Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 46, No. 6. Whole No. 265, December 1965

The Lonely Zookeeper by E. D. Robinson

This is the 288th “first story” to be published by Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine... an interesting “first” with surprisingly “strong” subject matter, considering the author s background...

Mrs. Elizabeth Denslow Robinson (née Smart) was born in 1911 in Danville, Pennsylvania. She attended St. Mary’s School in Concord, New Hampshire — the school is now called St. Mary’s-in-the-Mountains and is located in Littleton, New Hampshire. The death of her father, an Episcopal minister, forced her to go to work at the age of 16 — for an insurance company in Hartford, Connecticut. She married Wesley Robinson, a specialist in marine insurance, in 1932, and they have two daughters, both married now, and at the time of this writing, the Robinsons have four grandchildren. Besides raising children and, keeping house, Mrs. Robinson has sold women’s hosiery, has “worked as a demonstrator of cheese from all nations” (demonstrator of eating cheese?), has been a newspaperwoman briefly, has been in charge of publicity for the Detroit Girl Scouts — and, always, in between, she wrote stories. Her letter ended: “I hope to write forever.”

Al was worried. He guessed he ought to speak to Young Doc about Vera. Something was wrong.

The Siberian tiger lay stretched out beneath the overhanging rock ledge that formed the inner wall of her cage. The fur across her middle rose and fell evenly. She was richly marked, black and soft yellow-tan. Al was crazy about her. The grace and power of her body in motion always fascinated him. Normally, she was ready, waiting, and anxious for her food.

But again today she just lay there.

As usual, at 4:30, people gathered to watch the feeding, but now it was late in the season, so only a few stood together on the sunlit walk. Al selected a slab of red meat and threw it on the floor of the cage. It landed near enough to Vera and with a loud enough thwack. Vera stirred briefly, then settled down as before.

The watchers looked disappointed. Often the tiger put on a good show, ripping and gnawing the raw meat with mighty jaws in a befitting feral manner. “Ain’t that a riot!” said a fat woman in sausage-skin-tight slacks through a mouthful of popcorn. “The darn fool won’t eat!” And someone else said, “Must be sick.”

Yes, something must be wrong. Again today his sweetheart was drowsy and dopey, indifferent to the food. Al waited a few more minutes before taking Vera’s meat away, fishing it out through the bars with a long-handled hook. Then he moved along to feed the lions.

Al loved animals, even the warm beast-smell of them. He’d worked in zoo parks in different parts of the country and liked this one best. In addition to cages, these animals had the freedom of outdoor areas, safely separated from the public by deep moats.

Part of Al’s work was in the zoo gardens. With animals and flowers he could relax. With most people he couldn’t. Certain people had not been kind to him. Often he felt sorry for animals, but for many years he had avoided feeling anything for people. Lately, though, there was someone who kept creeping in to occupy a place in his thoughts.

The lions devoured their meat contentedly. One of the cages held a female and two cubs. A mother with her young. Al lit a cigarette and flipped away the match. He didn’t remember his own mother. She had died when he was four. But he remembered the frowsy quick-tempered woman whom Pa had married afterward. She’d kicked Al’s dog nearly senseless and thrown his cat in the lake.

Pa had never once taken Al’s part against her. After a while Al didn’t care — his heart just grew a hard coating. He didn’t even care when Pa got so sick; it just felt good that Pa couldn’t get out of bed to whip him, the way he’d done so often, sometimes for a little thing like leaving the yard without permission.

When Al was 18, he left the yard for good and found a job in another town delivering groceries. He hadn’t seen Pa or the woman since.

The girl he’d married — later on, after he’d done two years in the army — had been a dilly; she had squandered his money, stolen his savings, and left him for a sailor after six months. For nearly ten years now Al had given all his affection to animals. Until recently. He’d found someone he enjoyed talking to. It seemed kind of good.

All summer this tall round-shouldered guy — somewhere around 50, Al guessed — had come regularly to the zoo. Always alone, he stood for long periods by Vera’s cage, watching her. He and Al had spoken on and off. Then just lately, they’d talked a great deal about their mutual fondness for animals, especially for Vera.

“My name’s Al,” Al had told him.

“You can call me Joe,” the guy had said.

This past week Joe had been coming to the zoo every day. Al caught sight of him often, strolling slowly or relaxing on a bench. Sometimes he sat on the ground with his back against a tree, reading. With him he always had a large old-fashioned picnic hamper and he often stayed through the entire day, eating his meals in the park.

“It’s so peaceful here,” he told Al. “And what fine weather! Really superb!”

The guy talked like that — used words that Al would have felt silly if he said them. But coming out of Joe they sounded okay — not affected or anything. His own education having been slight, Al couldn’t help admiring Joe.

