When we read about a crime in the newspaper, we can usually guess the offender’s motive. Murder is often committed in a fit of rage, while robbery is driven by greed. But some crimes leave us scratching our heads in puzzlement. That was my reaction upon learning that customs officials in my home country of New Zealand had arrested a man for attempting to board an aeroplane with forty-four live geckos concealed in his underwear.
I couldn’t fathom how anyone could hide so many animals in his pants, let alone why he would want to. What could he possibly plan to do with forty-four geckos?
As a writer, curiosity is one of my greatest assets. If a newspaper headline grabs my attention, chances are others will also be intrigued. So, I did some research. I spoke with New Zealand’s leading herpetologists — reptile experts — and gradually uncovered the fascinating truth about the little-known world of animal smuggling.
New Zealand, an isolated archipelago in the Pacific Ocean, is home to a unique array of flora and fauna. A hundred bird species live or breed only on these islands, including the majestic southern royal albatross and the iconic kiwi. Less well known but equally precious are New Zealand’s lizards. Some of their names hint at their beauty: the jewelled gecko, the rainbow skink, the goldstripe gecko.
Unfortunately, these creatures’ good looks have caught the eye of exotic pet collectors worldwide. The lizards’ endangered status only makes them more desirable to those seeking something rare, and they command high prices on the international black market. Mr Gecko Pants’ actions didn’t seem so mysterious anymore. As crime writers know, some people will do anything for money.
In the course of my research, I came across the harlequin gecko and fell in love. Sporting a coral-pink pelt adorned with green diamond patterns, this little lizard looks as though it was dreamed up by a French fashion designer during a particularly wild party. The harlequin gecko is found only in a remote corner of Rakiura, an island in New Zealand’s deep south. Most of Rakiura is a national park, unspoiled by roads, so a smuggler on the hunt for geckos would need to hire a helicopter—unless he owned a yacht, like the villain who had begun to haunt my imagination…
When I discovered the harlequin gecko, I was in the midst of writing my second thriller, No One Will Know. My heroine, Eve, is a vulnerable young woman—friendless, penniless, and pregnant. Lured to a remote Australian island with promises of a better life, she becomes the target of an organized crime network. My villain is a yachtsman who spends most of his time at sea. I could see the story so clearly, apart from one detail: What kind of crime was my evil sailor mired in? Who were his victims before Eve came along? And that’s when my little harlequin gecko skittered into the picture. A yacht would be the perfect way to smuggle animals.
Few novels explore the arcane world of wildlife smuggling, which is surprising given its impact in recent years. In the past decade, over a thousand gamekeepers have been murdered in Africa, animals such as the white rhino have been driven to the brink of extinction, and trafficking has been implicated in triggering the coronavirus pandemic.
Yet the smuggling persists. In Russia, endangered New Zealand geckos are being kept by so-called animal lover Ekaterina Valeyeva. Her first husband was killed by his own pet snake, and her second husband languishes in a Brazilian prison after attempting to board a plane with nearly three hundred live animals (packed in his suitcase, not his pants). Despite these events, YouTube videos of Valeyeva handling her captive endangered geckos continue to grow in popularity. Thousands of followers praise her apparent concern for the animals. It’s hard to think of another serious crime that someone could openly film, confident that viewers won’t realise anything is awry. I hope my novel sheds light on this shadowy world—while providing readers with a heart-stopping adventure.\
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