Important documents have been found under dog food dishes, inside hollowed out doors, and once even decoupaged over a light fixture. I'd never really searched my house from top to bottom. There'd been no need. This seemed like the right time to do it.
My cell went off again. I answered.
"Dammit, Riley!" I snapped.
"No, wait!" A woman's voice stopped me cold. "Merry, it's Dr. Wulf from the zoo. Your husband just took Robby Doyle in for questioning in the murder of Joel Janson. I know the poor kid didn't do it! Can you help?"
Of course I'd help, I assured her. She asked me to come to her office at the zoo.
I was there in three minutes.
"Thank you for coming!" The zoo director motioned for me to sit in a comfy chair opposite her large wooden desk.
The office was interesting. It was a jungle theme with toy versions of every single animal in the zoo in various positions. For a brief moment I thought I should get Dr. Wulf and my sisters-in-law together. A king vulture stood at the top of a painted tree, wings spread in all its glory. I'd have to ask her later where I could get one.
"No problem, Dr. Wulf," I said as I settled in.
"Please." The woman gave me a half smile. "It's Bea."
"Bea Wulf?" I asked. "Really?"
She shook her head. "It's worse than that I'm afraid. Bea isn't short for anything like Beatrice. And I don't have a middle name, just the initial O."
"Beowulf!" I shouted.
Bea nodded. "It's terrible, I know. Both my parents were English professors. I was a disappointment to them when I went into zoology."
I wasn't really sure what to do with that information.
"About Robby," I said. "What can I do to help?"
I'd only met Robby a couple of times, once when I'd broken into the zoo and he was working late. A lanky kid of average height with a huge Adam's apple that weirdly compensated for him having no chin, he had been annoyed by the fact that I'd gotten access to Mr. Fancy Pants. Mostly because it stopped him from reading comic books instead of cleaning the cages in that building.
"Robby is"—she clasped her hands on her desk in front of her—"a special kid." She saw the look on my face. "Oh no, not like that. I mean that he's quiet and sensitive." She looked like she didn't want to tell me something.
She shook her head. "Sorry. I'm flustered."
"It's okay," I urged. "Please, continue."
"It's just that I know Robby couldn't have killed Joel Janson. We hired Joel a couple of months ago for janitorial work. Robby has no motive for murdering him."
"I bet the police thought he had opportunity, since he and Joel worked in the same area."
She shook her head. "No! Robby is, well, weird, but he wouldn't hurt anyone."
I was about to say that if he was in his cosplay costume, Robby could hurt other imaginary people.
"Did Joel and Robby come into contact often?" Maybe Joel made fun of Robby? I could see that. That would also explain why Dickie said he knew who did it.
Dr. Wulf hesitated. "Well, a few times. Robby reported Joel for teasing him. Robby doesn't have a very thick skin."
That was true. Dickie was always repeating his complaints about how the world didn't like him. But would he stoop to murder?
"What did Joel say about that?"
She shifted in her chair. "He shrugged it off and said Robby was too sensitive."
I thought about that for a moment. "Bea, what was Joel like?"
The woman actually blushed. "Oh, well, I didn't really know him that well. The zoo security department hired him. He did his job."
"Was he in charge of cleaning other areas?" I asked.
She frowned. "Now that you say that, he specifically expressed interest in that building. It's all small animals. A lot of people are afraid of the camels, monkeys, and giraffes. It's not uncommon for a custodian to want to work in a certain area."
There had to be more to it than that, but I was unsure how to ask. Joel was dead, and Dr. Wulf didn't know him very well. Who did?
"Why call me? Why not tell the police this?"
"I know you have a remarkable relationship with the King Vulture. I've long suspected that you visited him at night, but you never hurt him or the other animals and in fact pay a substantial amount of money for his upkeep."
For a moment I thought she was going to banish me, but she didn't. "Okay, but what does that have to do with the murder?"
She fidgeted, wringing her hands. "You're a friend…of the zoo. I'm hoping you'll have some influence over your husband."
