Night Kill (20 page)

At the Commissary, Hap and Diego were reviewing the night’s food deliveries. I punched out and lingered in the little room where dirty uniforms were left and clean uniforms were delivered. Diego left and most of the keepers had come through and departed by the time I came out.

I found him cleaning knives, getting ready to go home. “Hey, Hap. Got a minute?”

“Always got time for you, girl.” He looked tired and only mildly interested.

I leaned a hip against the counter. “Hap, I’m trying to fill in some of the blanks for Rick’s last night. I wasn’t paying attention and I don’t remember a lot of things people said. Like, I think you said you were up here late that night, right?”

Hap’s face froze for an instant. “I was holding a party, remember? You were there.”

“Yeah. But Rick came up here after the party and I thought you did, too.”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

A beard and mustache make a face hard to read. I had never noticed that before. “I can’t remember if it was something you said or if someone told me they’d seen your bike in the lot.”

“Who told you that?” He wiped down his cleaver and hung it on a nail.

“Hap, I said I couldn’t remember. I’m trying to sort it all out.”

“Benita and I had to clean up after the party. Why the hell would I come up here anyway?” His voice was easy, perhaps a touch nettled.

“I don’t know. I’m just asking.”

“George or Diego tell you I was here?” Hap’s voice was a little sharper.

“No. Diego was off that night. His daughter was in a play. George wouldn’t notice a rock concert in the elephant yard.”

Thick sandy eyebrows bunched together until the answer came to him. “Linda.”

“Hap, I’m not trying to make trouble. I’m trying to find out what happened that night.”

“I don’t like people making up stories about me, especially not under the circumstances.”

“Hap, was your bike in the parking lot that night? Did it break down or did you loan it to someone?”

“I don’t loan my bike. Linda needs to explain why she’s spreading bullshit. I’ll get this unkinked tomorrow morning.” He pulled on his scuffed leather jacket and took his helmet off a hook.

“Chill out, Hap. It’s a misunderstanding. Don’t start a war.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

It was a problem. Hap would confront Linda and she would regret she had told me what she’d noticed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.”

I walked to my truck replaying Hap’s words. I’d finally learned something new about Rick’s last night. Hap had been at the zoo. I’d bet on it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine. Rick and Benita. Rick was strong and fit, not easy to push around, even drunk. But Hap was bigger and experienced in real fighting. Hap picking up Rick, tossing him over the rail. The lions surprised and fascinated, ready…

Hap had lied to me. My stomach roiled.

Not Hap, please not Hap.

Chapter Seventeen

Denny lounged in a corner of Marcie’s white sofa, wearing pale jeans, a purple T-shirt from a band I’d never heard of, and a green kerchief tied around his head. He looked surly and piratical, if not criminal. The Princess was a cream and brown oval in his lap, purrs grading into snores. I was surprised to see him serving as heated cat furniture, but surprises were Denny’s specialty. Six-Toes was hanging out hopefully in the kitchen watching Marcie cook and The Impossible Kitten was mauling a catnip mouse on the rug, adding a lighthearted note to a sullen ambience. The kitten’s white paws looked stylish against a black pelt that at last had a healthy sheen.

Marcie’s apartment ran to white, with a shiny brass and glass coffee table, prints by great masters on the walls. Shelves held pretty vases, books arranged by size, pictures of her mother and grandparents. Serene and quiet, clean and careful. I wondered if Marcie would ever put a jukebox in the dining room or paint a wall crimson.

I also wondered if I’d get through the evening without punching Denny. I declined Marcie’s offer of wine, the better to keep the lid on. Rational, calm, persuasive—I could do it. I had to do it. Denny was the only source of information left.

He and I grunted at each other, exchanged the legal minimum of small talk, and drank our beer (him) and soda water (me) until Marcie called us to dinner. It seemed we’d taken a vow of silence until the opening bell, which apparently Marcie controlled. She chatted at us until we’d eaten our curried chicken, rice, baked squash, and apple cobbler. This menu seemed unlikely to accommodate his latest dietary obsessions, but Denny ate everything put in front of him.

After clearing the table, we had an awkward time deciding whether the dining room table or the living room was better for serious conversation. Denny and I ended up at opposite ends of the sofa, with Marcie on a chair across from us. Cats distributed themselves, shifting about.

