That Thing At the Zoo - 01 Read Free

the lion display closed?” The voice was deep and fluid, sounding like it came from behind a closed door. It was the voice of a man who would tell you anything you wanted to hear to get his way. A snake oil huckster, a used-car salesman, a tent revival evangelist with a methamphetamine addiction. The man who came around me to stand by Dr. Critter’s desk was not a disappointment to my expectations.
    He was portly. A short, rotund man whose belt split him in the middle. The seersucker material of his suit bunched at the bends, dividing him into rounded sections of arm and leg like sausages. His shirt collar was damp from sweat despite the hardworking air conditioning. Overall, he had the rumpled appearance of a note someone had wadded up, thrown away, then dug from the trash to smooth out and read again.
    Dr. Critter smoothed his hair back with a push of his hand. He looked up at the man by his desk and then over at me. “Mr. Beauregard, this is Mr. Chalk. He is working with the police to investigate the animal deaths.”
    I watched Beauregard. He froze, just for a second, not moving other than to sweat. Slowly he turned, pasting a smile across his jowly face. He wasn’t a ugly man, but the hard, conniving look in his eyes made him appear mean. He stuck his hand out; it was damp as I shook it. “Mr. Chalk”—he gave a slight nod—“you don’t look like a police officer.”
    I pulled my hand away, wiping it on my jeans. “Deacon. And I’m not.”
    “Not?”
    “Not a cop.”
    “Well, then what are you?”
    “Trying to have a conversation with Dr. Critter before you interrupted.” I crossed my hands over my stomach and raised my eyebrow at him. “Now who are you?”
    Dr. Critter leaned forward. “Mr. Beauregard is the director here.”
    Beauregard’s pudgy hands came up and pulled on the lapel of his suit. His back straightened as he gave what I was sure was supposed to be an authoritative glare. “Yes, I am the director. Now where is an actual policeman? I have a lion exhibit to make available to the public and I want an answer as to who has been killing our animals.”
    “What,” I said.
    My statement stopped him. He blinked at me. “Excuse me?”
    “You mean what has been killing your animals.” I stood up and took a step towards him. The top of his head came only to my shoulder so his neck had to craned back to look up, but he didn’t take a step back. A lot of men would have. “No human could have done what was done to that lion. We are looking for a what, not a who, and in this part of the country I am the man to handle that. That is why the cops have come and gone, leaving me in charge.”
    My fingers ran under the straps holding my shoulder holster to my belt, adjusting them for comfort and drawing attention to the fact that I had a big-ass gun under my arm. I stepped over to the door.
    “I am going to go call my people and poke around. When I come up with a plan, I’ll let you know. Until then, stay out of my way.”
    I walked out of the office without a second glance.

3
     
    Jimmy the zookeeper and I bounced along in an all-terrain electric golf cart. Apparently all of the zoo’s natural habitats had fenced access roads the public could not see. This way the zookeepers could move in and out, cleaning up messes and fixing things without being seen. They were like roadies at a rock concert. Always there smoothing things out for the band, but never seen.
    He had taken me to where the other two animals had been found. Both scenes were open patches of grass or dirt that had soaked up any clues days ago. I was still stuck with a pterodactyl as my main guess.
    “How long have you been a zookeeper, Jimmy?”
    He turned a corner too fast, the electric motor humming loudly in protest. “’Bout six years now. Was a maintenance man here before that. Been with the zoo in one form or another since I was nineteen.”
    “In all those years, you ever have to clean up an animal carcass?”
    “Once or