Some of the photos, especially the black-and-white ones, featured a considerably younger version of the office’s occupant. In those pictures, her baggy pants and dated hairstyle reminded me of Katharine Hepburn in her heyday.
A few of the photographs were of Dr. Zacarias with other people. I recognized Dian Fossey, who lived among mountain gorillas in Rwanda for almost two decades, and Jane Goodall, who studied chimpanzees in Tanzania. Both women also founded research centers dedicated to understanding and conserving the animals that had been the center of their lives.
Dr. Zacarias certainly traveled in impressive circles. Either that or she was good at talking world-renowned primatologists into posing for the camera.
Aside from the photo gallery, half a dozen posters that featured various primates hung on the wall. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed with books, which according to their titles were mainly about primates. Even Dr. Zacarias’s coffee mug was adorned with the face of a grimacing monkey, along with the words Don’t Monkey With Me ’Til I’ve Had My Coffee!
“Dr. Zacarias?” I asked as I stepped inside the office.
She positioned her glasses on her nose and peered at me with dark eyes filled with distrust. “That’s right. Is there something I can help you with?” She spoke with a British accent.
“My name is Jessica Popper,” I began. “I’m a veterinarian, and—”
“Do you have an appointment?” she interrupted sharply.
I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I lied. “I called yesterday and was told I could meet with you this morning.”
“Really.” Frowning, she added, “This is the first I’m hearing about this. With whom did you speak?”
“I . . . I didn’t get the name of the person who answered the phone,” I replied vaguely.
Dr. Zacarias sighed. “Well, since you’re here, I suppose I can spare a few minutes. What is it you want?”
Now that I’d gotten her attention, I was going to have to do some quick thinking. Taking a deep breath, I said, “As I mentioned, I’m a veterinarian, and while my practice has always focused on the usual cats, dogs, and horses, lately I’ve been getting more and more interested in exotics.” Glancing around the office, I added, “Actually, I’m mainly interested in primates.”
“I see.” Her eyes remained fixed on mine with such unrelenting steadiness that I felt like a butterfly pinned to a mounting board. Still, I’ve become pretty good at staring right back. It’s a technique that often comes in handy.
“I understand you’re doing some important work,” I went on. Deciding that it was safe to make some assumptions, given the photos on the wall, I added, “Especially in Africa.”
Sitting up a little straighter, she said, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the research center I founded in Kenya. Of course, that was long before I came to the zoo. It was something I did completely on my own.”
I hope she doesn’t pull a muscle from patting herself on the back, I thought dryly.
Aloud, I said, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking me on. As a volunteer, of course. I’d be happy to tell you more about my background, but I think you’d find that I could make a valuable contribution to your research.”
Dr. Zacarias was silent for a few seconds. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Dr. . . . I’m sorry, what was the name?”
“Dr. Popper. Jessica Popper.”
“Dr. Popper,” she repeated. Somehow, she made my name sound like something distasteful. “I’m sure you’re highly qualified. However, I’m afraid the timing of this meeting isn’t the most opportune. In fact, after the experience I had with the last veterinarian who worked for me, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into whether or not it’s a good idea. You see, there was recently a rather nasty incident that involved my last employee. I don’t suppose you heard about Erin Walsh in the news?”
“Erin Walsh?” I exclaimed, feigning surprise. “I know her! Not well,” I added quickly. “But she was in my class in vet school at Cornell. I didn’t know she works here.”
“She did.” Dr. Zacarias hesitated before explaining, “She seems to have met up with something . . . unpleasant.”
Unpleasant? I thought, struggling to keep from reacting. Getting caught in a rainstorm is unpleasant. Having your back fender smashed in a parking lot is unpleasant.
Being murdered goes way beyond unpleasant.
“What happened to Erin?” I asked, doing my best to sound innocent.
“Apparently she was murdered.” Dr. Zacarias’s thin mouth twisted downward, as if she was informing me that her former employee had done something untoward—like shopping online on company time.
“That’s horrible!” I cried. “Poor Erin. Her family must be beside themselves. Her parents, of course . . . and was she married?”
“Yes. To another veterinarian, I understand. Fortunately, she had no children.”
“It must be a terrible loss for you too,” I commented. “As well as everyone else who works here at the zoo.”
Dr. Zacarias pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose and peered at me. The phrase The better to see you, my dear popped into my head.
“Erin Walsh was not well liked,” she said simply.
“Really?” This time, my surprise was genuine. “That’s strange. I seem to remember Erin as quite personable. She also struck me as someone who was very excited about working with animals.”
“Let’s just say that your former schoolmate was a rather . . . ambitious young woman.” Her tone was sour. “Perhaps even too ambitious for her own good. That caused quite a bit of negative feeling around here, since we all try to work together as a team.”
Ambitious? I thought, confused by the way she spat out the word. I’m sure Erin had high aspirations. After all, she had always been the type of person who expected a lot of herself.
