by Mary Walker
Katherine laughed. “If he wants to know these things, why doesn’t he ask me himself? This isn’t junior high.”
“Oh, sure it is. You don’t really think things change, do you? He talked to me knowing I’d talk to you. Now you’re supposed to indicate if you’re interested so I can pass it back to him, so he can approach you with some confidence.”
Katherine shook her head.
“Well, are you interested or aren’t you?”
“I’m not.”
“My Lord, think about it, Katherine—a man of forty who’s never been married, has no kids, has a paying job and a car of his own, and I think he’s got some dark magnetism. Who knows what passions lurk under that silent exterior? How can you say no to finding out about that?”
“I just have no interest right now. Tell him I’m grieving.”
Sophie turned her hands palms up in front of her. “Okay. To each his own.”
There was a silence while Katherine began eating her sandwich.
“So how’s your investigation going?” Sophie asked.
Katherine stopped chewing. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. You can’t keep anything from me. This is Cousin Sophie you’re talking to. You’re trying to find out what happened to your father. And I don’t blame you one little bit. I don’t like mine much, but if something like that had happened to him, I’d want to find out, too.” Her round blue eyes searched Katherine’s. “So what have you found out? Spill it all.”
Katherine smiled. “Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. I’ve been a total bust as an investigator.” She took a deep breath. “Something I’d like to know about, though, Sophie, is the acquisition records for animals in the past half year. I’d really like to see them. Do you ever run across those when you’re working in the office?”
“No. The records I see are on donors, the big givers and the little ones, so we can go after them to squeeze more out of them. We are insatiable in our need for money, as you will discover. The zoo donations and attendance figures have plummeted with the economy. But acquisition records—I think Vic keeps those.”
“What about the Driscoll Foundation records, Sophie? Does he keep them, too?”
“No. Daddy keeps those because he runs the foundation now. Vic may have copies of them, though.”
“Do you think your father would let me see them if I asked him? So I could learn about the family foundation.”
“No. I think he’d probably say not to bother your pretty head with his business.”
“What if you asked him for me?”
“He’d say, ‘Mind your own damned business, Sophie.’”
“I think I’ll ask him anyway,” Katherine said, wondering if she could muster the courage.
“If you’re interested in the foundation, I can tell you what I know. One thing I’ve learned working in the development office is that without the Driscoll Foundation the zoo wouldn’t be able to grow. We get some gifts and loans from other zoos and an occasional small grant from a donor, but the foundation money is the zoo’s lifeblood. You know that Gram set up the foundation and ran it for hundreds of years. Daddy has done it for about two or three years, I think.” She put her head close to Katherine’s and lowered her voice. “Here’s something. The foundation charter says the foundation has to be run by a member of the Driscoll family. So when Daddy’s not around anymore, that would be you or me.”
Katherine looked up in surprise.
“But it won’t be me,” Sophie said with a shrug, “’cause Gram thinks I’m a drunk and Daddy never has thought much of my abilities, so even though you come from a black-sheep branch of the family, that leaves you. Anyway”—she laughed the first artificial laugh Katherine had heard from her—“you’re older than me.”
Katherine took another big bite of her sandwich and a potato chip. She followed it with a sip of Diet Coke. “What’s she like?”
“Who?”
“Anne Driscoll.”
Sophie groaned. “Gram is like no one you’ve ever known. She’s tough and opinionated and stubborn, but she can be fun. She’s the kind of woman you might want to be, but you wouldn’t choose her as a mother or a grandmother. All my life it’s been ‘Don’t do this’ and ‘Don’t do that’ because Gram won’t like it. And if she doesn’t like it, she won’t leave us her money.” Sophie’s fair skin began to show pink underneath. She moved her head closer to Katherine’s. “Here she gives fabulous amounts of money to the zoo, but she won’t … well, I know Daddy’s made some dumb investments and all, but she could help him if she wanted to.” She looked directly at Katherine. “She could help you if she wanted to, but she won’t do that either.” Sophie paused and lowered her eyes. “You’ve escaped some things by being separate.”
