“Of course not. Look, I’m a little distracted. Not at my best, friend-wise.”
“I’d want to know what happened to Rick if I were in your shoes. I want to know in my shoes. I can’t believe that Rick was up here for romance, or sex, or whatever. He was probably checking out something over at Reptiles. His death was traumatic—anybody would be upset for a long time. He cared a lot for you, that’s why he had all that life insurance.”
“Maybe so. Or maybe it was just a good salesman.”
“You aren’t being fair to Rick. And Iris, like I said before, our health insurance plan probably covers grief counseling. You ought to look into it. It should help you move on and not get stuck in grief.”
“I’ll get unstuck when I know what happened. I can’t live with not knowing.”
Another dead end. I couldn’t let it go. “You were close to him, pulling your jacket over him. Did he smell like whiskey or beer?”
“That’s a very weird question.” Linda pushed the last of her lunch away, looking ill.
“He was drunk and there was a whiskey bottle nearby. It’s puzzled me—he drank beer.”
“He smelled like scotch. Iris, I don’t think…”
I interrupted before she shut this down. “Did you see George that night?”
“Yeah.” This was easier for her. “He puttered over to the Commissary in his cart and wanted to chat for hours instead of keeping an eye on things.”
“No one else? Wallace, Denny, Mr. Crandall?”
“No. I told you that. The place was deserted.”
“So yours was the only car in the parking lot? Yours and George’s? What about Rick’s truck?”
“George takes the bus. Rick’s truck wasn’t there. I’d have noticed.” Something flickered on her face and was gone.
“What?”
She looked hesitant, then trapped. “Nobody ever asked me about the parking lot. I just remembered I saw a motorcycle. It wasn’t there when I came in, but when I left, I looked around for a coyote that Diego said had been hanging around the lot. I saw a motorcycle, over by the shrubbery on the edge.”
“Scaly dragon eye painted on the tank?” I was clutching the cup.
“Well, yeah. Yeah, I did see that.”
“Hap’s, then. Was he around?” I tried for a relaxed voice, less steely.
“I never saw him at the Commissary or anywhere else. I don’t think he was here until maybe just before I left. Or else I didn’t notice it when I came in.” She brightened. “Maybe the bike broke down and he left it there all night. Got someone to take him home.”
“I’ll ask him. What else?”
“Iris, I feel like I’ve been strip-mined. That’s all I know.” She looked tense and unhappy. “It really was an accident. Be careful about accusing people of things.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said and got up to go. “Linda, thanks. Thanks for putting up with me.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She sounded doubtful. “I really will miss you if you go to L.A.” That sounded more sincere.
“I’d miss you, too.” I meant it.
I found Hap still at the café, but so were other staff. Our chat about Rick’s last night would have to wait. But I didn’t plan to wait long.
Calvin and I met in the penguin kitchen at 3:30 to finish the day’s reports. Generally I spent it cleaning and he spent it bent over the daily log with a pencil crushed in his grip, printing meticulous details of who had eaten what and how they had behaved today. Generally he ignored me.
This afternoon, the atmosphere was subtly altered. “Hey,” he greeted me as he came in. After a few minutes writing, he added, “Take a look at the green band male. He look sluggish to you?”
I pulled my head out of the refrigerator I was wiping down and checked the exhibit. Mr. Green was cruising slowly around the doughnut-shaped pool.
“Looks okay to me. Why?”
“Didn’t eat much today. We need to keep an eye on him.”
I wiped counters, pleased that he’d asked my opinion, and gathered my nerve. After he’d finished most of the log but we still had ten minutes before day’s end, I spent some of the credit I’d earned raccoon-wrestling. “You still think that heat lamp was set up by a kid fooling around? I’ve been wondering about it.”
“I have no idea.” He didn’t look tense.
“Suppose it was set deliberately. Who at the zoo would know how to do that?”
“Lots of people, I suppose. Especially Maintenance guys. Why would anybody do such a thing?”
