Night Kill

by Ann Littlewood

  She was unflustered. “I was trying to help Freddie.” This time I got the connection—she must be the girlfriend Jackie had mentioned.

  “What’s Mr. Crandall got to do with it?”

  “Kevin Wallace told him about Denny’s call and asked what he wanted to do about it. Kevin wanted Freddie to handle it. He didn’t know what to tell Denny, whether he should bring the things in or turn it over to the state or what. He wasn’t concerned, but of course Freddie was. He was so upset today that Asian Experience might be canceled or delayed or get a lot of bad publicity. After all his hard work, now this. He didn’t know what to do. I told him not to worry, that it would all work out. I always tell him that and usually it’s true, but this time I thought I could make sure. You have no idea how distraught he was. So I came on over and climbed in the window.”

  She shrugged and smiled. “I thought I would take some little thing to make it look like a robbery, then find whatever pots or arrowheads and throw them away. Then they would be gone and Freddie wouldn’t worry himself into an angina attack. But Denny came crashing down on me and I almost had a heart attack!” She gave a throaty laugh.

  “Wallace talked to Mr. Crandall and told him about the artifacts?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. He thinks it’s Freddie’s job, not his. Kevin does animals and personnel and Freddie decides everything sensitive.”

  “And Freddie—I mean, Mr. Crandall—was worried?” I asked.

  “Asian Experience is the jewel of his career. He’s waited such a long time to do a major new exhibit. Well, you can’t imagine how keyed up he is over every little thing. It’s already three months behind schedule and over budget. You’d think the money was coming out of his own pocket.” She sniffed.

  “What about kickbacks? Is Wallace getting kickbacks on the construction?” Denny asked.

  I heard beeping noises from the microwave in the kitchen, but curiosity won over hunger. Again.

  “I have no idea. I doubt it’s much money if he is.” Suzanne was unconcerned.

  “Does the zoo board know his brother-in-law got the contract for the bulldozer work?” Denny pressed.

  “I’m sure they must. They review the big decisions and Kevin’s made no secret of the relationship. At least not to me.” She glanced down with a little smile that hinted of a lot of things not secret to her. She reminded me of Jackie, only far more upscale.

  I looked at Denny. “Our theory is shot to hell. The microwave is done.”

  He left and came back with a TV dinner and a fork. Chiles rellenos, refried beans, rice with bits of something red, and cut corn. “It’s organic,” he told me. It sounded like an apology.

  The edges were bubbly and the center was icy. I scarfed it. My primitive animal brain was suffused with gratitude toward Denny for feeding me, until my cortex kicked in again.

  “Did you really find any ancient artifacts?” Suzanne asked me, perched like a quail on the sofa.

  Denny and I looked at each other and didn’t answer.

  “Ah, then.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled at Denny. “Perhaps you could tell me what you hoped to accomplish?”

  “Denny,” I said, “do you think you need stitches in that hand?”

  He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak.

  “You’d better start picking up this place,” I said. “It looks like a bar fight.”

  Denny looked put out, but he shut his mouth.

  Suzanne stretched, which nicely emphasized her chest. “I see.” Blue eyes focused on me.

  I said nothing, and Denny kept quiet.

  At last she said, “The tea was wonderful, but it’s starting to wear off and I need my beauty sleep.” She tucked her chin a little and glanced at Denny sidelong through her eyelashes. “Oh, are those old Spiderman comics? My husband, bless him, collected comics. He’s been gone many years. I haven’t had the heart to throw them out.” She said “gone” in a way that meant “dead.” “I have boxes of Spirit and Pogo comic books, kept so nice in plastic sleeves. I don’t know what I should do with them.”

  Denny’s poker face slid into place with almost an audible clang. “Originals or reprints?” he asked indifferently.

  “Oh, they must be originals. He got some from an uncle. Some he bought at those collectors’ meetings. You collect them also. Isn’t that interesting? You two are so different.” She made it a compliment.

  “So do you plan to sell them someday?” Denny’s voice was steady but his fingers were tapping softly on his thigh.