Katherine nodded. “But I want to see her, Sophie. I need to see her. Your father was discouraging about it, but I want to see her.” She sat up straighter. Stiffen the sinews. “And I’m going to.”
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know, Katherine. I haven’t seen her myself for a couple of weeks. Daddy says she hates people to see her looking so weak and helpless. Vain at eighty-one.”
“I’d like to see her anyway. Do you think it would help to write or call her?”
“No,” Sophie said, “but you can try.” She looked up suddenly over Katherine’s shoulder toward the window. “Don’t look now, but the world’s shortest police lieutenant is trying to get your attention out there. I thought they had some sort of height requirement in the police department.”
Katherine turned and saw Sharb standing at the window motioning to her. “Oh. He said he might come by this afternoon. I better go see what he wants.”
As she stood to leave, she put the last potato chip in her mouth and dropped the uneaten brownie, still in its plastic wrapper, into her pocket. “In case of low blood sugar this afternoon.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to say the next thing. She cleared her throat first. “Sophie,” she said, “maybe I could be interested in getting to know Vic. If he asks, tell him to speak for himself. He knows where to find me.”
Sophie opened her eyes wider. “Sudden change of heart, huh? Okay. I’ll tell him.”
13
KATHERINE stopped at the entrance to the reptile house and stared down at Lieutenant Sharb in astonishment. “A widow in a wheelchair?” Her voice rose.
“Yup.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. My father sent the checks to Travis Hammond, who deposited them into the account of a Dorothy Stranahan at the Bank of Belton. Every month for—how long?”
Sharb blew his nose into what looked like the same crumpled, gray handkerchief from last week. “The payments go back farther than the records you showed me—thirty years, plus a few months.” He tilted his head backward and squeezed a spray from a round plastic bottle into each nostril. “Damn these allergies. I’m here for a few minutes and I can’t breathe. The dust, the dander.”
Katherine was having shortness of breath, too, but it was from surprise. “And Mrs. Stranahan is an elderly woman confined to a wheelchair, and she lives alone.”
“Lived,” he said, head still hanging back. “She died August twenty-nine at the age of sixty-two. Heart attack.”
Katherine’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh. Nearly two months ago. That’s why he didn’t send a check for September or November. Because she was dead.”
“I suppose. The bank notified Mr. Hammond of her death because he was a signer on the account. He might’ve told your father. Hammond was her executor, though there was nothing much to execute. She lived cheap in a rent house, off what your father gave her and some small disability each month. Left nothing behind except a son who grew up and left home years ago.”
“A son?” Katherine said. “My father supporting this woman—I wonder if my father could have…”
“Yeah,” Sharb interrupted. “It’s what you think of right away. Maybe he fathered the kid and was paying for it. Her neighbors say s
he didn’t talk much, this Dorothy Stranahan, but she did say she lived in Austin before moving to Belton thirty years ago. So she could’ve known your father then. But why keep on paying long after the kid is on his own?”
“Because she was handicapped?” Katherine wondered out loud.
Sharb lifted his head and inhaled deeply, making a wet, snuffling sound deep in his sinuses. “Maybe. I showed Lester Renfro’s picture around to the neighbors in Belton, but they never saw him. They say she never had any visitors except the Home Health Care people, who came to help her three times a week, and the pastor of Bethel Baptist Church.
“But here’s something that works against the love-child theory. Her doctor in Belton says she was afflicted with MS for the thirty years or so she lived here. He thinks she had it at least ten years before that. The son is thirty-nine, according to school records in Belton. This doesn’t rule it out, but it’s hard to imagine a man having a wild love affair with—well, someone who’s crippled. It doesn’t track. But the doctor said sex was possible and it didn’t stop her from having a kid, so…” He threw his hands up.
Katherine’s imagination was running wild now. Solving this riddle was suddenly of primary importance to her. “Have you found out where she lived in Austin or anything?”
