed surprised to be asked, and requested that he review the daily and weekly schedule again. Ian looked cornered and kept his answers even more terse than usual. Berchtold, the committee's elephant keeper, asked why they didn't use the door between the back stall and the outside yard. Ian froze up, and Sam explained that the building had settled and it didn't work. “The maintenance staff said it was a huge job. They'll need to tear out and re-pour that whole wall.”

Mr. Crandall looked uncomfortable, but all he said was, “That's a problem we plan to address.”

I was ready to bet my next paycheck that the zoo would be dinged for the non-functional door in the NAZ report and wondered why the director wasn't more specific about the new exhibit. He might have given a date when he thought it would be done.

Next up were Dr. Reynolds and Kayla, who walked through the research protocol. “Kayla, did Damrey ever swing her trunk at you or act threatening?” Dr. Rasmussen asked.

Kayla was backed up against Dr. Reynolds and Hap. The brash vitality was nowhere to be seen. “Well, I don't know…I mean, I'm not any kind of elephant expert…She—Damrey—didn't seem to like me. She sort of did what I asked, but mostly because Ian or Sam was nearby. I didn't feel comfortable around her…” Her voice trailed off.

“And did she ever act aggressive toward you?”

“Um…it's hard for me to say.”

I'd never seen cheerful Kayla look so uncomfortable.

Damrey made herself conspicuous by vibrating her forehead against the closed door to the outside yard. It was hard to hear over the din. We waited while Sam shut both cows outside.

“Did Damrey grab at you or try to hit you?” Dr. Rasmussen asked Kayla

“Once, when Sam and Ian weren't right there next to me. I jumped back.”

Sam and Ian both came to attention. Sam looked dubious, and Ian seemed surprised. Sam said, “You should have said something.”

“I…I didn't know if it was normal or what. I didn't want you to think…” Kayla looked miserable.

I looked around and saw a sea of poker faces. This did not sound good for Damrey.

I knew what Kayla didn't want others to think. She didn't want them to think she was afraid of elephants. The same concern I had.

I was next and described my two mornings of sample collection. I said that Damrey was initially uncooperative the first day, but was fine after a few minutes and had behaved well today. And, no, she hadn't swiped at me. I didn't add that I'd been careful not to give her an opportunity.

“Sam,” Dr. Rasmussen said, “Could you tell us about Kevin Wallace's normal interactions, if any, with these animals? Did he go in with them?”

“He came three-four times a week to help me out. We're shorthanded, what with the elephants and giraffes and so on. The girls did anything he asked. He helped me trim feet, and he kept Nakri quiet when the vet lanced that abscess on her hip two weeks ago, just by talking to her. Wallace was an elephant man before he came here to be foreman, and he never forgot it.”

“Did he observe all safety protocols, such as not going in with them when you or Ian weren't standing by?”

Sam said, “Yes, he did.” Ian was stiff and silent.

The gloomy detective surprised us by saying, “A word?” He and Dr. Rasmussen stepped out of hearing and conferred. Dr. Rasmussen motioned Berchtold, the elephant keeper, to join them.

They returned to the group, and Dr. Rasmussen resumed questioning Sam. Berchtold tapped Ian on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the work room. They were behind Sam, and he didn't notice when they left.

I didn't get it until I saw Hap nod thoughtfully at the detective, lips pursed. He looked impressed.

The detective had picked up on the tension between the two Finley Zoo elephant keepers and recommended separating them for questioning.

Ian would still be on the spot. If he described what he thought was Wallace's recklessness, Sam would figure it out when he read the report. Ian would hesitate, but the odds of him coming clean in private with Berchtold were vastly better than the odds of honesty in front of Sam and the rest of us.

Dr. Rasmussen was done with background. I was up again and described my morning from hell. Hap, Sam, and the two police officers confirmed my story and added details from their perspective. I didn't learn anything new. Ian and Berchtold returned after a long session. Sam frowned at them.

Dr. Rasmussen looked at the vet in the tropical shirt and some signal passed between them. He picked up the questioning, turning to the police group. “Detective Quintana, you said you would provide information about Mr. Wallace's injury. May we see the medical chart and x-rays?”

“The medical examiner briefed me, and I'll share that with you.”

Dr. Morgan looked annoyed. “Very well then. Share away.”

Quintana said, “Cause of death was brain trauma. He was hit on the head with the twin to that elephant hook on the wall over there. The old wood one, not those lightweight aluminum ones. Hit twice. The hook penetrated the skull and caused massive bleeding. He lost consciousness quickly and never regained it. Minor contusions on his upper arms, ribs, and back were not medically significant.”

“
What?
” Dr. Morgan said. “You knew this from the beginning, and we're learning it
now?
”

Quintana was not a man who flinched. “Medical information is privileged, and the family did not want it shared. We had to respect that, but now it's a death situation. I'm informing you because it's necessary to close out the incident.”

The NAZ committee, Sam, and Ian all seemed disconcerted, and I was flat-out astonished. No internal bleeding? No smashed ribs? All that mauling was “not medically significant”?

The big detective continued unflustered. “The question is, which elephant took the hook away from him and hit him. It looks like the older one, but I'd like to be sure.”

Sam spoke first, to Mr. Crandall. “I didn't know he was hit with an
ankus
. If Damrey wanted him dead, she would have smeared the floor with him. Why would she fool around with an ankus?”

Dr. Rasmussen said, “Detective, elephants kill people all the time and not by hitting them with little sticks. They use their bodies—step on the head, kick them, or kneel down and crush the victim with their trunk doubled under. Or they smack down with their trunks. All are effective. This news completely changes what we thought happened.”

The detective's long face seemed to droop even more. “You're the experts, but you'll need to convince me that this isn't just what it looks like. He goes in with that poker thing and jabs her. She doesn't like it, she takes it away from him and whacks him a couple of times on top of his head. I looked into it. Elephants have the manual dexterity with those trunks. Maybe it's a fit of temper, and she stops there. She seems plenty temperamental. We asked around pretty thoroughly and didn't find any reason for someone to kill him. Let's not make this more complicated than it is, no matter how much you like elephants.”

Berchtold turned to me. “Describe what she was doing to his body.”

Startled, I described again the fumbling trunk and the big feet shoving him around on the straw and rocking him back and forth.

He turned to Sam. “Did she ever have a calf or was she around a birth?”

Sam shrugged. “She might have seen a birth, before she was captured. Maybe watched her mother's next birth.”

Berchtold said, “I think she was trying to get him up. Cows use their trunks to help their newborn calves stand up. And they nudge them with their feet. Without seeing it, I can't be sure, but it sounds like she was trying to help him. She sure wasn't trying to finish the job.”

“But she had her
foot
on him,” I said. “She was shoving him around.”