Zero at the Bone (34 page)

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When she woke, the window that had been filled with blue sky was a black square and Sharb was standing next to her bed, staring down at her, willing her to wake. She sat up with a start. Sophie’s chair was empty.

“I told your cousin to grab a bite,” Sharb said. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back.”

Katherine lowered her head to the pillow and looked up at the black beadlike eyes, so close together she wondered if he had any peripheral vision at all.

“You were right,” he said. “Donald Stranahan, the husband of the woman your father sent money to, did work at the Austin Zoo. For two years, up to July 18, 1958.” The black eyes glinted in the dim light. Katherine knew him well enough now to recognize the signs of excitement. “Until he was snake-bit. By a bushmaster. Same species that nailed you. But Mr. Stranahan died from his bite.”

A tiny smile on his lips, Sharb waited for her reaction.

Katherine just nodded once. She wasn’t much surprised. She’d been expecting it. It fit right into the story that was telling itself in her head. “So he was the one fatality at the Austin Zoo.”

“Yup. There have been a few other snakebites, but this is the only one that ended in death. It was before they had a specific antivenin, like that one they dripped into you. But it wouldn’t’ve made any difference anyway.”

“Why not?” Katherine asked.

“Seems he was drunk, fooling around with the snakes late at night after the zoo closed. May even have had a woman there, showing off for her. Stokes says he was a cowboy type—wild, macho womanizer, big drinker. Snake bit him square on the cheek right next to the nose.” Sharb rubbed his stubby fingers on that area on his own face.

“This much I got from Alonzo Stokes. I also looked up the old ME’s report. Stranahan died real fast. He was drunk, blood alcohol level of point twelve, and alcohol speeds the progress of the venom, they tell me. Even so, strange he never managed to push that emergency button or do anything to save himself. Alonzo Stokes says”—here Sharb tried to imitate Alonzo’s twangy drawl—“‘It’s one of those things that just happens sometimes when you let impetuous or intoxicated folks around dangerous reptiles.’” He took a piece of Kleenex from his pocket and blew his nose. “Makes you wonder, don’t it?”

It made her do more than wonder; it drove home the certainty. His gaze was making it difficult for her to maintain her mellow calm. The more she tried not to show emotion, the harder it was to keep the skin under her eye from twitching.

“What’ya thinking?” he asked. Without taking his eyes off her, he dragged Sophie’s chair up to the head of the bed and sat down on it.

What she was thinking she could never tell him. The description of Donald Stranahan’s type was all too familiar to her. Now the story in her head was pushing into some very tender areas.

She looked up. Sharb was waiting for her to say something.

“My father was a co-worker, maybe a good friend,” she said. “When Donald Stranahan died he must have felt in some way responsible for the crippled widow and young son. So he helped support them after the accident. That would explain the payments.” She watched his face to see if he was buying it.

Sharb snorted. “Yeah? Policemen get killed all the time and sometimes it’s because of some mistake another policeman makes. But he doesn’t give up his salary for the rest of his life because of it. He donates a coupla hundred bucks to the Police Benevolent Fund, he goes to the funeral, and that’s it.”

Katherine shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

“I’ve got this theory. Wanna hear it?” Sharb asked. Without waiting for an answer he said, “Donald Stranahan, Junior.”

Katherine felt herself tense.

“Look. Alonzo Stokes is as slippery as one of those snakes he’s so crazy about. But we finally leaned on him so he admits he got a note from the pointman, too. More than a week ago. So we got notes to four people: your father, Travis Hammond, Stokes, and you. What do you four have in common? Well, Stokes and your father worked in the reptile house, which, by the way, was just a wing on the bird house then, when Donald Stranahan was killed there. Wow. Some coincidence, huh? And Hammond, well, he passed your father’s payments on to Stranahan’s widow, so he’s connected, too. Then there’s you, Katherine. Let’s suppose it’s a sins-of-the-fathers sort of thing and young Stranahan sees you as responsible because you’re your father’s daughter.”

He looked over at her trying to get an expression. “Are you with me so far?”

She nodded.