“No. We’re working on it, but nothing so far. If she did live in Austin thirty years ago, she didn’t have a phone, wasn’t registered to vote.”
Katherine leaned back against the rail that circled an empty display area in front of the reptile house and looked up at the mosaic set into the tan brick. On a background of gold tiles, pterodactyls, alligators, cobras, dimetrodons, salamanders, and frogs coexisted in garish colors. Next to the mosaic a big iron plaque said in deep relief, GIFT TO THE PEOPLE OF AUSTIN FROM THE A. C. DRISCOLL FOUNDATION, 1960. Sharb was looking up too, his nose wrinkled in distaste—at the plaque, the mosaic, or the dust and dander, Katherine wasn’t certain.
“Have you located the son?” she asked.
“No. No one in Belton knows anything about him. After high school he went into the service, they think, around the time of the Vietnam war. He never came back there to live. We’re trying to trace him, but none of the armed services shows records under his name.”
“What is his name?” Katherine asked, wondering if she had more relatives than she knew.
“Donald Stranahan, Junior. Donald Senior was out of the picture when Dorothy arrived in Belton. She said he was dead and never gave any more information. So there we are.”
“Yes,” Katherine agreed. “There we are.”
She glanced at her watch. “Hey, I’m late. I need to get back to work.”
“I’ll come in with you,” he said, following her through the door. He smiled his rare smile showing his small crowded teeth. “I’ll give you an excuse.”
They walked through the two-story entrance hall, where a group of children in navy-blue school uniforms were shrieking and sticking their hands down one anothers’ backs. “How do you like it here?” he asked.
“I like the zoo a lot. But I’m a little jumpy around the snakes,” she admitted, shrugging toward a display full of yellow-and-green baby tree boas looped around little perches.
“Well, damn. I don’t blame you,” he said. “You couldn’t pay me enough to get me to work here. I hate snakes. They make me want to puke.”
“Yeah,” Katherine said, leading the way through the staff-only door to the hallway that ran behind the exhibits.
Alonzo Stokes, Wayne Zapalac, and Iris Renaldo were there, gathered around the open door of one of the exhibits. A large plastic garbage can sat open next to the door. Totally engrossed in their task, they didn’t even glance up at Katherine and Sharb. Wayne and Iris each held a long snake stick through the open door.
Wayne said very quietly, “Good, Iris, keep holding that bugger down. Yeah, now I’ve got him.” Wayne pulled his stick out quickly. Hanging over the hook was a thick-bodied, dusty-colored snake about four feet long; it writhed desperately and buzzed its tail angrily. Wayne slung it into the garbage can with a thud. Alonzo clamped the lid on and they all looked up and smiled at one another, as the noise of the snake thrashing and rattling against the sides echoed inside the can.
“My, God,” said Sharb. “They like doing that. Why are they doing it?”
“To clean the exhibit,” Katherine explained. “Usually they can clean with the animal in, but not with the venomous species.”
Alonzo Stokes caught sight of them and called out, “Katherine, you’re late. We wanted you to get some practice on removals. Come on over here.” Katherine had been expecting this; it was the next step in her education. She sighed once and approached, but Sharb stood where he was, as though rooted to the floor.
“Hello, Lieutenant Sharb.” Alonzo wiped his hands on his pants and stretched one of the wiped hands out, so Sharb had to take several steps forward to take it. “I’m glad to see you’re still on the job. You got any news for us?”
Sharb took the hand and dropped it quickly. “Miss Driscoll was detained on police business,” he said stiffly. “Otherwise she would’ve been back on time.”
Katherine felt pleased to be defended. She looked back and forth between Sharb and Alonzo Stokes. Alonzo was a full foot taller than Sharb and probably weighed about the same. The two of them facing each other reminded her of some grade-B horror movie—Aspman meets the homunculus.
“So,” Alonzo repeated, “what news have you got?”
