Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  I found a hammer in the kitchen junk drawer for him and grabbed a poker from the fireplace for myself. I rubbed my hand on the first step of the stairway to the second floor. The carpet felt a little damp, as if a wet shoe had passed that way recently. My father pushed past me and went up first.

  My room smelled stale and seemed undisturbed. Pete and Cheyenne’s room was shockingly bare. They really were gone, their stuff in storage or over at Denny’s. The bathroom was tidier than usual without toothbrushes or hair products, just a towel or two.

  “Iris. Here.”

  My father stood at the open door to Robby’s room. I looked in and froze. Robby had a huge collection of stuffed animals courtesy of my zoo friends. I’d taken only a few of them with us. The rest were no longer heaped in the green plastic box where they lived. They were strewn around Robby’s room like bombing victims. Soft-furred bellies gaped open, clouds of white polyester stuffing drifted on the floor and the bed. I picked up a slack, empty panda, stomach slashed open. Same with a musk ox, a bat, a polar bear. Eviscerated and tossed aside. My stomach twisted with nausea and my hands shook.

  Why? I had nothing small and valuable to hide in the toys. Not robbery—malice. An outlet for anger and impatience.

  My father said, “You can see the sidewalk and front yard from this window.”

  “We sat in the car for several minutes. Maybe he thought we were waiting for back-up.”

  “Ran downstairs and out the way he’d come. He didn’t stop to jigger the deadbolt shut.”

  Bored and frustrated, he’d slashed them one by one while he watched, ready to move downstairs and lurk behind the front door to attack when I walked in.

  I called Gettler and left a message, then the Portland police. After I told them this was connected to a previous break-in, they said they would send an officer out.

  “Dad, the Tiptons wouldn’t have the patience or skill to pick a lock—they’d break their shoulders busting in. It was someone else. This has to be Ethan. He’s after the Tipton gold.”

  My father shook his head. “I think he’s after you. You talked to Wanda Tipton and learned he really exists.”

  I shivered as this sank in. “He’s been watching the house. He knew I’d be back to take care of the birds, and he could tell that no one was here.” This was a guy who was determined to stay hidden. If I was right, he killed Liana to keep his prints and DNA safe from law enforcement. Yet he’d crept out from his hiding place to find me and lost his temper when he couldn’t. How hard would it be to find out where I was staying? My skin crawled.

  A police officer showed up while we were checking every cranny and window. When he had taken pictures and interviewed us, I asked him to escort us to my parents’ house. “First, can you wait a few minutes?”

  He said he could.

  I couldn’t leave Robby’s room contaminated. I pulled two black plastic garbage bags from under the kitchen sink, and we went back upstairs. Little puffs of white polyester lay everywhere, almost too soft to feel between my fingers as I picked them up. Some of the stuffed animals had bare patches from Robby scooting them along the floor or rubbing their ears while he fell asleep. At first I put the ones that might be repairable into one bag, and the truly ruined ones in another. Soon I realized I could never bear to see any of them again and quit discriminating. I hauled the two bags out to the garbage can and set it on the curb for pickup. My father carried up the vacuum cleaner. A few swipes would have to do for now.

  Nothing that simple would remove the sense of menace.

  The police promised to keep an eye on my parents’ house. That didn’t matter. I knew Robby and I couldn’t stay there any longer. I was sick with fear, and I couldn’t think what to do.

  When we returned, I galloped upstairs to confirm that Robby was safe. As a baby, he’d slept with his arms out, open to the world. Tonight, he was curled tight around his armadillo. I stayed a few minutes to watch him breathe.

  By silent agreement, neither I nor my father mentioned the mutilated animals to my mother, just the basement break-in. I told them both, “This changes things. Robby and I can’t stay here and neither can you. It’s too dangerous.”

  My mother said, “Dear, you haven’t checked whether Pete might have left the door open. I think you could be over-reacting. Jim, you were there. What do you think?”

  My father said, “I think Iris and Robby are safe here. We’re three adults, for pity’s sake, and we can always call the police. I wouldn’t panic.”

  I gave up. “I’m going upstairs. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  I called the person I least wanted to ask for help.