“I’m just asking. Wallace isn’t the only one worrying about accidents—I could have been killed. Or you.”
He put the pencil down and tidied up the papers. Looking at them, not me, he said, “Mishaps—accidents—happen. Tragedies happen. Lots of time you never do find out why. You have to go on.” Another pause while he got up and put the pencil in a drawer and sat back down. “Southern California’s a big change.”
I dumped out and rinsed the strainer from the left sink. “True. Makes me nervous. But Wallace wants to get rid of me. He doesn’t like the accidents.”
“Wallace doesn’t have ordinary sense. Man’s a fool in a lot of ways.”
“Uh, thanks. Do you think he has anything else against me?”
“I have no idea. He used to be a more agreeable person, I’ll tell you that. Now he can barely say a civil word to anyone except the vet and Mr. Crandall, so don’t think you’re getting special treatment.”
He had a point there. “How long have you worked with him?” I sprinkled cleanser in the sink and used a sponge to scrub it.
“I been here over twenty years when Wallace started, same year as Dr. Dawson, about maybe eight years ago. He got the foreman job maybe five, six years ago.”
“What was he like when he started?” This was idle curiosity and a simple desire to keep Calvin’s slow, heavy voice going.
“Wallace? We got a lot of good work done. My wife liked him. He never married, though I thought he would. That might have taught him some loyalty and manners.” Calvin looked at his hands, quiet on the table before him, blunt and battered, with short chipped nails. He gave his square head a small shake. Throwing off old sorrows?
“A guy at the L.A. Zoo said Dr. Dawson was married.” I tackled the second sink, which needed a swipe or two.
“He was.”
“What happened with his wife?” I washed my hands and scrubbed under the nails to get the fish goo out.
“Up and left him. Surprised everyone, especially him.”
I pushed it farther. “I can’t see why anybody’d want to leave him. No bad habits that I can see.”
Calvin studied me for a minute. “He’s a good vet, but nobody’s perfect,” he said in his gravelly voice. “She was a pretty woman.”
I wiped my hands dry on a paper towel and squirted lotion from the bottle on the counter. “Why’d you think she left him?”
Calvin stood, knees cracking, and stretched. He pulled his jacket on. “No idea. About time to head for the barn. I got some pictures from when we first got the penguins. I’ll bring ’em in someday.”
The clock ticked and he opened the door, walking slow and steady to punch out and drive home. I walked with him, but we were done talking. Had I learned anything new? Perhaps only that Calvin was now willing to talk to me. For a little while. On some topics. And that Dr. Dawson had been dumped. Maybe his tense, formal style was a consequence.
At the Commissary, Hap and Diego were reviewing the night’s food deliveries. I punched out and lingered in the little room where dirty uniforms were left and clean uniforms were delivered. Diego left and most of the keepers had come through and departed by the time I came out.
I found him cleaning knives, getting ready to go home. “Hey, Hap. Got a minute?”
“Always got time for you, girl.” He looked tired and only mildly interested.
I leaned a hip against the
counter. “Hap, I’m trying to fill in some of the blanks for Rick’s last night. I wasn’t paying attention and I don’t remember a lot of things people said. Like, I think you said you were up here late that night, right?”
Hap’s face froze for an instant. “I was holding a party, remember? You were there.”
“Yeah. But Rick came up here after the party and I thought you did, too.”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
A beard and mustache make a face hard to read. I had never noticed that before. “I can’t remember if it was something you said or if someone told me they’d seen your bike in the lot.”
“Who told you that?” He wiped down his cleaver and hung it on a nail.
“Hap, I said I couldn’t remember. I’m trying to sort it all out.”
“Benita and I had to clean up after the party. Why the hell would I come up here anyway?” His voice was easy, perhaps a touch nettled.
“I don’t know. I’m just asking.”
“George or Diego tell you I was here?” Hap’s voice was a little sharper.
“No. Diego was off that night. His daughter was in a play. George wouldn’t notice a rock concert in the elephant yard.”