“Now. Doesn’t it seem strange to you that of the four people who received these threatening notes, you were the only one to report it to the authorities? You gotta ask, why didn’t the others report it? Alonzo says he didn’t take it seriously enough to report it. Now, that’s bullshit. Right? The only answer is they’ve all got something to hide. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m right.

“Okay. Now we’re going to make a leap. I told you I’ve been bothered by the fact that we haven’t been able to find any trace of Donald Stranahan, Junior. Neighbors in Belton recall his leaving home right after high school to join the service, but we can’t find a record of him in any of the armed forces. And they keep damn good records. So this is bothersome. Also, there’s something about the pointman notes: this eye-for-an-eye stuff. It’s about vengeance. He blames all of you for his father’s death. And then he kills with animals: a tiger for your father, a deer for Travis Hammond, and he tries to kill you with a snake.” His voice was rising with excitement. He got off the chair and perched on the edge of the bed, leaning his head down close to hers. “And here’s what really does it for me, Katherine: He uses the same kind of snake to go for you that killed his father.”

He stopped for a few seconds to let this have its impact, then continued, swept up in his narrative. “Why wait so long to get his revenge? you might be asking. Well, maybe he had to wait for his mother to die. But he planned it long ago, when he changed his name and entered the service with a new identity. So when the time is right, he comes to work at the zoo so he can get at your father and Alonzo easily. This has to be the work of an insider. Only someone who has keys and knows schedules could have done that to you today. Someone who knows how to handle deadly snakes.” His mouth puckered in distaste. “Whether I’m right about Stranahan I don’t know, but it is certainly an insider at the zoo doing these things.”

He stopped to take a breath and looked to Katherine for a response. But she’d let her eyes close. “Say something. You’re not asleep. Am I off track or does it make sense?”

She tried to picture the white faces surrounding her in the dream. “Go on,” she said. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Yeah. Well, don’t knock me over with your enthusiasm. Donald Stranahan, Junior, would be thirty-nine now. I just sent a man to Belton to get a description of him, a yearbook picture, anything he can get from twenty-one years ago when he left town. Of course he was an eighteen-year-old boy then. But a good photograph could crack this case for us. I looked at the zoo’s employment roster. Of the seventy-six employees, there are twenty-one men between the ages of thirty and forty-five. But let’s get serious here. Of those who have the keys and the knowledge, it narrows down to four, doesn’t it, Katherine?”

She still didn’t speak.

“You could be helpful here,” he said. “You’ve had more chances to observe them than I have. Come on. Open your eyes and work with me on this.”

Katherine kept her eyes shut.

“Let’s think about them for a minute,” Sharb said. “The four men in that age range who have full sets of keys for the reptile house and who have the know-how, and, listen to this—all four of them served in Vietnam. I’ve thought all along that a guy calling himself “the pointman” must’ve been in Nam.” He pronounced the four names, pausing after each one: “Wayne Zapalac. Danny Gillespie. Harold Winters. Vic Jamail. They were all near the scene at eleven o’clock yesterday. All four were there at the beginning of that lecture before the alarm broke it up. Any of the four could have tossed the snakes, locked you in, and gotten to the lecture in time. It started a little after eleven and people were going in and out.”

“Was Danny there?” she asked in surprise, opening her eyes.

“Yes. He had the day off, but came in for the lecture. He says he’s eager to broaden his knowledge so he can work in reptiles. There’s no accounting for taste, is there?”

“A description would help,” Katherine said finally. “Those four men are very different physically.”

Sharb nodded. “You’ve been working with them. What do you think of them?”

In her mind Katherine lined up the four men in front of her. “Harold I barely know. He doesn’t talk much. Danny … well, he’s high-strung and so eager to ingratiate himself, you want to hit him. You know he asked to work with my father in cats and he’s been trying to get into the reptile house, but Alonzo doesn’t want him.”