  ***

  I eased out of the bedroom in the morning without waking Robby. My parents were having a peaceful breakfast reading The Oregonian. After a bracing swig of coffee, I handed each of them a piece of paper and made a speech. “Mom and Dad, we have an ugly situation here, and I need to be sure Robby is safe. These are tickets for a 3:15 Southwest flight this afternoon so you can visit your friend Cecile in Berkeley. Here’s the one for Robby. I know you both have work commitments, but this is an emergency. You can take your laptops and work from Cecile’s. You both do a lot online so that should help. I’ll be moving to a safer place myself.”

  I do not understand why people cannot see logic when it’s staring them in the face. I might as well have suggested we all put on clown noses and jump off Rocky Butte. Half an hour later, I’d described the mutilated stuffed animals, which upset my mother, but not enough to convince her that I was right. I was losing it, my reasonable voice frayed into shrill. “Look, do you not understand that a murderer is after me? Do you not get that he will track me here? What part of ‘keeping Robby safe’ is unclear to you?”

  I’d stayed up half the night figuring this out and my credit card had taken severe damage, damage that would require years to heal. Now I had to scream at them to get this to happen?

  Robby stumbled downstairs in his pjs, armadillo under one arm, wet diaper sagging on his rear. The discussion ceased. Robby climbed up on a chair and looked around. “Robby home today,” he announced. “My home.”

  I nearly wept. “No, honey. Today you get to fly in an airplane. A real airplane, up in the sky.” My intention was emotional blackmail directed at my parents, but it failed.

  “No sky,” Robby said. “Dragons. Fire. Go to my house.”

  Thwarted, I left the battlefield to deal with the diaper and help him into clothes.

  Rejoining the conflict, I walked through it again while my mother scrambled an egg for Robby. “You guys can take a week’s vacation at my expense. If Cecile can’t put you up, I’ll pay for a motel. You can go to museums and parks and stuff. It will be sunny and Robby will have a wonderful time. It’s just for a week or so, because this can’t go on much longer.” That was nothing more than wishful thinking, but what else could I say? “I’m moving out, to a new place, where I’ll be safe. Can I have the keys for the truck and the Camry? My Honda has that clouded leopard on the spare tire cover so it’s too conspicuous.”

  I could count on the fingers of one hand the times I’d seen my father angry.

  “You think you can shuffle us out of the way while you deal with this criminal? That we’re going to run off and leave you to face it alone? What makes us so useless and you bullet-proof? Answer me that.”

  “Dear, you’re scaring Robby,” my mother whispered.

  “Don’t ‘dear’ me. I want an answer from her.”

  I had no recourse, no other option. I burst into tears. Robby burst into tears. “I can’t leave Denny and Marcie,” I sobbed, clinging to my child, “or I’d run, too. Marcie’s going to collapse, and I have to be there for both of them. All I can do is try to keep my child safe, but you won’t let me. I can’t ask Mom to do this all alone. It needs both of you. I have a place to stay with th
e dogs, but I’m already pushing my luck and I can’t ask for Dad to stay there, too. It’s too much. I just need you to go. Please.”

  I won, but I was an empty husk, withered and exhausted, by the time they finally, finally started packing.

  That afternoon, after dropping them off at the airport and crying my eyes out to see my child walking away from me, I set up timers to turn the lamps on and off, backed my mother’s Camry out of the garage, loaded up the dogs and a suitcase, and moved in with Neal.

  Chapter Thirty

  Neal lived near the I-5 Bridge in an apartment building with a keypad at the entrance. As soon as we entered the lobby, we ran into a maintenance man, a short dark guy with bright eyes. Neal said, “Raymond, this is a friend of mine who’ll be staying a few days.”

  Raymond didn’t smirk or leer or look wise, which was a good thing because I’d have clocked him. Neal had my suitcase. I had a big bag of dog food, a tote bag of shampoo, toothpaste, et cetera, and two excited dogs winding their leashes around me. I was, without a doubt, at the end of my rope.

  Neal shook hands with Raymond in a slightly peculiar way, and said, “The dogs are temporary. Let’s not worry too much about them, okay?”

