Night Kill (29 page)

I was frantic to get back to Felines, and not only to turn Dr. Dawson over to the police. I’d had time to remember the clouded leopards. They were surely disturbed by the noise of the fight. Losa was at terrible risk and no one was there to help her if she needed it. It seemed hours since I’d fled.

At last I turned the key in the Feline door with my good hand and walked in with Wallace and the policewoman behind me, not sure whether I wanted to find Dr. Dawson dead or wanted him alive.

He was definitely alive. His hands were still tied behind his back, but he had been working hard and his legs were free. He was standing at the counter sawing awkwardly at the tough nylon rope with a paring knife. He was a mess—blotchy face and rumpled hair and clothes. He pulled himself together and croaked, “Thank God you’ve come. She tried to kill me. She thinks I murdered her husband. Keep her away from me.” He looked truly frightened.

A young man in a University of Washington sweatshirt followed us in, looking alarmed. The policewoman looked startled also, hand at the pistol on her hip.

“Are you the late shift volunteer?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. What’s up?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just keep an eye out for the female. I, uh, got distracted and I don’t know if she’s okay. The male might have attacked her.”

He sat down at the table and watched the monitors, with furtive glances toward us.

The policewoman untied Dawson’s hands. Wallace looked at Dawson, then at me, his face unreadable. The vet rubbed his wrists with shaky fingers and rasped, “She’s insane. I dropped in to check on the clouded leopards, and she starting ranting at me about murdering Rick. She got the catch pole over my head. She almost killed me. Has she got a weapon?”

While the policewoman patted me down, a list of the people who would believe his story, believe that I was nuts, scrolled by. Wallace. Jackie. Linda. Mr. Crandall. Maybe Hap and Calvin. I had to hand it to Dr. Dawson. Poor Iris, deranged by grief, had lost it at last, and he was the victim.

When the policewoman was satisfied I wasn’t packing, I stepped on the empty chair and up to the tabletop. Wallace asked what the hell I was doing, and the policewoman stepped back and moved her hand to her gun again. Reaching up, I dislodged one of the acoustical panels in the ceiling, shoved it aside, and felt a rush like really good sex.

I had beaten the son of a bitch. Again.

The police officer received the little tape recorder like she might a nice package of nitroglycerin.

“It’s all in here,” I said. “And in case it’s not…” I climbed down and looked behind the fridge. He hadn’t found that one, either.

“How many tape recorders did you hide?” the volunteer asked, incredulous.

“Five.” I unearthed the other two and handed them over. “Three different models, all voice activated. At least one should have worked. You get back to those damned monitors. We have to find out if Losa is all right.”

I tested one. Wallace’s voice first, fast-forward to Dr. Dawson again—“…came to my senses and she was on the floor by the fireplace with a broken neck.” Poor audio quality, but understandable.

Wallace looked stunned. The policewoman looked skeptical, but I wasn’t worried. Even if the tapes weren’t enough to convict the bastard, they would activate a serious search for Winona’s dental records.

“We’ll sort this out,” she said, a promise or a threat.

“Losa,” said the volunteer.

And there she was, safe and sound, walking around the outside enclosure. I sagged into a chair.

Chapter Twenty-four

“This is not kicky and sexy. This is a lunatic science experiment.”

“Shut up. I’m following the directions exactly.” Marcie did vigorous things to my scalp. She was wearing “old” clothes: a decent pair of dark blue sweats with an apron to shield them from the dye.

“Are you sure this isn’t toxic? I don’t want toxic.”

“Iris, women have put henna in their hair for centuries. Probably millennia. Hold still.”

“I am holding still. How long is a millennia?”

“Millennium.” She pulled a shower cap over the whole wet mess. “There. It has to soak for thirty minutes. You’ll look great in the trial coverage. Seven o’clock news, People magazine, who knows.”

We wandered out of my bathroom into the living room. It was Sunday evening, two days since I’d battled Dr. Dawson. Linda had arrived during my beautification. She was curled up on the sofa, dogs at her feet, reading a huge bird encyclopedia Calvin had loaned me.

I started to sit next to her, realized what henna leaks would do to the sofa and took a seat in the kitchen. Marcie removed the lid from a casserole dish on the table, unveiling an experimental chocolate bread pudding.

Chocolate pheromones drew Linda in. Marcie set out plates and forks. Linda distributed napkins and sat down. “Can we talk about this thing? Everyone at work is obsessing, and I’m supposed to report back. Did you really figure out it was Dawson or just wait to see who walked in and tried to kill you?”

“Figured it out. I finally tried believing Rick when he said he’d quit drinking. Then it had to be Dr. Dawson. No one else had the skills to tube a mammal, to get the whiskey into him by stomach tube. Calvin showed me with birds—it’s pretty easy—but it’s hard with mammals. You’re likely to drown them if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Linda nodded thoughtful agreement. Marcie carved out three servings and shoveled them onto plates.

“And I tried trusting Spice,” I added.

Marcie swiped at a drip on my neck with a paper towel. “You said something about that before. It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now.”

The dessert was swell, crunchy bread chunks on top and custardy ones below, chocolate chunks interspersed. “No, it’s true,” I said. “Linda, think back. For days after Rick died, every time Dr. Dawson showed up, Spice would climb down into the moat. I thought she was trying to get away from him because he’s the vet, but I think she was hoping for a repeat.”

“I remember seeing her do that,” Linda said. “She moved like she was stalking. I thought she was wacko from the whole episode and didn’t connect it to Dr. Dawson.”

Marcie looked puzzled, then she got it. “Iris, that is truly gross.”