Marcie smiled brightly at us. “Denny, Iris and I are hoping you will tell us everything you can remember about Rick’s last couple of days. Iris is trying to piece together what happened.”

Denny put his elbow on the sofa back and crossed one ankle over the other knee, aggressively relaxed, looking at Marcie. “That’s what this is all about? I figured she was going to sue me for defamation of character. I was going to counter-sue for damages to my van.” He wasn’t making a joke. “I already told her everything about Rick.” He glanced at me. “You think I’m holding back some big news?” The Princess returned to his lap, one tentative paw after another, and curled her old joints into a round cat pillow.

I suppressed an urge to hurl a glass at him. “If you could focus on the question, maybe you could tell me again about those last few days?”

Marcie said, “I don’t know what happened. Tell me.” Her hands were relaxed, folded in her lap.

Denny shifted toward her, surliness replaced by patience. The Princess’ tail twitched. “He called me up, said he needed a place to stay. I said ‘no problem.’ It wasn’t hard to guess why. He said, could he bring Ranger; I said we’d give it a try with Strongbad.”

“The dog’s name is Range, not Ranger,” I said. “I’ve told you that a dozen times. And calling a big dog ‘Strongbad’ is asking for trouble.”

“Be quiet,” said Marcie.

Wasn’t she supposed to be on my side?

Denny put both feet on the floor and straightened up, talking to Marcie. “Didn’t work out with the dogs, too much shoving and growling and no good way to keep them separated. So he took Ranger back home. He left him there, picked up a few things and came back.”

“Do you have his computer?” After my house was broken into and I couldn’t find it, I’d forgotten to ask.

His eyes swept toward me briefly. “It’s still at my place. Forgot about it.”

“I want to take a look at it. Maybe it’s got something to explain that last night,” I said.

Denny ignored me.

“What did Rick do when he wasn’t at work?” Marcie asked.

“Nothing special. Listened to music, watched TV. We went to a concert once. Did some Net surfing.”

“What was he looking for on the Internet?” I asked.

“Didn’t say.” Denny slumped back on the sofa, tapping his foot. “He spent a lot of time getting my printer to work with his PC.”

“Was he drinking while he stayed with you?” I asked.

“Not that I saw. Maybe a beer. I didn’t really notice.”

“Well, he sure got lit that last night. Was he drinking at the party after I left?”

“No. You two were gone a long time. Marcie and I talked.”

Marcie nodded, all attention.

Denny hunched forward, coiling into tension. The Princess stuck out a paw and hooked a claw into his jeans at the thigh. “Rick came back to the party and took off. Just grabbed his jacket and left. Iris didn’t even come back for hers.” He unhooked the paw without looking down. “I went around to all the bars and liquor stores near the zoo with Rick’s picture from the paper, that article they did on his death.”

“And?” Marcie asked, still sitting with her back straight, hands in her lap, perfectly composed.

“Nobody remembered him. Nobody remembered selling him any beer or anything.”

I was impressed at Denny’s initiative—and still baffled. “I checked the Vultures’ Roost. He hadn’t been in for a few days before he died. Did he drink at your place?”

“I don’t think so. I had some beer in the fridge and half a bottle of vodka. They’re still there. I think he went straight to the zoo after the party. It wouldn’t make sense to drive all the way to my place first.”

Looking at Marcie while he talked to me or about me—it was getting annoying. Did he still think I’d hit Rick with a rock and dumped him in the moat?

“The paper said that Rick died between one and four in the morning. Before that, he got tanked somewhere,” I insisted.

Denny dumped The Princess on the floor and stood up. She stalked stiffly to her bed, radiating elderly Siamese annoyance. Denny started pacing, engaged at last, filling the room with restless tension. “There’s lots of places he could get a bottle. What I want to know is, what did Iris tell him?”

“Tell him?” I didn’t get it. “We talked. About his drinking, whether to get divorced. We decided to give it another try.”

“There’s another possibility we could explore. I’m not saying it’s true, just something I’ve been thinking about.”

He had his back to me.

“What would that be?” Marcie asked.

“I’m thinking it’s possible Iris drop-kicked him same as she did me and isn’t coming clean about it. Maybe she tells him the two of them are through forever, says it was no good from Day One and it’s his fault.”

I could feel heat rising in my face. “Where do you get off, calling me a liar?”