Thick sandy eyebrows bunched together until the answer came to him. “Linda.”
“Hap, I’m not trying to make trouble. I’m trying to find out what happened that night.”
“I don’t like people making up stories about me, especially not under the circumstances.”
“Hap, was your bike in the parking lot that night? Did it break down or did you loan it to someone?”
“I don’t loan my bike. Linda needs to explain why she’s spreading bullshit. I’ll get this unkinked tomorrow morning.” He pulled on his scuffed leather jacket and took his helmet off a hook.
“Chill out, Hap. It’s a misunderstanding. Don’t start a war.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
It was a problem. Hap would confront Linda and she would regret she had told me what she’d noticed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.”
I walked to my truck replaying Hap’s words. I’d finally learned something new about Rick’s last night. Hap had been at the zoo. I’d bet on it.
It wasn’t hard to imagine. Rick and Benita. Rick was strong and fit, not easy to push around, even drunk. But Hap was bigger and experienced in real fighting. Hap picking up Rick, tossing him over the rail. The lions surprised and fascinated, ready…
Hap had lied to me. My stomach roiled.
Not Hap, please not Hap.
Chapter Seventeen
Denny lounged in a corner of Marcie’s white sofa, wearing pale jeans, a purple T-shirt from a band I’d never heard of, and a green kerchief tied around his head. He looked surly and piratical, if not criminal. The Princess was a cream and brown oval in his lap, purrs grading into snores. I was surprised to see him serving as heated cat furniture, but surprises were Denny’s specialty. Six-Toes was hanging out hopefully in the kitchen watching Marcie cook and The Impossible Kitten was mauling a catnip mouse on the rug, adding a lighthearted note to a sullen ambience. The kitten’s white paws looked stylish against a black pelt that at last had a healthy sheen.
Marcie’s apartment ran to white, with a shiny brass and glass coffee table, prints by great masters on the walls. Shelves held pretty vases, books arranged by size, pictures of her mother and grandparents. Serene and quiet, clean and careful. I wondered if Marcie would ever put a jukebox in the dining room or paint a wall crimson.
I also wondered if I’d get through the evening without punching Denny. I declined Marcie’s offer of wine, the better to keep the lid on. Rational, calm, persuasive—I could do it. I had to do it. Denny was the only source of information left.
He and I grunted at each other, exchanged the legal minimum of small talk, and drank our beer (him) and soda water (me) until Marcie called us to dinner. It seemed we’d taken a vow of silence until the opening bell, which apparently Marcie controlled. She chatted at us until we’d eaten our curried chicken, rice, baked squash, and apple cobbler. This menu seemed unlikely to accommodate his latest dietary obsessions, but Denny ate everything put in front of him.
After clearing the table, we had an awkward time deciding whether the dining room table or the living room was better for serious conversation. Denny and I ended up at opposite ends of the sofa, with Marcie on a chair across from us. Cats distributed themselves, shifting about.
Marcie smiled brightly at us. “Denny, Iris and I are hoping you will tell us everything you can remember about Rick’s last couple of days. Iris is trying to piece together what happened.”
Denny put his elbow on the sofa back and crossed one ankle over the other knee, aggressively relaxed, looking at Marcie. “That’s what this is all about? I figured she was going to sue me for defamation of character. I was going to counter-sue for damages to my van.” He wasn’t making a joke. “I already told her everything about Rick.” He glanced at me. “You think I’m holding back some big news?” The Princess returned to his lap, one tentative paw after another, and curled her old joints into a round cat pillow.
I suppressed an urge to hurl a glass at him. “If you could focus on the question, maybe you could tell me again about those last few days?”
Marcie said, “I don’t know what happened. Tell me.” Her hands were relaxed, folded in her lap.
Denny shifted toward her, surliness replaced by patience. The Princess’ tail twitched. “He called me up, said he needed a place to stay. I said ‘no problem.’ It wasn’t hard to guess why. He said, could he bring Ranger; I said we’d give it a try with Strongbad.”