“Yeah. It is.” I hesitated, put bad images away and went for another bite. Range and Winnie pushed out through the doggy door on squirrel patrol. The backyard was a sea of mud. Rick’s grave would be muddy, too. “It’s touch and go with the case against him. The tapes and the tooth are about it for evidence. The rest of her bones have disappeared. His fireplace had ashes that looked like Rick’s printouts, but that doesn’t prove much.”

I’d called Greg at the Los Angeles Zoo and told him the story. He said he still had some of her poems. Learning that she wrote poetry made her death more than bones in the mud and bad luck for Rick. A real woman had been cheated of her life.

“He’ll be gone from the zoo, one way or another,” Linda said.

I scratched absently at my soggy head.

“Leave your hair alone. You’re going to mess it up.” Marcie rearranged the shower cap.

“Rick didn’t lie to me, that’s the important thing,” I told my friends, the familiar ache in my throat again. “He really did mean to change. He never got the chance. He might have told me about the skull, I might have gone with him to see Dawson after the party, if we hadn’t still been feeling our way back together. It could all have been different.”

Marcie’s voice was gentle. “Maybe he didn’t think an old grave was important, not as important as getting back with you.”

“Did you have your talk with Wallace and Calvin yet?” Linda asked.

“I did. Yesterday. I didn’t expect them to cry and hug exactly, but I thought it would mean something to Calvin to know who set up his daughter and that it wasn’t Wallace. But Calvin acted like it didn’t matter—he thinks Wallace should have stuck by her regardless. Wallace didn’t say much.”

I didn’t mention the private conversation I’d had earlier with Wallace. That he had normal emotions was not something he would want others to know. The police had confiscated the tapes before anyone could hear them, and he had called me into his office to ask about the confrontation with Dawson. I’d told him the whole story. Winona’s murder hit him hard. He said he’d gotten an email from her after she vanished telling him she’d left to find herself and didn’t love him anymore. Dawson had covered his tracks and exacted revenge at the same time. Wallace had honestly believed that Dr. Dawson was his friend. The murder of a woman he loved and the levels of betrayal left him blank-eyed and silent. He hadn’t seemed to notice when I’d left.

Marcie distributed seconds on dessert as the dogs bounded in happily, squirrel patrol accomplished. Both shook vigorously before I could grab a towel and wipe them down.

Marcie took a light hit on her sweats. “You’re going to ruin that towel, getting mud all over it like that. You’d better pre-soak it.”

The dogs flopped down and began improving on my rubdown, licking their legs and sides. I tossed the towel on a chair and sat back down.

“About Denny…” Marcie crossed her arms.

“What about him?” I asked.

“He was right about a lot of things. He deserves some credit.”

“He was also wrong about a lot of things. He needs to get that dog neutered, for example. And to clean up his house. And quit picking fights with visitors.”

“Iris, you are extremely critical and judgmental about Denny. How he leads his life is not really your problem.”

“It is if he’s sleeping with my friend.”

Linda tried to look invisible.

“Some surprising couples work out fine,” Marcie said, possibly a little smug. “Your clouded leopards haven’t killed each other.”

Linda’s face said she had a good point there.

“That’s another reason I thought it was Dawson,” I said. “He was so sure it wouldn’t work out with the clouded leopards. I think he was projecting from his own experience. Of course, with Denny, I’m projecting from my own experience.”

Marcie narrowed her eyes. “Denny can change, like anyone else. Even me. And you. Time’s up.”

I followed her docilely to the bathroom. After I was rinsed and dried and fluffed like a red-brown poodle, Marcie eyed me critically. “I think it works for you. Just a touch of highlights, adds life and energy to your hair.”

Linda was pulling her jacket on and Marcie gathered her coat and purse to go.

“Wait a minute, guys, I need to tell you something.”

They paused, mentally already elsewhere, patient.

“Calvin told me this story, about Laysan ducks, I think it was.”

“You need to tell us about ducks?” Marcie queried, eyebrows raised.

“Shush. Anyway, this was like the most endangered species ever. It finally got down to one pair and she had a clutch of eggs, but some predator killed the male, then chased her off the nest so those eggs died.” I paused dramatically.

“And then the very last duck died and that was that.” Marcie shifted impatiently.

“No, then she laid another clutch, fertilized from the last time the male tread her, trod her, whatever you call sex for ducks. That clutch hatched and that is where all the Laysan ducks today come from.”

“And the point of this is…” Linda inquired.

“Rick was the last of his family. Both his parents are dead and his sister probably is too; anyway, she doesn’t exist as far as I can find out.”

I had their full attention. Linda frowned, puzzled.

Marcie erupted, hands flying up. “Iris! I cannot believe you are using this, this bird story to tell me that you are…are…”

“Pregnant.”

Linda looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. Got the test today.” I smiled at a bittersweet memory. “The night of the party. It’s not easy in a pickup truck, but it can be done, and, um, done well. We’d always been careful, but not that night. Maybe we were both hoping for this, to glue us together. Which is stupid, sure. But that’s what happened. You’ll make terrific aunts. Your first assignment is to help me shop for a house that smells decent. I’ve got insurance money to spend.”

Marcie balked. “Iris, are you sure this is a good idea? Being a single parent is not a great way to raise kids. I happen to know that for a fact.” Her father had walked out on the family when she was six. He’d made his support payments, but she rarely saw him.

“I’ve had too much death. If the situation were different, I might not handle it this way. I can’t apologize to Rick for not trusting him, but I can take care of our baby.”

After finally insisting that the next day was a workday and I had to get some sleep, I stood with the dogs at the open door and watched my friends walk through the dark to their cars in the driveway, Marcie still perturbed. The night was clear and cold. Star-jewels stretched across the broad black sky.

I rubbed my belly, my peaceful belly.

No, no they can’t take that away from me.