I wished I did. But the truth was I'd promised to stay out of Rex's investigation.
"I'm sure they just took him in for questioning," I soothed. "They'd have no reason to arrest him. Unless they found the gun on him or something."
Bea turned as white as a sheet.
I leaned forward. "They found the gun on him?"
She nodded weakly. "I'm sure he found it somewhere and picked it up. He was cleaning the giraffe stalls first thing this morning. That's where Detective Ferguson found him to ask a few questions. I joined them just as he took the gun out of Robby's hands, and that strange officer, the one who's always eating, handcuffed him." Dr. Wulf buried her face in her hands.
"He must have found the gun, like you said," I murmured. "Rex…Detective Ferguson will see that. He's very smart." On the other hand, what if it was Robby? That would end this case quickly. And that would be totally boring.
"Would you look in on him?" Bea asked suddenly. "Just stop by the jail to see if you can talk to him?"
Rex would definitely see that as me interfering. Normally that would hold me back, but this case was personal since Mr. Fancy Pants was involved.
"I will." I got up and grabbed my bag. "I'll let you know what I find out. Please don't worry."
The woman walked me out, thanking me profusely. It was nice that she really cared about the kid. Robby Doyle wasn't a bad sort. Sure, he was strange, and yes, he was into cosplay, but that didn't make him a killer. The kid could barely handle a conversation, let alone a gun.
As I drove to the police station, I toyed with reasons to visit the kid. Rex would see through me on this, which was why it had to be something he couldn't argue with. That's when I had the brilliant idea to stop for ice cream.
* * *
"Merry." Rex looked at the hot fudge sundae in my hands. "I can't think of a single reason why I'd let you talk to my suspect."
I pointed to the ice cream. "I told you. His boss, Dr. Wulf, asked me to bring him his favorite snack. She's worried that the kid is freaking out, and this always calms him down."
To prove my point, I held out my phone and showed him the call from the zoo. "You can call to confirm if you want." I kind of hoped he would, since I let her know what I was doing just after buying the sundae.
Rex looked at the phone and shook his head. "I can't. Not until I've interrogated him."
"It's only ice cream, Rex." I shrugged. "And it's melting. You can't let it go to waste."
He called Dr. Wulf, and she insisted that the whole thing was her idea and embellished a relationship that Robby and I didn't have. I shuddered inwardly.
"Fine," Rex said as he hung up. "Two minutes." He called for Kevin to escort me to the cells.
Kevin's eyes were on my sundae. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't elbow deep in some kind of junk food. He led me to the cell and walked out. Through the bars, I handed the kid the ice cream.
"What's this for?" Robby frowned at the sundae as if it were made of poison.
"Just eat it. I don't have much time." I handed him a huge stack of napkins, and the kid began to eat.
Robby had the unfortunate appearance that would be a nightmare for most young men. Hunched over and spindly, with greasy, shapeless hair, no chin, and an acne problem, the guy could pass for a sixteen-year-old.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You're that weird chick who visits Walter." His voice squeaked on the last w
ord.
"Walter?" I frowned.
"The King Vulture," he said. "That's his name."
"Never mind that. Your boss sent me to find out what happened. We have about one minute left."
His Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his face turned red in patches. "I didn't kill that guy! I found the gun under some hay in the giraffe stall! I swear!"
"Had you ever seen him before?"
"Yes." His voice turned to the whiny shrillness I'd heard echoed by Dickie many times. "But I'm not involved! This is all a sham to cover up for a conspiracy!"
Uh-oh.
"What conspiracy?" I asked, in spite of the voice in my head that insisted I shouldn't.
"The Illuminati, duh! This guy…Janson…must be one of their biggest players! Well, was one of their biggest members."
"There's no such thing as the Illuminati," I insisted.
