Double

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?”

“Elaine and me?” His eyes moved from side to side, calculatingly. “Not really.”

“Oh, I thought...”

“What did you think?”

“For some reason, I had the impression you were seeing one another.”

“How did you get that?”

I frowned. “Why, now that you mention it, I don’t know.”

“Did she say something about me?”

“I honestly don’t remember where I got the idea.”

He watched me for a moment, then said, “Actually, Elaine and I have had dinner a few times. She’s a member of our Adopt-an-Animal Program.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a P.R. and fund-raising device the zoo has. People are encouraged to make donations, and in return they become the adoptive parents of one of the animals.”

“Which one was Elaine mother to?”

“A gorilla. Named Fred.”

“Good Lord.” But it didn’t sound right. As I recalled, Elaine didn’t like animals, wouldn’t even have a cat in the house. “What does an adoptive parent do?”

“Some of them visit the animals regularly. Show them off to their friends.”

“I can just see Elaine telling her friends, ‘There’s my son the gorilla.’”

He smiled — in a restrained way, as befitted a person talking about a dead friend. “I don’t think she was that big on parenthood. But she was a strong supporter of the zoo. And, of course, it made a good tax deduction.”

I’d have to check with Elaine’s accountant, if I could locate him. “Of course, now the gorilla is motherless.”

Woodall’s face became somber. I had the feeling that he always tried to come across with the appropriate response, in spite of what he really felt about a given situation. “Her death is a shame. A real tragedy. Elaine was a lovely woman.”

And that, I thought, was why you roughed her up in the bar yesterday. “So you only knew her through the zoo.”

“Yes.” He got up and went to fetch the wine bottle.

“Do you know any of her other friends?” I asked.

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“What about someone named Rick?”

“Rick?” An odd look passed over his face and he turned to refill our glasses. “Can’t say as I do.”

“He either belonged to or worked for the club.”

Woodall set the bottle down. “What club?”

“The health club downtown that she belonged to.”

“Oh, that. Elaine was very conscious of her body. Liked to keep in good shape.”

“But you don’t know Rick.”

“No.” There was an edge to his voice. “Look, I’m getting tired of all these questions about Elaine. I’ve had a hard day. I go into work on a Saturday to plan the spring promo, I get home expecting to relax the rest of the evening, only to find my gate has been tampered with and I have to rush out to find another chain...” He was complaining like a small, peevish boy.

“Yes, what about that? Who would want to break into your yard anyway?”

“I don’t know.” His mouth twisted. “But I’ll tell you, it’s lucky for him I wasn’t here, because if I had been, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I’d have blown him away.” He motioned toward the formal living room. Through the two-sided fireplace, I could see a rack of hunting rifles mounted on one wall.

“That’s strange,” I said.

“What is?”

“A man who loves animals being a hunter.”

Woodall. gave me a look that suggested women shouldn’t attempt to talk about such things. “You have to keep the herds thinned out,” he said. “But I’m not going to explain the balance of nature to you at this hour.”

I sipped wine, just as glad he wasn’t going to bother to trot out that old overworked argument.

“So why are you here, exactly?” Woodall asked. “You didn’t drop by to commiserate with me on my loss of Elaine

“No. I’m merely checking all the people in her address book. It’s the only lead I have.”

He went a little pale at that and took a hefty gulp of wine. “You’re a private detective, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Who hired you to look into this?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t give out the names of my clients except to the police.”

“Did your client give you my name?”

I shook my head in a way that could have been either yes or no.

Woodall looked petulant. “What did he say about me?”

“Who?”

“Your client.”

“I didn’t say that he told me about you.”

“Then who—”

“Rich,” I said, “did Elaine mention anything to you about something being wrong at the Casa del Rey?”

Whatever he had expected me to ask him, that wasn’t it, and in a way it seemed to put him at ease. “No. But as I told you, I hardly knew the woman.”

Their relationship had deteriorated markedly in the time I’d been talking to him. I started to phrase yet another question, but Woodall stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’ll have to ask you to leave now. I have... a lady coming over in a little while.”

His resistance was pretty high now; I’d get no more from him tonight. Nodding, I got to my feet. He led me through the tastefully appointed living room, past the gun rack, to the front door.

By the time I’d stepped out onto the walk, Woodall had recovered his poise. “I wish I could have helped more,” he said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture and smiling. “But you know how it is.”

“Yes, I know how it is.”

And how it was was pretty damned suspicious.