The Koala of Death (8 page)
As soon as Bill spotted the law officers headed his way, his shoulders tensed and he wheeled around toward the service trail. He stopped dead when Abim hopped up beside him. After muttering something I couldn’t hear to the wallaby, Bill darted a look to the left, where a large mob of wallabies lay basking in the sun, then to the right, where a smaller group was doing the same. Bill leaned forward and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. But when Abim hopped closer and sniffed at his ankle, the Aussie’s shoulders slumped. Not willing to risk his animals’ safety, he raised his hands in the classic “I surrender” position.
I watched helplessly as Joe recited the Miranda while one of his deputies cuffed Bill. As they hustled him to the squad car, he yelled, “Teddy! Take care of me mates! Them wallabies need fresh water, and I didn’t get to the other animals yet.”
“Got it covered,” I yelled back.
As the squad car rolled slowly past me, Joe’s face, so warm and loving the night before, appeared set in stone.
***
Two hours later, I had finished feeding and watering all the Down Under animals, and was on my way to the anteater enclosure. It had been a frustrating time, because every few minutes my radio would squawk out questions from keepers who wanted to know what was going on. The most upsetting of these calls had been the closed-channel call from Zorah. She admitted that she’d known Bill’s arrest was imminent, but had been ordered to keep quiet.
“The sheriff phoned me at home this morning and said to have the back entrance gate open for him and his deputies, so what was I supposed to do? Tip Bill off so he could leg it back to Australia? He’d never have made it to the airport, anyway, might even have been shot first. At least he’s safe. As jails go, San Sebastian’s isn’t too bad, I guess, but now we’re short one keeper again. God, how I hate this job! Anyway, I already sent Myra to Monkey Mania to cover for you there, but until I can find someone to replace Bill, you’re on permanent Down Under duty. Zoo One, signing off.”
“Don’t sign off yet! Did Joe say why he thinks Kate was murdered?”
“Of course he didn’t tell me. But on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
a few minutes ago, the newscaster announced that a source over at the medical examiner’s office said it couldn’t have been an accident because Kate was dead before she went into the water. They can tell that?”
“Sure, if there was no water in the lungs.” You learn details like that when you date a cop.
“Ugh. Zoo One, signing off.”
As I entered Tropics Trail where Lucy and Baby Boy Anteater lived, I shoved the morning’s events out of my mind. Since I’d arrived late, Lucy was napping in her great Dane-sized night house. When my cart rounded the corner she ambled out and flicked her long blue tongue through the holding pen’s chain-link fence.
“Is my sweet girl hungry?”
“
Mmm-mmm-mmm
.” Anteaters aren’t great conversationalists.
“And how about my even sweeter Baby Boy?” This, directed to the tot riding on Lucy’s back.
Baby Boy didn’t say a word, just stared at me through beady eyes. Like Bill—
no, Teddy, don’t think about Bill
—Baby Boy was the strong, silent type.
After throwing the little anteater a kiss, I grabbed a container of termites off the cart, along with my safety board—thanks to their four-inch-long talons, anteaters are more dangerous than they appear—and entered the large enclosure. With Lucy and Baby Boy safely in their holding pen, it didn’t take me long to stuff the termites into several fake logs and sweep up piles of anteater poop. These chores accomplished, I picked up my safety board and opened the lock to the holding pen. With a squeak, Lucy rushed out, headed to the closest log, and settled in for some serious termite lapping. Once out of her sight, I zipped into the pen, re-locked the gate, and swept up more poop. Then I refreshed the straw in her bedding, and let myself out of the rear exit.
It was lunch time already, but not feeling up to the inquisition I was certain to receive in the employees’ lounge, I purchased a couple of tacos from the Amazon Appetito concession and retreated to the deep brush behind the jaguar enclosure. While eating, I pondered the complexities of Bill’s situation.
With no relatives in the States and a boatload of legal woes in the offing, the Aussie needed all the friends he could get. Ordinarily, a zoo is one big family, but the combination of his gruff manner and his only part-time schedule at the zoo had kept most of the male zookeepers from inviting him out for a beer. Myself, I liked the man—his take-no-prisoners demeanor reminded me of Cisco, our feisty Mexican gray wolf—but even I had to admit that Bill could be his own worst enemy. How would his confrontational temperament come across in the San Sebastian Country Jail, where his every move and every word would be recorded on video camera?