But somehow Dr. Zacarias made her sound like some ruthless villain in a political novel, one of those despicable power-hungry individuals who’ll do anything to get ahead. And that characterization just didn’t fit with the Erin Walsh I’d known.
Before I had a chance to construct a question that would help me clarify her meaning, however, we were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Dr. Zacarias?” a soft-spoken woman asked timidly as she stepped into the office. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a work outfit so casual that I concluded she must be one of the researchers on the esteemed primatologist’s staff. “I just wondered if you had—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had someone in here.”
“Amanda, please wait for me in your office,” Dr. Zacarias said icily. “I’ll get back to you when I can.”
Even though the young woman hadn’t done anything but knock on the door and attempt to ask what sounded like a simple question, Dr. Zacarias’s tone implied that she’d just committed some unpardonable sin.
“Uh, sure. Sorry.” The younger woman’s face reddened, and I could practically see her self-confidence eroding away before my eyes.
Their brief interaction made me glad I wasn’t really interested in working with Dr. Zacarias. It also gave me a better understanding of what Erin’s life must have been like while she was working under her.
“Is there going to be a funeral?” I asked as Amanda turned and slunk away. I was anxious to bring the conversation back to the point at which we’d left off. “If there is, I’d like to go—”
“Frankly, I don’t know about any of that,” Dr. Zacarias interrupted. “As I told that impudent police detective who stopped by, I didn’t see much of Erin over the past few weeks. Over the past months the zoo has undertaken a massive fund-raising effort. Since I’m one of the more high-profile figures on staff, I’ve been given the job of entertaining potential donors. I even helped plan the gala fund-raising dinner held a few weeks ago, which was quite a success, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of people who are impressed by all you’ve accomplished,” I commented. “And
getting people excited about your research must be a great way to motivate them to contribute.” Given the way I was buttering her up, I was afraid I was going to have to start taking cholesterol medication.
“Ye-e-es,” she said in a way that made it clear she was questioning my sincerity. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dr. Popper, we’ll have to discuss your newfound interest in primates at some later date.”
“Of course,” I said. Maybe I’m not that good at flattery, I thought, but at least I can take a hint.
I actually felt relieved as I walked out of Dr. Zacarias’s office. In fact, I was so busy appreciating having escaped from the oppressive atmosphere in her office that I jumped when someone touched my arm.
“Sorry,” the same young woman who’d interrupted us apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Up close, she looked younger than I’d originally thought she was. But that could have been because she wasn’t wearing any makeup. The freshly scrubbed look of her skin emphasized her large blue eyes and the freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks.
“You caught me daydreaming,” I said with a smile, giving the first excuse I could think of.
“I’ve been known to indulge in some of that myself,” she said, returning the smile. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I couldn’t help overhearing you asking about the funeral plans for Erin Walsh. I don’t imagine Dr. Z knew anything about it, and I’m afraid I don’t either. But I can give you the name and number of a friend of hers who might.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said politely, even though Kimberly had already told me there wasn’t going to be a formal funeral.
“I have that information in my office,” she said. “It’s right down the hall.”
I followed her to a small room that was very much like Dr. Zacarias’s office in that books about primates were crammed onto the bookshelves and the bulletin boards fastened to the walls were covered with pictures of apes. The one major difference was that instead of there being one desk inside, there were three, leaving little space for moving around.
“It looks like you’re kind of crowded in here,” I commented, surveying the room from the doorway.
Amanda smiled sadly. “Not as crowded as it used to be.” Gesturing toward one of the desks, she added, “That’s where Erin sat.”
“I see.” I noticed that no one had had the heart to pack away her things yet, which made it look as if she was likely to walk in at any second. Knowing that wasn’t going to happen cast an air of melancholy over the room.
“I know, it’s an incredible tragedy,” Amanda said, as if she’d read my mind. “We’re all feeling it. Fortunately, we’ll be leaving soon. Those of us who are working with Dr. Z will be spending most of the summer doing field work.”
“In Africa?” I asked.
“That’s right. In Kenya, at her research center.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Her bark is a lot worse than her bite. She’s really quite brilliant. And she’s done so much to advance our understanding of primates’ mating habits.”
“I understand she’s quite accomplished,” I said.
“She sure is. But you didn’t come here to talk about Dr. Z,” Amanda said brusquely. “Let me get you Walter’s card.”
She leaned over one of the desks, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a business card. “You can contact him at this number,” she said, handing it to me.
I glanced at the card, which was embossed with the name Walter Weiner. Below it were a telephone number and address. “Does he work here too?”
“Heavens, no. He started working here at the zoo a few months ago, but he was only around for a short time. He’s a computer consultant. Dr. Zacarias brought him in to help us streamline some of our operations. Believe it or not, these days even studying the mating behavior of chimps requires spreadsheets and PDF files. But while he was working here, he and Erin became pretty . . . close.”
The way she said the word close made my ears prick up like Lou’s whenever I ask, “Where’s the ball?”