  “Oh, they aren’t worth enough to bother. I was thinking of them more as a gift for someone, if I ever found anyone who would cherish them.” She smiled and shook her head sadly. “He loved them so, I want them to be appreciated.”

  I looked at Denny in alarm. Surely he wouldn’t fall for this? He would—I could practically see the hook through his lip.

  “Appreciated by someone who wouldn’t mention to the police or Mr. Crandall that you committed breaking and entering?” I suggested.

  “Oh, Iris!” she chirped, looking at Denny. “No, I really am looking for someone to enjoy them.”

  Well, it hadn’t been my window she climbed through.

  “Why don’t you stop in tomorrow or the next day? You could take a look and see if they are anything special. Suzanne Skutch. I’m in the phone book.” She spelled out her last name, took her flashlight, and tap-tapped out the door in three-inch heels, leaving a trace of perfume behind.

  “Wow! What a woman! I have to rethink Freddie from the top,” Denny said grinning as the door closed.

  “Chubby little thing,” I said, charmed in spite of myself.

  “Meow,” said Denny.

  “I’m going home,” I told him wearily. “Wallace didn’t murder anybody over Indian bones and neither did Mr. Crandall.”

  “Why not Mr. Crandall? I’d say Mr. Crandall is now a prime suspect, if you stop to think about it.”

  “I did stop to think about it. He couldn’t wrestle Rick over the guardrail. He wouldn’t know how to turn on the geyser at the Children’s Zoo. And he wouldn’t kill someone. Incidentally, I am never going to work with you again on anything as long as I live.” I looked around. “What a mess.” I’m not sure whether I meant Rick’s death or Denny’s living room. Both qualified.

  I slogged back to my truck in the dark and drove home, wondering how much worse Denny had made the situation.

  I found out at eight the next morning. Jackie called, waking me up on my day off.

  “Mr. Wallace wants you in his office in an hour,” she said.

  “It’s my day off. Do I have to?” A pre-coffee crisis finds me at my most vulnerable, whiny and slow-witted.

  “You do. Wear your best Kevlar,” she said. “He had me call Calvin and Denny, too,” and she hung up.

  Denny arrived at the Administration building at the same time I did. We exchanged desperate glances and marched into Wallace’s office together to meet our fates, a puzzled Calvin following.

  “What the hell are you two trying to do?” the foreman greeted us from behind his desk. “I got Crandall climbing my tree, saying you two invented some prank to block Asian Experience. That is all I need.” He turned on Calvin. “Did you put them up to this? Is this your big idea of how to get the aviary replaced?”

  Calvin looked at me.

  “No, he didn’t know anything about whatever it is you’re talking about,” I said. “I mean, he didn’t put us up to anything.”

  “What exactly are we talking about?” Denny asked.

  Wallace shoved his chair back and stood up, his face red. “Don’t act like morons. I mean that phone call to me about Indian artifacts. You didn’t find any pots or whatever. All you’re doing is trying to interfere with the construction and get even for the disciplinary action.” He turned to me. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since…for weeks. I’m trying to work with your situation, but I got only so much slack for mental pr
oblems. For this, I gotta put a disciplinary warning in your file. Get your head straight, or you’re gonna be out of here.”

  He turned back to Denny. “I’m starting the process to terminate you. You’ll get the paperwork today.” He glowered at Calvin and sat back down. “Out, all of you.”

  “What on earth was that all about?” Calvin asked as soon as we were safely out of the Administration building.

  “Suzanne talked to Freddie,” Denny said to me, ignoring him.

  “No shit,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty

  I sat in my pickup in the employee portion of the parking lot trying to grasp the full scope of the disaster. Denny was to blame for the misfire, but in truth, this would still be a catastrophe if I’d been the one to spring the trap.

  Denny would appeal his firing, which might delay it long enough for Wallace to calm down, although that did not seem likely. I was in only moderately hot water—a warning in my personnel file was the least of my worries.

