Night Kill (24 page)

“Come on over. I’ve got someone you need to meet.” He sounded twitchy.

“Why? Who is it?”

“It’s better if you just come.”

“I haven’t had dinner yet. Can it wait an hour?”

“No. I’ve got some TV dinners. Now is good. Later is not good.”

He hung up, probably figuring curiosity was more powerful than any reason he could come up with. He was right. I reluctantly got into my truck, leaving sad dogs behind. I could leave the message for Wallace later. That wouldn’t be a problem.

I pulled up in front of Denny’s at maybe 7:30 PM, full dark. His van wasn’t there, but the lights were on in the house. No warning roar from Strongbad. That made me nervous enough to start the truck again and drive another two blocks to park.

I walked back in the dark, dodging potholes full of water on the gravel road, imagining all the dire possibilities that might be lurking. Native Americans used to tie a rag to a pole and let it flutter while they lay in hiding, ready to shoot arrows into pronghorn antelope that had more curiosity than good sense. I must have been a pronghorn in a previous life.

I circled the house, squishing through mud, to get to the living room side window, on the same side of the house as the bedroom window I’d jimmied two nights before. Maybe if anything really bad happened, the neighbor with the pistol would save me.

Moving rhododendron branches aside, I could see Denny sitting in a chair with his back to me. A woman was sitting on his couch. I didn’t recognize her. Denny had a rifle leaning next to him. It looked as if they were drinking one of Denny’s dreadful herb teas. He had a bloody bandage on his hand and a camcorder at his feet. I noticed several apples lying here and there and an orange or two on the floor. The room looked even more disheveled than usual. The situation was definitely peculiar, but was it dangerous? Denny looked calm and confident, chatting away cheerfully.

I considered my options. Leave and wait until later to find out what Denny wanted? Go get my dad or the neighbor as backup? Buy a handgun? I decided to hell with it, I was hungry and wanted to get this done. They both jumped a foot when I rapped on the window. I came around to the front door and Denny let me in. I looked inquiringly at the woman.

“Ah, Iris, this is Suzanne.” He pronounced it “Sue-zayne.”

Suzanne was short and, as my dad would say, built for comfort, by which he meant amply endowed. She was generously proportioned in the chest and hips and reasonably narrow in the waist, given that she was at least as old as my mother. My mother, however, did not favor black low-cut jerseys with black stirrup pants and black high heels. She sat on Denny’s tacky sofa with her legs crossed, looking completely at home. A black knit cap was draped over one knee. Her hair was an expensive blond swirl, slightly mashed from the cap. Stray wisps fell over her eyes. A big emerald flashed on her left hand. It looked like her coral lipstick matched her nail polish, but it was hard to be sure.

She smiled winsomely. “I’m so glad to meet you, Iris. Freddie’s talked about you.”

Freddie?

“Mr. Crandall. She’s, ah, an old friend of his.” Denny gestured vaguely with his bandaged hand.

I followed his wave, which led me to glance at the ceiling and discover a large hole, clearly the source of the plaster bits distributed liberally around the room.

“Have a seat, Iris. Denny, could you get another chair for Iris?”

I took a stack of comics off a wooden chair and pulled it up. “So…what’s going on? Denny asked me to come right over.”

“Um, do you want tea?” Denny asked.

“No, I want dinner. I want to go home and get me some sleep. So tell.”

Instead, Denny lurched toward the kitchen muttering about a frozen dinner, changed his mind, and hesitated. I scowled at him—no help—until he wisely decided to feed me first and tell all later. He headed toward the refrigerator.

Suzanne smiled warmly. “I tried to help a friend, but I made a fool of myself instead.” She looked at the rug and swung her foot a little. She didn’t really look contrite, but I supposed that was the intended effect. Microwave noises came from the kitchen. Denny came back and sat down.

It took a little doing, but eventually Denny got his half of the story out. He and Marcie had a chat after we parted the night before. They agreed it was far too dangerous for me to set the trap for Wallace. Instead Marcie would try to talk me out of it, and Denny would give it a try. Yesterday evening, he had come home from my place and left a message for Wallace, saying that he had found some Indian remains and artifacts in Rick’s stuff. With them, he claimed, was a letter Rick had written to the university explaining that he found these at the new Asian Experience construction site. Denny had asked for advice, saying he would be out of town on his days off, but would deal with the package when he got back.

“Plans you make with me don’t count for much, I take it,” I said.

Denny was unrepentant. “Marcie was in.”

He had parked Strongbad with Hap, who was not at all pleased to have a rowdy dog terrifying his parrots. “Did you tell Hap everything?” I asked.

“Sure, why not?” Denny said.

So much for trying the trap on other zoo staff.

Denny left his van on the next street over from his house and hid in the attic with a camcorder poking through a hole punched in the ceiling. The access was by a trap door in the kitchen ceiling, with a chair parked under it. The apples and oranges were provisions; the rifle was just in case. He had a water bottle and a big coffee can to pee in. He settled in with a pile of comic books and a flashlight.

Denny said he’d come down once to get a pillow and a sleeping bag and was about to climb down again to find some fresh batteries for the flashlight when he saw a light moving around below. “Man, was she quiet! I didn’t hear her open the window or anything.”

Suzanne said demurely, “I’ve always wanted to be a cat burglar.”

Most of the rest was self-evident. He’d shut off his flashlight and tried to turn on the camcorder in the dark, knocking it through the hole instead. He tried to catch it and stepped off the floored part of the attic onto the plaster, which could not hold him. He landed on the living room floor with the camcorder, apples and oranges crashing down around him. Not to mention the rifle.

“And the can of pee?” I asked.

He ignored me. “I cut my hand on the way down. Suzanne used to be a nurse. She washed it and wrapped it up for me.”

“Your turn,” I said to Suzanne, who didn’t look like any nurse I’d ever met. “Let’s start with what the hell you are doing in Denny’s house.”

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 problems. For this, I gotta put a disciplinary warning in your file. Get your head straight, or you’re gonna be out of here.”