“I hate you, Mallard,” he said out loud, and then reached his hand out and picked up his phone, typing those words in with laborious care. “I. Hate. You. Mallard.” He hit SEND and closed his eyes again.
Less than a minute later, his phone buzzed with the response.
“I have to deal with my mother today. You’re getting off lightly.”
Hard to argue with that.
He got going, thanks to an energy drink and a painfully cold finish to his shower, dressed, and was out the door by 9 a.m. The air was cool and damp, and he had pulled his battered North Face jacket out of the closet for the first time since last spring, his watch cap still shoved into the pocket. No need for that, yet. But winter was definitely on its way.
The first stop was Lightspeed Security. They had an office in downtown Seattle, and another in Kirkland, but Teddy wasn’t going to try the corporate office. On a Sunday morning that would be pointless anyway, since the only people he’d find there would be cleaners and midlevel grunts.
He wanted to talk to a low-level grunt.
The local office wasn’t all that impressive to look at: a storefront in a strip mall, with frosted windows and a small sign that didn’t say much about who they were or what they did. But the windows were well maintained, and when he pushed open the door, Teddy was greeted by a professional-looking office, with a receptionist who was alert and professional-looking as well.
“May I help you?” the young man asked, looking Teddy straight in the eye while still managing to assess his age, weight, probable income, and social status without offense. Teddy was impressed.
“I was wondering if you could answer a few questions,”
“About Lightspeed? Let me get someone who can help you.” He tapped a button on his console, and spoke into the headpiece set against his ear and chin.
Expecting that this would end in a polite runaround, Teddy prepared for a long wait, but almost immediately a door in the back opened and another man came out. He was wearing shirtsleeves and dress slacks, and had the look of a man who had been in the office for a while already.
“Hi. My name’s Jerry Cavanaugh. I’m security coordinator for this office. What can I help you with?”
Teddy hadn’t really had questions in mind; he was more of a read-the-person-and-wing it guy. In the noir movies Ginny liked, the PI would swagger in and demand answers, or sweet-talk it out of the secretary. Somehow he didn’t think the young man at the desk would be amenable to sweet-talking, and he was all out of swagger.
“I’m doing some work for the LifeHouse Animal Shelter, out in Ballard,” he said. “And your company’s name came up in discussion.”
“I’m afraid we cannot comment on any clients,” Cavanaugh said, and Teddy held up a hand to stop him.
“Of course not, wouldn’t think of it. And there’s no doubt being cast on your work, I assure you. No, I merely wanted to ask about your retention rate. I know firsthand that a lot of these jobs are temporary—college students and part-timers—but Ms. Snyder, the woman who runs LifeHouse, said that they had regular guards on duty, the same people every night?” He smiled, one former security guard to another. “That must be reassuring to the clients, to know the same person’s on the job.”
“I can’t speak to the specifics of that assignment,” Cavanaugh said, his shoulders easing, “but yes, we make a point, whenever possible, to keep people in a regular loop. We find that it builds a level of reliability, when a guard feels particularly responsible for one site. Plus, they are able to learn what is normal for that area and what is not, and therefore react more swiftly when something is wrong.”
Or, possibly, get too familiar with the assignment and start slacking off. Or poking around offices they shouldn’t be in. But Teddy could see how you could argue both points of view.
“Of course, all of our employees are also regularly screened and reevaluated, and occasionally rotated as seems appropriate.”
“Of course,” Teddy echoed, even as he translated the corporate-speak in his head: if someone screwed up, they were shifted to junkyard duty.
“Now, I’m afraid that if you have any further questions, you will have to direct them to our corporate headquarters.” Polite, still friendly, but a clear line was being drawn.
“Of course. Thank you so much for your time. You’ve been most helpful.” Teddy suspected that he was supposed to ask for the guy’s card in case he needed to reference the conversation, or do a follow-up, but he didn’t want Cavanaugh asking for one of his, in return. Especially since he didn’t have any.
Back out into the parking lot, Teddy half expected one of the two men to come out and call after him, asking what exactly he was looking into and why he hadn’t simply asked the guard himself. But that was why he’d come in person to a branch, rather than calling the main office: the odds were better that nobody working here was all that invested in making more work—or possibly bringing up trouble—for themselves by thinking too much.
He sat in the Volvo and pulled out his cell phone.
“Ginny, hi. Yes, I’m awake, give me a break, okay?” He would have rolled his eyes if she could see it, but it wasn’t worth the effort without a possible reaction. “I talked to someone at the security company. Looks well run, reasonably organized, and the moment I started to prod they shut up and directed me toward corporate.”
Her voice came through clearly, despite background noise, and with more than a touch of exasperation. “So you think we should strike a suspect from the list because a midlevel manager fielded questions well?”
He just waited, silent.
“Right. Right. I know, a well-run organization is a sign of a well-run organization, fear of losing a semi-secure job will keep people on the straight and narrow, blah blah blah, and I should trust your people skills.”
He grinned at that, not bothering with his usual poker face since she couldn’t see him.