“He is a nervous little bugger,” Sharb said, “And a picture that’s bothered me from the start is him arriving first on the tiger scene that morning after Dieterlen’s call for help. Here’s a guy who was a sharpshooter in the army. He’s got a gun and he sees that poor devil in there at the mercy of—” He stopped and looked at Katherine for the first time since he began the speech. “Oh, sorry. Well, you know. Your first impulse would be to shoot. Unless he knew already that the guy was dead.”

“Yes,” Katherine said. “I’ve wondered about it, too.”

“How about Wayne Zapalac?” Sharb asked. “You tell me your impressions first. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Wayne … well, he’s interesting—very sensitive, different from the way he looks, but it’s hard to figure him out.”

“Sensitive, huh?” Sharb snorted. “He’s got a record for assault and battery. Psycho release from the Marines. Expert in silent killing in Vietnam. A real strong suspect, I think. We’re checking his credentials, seeing where he really came from. This guy could be the one.”

“Maybe,” she said, looking up at the blank television screen on the wall. “He wanted to work with my father and when that didn’t work out, he chose reptiles.”

Sharb sat forward on his chair. “How about Vic Jamail?” He looked at her intently. “Is this a hard one for you?”

Katherine sighed. Hard? It made her heart shrink to think he might do anything to harm her. Of the many things she did not want to believe, this was one of the most powerful. She thought of the pleasure of lying close to him, running her hands down his back. “I trust him.” She turned to meet his eyes. “I know it’s not him.”

Sharb held his palms up toward her. “Well, he battled publicly with your father and he has access to every area in the zoo. You just need to stay away from him until we work this out.”

They both looked up as Sophie entered the room with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Sharb stood up and pushed the chair back into its former position with a screech.

“When are you likely to get the description from Belton?” Katherine asked.

“Could take a while. Twenty-one-year-old info takes time. My man didn’t start until six tonight. He may not have anything until tomorrow.”

Katherine yawned.

“Guess I should go,” he said, sticking his hands into his pockets. “How do you feel? I forgot to ask.”

“Oh, I feel…” She paused to decide how she really did feel. “I feel free from fear. You know, when you’re terrified of something and then you come face-to-face with that very thing and the worst happens, you don’t have anything to be afraid of anymore. I feel good.”

He nodded in such a vigorous way she knew he understood.

“Well, I’ll let you know when I hear anything.” He turned to leave.

“Lieutenant Sharb,” she called. “Bernard. Your man outside the door. Please take him with you. The security is plenty good here.”

“And I’m staying the night, anyway, Lieutenant,” Sophie said.

He turned around and planted his feet firmly. “Someone tried to kill you yesterday.”

“Please. It will help me relax. Take him with you. We’ll be fine.”

He hesitated.

“It makes me feel like a prisoner. I can’t stand it. Please.”

He looked at Sophie. “No one comes in but the doctor and nurses. Right?”

“Right,” Sophie said, blowing on her coffee.

Katherine lifted her head. “Call when you get the information from Belton. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Will you?”

He nodded and left.

“What information?” Sophie asked. “I’ve been pretty good about not bugging you, haven’t I? But now it’s time to tell me.”

Katherine held up five fingers. “Give me just a few minutes to think something out, Sophie. Then we’ll talk.”

She closed her eyes and watched the speckles of light on the inside of her lids. Sharb was pretty good. He was using the facts creatively to reconstruct an old story, an old crime probably. But he could only see part of it. Because he didn’t have the memories.

But she did have the memories.

Some lines of poetry she had been forced to memorize in the eighth grade kept intruding into her head. What was it?

The Ancient Mariner.

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more his head;

Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

That’s exactly how she felt. She didn’t want to turn around to face the fiend that was treading behind her.

Well, why should she? Life was difficult enough.

She could adopt Sharb’s limited version. She could dismiss her memories and adopt a version that fit the known facts.

It would be so much easier.

On everyone.

Now was the time to decide. Was she going to go after the truth no matter what damage it did? Or was she going to contain the damage? Hell, people edited the truth all the time for comfort’s sake. It was a reasonable survival technique. They chose condensed versions that would be easier to live with. She had that option now—to ignore, bury, deny the memories that had come back to her. Hadn’t she been doing that all her life, really? Suppressing painful memories?