  The big deal was this: if all the surmises and logical leaps were correct, Rick’s murderer was wise to the trap, or would be soon, and, moreover, knew what Denny and I thought had happened the night Rick died. If we were getting close to the truth, and I thought we were, the killer needed to get rid of both of us, pronto.

  Now Denny was at risk, too. What about Marcie? After consideration, I concluded she probably wasn’t. Denny had mentioned her name to Suzanne, but it would take some work to find out who she was and where she lived. She was likely safe for now.

  If Wallace was exonerated…I got out of the truck and walked back to the Administration building.

  A peek through the window showed that the door to Wallace’s office was closed. Jackie was sitting at her desk, on the phone and turned away. I nipped around the building to the side door. This time the Education Outreach office was unlocked. A large woman in a large dress printed with large sunflowers was pulling paper handouts, colored pens, and what, on a closer look, resolved into bat masks, off crowded shelves and piling them into a plastic crate. Materials for a classroom presentation.

  “Good morning to you,” she warbled, and beamed at me. “What can I do for you on this bountiful day?”

  “I think I left a jar here. A jar with a little snake skin?”

  “We have guinea pig skulls, ostrich eggs, porcupine quills, and a peacock foot. We have snakeskins in all sizes. Or can I interest you in parrot feathers or a turtle carapace or a freeze-dried hawk moth?” She giggled.

  I edged around her and scanned the shelves. On the second pass, I spotted it, nestled into a mink pelt.

  One small snake shed, two hatched-out turtle eggs, and—hard to spot—one small tooth.

  “This is it. Thanks.”

  “Any time. This is your full-service nature’s magic shop! Showing children and adults the spell of the wild!”

  I fled with the jar.

  Her voice followed me. “Have a beautiful day! Each one comes only once!”

  Wallace’s door was still closed. I stuck my head into the office.

  “Jackie, come talk to me outside,” I hissed. I didn’t want Jackie spreading news about the failed trap. It was barely possible that the killer might not learn about it for a day or two if she kept quiet. I needed that slim advantage for a trap of my own. Of course, if Hap were the killer, which I could not believe, Denny had already alerted him to what we were on to.

  Jackie didn’t waste any time.

  “What did you and Denny do?” she asked, as we huddled in her smoking refuge under the eaves. “I thought Mr. Crandall was having a heart attack.”

  I stuck close to the shrubbery. If Wallace came out, I’d vanish into the bushes like a hunted doe.

  “Jackie, listen. You have to keep absolutely quiet about this.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything. Look, I can’t tell you. It’s important. Keep quiet until…until next Wednesday. Then I’ll tell you what’s up. Honest. You owe me one, remember?”

  Jackie sputtered, “How can I keep quiet if I don’t know what it is?”

  “Denny getting fired and me in trouble and the reason why.”

  “I never talk about that stuff. It’s unprofessional. What happened?”

  “I can’t tell you. Just don’t talk about it at all. You really, really have to do this. Or we won’t be friends.” Because I’d quite possibly be dead.

  Jackie stared at me. “You are seriously flipping out. You need to get away from this place and calm down.”

  “No, I’m not crazy, but I’ve got to go. Wednesday you get the scoop.” I checked that the coast was clear and started toward the parking lot. I stopped in two steps and turned back to Jackie, who was still looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Jackie, I got the L.A. job. Tell anyone you want. Tell everyone.”

  I sat in the truck again and planned my next step. Jackie would probably find out what Denny and I were in trouble for. She might or might not keep quiet about it. She certainly would share with the world that I had the L.A. job. That was the best I could do.

  Now for the tooth.

  Wallace did want it in the hands of the Education Outreach department. Wallace really was innocent, if the burial site part of the scenario was correct. And perhaps now I knew why my house had been broken into and set on fire. Someone other than Wallace knew about the tooth and wanted it out of circulation.