“Also, I think we should strike them from the list because the troops know damn well what happens to them if there’s a complaint—even to a starving college student, a few thousand dollars in cash set against being fired without a reference probably isn’t worth it. Especially not if it requires them to break protocol and go inside a building when they’re only supposed to be patrolling the outside.”
“Laziness is the surest road to law-abiding behavior? You’re probably not wrong. Besides, apparently Nora, bless her perky eyes, spent some time flirting with both security guards and was willing to hand over their names. They both have student debt up to their eyeballs, but it’s nothing out of the usual, and neither of them has ever missed a payment. Gates has never missed paying either his rent or his tuition, far as the school was willing to admit. The other one, Ford, his landlord said he’s, and I quote, ‘an utter doll, pays two or three days late every month but in full.’ ”
“For someone who hates interacting with actual people, you are somewhat terrifying on the phone.”
“I don’t mind interacting with people,” she objected. “I just can’t shmooze them the way you do.”
“You’re getting better,” he admitted. Then, quickly, he added “I mean, starting from tone-deaf the way you did.”
“Go talk to the animals, Tonica,” she said, and hung up, but he was pretty sure she was laughing.
He put the Volvo in gear and headed toward Ballard, and the shelter. Traffic was picking up, even on Sunday, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot, his mood had soured slightly, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. He eyed the front of the shelter, then rearranged his features into something more socially acceptable, bit back a massive yawn, and pushed open the front door.
As he’d expected, despite it being before opening hours, the external door was unlocked. The nighttime security company might be competent, but the shelter itself seemed to have the same approach to daytime security as his coworkers at Mary’s, which was to say: none at all. The receptionist looked up when he came into the smal
l foyer, surprised but not particularly alarmed. She was still wearing her coat, keys in her hand: she had clearly just arrived, too.
“Hi! I’m afraid we’re not open yet, but—”
Teddy matched the receptionist’s cautious cheerfulness with a more low-key warmth, as though he had every right to be there. “Hi . . . Margaret, right?”
Remembering someone’s name did amazing things—both to their own self-esteem, and to what they thought of you. Even knowing that, Teddy wasn’t quite prepared for the smile she gave him. It wasn’t a come-on, either; it was a purely joyful, happy-to-be-alive smile that brightened the entire room on an overcast day like today.
He felt like an utter shit for even suspecting a woman like this could be a thief.
“I know it’s too early,” he said. “I was here yesterday, to meet with Nora? And she said I could come back again this morning, because I was thinking I might actually want to adopt a cat after all, and I’ve got to be at work when your visiting hours start.”
Hopefully she hadn’t spoken to the volunteer, Beth, who’d shown them around, to know that Ginny had been the one interested in cats, or remember that they were supposed to be here on behalf of someone else.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask. Most people, he’d discovered over the years, took the last thing you told them and ran with it, rather than back-checking it with previously known facts.
He liked people, he really did, but that didn’t stop him from thinking, sometimes, that many of them were idiots.
“Well, Nora’s not here . . .” Margaret paused, looking down at the keys in her hand as though expecting the office manager to appear there.
“I know. She said I should tell you,” and he paused as though trying to remember what the other woman had said. “Oh, right: Valerian?”
He was taking an utter flyer with that, and Teddy held his breath, waiting for it to backfire. According to Ginny, valerian was some kind of password—no, a safeword. He was hoping that having a strange man walk in outside of regular business hours was exactly the sort of thing a safeword was used for. . . .
Margaret smiled again, and Teddy exhaled in relief. “You’re okay, then. Come on.” She unlocked the interior door and pushed it open, a faint beeping noise greeting them.
He’d guessed right. “What does that mean, anyway?” he asked, following her inside, careful not to get too close and spook her.
She stopped just inside the door to enter a security code into the pad on the wall, and the beeping stopped. “Valerian? Oh, it’s an herb, one that’s supposed to calm cats down, make them mellow. So when someone uses it here, it means everything’s okay, be calm.”
“You need a code system, in the shelter?”
She flicked on the lights in the main lobby, and the shadowy interior brightened. In the distance, a single dog howled, low but not mournful.
Margaret laughed. “That’s Bob. He’s saying good morning. I don’t know how he knows I’m here, but he always does.”
Teddy let himself be diverted. “He’s been here a long time?”
“Almost a year. We’re a no-kill: he’s with us until he finds a home. But he’s not . . . he’s a bluedot, he’s not good with kids, and that’s a strike against him.”
Teddy had a thought that he should meet Bob, and then crushed the thought with extreme prejudice. Looking at the animals was just a cover; he wasn’t here to adopt a housemate. Although that did explain the color coding system on the photo board he’d noticed. Pity you couldn’t do that with people . . .
“So: a code system?” That could be relevant to the job, if they’d had break-ins or troubles before. None of that had been in the file—was her boss trying to hide something? Or was Este still not taking this seriously?