As I was trying to decide whether a jail visit from me would help or hurt him, an agitated roar from Lucero, our highly territorial male jaguar, signaled that I was no longer alone. Within seconds, Robin Chase poked her head through the brush.
“What are you doing here?” the big cat keeper demanded.
“Eating lunch.”
“Well, go away. That dead animal you’re eating is bothering Lucero.”
I looked down at my taco. “Why? He’s not a vegan.”
“Are you mocking me?”
Wanting to smack myself for forgetting that Robin
was
a vegan, I made the rest of the taco disappear into my mouth. “All finished. But you’re worrying unnecessarily. In the five years Lucero’s been here he’s smelled everything from barbequed pork to banana daiquiris.”
“I don’t want you eating anywhere near the big cat exhibits. Ever.”
Robin had always been testy, but lately she’d become even more irritable. What was wrong with her? Money woes? Perhaps, but these days, almost everyone had them. Love woes? Again, join the club, but even I had to admit that the big-boned Robin, with her blotchy complexion and mousy hair, would have trouble attracting most men. Once Bill, in a particularly cruel comment, had said that she reminded him of old photographs he’d seen of genetically challenged Russian peasants.
Feeling more pity than anger, I stood up. “Message received, Robin.”
She wasn’t through. Her face, which had already turned red with fury when she found me gobbling a taco, grew even blotchier. “Guess you think you’re pretty smart, Teddy.”
“Excuse me?”
“With Kate dead, you inherited the TV show and now Down Under. Things are going just the way you planned, aren’t they? That bitch Myra was right. You’ve only been here a year, and already you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger. Are you aiming for Zorah’s job next, planning to use it as a stepping-stone for the directorship of an even bigger zoo? The San Diego, maybe? The National? Your rampant ambition knows no bounds! Drowning Kate and railroading poor Bill just so you could get what you want! I used to think you were just another ditzy Central Coast dilettante, but I’ve changed my mind. You’re slick, Teddy. Machiavelli himself had nothing on you.”
Stung, I replied, “Zorah made both those decisions. As for killing Kate…”
“You pretend to be one of us by living on some old boat down at the harbor, but I’ve seen that poor-little-rich-girl act before and I’m not buying it. I’m warning you. Don’t mess with me and my big cats or you’ll find yourself in the kind of trouble that neither your rich stupid mother, your crooked-ass father, or your cop boyfriend can get you out of.”
Threat delivered, she gave my sleeve a yank that almost toppled me, and then disappeared into the brush, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Shaken from the confrontation, I returned to my rounds.
The animals had a calming affect and by quitting time, my mood had turned to curious. While standing in line to clock out, I tried to understand Robin’s sudden dislike of me. Had I inadvertently said something or done something to incur her animosity? No matter how I searched my memory, nothing popped up.
I put Robin aside and wondered what motive Bill might have for killing Kate. An acrimonious breakup? No one at the zoo knew for certain what had gone on during the final weeks of their relationship, but it was pretty much agreed that he had been the one to dump Kate. It was usually the dumpee who killed, not the dumper—wasn’t it? Even more puzzling was why Bill would peddle his bicycle twelve miles from Castroville, where he lived in one of those rent-by-the-week motels, all the way down to the harbor, and then lurk in the shadows until she left the party. Why not just kill her in her own nearby Castroville apartment?
I was mulling over the logistics when I arrived home at Gunn Landing Harbor. After sliding my card key into the electronic gate that led down to the docks, I realized that gaining access to the
Gutterball
would have been a problem for Bill, too. Only boat owners were issued card keys. When they wanted to invite non-harbor residents to parties, they sometimes stationed a friend at the gate to allow other revelers in. A few rebels simply propped the gate open with a rock, but woe betide them if the harbormaster found out. Which had the Grimaldis done?
I had my chance to find out when I saw Doris and Sam Grimaldi sipping their evening daiquiris on the
Gutterball
’s deck. They didn’t look happy.
“Permission to come aboard, Grimaldis?” I called.
Doris’ usual smile was nowhere in evidence as waved me aboard. “Oh, Teddy, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry we both are for what you had to go through the other morning. Finding Kate like that. I wish we’d been here to help, but as soon as the last person left the party, we went back home.”
