Yes, I thought, it was a zoo, and not such a small one at that. But what was Woodall doing, keeping it here in his backyard? Weren’t there laws about what kinds of animals you could have in your backyard? As I recalled, even the ducks my parents had had — the ones the coyotes had eaten — had been illegal.
And why, for heaven’s sake, hadn’t the gate been locked? Big cats were dangerous beasts, and if these got loose there was no telling what kind of damage they might do.
I went over to the gate, fumbled around for the latch, and found a chain with a padlock attached to it. Shining the light on it, I saw that the chain had been broken forcibly. There were marks, as if someone had used a hacksaw on it.
Lights flashed suddenly in the driveway, illuminating the garage door. A motor purred, and a small car came into view. Before I could step back, the lights swept over me.
The car jerked to a stop, and a man sprang from the driver’s seat. Then he was running toward me, yelling, “Hey! What the hell are you doing there?”
16: “Wolf”
I ate supper in the hotel coffee shop and then went up to my room and tried to call Kerry. No answer. So then I tried to call Eberhardt. No answer. So then I tried to call Charley Valdene, and he wasn’t home either. Feeling lonely and unwanted, I switched on the television and found something to watch — a 1943 film labeled an “Inner Sanctum Mystery” and carrying the sedate title of Calling Dr. Death.
The movie was pretty awful, but I managed to stick with it for close to an hour. Until J. Carroll Naish, playing a cop, said to Lon Chaney, Jr., playing a neurologist in one of the all-time great pieces of miscasting, “You’ve gone beyond life, doctor — into the brain!” At which point I got up and shut the thing off.
Time to go beyond the brain, I thought, into something even greater and more desirable: the realm of sleep.
I went to bed.
17: McCone
The glare of the headlights illuminated the man who was running up the driveway toward me. He had wavy brown hair like the man Wolf had described, and his handsome face was contorted in anger. He reached out to grab me, but I stepped back, deciding to take the offensive.
“What do you mean, going off and leaving this gate unlocked?” I said. “Don’t you know that’s dangerous?”
He stopped, momentarily taken aback.
“What if kids or somebody got in and let those big cats out? What would happen then?” I shined my flashlight on him.
He stood there, arms hanging at his sides, anger turning to wariness. I looked into his eyes, and confirmed that this was the man who had accosted Elaine in the Cantina Sin Nombre. Wolf had been right about those eyes: they were very, very odd. Something burned deep down in them, something changeable that I couldn’t quite make out.
Finally he said, “Are you a cop?”
“No, but I’ve conducted plenty of investigations in cooperation with them. And I know enough to realize that this menagerie is in violation of a whole bunch of ordinances. For one thing, it’s an attractive nuisance—”
Recognition had started up in his eyes when I’d mentioned investigations. Now he said, “Wait a minute — you’re from that convention at the Casa del Rey. I saw you in the bar with Elaine Picard.”
“Right”
“What are you doing in my backyard?”
“Originally I came looking for you. But then those birds started up, and I found myself in the middle of a zoo. Why wasn’t the gate padlocked?”
Woodall glanced at it, troubled. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“What does that mean?”
“I came home an hour ago and found that somebody had sawed through the chain. None of the animals had been disturbed, as far as I could tell. I went right out to get a new chain, but you can imagine how hard it is to find a hardware store open on a Saturday night.”
He went back to the car and got a paper bag, then took out a chain and set about fastening it with the padlock. When he was done, he turned to me. “Are you here about Elaine?”
“You’ve heard she’s dead, then.”
“It was on the news.” He said it flatly, as if he were talking about a baseball score he’d heard. “But why are you coming to me about it?”
I hadn’t said Elaine was the reason I was here; why did he assume it? “Look, can we go inside and talk?”
He looked uncertain. “You haven’t told me your name.”
“Sharon McCone. I’m a friend of Elaine’s from San Francisco.”
He nodded. “Rich Woodall. But you must know that, since you came all the way out here.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said reluctantly. “I guess we might as well go inside.” Giving the padlock a final tug, he turned and led me down the driveway. After turning off his car’s headlights, he unlocked a side door to the house, reached inside, flicked on a light switch, and motioned me to enter.
I stepped into a large kitchen and dining area. At the far end was a round oak table in front of a two-sided brick fireplace that also opened into a formal living room. Woodall motioned at the table and went into the kitchen.
“I feel like having a glass of wine,” he said. “Will you join me?” His manner had changed subtly, and his voice modulated to a sort of soft slyness. As he spoke, he adjusted the hang of his well-tailored sport coat.
Much as it put me off, I decided to play along with his unpleasantly seductive manner. “Sure,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”
He went to a cupboard, took out stemware, and busied himself with a corkscrew. “Red okay?”
“Perfect. Tell me, what are you doing with all those animals? Are they pets?”
“Not exactly. I’m a zoologist — in public relations with the zoo. Unfortunately, the job’s strictly administrative and doesn’t allow me much opportunity to keep my hand in at my specialty, so I’ve set up my own little zoo here at home.”
“But you’re aware it’s illegal — keeping those kinds of animals in your yard.”
He came toward me, carrying the glasses of wine. His odd eyes appraised me, and when he spoke it was teasingly. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”
I took the glass he extended. “I don’t know.”
“The poor animals aren’t hurting anybody.”
“They could.”
Abruptly, his manner changed again. “Well, don’t worry about it, dearheart. The animals are well looked after — and even without the gate locked, those cages are plenty sturdy. Besides, it isn’t illegal — this is an unincorporated area.”
“Oh. Don’t your neighbors object, though?”
“The nearest house is half a mile away. The people around here like their privacy.” He sat next to me, uncomfortably close, and raised his glass in a brief toast. The wine was good — rich and full-flavored — and when I held it to the light, it seemed to burn with secret fires, like Rich Woodall’s eyes.
I decided not to let Woodall know I had heard about the scene in the Cantina Sin Nombre yesterday. I said, “Did you talk to Elaine after I left the bar?”
For a moment he looked blank.
“I mean yesterday afternoon, when you saw us together.”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
His first mistake. “I’m surprised. The two of you were pretty close, weren’t you?”