That was true. The Illuminati was started in Germany in the eighteenth century by some bored college students and disbanded a few years later. It was interesting how people chose to believe in stuff like that. Working in the CIA, I knew lots of classified stuff. And that included the fact that the Illuminati didn't exist. The aliens dissected at Area 51, however—totally real.
"Yes, there is! You people don't realize the danger we're all in! They want to enslave us! I knew they'd come for me, and they did!" His whole face was red, and his eyes bulged.
"Why would an organization that doesn't exist want to come for you?" There may have been a bit of sarcasm in my voice.
"Because of my Secrets profile!"
"The social media platform?" I frowned. This was the second time I'd heard of it. I needed to check it out.
He shook his head. "No! Not that stupid thing! My profile on the dark web! It's a chat room called Secrets, where cosplayers meet."
Okay, now I understood why Dr. Wulf said he was special.
"Your boss said Joel Janson teased you. That you didn't get along. That seems like motive. And since you worked in the same building, the police will think that's opportunity."
Robby's jaw dropped open. "Yeah, he was a jerk, but I wouldn't kill him!"
"Why do you think he teased you?"
The kid looked down at his tattered Transformer tennis shoes. "He caught Stewie and me involved in cosplay. We weren't doing anything wrong. We just like to pretend we're in a magical forest and all the animals come to see us to share in our wisdom."
"What did he say exactly?" I had to know. For…um…research.
Robby jumped to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. "He said things I won't repeat here. But they were horrible! We weren't doing anything wrong! And that jerk said we were little boys playing D&D. We don't play D&D! That's an insult!"
An idea popped into my head. "Did Stewie kill him? You were found holding the murder weapon. Were you trying to cover it up?"
He sat back down, deflated. "No, Stewie didn't do it. Although he did create a spell that would curse Joel by making his nose fall off." He looked hopeful. "Did his nose fall off?"
"Um, no." Although that would be pretty cool.
The kid looked disappointed. "I swear that I just found the gun in the giraffe stall."
Kevin tapped on the doorway, and I got up, disappointed that I couldn't stay longer. "I'm sure everything will be alright. I'll talk to Detective Ferguson."
The boy glared at me as he shoved his mostly uneaten sundae aside. I saw Kevin's eyes widen when he saw this, and I quickly fled.
"He's crazy," I said to Rex moments later. "But he didn't do it."
Rex nodded. "We're releasing him after I ask a few questions. There were several fingerprints on the gun that weren't his. In fact, we just found his thumb and forefinger on either side of the grip."
"Which isn't how you hold a gun to shoot it," I added. "It's how you pick it up like it's a dead mouse."
"Exactly."
"And that's why you gave in and let me talk to him."
Rex nodded. "I know you have a personal connection to this crime. But don't expect me to do it again."
* * *
First thing the next morning, I opened up my laptop, taking notes on everything I knew. I also looked up Secrets and cosplay and saw things worse than I'd seen on the job. What was wrong with people? Why did they need these fantasy worlds?
Robby had said he was on the "dark web," something about a chat room? But Sharon said she was on Secrets like it was a creepy dating site. I checked that out. Sure enough, there was a social media site focused loosely on the idea of hookups.
What kind of parent let her kid set up a profile here? I didn't want to see Sharon's profile, but I looked through a few others. I didn't see anyone I knew, for which I gave a silent thanks. But I did notice a higher than average number of folks who had Bladdersly as their hometown.
For a couple of hours, I got lost down the rabbit hole of toothless trailer park men who wanted to find that someone special who could gut a deer and owned a kegerator, along with women with teased out hair, too much makeup, and a tendency to seriously lie about their age.
I was almost relieved when my cell rang.
"Merry?" a woman asked. "This is Principal Blake. I wonder if you have a minute to come by the school now?"
I agreed immediately and headed out the door, happy to have a break after witnessing a video of a man who said he was looking for a soul mate who moonlighted as a stripper and could pay for his beer. He might have said "deer." It was difficult to tell.