“None really,” mumbled Sharb, eyes fixed on Wayne, who had put his hook back in the exhibit. “We’re working on it. Hey, those are rattlesnakes, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Western diamondback rattlers, Lieutenant Sharb, one of our local varieties.” He started to drag the garbage can toward the policeman. “Would you like a closer look?”
“Hey, no.” Sharb raised a palm in protest and backpedaled toward the door.
Alonzo pushed the can back where it had been and followed. “Lieutenant Sharb, wait a minute. I’ve been wanting to ask you a couple of things.” He lowered his voice. “Couldn’t you trace the arrow that was found in the deer that Travis Hammond … uh, tangled with? I’ve been wondering ever since I read about it in the paper. Used to do a little bow hunting myself and thought maybe you could find where the arrow was bought.”
Wayne lifted another squirming snake through the door and said, “Katherine, lid, please.”
Katherine walked way around so she would not have to pass near the squirming snake. Then she leaned forward and lifted the lid off, keeping one ear tuned to the conversation between Sharb and Stokes.
“No, Mr. Stokes. We’ve drawn a blank on that one. Only thing we know is it’s an old arrow, eight to ten years old, made by the Sequoia Company, but there’s just no way to trace it. Any more ideas for us?”
“No, sir. But—”
“But what?”
“Well, you feel pretty sure the same perpetrator did both these murders?” Alonzo asked.
“Absolutely. I know it.”
“Have you got a motive in mind?”
“Not yet. Do you?”
Alonzo licked his thin lips. “No. But them both being connected with the zoo made me wonder if there’s some animal-rights zealot out there who hates the idea of caging animals or some such.” He tried an approximation of his usual sardonic smile, but it it died halfway and became a grimace.
“Well, I suppose it’s possible it could be a crazy with a general beef like that,” Sharb said, “but I believe it’s more personal, Mr. Stokes. I believe the murderer had some sort of personal grudge against the victims, felt they had wronged him in some way.”
Alonzo’s voice had shrunk to a whisper. Katherine had to strain to hear. “Why do you think that?”
Sharb leaned his shoulder against the staff door and glanced at the garbage can as if to make certain the lid was still on. “Because of the notes they both got. The threat sounded like a cold avenger doing what he had to do.”
&n
bsp; “And what did those notes say, may I ask?” Alonzo said.
“You may. They said the end was near, that it was a matter of an eye for an eye.” As he said the word, “eye,” he looked directly into Alonzo Stokes’s colorless ones.
Alonzo swallowed hard, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. Katherine was surprised to see in him an emotion that looked a lot like fear. Maybe he was worried that his snakes were the next target.
“So you aren’t any closer to catching him than you were last week?” Alonzo asked, recovering his lazy drawl.
“I wouldn’t say that, but there’s nothing I can talk about,” Sharb said, hiking up his shoulders for some more height. His eyes widened as Iris and Wayne lifted yet another snake through the door.
“Okay, take it off,” Wayne said to Katherine. She lifted the lid and held it in front of her like a shield while they dumped the snake in with the other two.
The three snakes inside the can sounded like a hive of irate bees. Sharb’s face had lost all color. His black hair and omnipresent stubble looked very dark in contrast to the pasty skin. He put a hand on the doorknob as if to make a break for it.
Alonzo strode to the garbage can in two long-legged steps and gave the can a little kick. “Quiet, in there,” he said. “You’re scaring Austin’s finest.” The noise in the can escalated to a furious buzzing.
Then Alonzo clapped his hands once. “Okay, Katherine. This last one is small, barely out of infancy. Let’s see you hook it. Iris’ll help.”
Wayne whirled around and fixed Alonzo with a long hard glare, but Alonzo just stared back until Wayne reluctantly handed his stick over to Katherine. He gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she turned to face the open exhibit door.
Katherine leaned forward with the stick in front of her to peer inside the exhibit. The little rattler was in the far corner, pressed against the glass. She held the stick at the very end and poked it in the direction of the snake.
“It’s hard to control when you hold it so far at the end,” Alonzo said.
Katherine could feel that it was true.