“The dog’s name is Range, not Ranger,” I said. “I’ve told you that a dozen times. And calling a big dog ‘Strongbad’ is asking for trouble.”
“Be quiet,” said Marcie.
Wasn’t she supposed to be on my side?
Denny put both feet on the floor and straightened up, talking to Marcie. “Didn’t work out with the dogs, too much shoving and growling and no good way to keep them separated. So he took Ranger back home. He left him there, picked up a few things and came back.”
“Do you have his computer?” After my house was broken into and I couldn’t find it, I’d forgotten to ask.
His eyes swept toward me briefly. “It’s still at my place. Forgot about it.”
“I want to take a look at it. Maybe it’s got something to explain that last night,” I said.
Denny ignored me.
“What did Rick do when he wasn’t at work?” Marcie asked.
“Nothing special. Listened to music, watched TV. We went to a concert once. Did some Net surfing.”
“What was he looking for on the Internet?” I asked.
“Didn’t say.” Denny slumped back on the sofa, tapping his foot. “He spent a lot of time getting my printer to work with his PC.”
“Was he drinking while he stayed with you?” I asked.
“Not that I saw. Maybe a beer. I didn’t really notice.”
“Well, he sure got lit that last night. Was he drinking at the party after I left?”
“No. You two were gone a long time. Marcie and I talked.”
Marcie nodded, all attention.
Denny hunched forward, coiling into tension. The Princess stuck out a paw and hooked a claw into his jeans at the thigh. “Rick came back to the party and took off. Just grabbed his jacket and left. Iris didn’t even come back for hers.” He unhooked the paw without looking down. “I went around to all the bars and liquor stores near the zoo with Rick’s picture from the paper, that article they did on his death.”
“And?” Marcie asked, still sitting with her back straight, hands in her lap, perfectly composed.
“Nobody remembered him. Nobody remembered selling him any beer or anything.”
I was impressed at Denny’s initiative—and still baffled. “I checked the Vultures’ Roost. He had
n’t been in for a few days before he died. Did he drink at your place?”
“I don’t think so. I had some beer in the fridge and half a bottle of vodka. They’re still there. I think he went straight to the zoo after the party. It wouldn’t make sense to drive all the way to my place first.”
Looking at Marcie while he talked to me or about me—it was getting annoying. Did he still think I’d hit Rick with a rock and dumped him in the moat?
“The paper said that Rick died between one and four in the morning. Before that, he got tanked somewhere,” I insisted.
Denny dumped The Princess on the floor and stood up. She stalked stiffly to her bed, radiating elderly Siamese annoyance. Denny started pacing, engaged at last, filling the room with restless tension. “There’s lots of places he could get a bottle. What I want to know is, what did Iris tell him?”
“Tell him?” I didn’t get it. “We talked. About his drinking, whether to get divorced. We decided to give it another try.”
“There’s another possibility we could explore. I’m not saying it’s true, just something I’ve been thinking about.”
He had his back to me.
“What would that be?” Marcie asked.
“I’m thinking it’s possible Iris drop-kicked him same as she did me and isn’t coming clean about it. Maybe she tells him the two of them are through forever, says it was no good from Day One and it’s his fault.”
I could feel heat rising in my face. “Where do you get off, calling me a liar?”
Denny wasn’t done. “Here’s Rick, torn up good, because he was kicking himself for wrecking the home scene, trying to pull it back together, and she rips him a new one. He gets a bottle, goes to the zoo because he doesn’t want to see me or anyone else. Iris convinced him he’s a juicehead and a negative-energy loser, so what else is he to do? He really tanks up—codeine for the soul, you know?”
“Denny, this is psychotic raving. You are out of—”
Denny plowed on. “And then the lions start looking like a solution. She’d find him in the morning, and everyone would know it was her fault. Only no one thought that. Everyone was sorry for her instead, and before that wears off, she starts acting like she’s trying to find out how he died.”
Night Kill Page 16