Margaret had gone behind the front desk, and was flicking switches there, too. Monitors came to life: apparently she had control over the security system from there, as well. Made sense, considering their limited staffing. He wandered over, casually, and counted four camera feeds, one each on the kennel rows, one out front of the building, and another in what looked like an exam room—the clinic itself, he guessed. That also made sense, since that would be where any drugs or medical supplies would be stored. No feed from the inner office, though. Interesting.
“Oh, that,” Margaret was saying. “About six–seven years ago, in Portland, a guy came in to one of the local shelters. He was high, crazy, and he wanted all their drugs. I guess he figured a shelter’s clinic would be less guarded than an ER, or a real vet’s, or I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“They had a security buzzer under the front desk, and they called the cops, but he managed to cut up one of the workers there before the cops arrived. So when Este started this clinic, in addition to making sure that none of us had access to the clinic storeroom, she insisted that we have code words so that we’d know immediately if someone was in trouble or not.”
All right, maybe they weren’t so slack with their security, after all. “And have you had to use it?”
She laughed. “Please. Here? The only trouble we ever have is—”
She cut off her words as though she’d had them yanked back down her throat, and he could almost hear her teeth click as she shut her mouth.
He didn’t push, just waited. He let his head tilt slightly, his mouth set in neutral, not smiling or frowning, eyes soft, his body language as inviting as he could make it. To all intents and purposes, he was the perfect confidant, ready to take all your woes and make them his own.
But Margaret had swallowed whatever she was going to say, and was looking up at him with a less brilliant smile on her face, as though sitting behind the desk had reminded her of the required behavior of a professional receptionist.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until one of the volunteers gets here, before you can go back into the kennel area,” she said. “I’m sure you understand; even though you’re already on record, it’s for liability insurance and all that.”
“Of course.” He started to sit down, prepared to wait, when the door to the right of him, the side away from the offices and kennels, swung open and a man came storming out. “Margaret, there you are, can you—oh.”
Teddy turned. “Hi.”
Unlike Margaret, this man didn’t respond to his greeting. He was tall, mid-fiftyish from the silver in his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes, but in good shape, the kind that came from physical activity rather than time in the gym. He was also, clearly, agitated.
“Margaret, I’m pressed for time this morning, I have a surgery this afternoon I can’t reschedule. Can we get started early? I know, I know, but—”
“Oh, oh dear. I can’t leave the desk, you know that, and we already have someone—”
The man looked at Teddy again, this time actually seeing him.
“You a new volunteer?” His voice was still stressed, but hopeful, as though Teddy had the potential to answer all his problems.
“No,” Teddy said. “I’m a . . . Nora suggested I come in early. I was here to—”
“Damn. Of all the days for people to not be in early. Usually this place is full by now.”
“By full,” Margaret said in a mock-confidential aside, “he means that usually there’s someone else he can bully into helping him.”
“Very funny. Oh, I’m sorry.” The older man recollected himself, and offered his hand to Teddy. “I’m Scott Williams. I’m the on-call vet. I do a once-over of the animals every Sunday, and handle any surgery or serious illness.”
Another face and voice to slot to a name. “Oh, so you were the one who worked on Georgie.”
“I’m sorry?” Williams’s expression was briefly puzzled, as though he thought he should understand the words, but didn’t.
“Geo— Ah, she had another name when she was here. A shar-pei? Mostly shar-pei, anyway. You did her neutering.”
“Oh, yes, of course, I remember the bitch. Sweet-tempered, and yeah, mostly shar-pei.
I could never understand how she ended up here, that’s an expensive breed. You adopted her?”
“No, a friend did. I’m more of a cat person, myself.”
“Ah. And here to find a companion? Excellent.” Williams was clearly distracted by his own issues, although still polite, giving Teddy a nod to indicate that the conversation was over before turning back to his coworker. “Margaret, I’m going to start anyway. The day I can’t fetch an animal out of its cage without help, I’m going to retire.”
Margaret looked dubious at that. “You know you’re not supposed to be there alone. . . .”
Teddy saw his opening. “If opening cages and standing by is all that’s needed, maybe I can help?”
Both receptionist and vet looked doubtful.
“There are liability issues. . . .” Margaret started to object, again, obviously aware that she was in a losing battle, but giving it a valiant effort.
“I’m bonded,” Teddy said. “My regular job’s as a bartender, so . . . I know it’s not the same, but it proves I’ve a history of being trustworthy, right?”
It actually proved no such thing, but he was betting that Williams wanted the help badly enough to overlook it, and Margaret wouldn’t gainsay the older man, especially if it made her day go more smoothly, too.
* * *
“None of the animals are allowed into the kennels until they finish their quarantine period in the clinic,” Williams explained, once they were both outfitted with gray paper smocks and thin latex gloves. “But some of them are cleared while still being treated for minor items that need to be monitored, and some, sadly, are malnourished enough that we need to weigh them on a regular basis, to make sure there is no backsliding. And, of course, I look over all of them, to make sure that nothing has come up that needs attention.”
“Only once a week?”
“The shelter has a vet technician who comes in more often. If an animal gets cut up or bitten, she can handle that, likewise the inevitable fleas that will get in, no matter how careful we are.”
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