Even in the evening’s dimming light, I could see that her eyes were swollen and stress lines marred her face. Somewhere in her fifties, she was around fifteen years older than her husband. Despite her salon-tinted hair and expert makeup, she actually looked twenty more. Sam was no beauty himself, but he made up for his no-more-than-average appearance by a warm voice and engaging manner. With those qualities and the help of his workhorse wife, he’d turned Lucky Lanes from a failed bowling alley into one of San Sebastian County’s most popular gathering spots.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Doris,” I told her.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to convince her of, Teddy,” Sam seconded. “But she blames herself for inviting Kate to the party in the first place. She couldn’t have known that the woman would get drunk and drown.”
On my way home from the zoo I’d heard the basics of Bill’s arrest on KRSS-AM. No doubt the television stations were also featuring it. “You haven’t been listening to the news?”
Sam shook his head. “Too depressing, what with the economy, the terrorists, the…”
I raised my hand to stop him. “KRSS is reporting that Kate was murdered, and the authorities already have a suspect in custody.” For now, I wanted to leave Bill’s name out of it.
After a moment of shocked silence, Sam said, “Murdered? I don’t believe it! Who would hurt such a sweet girl? Every time I…”
“Sam. Don’t.” Doris gave her husband a warning frown. To me she said, “Thanks for telling us, Teddy, but we have to get over to Lucky Lanes now, don’t we, Sam?”
“We do?” Sam’s face was a study in confusion.
“Don’t you remember? Super Strikes, that league from Castroville? They changed their regular night to Wednesdays and that’s going to be too much for Evelyn and Carlos to handle by themselves. Let’s get going.” Doris all but hauled her husband out of his chair.
Having worn out my welcome, I excused myself and headed over to the
Merilee
and the more soothing company of DJ Bonz and Miss Priss.
Later, as I took Bonz for his evening constitutional through Gunn Park, I reflected on my conversation with the Grimaldis. Bear keeper Jack Spence was a member of Super Strikes. During our afternoon break, he’d bragged about picking up a seven-ten split the night before, thus winning the evening’s eighty-two dollar jackpot, so Doris had been lying.
As the evening fog drifted toward the harbor, I realized that I’d not asked the Grimaldis the question I’d originally meant to ask.
Had one of them opened the electronic harbor gate for Bill?
If not, who had?
Friday evening, after taking care of my own animals, I drove up to Old Town to get ready for Mother’s Let’s-Find-Teddy-a-Suitable-Husband soirée. While I disliked these parties, my attendance at them kept most of her manipulations down to a dull roar.
The problem was this.
I had been born into money. The Pipers, my mother’s family, were one of the area’s founding families, and for around a hundred years, had accumulated piles of the green stuff via their ranching and shipping concerns. But like so many families, they’d lost it all during the Depression. Fortunately, the Piper women tended to be beautiful and were able to snag rich husbands. Mother met my very wealthy father when he was a judge in the Miss San Sebastian Beauty Pageant—she won, of course—and married him soon afterward.
Unfortunately, several years later my father, who was as dishonest as he was rich, embezzled millions from the family brokerage firm of Bentley, Bentley, Haight and Busby, then decamped to Costa Rica with the loot. When the Feds were through with Caro, she had lost her house, the cars, the diamonds, the furs, and for all intents and purposes, was penniless. Well, there
was
that sub rosa offshore account Dad set up for us. Unfortunately, it would raise the curiosity of the Feds if it were accessed too frequently, so being a Piper and still beautiful, Caro married rich again. And again. And again. Each succeeding husband had more money than the previous one, and in no time, Caro had recouped the family finances, even buying back the family home the Feds had snatched out from under us. Now she was able to live high on the hog without making too many suspicious withdrawals.
I took a different path. Once I finished college, I married a young and very
un
rich attorney and moved to San Francisco with him, but was eventually deserted for another woman. Since I had not inherited the Piper family beauty, I knuckled down to support myself by teaching. After finding that San Francisco held too many bad memories, I moved back to Caro’s house in the Old Town section of Gunn Landing, and shortly thereafter found myself working at the zoo. To my surprise, I adored it.