“I’m sure he’s made a point of finding out all about the funeral arrangements,” Amanda continued. “In fact, I should probably get in touch with him myself.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my heart was doing flip-flops over the discovery of this special friend of Erin’s. “I’ll give him a call.”
As I walked down the hall, away from both Amanda’s and Dr. Zacarias’s offices, I pondered the possibility that Erin had taken up with this computer consultant. Frankly, I found it pretty hard to believe. Even if my intuition was correct and Ben really had been exaggerating about the perfect state of their marriage, Erin had never struck me as someone who would be unfaithful. She was simply too honorable a person.
Then again, if Amanda’s insinuation was correct, it meant that there was one more thing about the Erin Walsh I had known in vet school that had changed dramatically.
It also meant that in terms of the murder investigation, I’d found someone else worth questioning.
Chapter 7
“The quizzical expression of the monkey at the zoo comes from his wondering whether he is his brother’s keeper, or his keeper’s brother.”
—Evan Esar
My visit to the zoo ended up being considerably shorter than I’d expected, thanks to Dr. Zacarias’s lack of interest in speaking with me. Yet rather than using the extra time to take care of wedding-related errands, I couldn’t resist swinging by Walter Weiner’s address instead.
According to my trusty Hagstrom map, his street was only half a mile or so off the Long Island Expressway. True, the town he lived in was about as far away from Riverton as a person could get without actually leaving Long Island. It was so far west, in fact, that it was practically at the Queens border. But I wasn’t about to let a little detail like one more ridiculously long drive get in my way. Not when I thought of myself as Jessie Popper, Queen of the Road.
Besides, I made good time. And I had no trouble locating the address that matched the one printed on Walter’s business card. It turned out to be a narrow brick row house that was wedged closely between its neighbors. The homes immediately to the left and the right looked as if they were occupied by families, thanks to the colorful plastic toys littering their tiny front yards. By comparison, Walter’s looked stark. The only personal touch I spotted was the lace curtains hanging in every window—not exactly what I’d expect from a single guy.
I rang the doorbell and waited. As I did, I tried to picture the person I hoped I’d find at home, the man that Amanda had intimated had been “more than friends” with Erin. But as I tried to decide whether he’d embody the classic tall, dark, and handsome look of a Calvin Klein model or the blond preppy look favored by the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, the door opened. I blinked, totally caught off guard by finding myself face-to-face with a man who was short, pudgy, and balding. Not at all the kind of guy I could imagine a beautiful, vibrant young woman like Erin Walsh falling for—especially if doing so put her ten-year marriage at risk.
“Are you Walter Weiner?” I squeaked, wondering if the answer to this puzzle was something as simple as mistaken identity.
“That’s me,” he replied, looking confused. “Who are you?”
I took a deep breath, trying to get over my surprise. “My name is Jessica Popper. I was friends with Erin Walsh. I thought you might be willing to give me a few minutes of your time. I’d really appreciate the chance to talk to you, since I understand you were a friend of hers too.”
He paused for just a moment before saying, “Sure. Come on in.”
“Thanks.” As I stepped inside, I noticed that the jeans and cotton-poly button-down shirt Walter was wearing both fit him badly. In fact, it was difficult to picture any self-respecting person looking into the mirror of a dressing room and thinking, I’ll take it!
Once I was in his compact living room, however, I was too surprised by the decor to notice any other details about the man’s personal appear
ance. The faded flowered wallpaper looked as if it hadn’t been updated since the house was built, which had probably been at least a half-century earlier. The same went for the faded Oriental area rugs and the furniture, which included a sagging brown couch with yellowing crocheted doilies on its rounded arms and a couple of pole lamps with beaded fringe edging the shades. Hanging on the walls were paintings of kittens and little girls. Overall, the place looked as if it had been designed with the Little Old Lady decorating theme in mind.
Superimposed over the worn, dusty furnishings, however, were clues about the man who spent his life here. Stacks of books filled at least half the available floor space. But rather than dignified, old-fashioned-looking volumes that would have fit in with their surroundings, most were paperbacks as thick as phone books, with brightly colored lettering on their spines. Their titles consisted of what looked like words from another tongue. Mac OS X 10.5. NetBSD 4.0 RC3. DragonFly BSD 1.10.0.
I quickly realized they weren’t dictionaries for languages spoken on other planets. They were software manuals.
I also noticed that sitting on tables and shelves of a few low bookcases were glass tanks. I counted at least a dozen. But it was too dark to see what was inside them, since the blinds were drawn and there wasn’t a single light on. I was tempted to suggest that he switch on one of those beaded lamps, but decided it wasn’t really the polite thing to do.
“Nice house,” I commented, glancing around.
“Thanks. I inherited it from my grandmother.”
Ah. So that explained why this dark little hovel looked like the set for a stage production of Arsenic and Old Lace.
Walter didn’t appear to have inherited any little old lady–style manners, however. In fact, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at me with steel-gray eyes half-hidden by the thick lenses of his black plastic-framed glasses, until I asked, “Do you mind if I sit down?”
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