  Raymond nodded with a fair amount of enthusiasm. “As long as they’re temporary, Mr. Humboldt, I’m sure it will be okay.”

  Winnie and Range had never been in an elevator and weren’t keen to try it. I hauled them in. They cowered and whined.

  The apartment wasn’t big, but it was classy. A wall of glass overlooked the Columbia River and the bridge. Cars and small boats went about their business as the late afternoon sky glowed with pink and gray. Living room furniture ran to steel and leather, with a bright modern rug under the coffee table. The bedroom Neal showed me was stark white except for two big color photographs on the wall above the bed: a giant anteater walking a forest trail and two jaguar cubs attacking their tolerant mother. The pictures were high quality and reassured me that Neal was from the same planet as his staff. The bed was enormous and covered with a black comforter. A brown dog hair drifted onto it. Winnie and Range, unleashed, roamed the apartment sniffing vigorously, their toenails clicking on the hardwood floors.

  “Dogs aren’t allowed?” I asked. “I saw you, uh, tip Raymond.”

  “They are, but you pay extra. Two big dogs visiting might raise eyebrows. I have a neighbor who enjoys conflict.”

  “I’d like to reimburse you.”

  “No need. Do you want something to drink?”

  “A double shot of tequila, if you don’t mind.”

  “Coming up.”

  “I’m joking.”

  “You look like you need it.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

  I sat on the black leather sofa and wondered whether coming here was final proof I’d lost my mind. I’d sought the last place on earth anyone would look for me, and this was definitely it. When I’d proposed couch-surfing for a few days and explained why, Neal had said “yes.” Now we were facing up to the reality—a bizarre episode where my boss and I learned entirely too much about one another. He came out and handed me a glass with a good-sized shot of tequila. It tasted great.

  He wandered around the room, staring out the window and frowning.

  “Is this your daughter?” I indicated the framed photo on the end table. A dark-haired little girl with big blue eyes and a shy smile. Aside from her eyes, she didn’t look much like Neal. Delicate features in a heart-shaped face instead of his square jaw and round head. “How old is she?”

  “Bailey. She’s eleven now.” He stopped pacing and stood with his hands behind his back.

  “Where does she live?”

  He stiffened. “Florida. I see her twice a year. How’s your drink?”

  I got the message. “It’s great. Seeing those stuffed animals butchered freaked me out. Thanks for putting us up.” I sipped at the tequila, which was calming my hunger pangs, warming me from the inside out.

  “No problem. Stay here until the police locate those guys.”

  “I can use my dad’s pickup, too. I’ll keep switching cars when I go back and forth to the zoo so no one can track me.”

  Neal took a minute to digest this. “Let’s see if I have this right. You think a murderer is looking for you, so you’ve gone to ground here. But you plan to work at the zoo as usual, a place that anyone can walk into.”

  The tequila was hitting pretty hard. My empty stomach, that was the problem. But it was lovely, relaxing, after a horrible day. “I wouldn’t stiff you. You’re short-staffed because Denny’s on the sick list.”

  “Arnie knows the routine at Birds. I’ve got him and Pete to cover it when Calvin is off. Primates won’t get extra help, but Kip will manage. You stay here.”

  I sat up straight. “Arnie? I wouldn’t let Arnie feed a parakeet. I’ll go in.”

  “The bears survive.”

  “Bears are tough. He cuts corners. I’ll be fine at work. We’ve got security guards.” That was weak—George, the main security guard, was about as dangerous as one of the tortoises. I just felt safe at the zoo.

  Neal looked at me with narrowed eyes. I was used to his annoyance, orders, brainstorming, second thoughts. This I couldn’t define. Was I coming up short?

  He said, “We’ll revisit this later.”

  I finished the tequila and decided not to worry about him being judgmental. Time to stop crying inside about sending Robby off. Focus on the relief of knowing my boy and my parents were safe. Would it be polite to suggest a refill?

  Neal said, “I usually send out for dinner. Chinese okay?”

  “Perfect.” I wasn’t hungry. Strange. I was always hungry. I felt fine. Maybe I should drink hard liquor more often. No, I’d already had too much. In the future, stick to wine. More predictable.