The elementary school where we held most of our Girl Scout meetings (my house was reserved for craft projects and weekends) was at the other end of the block from my house. I was halfway there when my interest turned to trepidation. Why was she calling me in the middle of the day?
Called to the principal's office. That couldn't be good. To be perfectly honest, I wondered what I'd done. And I was pretty sure I'd done something. But what? Every now and then someone called me on activities I did with my troop that they considered inappropriate—judo moves, how to hogtie an assailant, escaping from zip ties (all very practical endeavors).
When you consider that the original Girl Scout handbook in 1913 had things like stopping a runaway horse and how to tie up a burglar using only eight inches of cord, my activities were legit.
Kelly said that since there weren't any horse-drawn carriages anymore, it didn't make sense to learn to stop a runaway horse, but I countered that if we were in Kalona or the Amana Colonies where there were horse-drawn carriages, our girls would save the day. She said what she always said in these situations, I'll think about it. Which meant that conversation was over.
These complaints never came from the parents. They didn't want to upset the apple cart and lose their twice-a-month babysitting service—otherwise known as meetings.
If it was a teacher who passed by or an administrator who overheard one of the girls talking about what we'd done in a meeting, the principal usually explained it well and that would be the end of it. So, what did I do now that warranted getting called in?
Maybe it was about Sharon? If she'd complained to her aunt, Juliette Dowd would waste no time whining to the principal about it. It was possible Sharon spotted Betty's poster after all. I really could get busted over something like that.
I was buzzed into the school and entered the office, taking a seat next to the desk of the administrative assistant, Mrs. Bell, who smiled and offered me a bottle of water. She was wonderful and always helped us in any way she could. What was I going to do in two years when my girls went on to the middle school, halfway across town? I didn't have connections there.
"Mrs. Wrath?" Principal Blake called me in and asked me to shut the door behind me.
Betty was sitting in a chair in the corner, arms folded over her chest, a glum look on her face. Ah. So this was about her. When she saw me, the kid brightened. Did she think I was her get out of jail free card?
I sat down. "What is it?"
The principal nodded toward the girl. "Betty
is in a little bit of trouble. It seems she's been trying to assault the new girl in school, Sharon Schroeder."
"She is, huh?" I gave Betty a grim look that I hoped was appropriate. The child beamed, so I guessed I didn't do it right.
Mrs. Blake handed me a piece of paper. "Betty's parents are out of town for a few days, and they designated you as her guardian. Is that right?"
I knew a forgery when I saw one. Especially when guardeean was spelled incorrectly and there were more exclamation marks than you'd see at a conference on hyperbole.
Betty silently pleaded with me.
"That's right," I said slowly, wondering if I'd regret my words in five minutes.
The girl grinned, and that's when I noticed a small suitcase next to her.
"I know," the principal continued, "that it's difficult when there's a new child in school. Especially one who—" she hesitated for a moment "—has a tendency to stir up emotions."
Boy, did she have Sharon nailed.
"But trying to injure someone with a sharpened ruler that looks like something from a prison movie is beyond the pale."
"She made a shiv out of a ruler?" I asked.
The woman slid me the plastic weapon, expertly cut to make a very pointy end. Nice work, but I wasn't going to say that here.
"And then there was an incident with a brick. Where did she even get a brick?" Mrs. Blake asked. "I've been combing the school to find if any are missing from the foundation."
I'd wondered that very thing at our last meeting.
"I'm afraid Betty is going to be suspended for three days."
My jaw dropped. "Three days? She's staying with me for three days?"
In the corner, Betty pumped her fist in the air, and I had to wonder if this had been her plan all along. Three days? I was investigating a murder! What was I going to do with her for three days?
The woman nodded sympathetically. "I'm afraid so." She pushed another piece of paper toward me and asked me to sign. "It basically says Betty has been released into your custody."
Against my better judgement, I signed it. What choice did I have, since I'd accepted and promoted the lie that I was her guardian? The principal thanked me, and Betty and I left.
Meerkats and Murder Page 8