  I drove to Portland to catch my dentist, Dr. Chen. I made it to her office in southeast Portland, not far from my parents’ house, by 11:45 AM. The receptionist was new, with spiky frosted hair and a blue tattoo around her wrist. I said I needed to talk to Dr. Chen. She said I needed to make an appointment. I said I needed to see the dentist immediately. We went on like that for a bit, but I was prepared to spend all the time it took, and she wanted to go to lunch.

  Finally she agreed to see whether Dr. Chen would talk to me, and what was it I wanted to speak with her about? The concept of a talk with the dentist that didn’t involve actual dentistry on my actual mouth was difficult. I used the words “consultation” and “urgent” and “long-time patient.” My patience was used up, and I said these words several times with escalating decibels.

  She went off disapprovingly to the back of the office and came back to grant me “a very few” minutes with Dr. Chen when she finished with her procedure. I sat down, the only customer in the waiting room, to stare at the framed Chinese calligraphy on the wall.

  In spite of the new receptionist, Dr. Chen was possibly the world’s most perfect dentist. She was calm and had a motherly air, enhanced by her four-year-old who sometimes played in the reception area. You knew she wouldn’t ever hurt you unless she really, really had to for your own oral good. She also had little fingers, a positive attitude, and a cool machine that showed live videos of your gums. I never exactly looked forward to visiting her, but I liked her enough to pay her bills instead of finding a dentist who would accept the zoo’s dental insurance.

  She was puzzled about the urgency of my mission, which I skipped explaining. “I need to know what you can tell me about this tooth,” was as far as I went.

  She wasn’t entranced with the tooth, but she gave it careful consideration. “An incisor.” She turned it over in her hand. “I’ll go with upper right incisor, Number Seven. Where’d you get it?”

  “Human?”

  “What else could it be?” She sounded startled. “You work at the zoo, right? I have no idea what else it could be from. I’m not familiar with monkey teeth or anything like that. It looks like a human tooth. That’s really all I can tell you.” She walked to the sink and rinsed it and scrubbed it with her fingers and a little toothpaste. “See here? It’s got a filling. This pale spot. I suppose that makes it more likely to be human, although a zoo animal might need a filling. I never get called for animals. Too bad. It would be a great change from the office.”

  “Could the tooth be really old, like a hundred years?” Maybe
there were dentists a hundred years ago. I had no idea.

  “It’s a composite filling. I’d say the work was done no more than twenty-five or thirty years ago, probably much more recently.”

  Not from any ancient gravesite. I thanked her, took the tooth back. The receptionist stopped me, checked on the fee with Dr. Chen, and grudgingly let me go for free.

  I sat in the truck and gathered myself, shaken. Rick really had found a skull; that guess was dead-on. But it wasn’t ancient. It had nothing to do with Native Americans.

  I spelled it out. A man or woman had died, probably a few years ago, and been buried on the zoo grounds. The source of the tooth in my hand had been murdered. Why else hide the grave in the woods at the zoo? The secret had been safe until construction had started. Now the rest of the remains were long gone, unearthed by hosing, then taken away and destroyed.

  My break-in and house fire. He, or she, had come for the tooth. And was desperate to conceal the murder again, at the price of a new death. Mine.

  I had a plan, but it seemed ridiculous, a piece of twine to hold back a charging Cape buffalo. Did I dare risk it? What else could I do?

  If I went to the police now, I’d look like a hysterical widow afflicted with conspiracy theories. All I had was one tooth and a story. But not going to the police seemed stupid. I started the truck, pondering.

  When I got home, I didn’t call Marcie or Denny. I would handle this myself.

  I called Linda at Felines to change my clouded leopard watch, and then I went shopping.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Saturday was my first solo at Birds. I stayed alert, thanks to a restful night at my parents’ house, and kept pepper spray in my pocket. I’d told the folks that I suspected the prowler had been back. As predicted, they insisted I stay with them and didn’t make a squeak about the dogs coming too. I’d fed Bessie Smith and told her she was on her own for a day or two. She had bobbed her head at me, looking cranky.

  Once the zoo opened, I stayed in sight of visitors almost continuously. Weekends brought out the visitors, even on a dull, cool day, and for once, I was glad to see them.