  Neal gave me a wary glance and walked to the kitchen. He looked really tense. Maybe he needed a drink, too. I heard him make the phone call to the restaurant and move around the kitchen.

  I woke up when he buzzed someone into the building. I seemed to be curled up on the black leather sofa. Winnie lay on the colorful rug nearby. I didn’t see Range anywhere. Robby? Oh, right. In California. I woke up again when Neal set a wonderful smelling big brown bag on the glass-topped coffee table. Range trotted up from wherever he’d been hanging out.

  I roused myself and fed the dogs in his fancy glass bowls. Neal and I ate at the kitchen counter. The tequila wasn’t sitting as well as it had at first, but food helped settle my stomach. Neal kept glancing at me. I couldn’t read him at all, except that it wasn’t cheerful acceptance. I’d put my foot in it somehow, but I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.

  “After I walk the dogs, would you go with me to feed the macaws?” I said as he cleared away the dinner debris. “I could call Pete, but he’s a long way away.”

  “I’ll do it. You’ll stay here.”

  “But you don’t know how. And it’s safer to have two people, right?”

  “I am starting to wonder about your survival instincts. You say you’re scared, then you want to put yourself in the line of fire. Wrong mindset. Write down what you want me to do for those birds.”

  Humbled, I wrote instructions on the piece of paper he handed me. Neal disappeared into the bedroom and returned wearing a leather jacket. I checked for a bulge under the armpit and couldn’t tell if he had a gun or not. Better not ask. He might think I thought he wasn’t adequate to the task of protecting me.

  Maybe the tequila was still affecting me and making this more confusing than it needed to be.

  First we had to see to the dogs. We walked them in the dark at a little grass strip nearby. They were keen to check the smell-phone messages of strangers. While they sniffed, we debated how much they could learn from a strange dog’s pee.

  Idle chat, veiling the uneasiness.


  When we returned, a couple in business suits rode the elevator up with us. She crouched a little to pet the dogs while her companion kept back, brushing imaginary dog hair off his black slacks.

  Neal set up a movie, something about East Germany and a spy spying on an artist and his actress wife. After he left, I paused it and called Marcie. “How’s Denny doing?”

  “Thank heavens, he’s better. They moved him out of ICU. We’re on the seventh floor now. The discharge planner came by today to talk to him.”

  “Discharge? He was nearly dead yesterday. Are they crazy? Is this some insurance issue? He’s got insurance.”

  Marcie said, “No, he really is better. He sits up and eats, and they made him stand by the bed for a minute. Tomorrow he’s supposed to start walking.”

  “Walking. That’s amazing. Now can you go home and get some rest?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I don’t want to miss any information. He’s still on pain meds and he doesn’t remember everything.”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow if I can. Life is complicated right now.”

  “We’d love to see you.”

  We’d love to see you. That sounded un-Marcie-like, disconnected from real emotion. Disconnected from me. She was plenty connected to Denny. And she wasn’t cutting herself any slack to rest up.

  Next up was Gettler, who didn’t answer. No point in leaving a message.

  My folks reported they were fine at Cecile’s, who was flustered by a two-year-old but managing. Robby decided the plane was a good dragon and safe, if boring. My father let him run up and down the aisle until the flight attendant intervened. Yes, the car seat and the stroller both came through fine. Tomorrow they would ride trolley cars and maybe go to the zoo.

  I wandered around the apartment feeling bereft. When the heartache of missing Robby eased, I looked more closely. The neat shelves held books on military history, management theory and practice, zoology and animal management. I’d always wanted the modern Wild Mammals in Captivity, but my budget had never stretched that far. I pulled it off the shelf and thumbed through it. Why wasn’t this in his office? I remembered that Neal’s predecessor, Kevin Wallace, had a copy. Probably still in the office. I put it back. Tucked in at the end of a shelf were two books on parenting after divorce. One shelf held a small bronze sculpture of a maned wolf, an elegant South American canid that looks like a fox on stilts. That plus the pictures of South American animals in the bedroom aligned with what I knew of Neal’s animal experience. I wondered how he felt about Finley Zoo’s focus on Asian animals.