Denny wasn’t done. “Here’s Rick, torn up good, because he was kicking himself for wrecking the home scene, trying to pull it back together, and she rips him a new one. He gets a bottle, goes to the zoo because he doesn’t want to see me or anyone else. Iris convinced him he’s a juicehead and a negative-energy loser, so what else is he to do? He really tanks up—codeine for the soul, you know?”

“Denny, this is psychotic raving. You are out of—”

Denny plowed on. “And then the lions start looking like a solution. She’d find him in the morning, and everyone would know it was her fault. Only no one thought that. Everyone was sorry for her instead, and before that wears off, she starts acting like she’s trying to find out how he died.”

I stood up, knees shaking, ears ringing. “Denny, get out. Get out of here. Now.”

He looked at me at last, his jaw stubborn. “It’s a possibility, that’s all. I don’t want it to be true, but it fits the facts. Prove I’m wrong. I’m listening.”

“Prove what? That you are certifiable? That any friendship you had with Rick doesn’t count if you have a conspiracy theory to ride? That blaming me is all that matters?”

“Iris, sit down. It’s important to get this resolved.” Marcie’s calm was evaporating fast, her voice going breathy.

“I’m leaving,” I said, my voice coming from some cold, tight place far away. “Do you want help getting rid of him?”

“No, no. It’s all right.” She was standing, too, fingers spread in agitation.

In my truck, I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and turned the rage loose, snarling curses at him, close to sobbing. Denny was nobody I’d ever understood, a vicious paranoid. I was pathetic. Nothing I tried worked. I might as well buy a ticket to L.A. and give up now.

I started the truck and headed home. Rain slicing through the half-open driver’s window cooled my face, but my hands were clenched on the steering wheel.

Reason crept back, ready to flee if the tidal wave of anger swept in again.

Denny was never going to help. He was locked into blaming me for Rick’s death, still smarting from our abrupt breakup a year ago. When we had lived together, he’d seemed to be in a parallel dimension, impervious to anything I said or did. He’d looked more disconcerted and miffed than heart-broken when I told him to move out. I had not understood his vulnerability at all, or his bitterness. He would not be an ally. My sense of loss surprised me. I’d always thought we’d make it to friendship, if only he weren’t so obnoxious. What a fool I was.

At home with the dogs, I remembered Rick’s computer. What else did I have to work with? Nothing. I rounded up the scattered anger for fuel. I wasn’t quitting because of Denny.

Marcie answered on the second ring.

“Marcie, don’t say my name. Is Denny still there?”

“Yes. What’s up?”

“Keep him there as long as you can. I’m going out to his place to get Rick’s computer and take a look around for anything else Rick might have left.”

“Let’s talk about this later. I think we can come up with something better.”

“Just do your best. I’ll call you when I get back.”

How to handle Strongbad? Denny’s dog was big, young, and untrained. Unruliness didn’t bother Denny. Strongbad would be set on defending hearth and home. I needed a distraction to get past him, and two possibilities wagged their tails at my knees. Winnie was a good choice—Strongbad was an intact male. Winnie was never going into heat, but he wouldn’t know that and would be interested in making her acquaintance. I clipped on her leash, generating considerable enthusiasm for an excursion. Range waited for his leash, dancing with his front feet, and whuffling through his lips. He was a poor candidate; best to leave him behind. When he had stayed at Denny’s with Rick, the two male dogs had never reached a truce. Brown eyes in an eager face won out over common sense and he came, too.

Denny lived thirty minutes east of my house, on a gravel road in a neighborhood of decaying wood-frame bungalows with corrugated metal storage sheds behind them. The house on the left looked deserted; the house on the right had a spotlight on the driveway, illuminating a drift boat on a trailer. Denny’s house had a gravel pullout instead of a driveway, a sagging porch mostly concealed by runaway ivy, and no porch light.

Strongbad opened up full volume when I tried the front door, which was locked. I searched for a key on the ledge above the door and under the mat. No luck. Winnie and Range preceded me to the backyard, sniffing and pulling on their leashes, having a great time. No rain here, but the ground was soft and the air was damp. The back door was boarded shut. That left the windows, which required two hands. Strongbad lunged and bellowed at the window nearest to the drift boat. The neighbor hadn’t come out to yell at me, and the light was better on that side. Maybe nobody was home next door.