Yesterday he had asked Joe if he was married. Then, afterward, he guessed he shouldn’t have asked, because Joe took so long to answer. Finally Joe had said slowly, “No, I’m not married.”

Because of his lack of expression, Al couldn’t tell whether Joe was sorry about this or not. Anyway, he figured the guy was alone, like himself, and maybe sometimes wished he wasn’t.

The cigarette finished, Al turned from the lions and started toward the Administration Building. The park was deserted now. In mid-September, with kids back in school, people didn’t come around so much. Besides, it was almost five, closing time.

Well, not quite deserted. Pushing his cart along the wooded path, Al spied his friend, Joe, ahead on a bench. He had begun to think of him that way, as his friend. Joe was dressed as usual, somewhat oddly, in a rumpled gray suit, heavy shoes, and a stringy dark tie. His limp nocolor hair was mussed by the breeze. Beside him was the picnic hamper, its lid closed so he could use it as a table for his cup and thermos. He was eating a sandwich. As Al approached Joe said, “Good evening.”

“Hiya, Joe. — Been a nice day.”

Joe’s eyes were washed-out blue behind his dark-rimmed glasses. “Yes. Yes, it has been. Extremely restful with so few about. I’ve waited all summer for the crowds to thin out so that I could enjoy it here. — Perhaps I’m staying too long. In fact, I fear I must be. Is there time, I wonder, for me to finish my slight repast?”

The last of Joe’s sandwich looked good. Al was hungry himself. “Sure. The main gate’s closed now but you can go through the woods by Vera’s cage. You know the door in the wall back there? Just pull open the bolt. It locks itself when you close it. Of course you can still get out through the main gate but the back way’s closer.”

“Yes. I’ve used that exit before. It’s right across from my house, you know. That was the main entrance not so long ago.”

“Yeah — before they put in the new one. People still go out that old way a lot. Guess it really needs a better lock. Anybody could prop it open. One of these days they’ll probably take it away and fill in the wall. — So you live in that big house opposite? Alone?”

“My mother was with me for a good many years, but now — yes, I’m quite alone.”

“What do you do?” Al hesitated a bit, asking this, but he really wanted to know.

“Do? Oh, you mean what sort of work? None, I’m afraid. Mother left me some money and I manage on that. Also, I’m considering writing a book — just to keep busy — about animals, I think. You might be of some help to me, Al, if you’re willing.”

No doubt about it, the guy sure was educated! Suddenly Al felt nervous. A fish out of water was what he was around books. He said, in an off-hand way, “Sure. Anything I can do.” Then, “Well, I’m going over to see Doc. Vera’s not acting right.”

Joe took a long drink from his cup. “I hope it’s nothing serious. I’d be most unhappy if anything happened to Vera. She’s a beauty. I believe she really knows me now. Lately, I feel certain she’s glad to see me.”

Al smiled. He was willing to share Vera’s affections with Joe.

Joe rose, screwing the top on his thermos. “Well, I’ve finished and I must be off.”

“See ya,” Al said.

Joe tucked the thermos under his arm. “Good night, Al. It’s always a pleasure to talk to you. I’ll be thinking about Vera and hoping she’s all right.” He picked up the hamper by its wooden handles and scuffed away through the leaves that the wind was swirling across the ground.

Al watched him go. A kind of pitiful-looking guy. For all his money. He needed someone to look after him, keep him tidy. Suit unpressed and baggy; spots all over the front of it. Needed a friend too.

Imagine his living in that big house all by himself! To Al, who had always lived in small quarters, it seemed ridiculous. No wonder Joe came to the park so often — probably needed to get out of that house.

Al surprised himself by actually feeling sorry for Joe. Maybe some night he’d ask the guy to go to a movie. There was usually a good double feature at the Palace. On the other hand, people who wrote books scared him. He’d have to think about it.

But right now he had Vera on his mind. He went along to find Young Doc.

The next morning Al, Young Doc, and the headkeeper stood together in front of Vera’s cage. The tiger had taken a little water, but that was all. The headkeeper looked worried. Vera was valuable — Siberians were the largest of the tiger family and rarely seen in zoos.

Tawny between her darker stripes, regal and unperturbed, Vera paced. Al watched her stop to roll and stretch her fine body in a patch of sunlight, like an overgrown house cat.

The headkeeper pulled in his lips and shook his head. “We’ll put her in sick bay and keep her there a while if she doesn’t eat today,” he said to Young Doc as they walked away. Young Doc was taking care of things while the regular vet was on vacation. He was a nice kid, but only just out of school. This was his first job. Al hoped he knew what he was doing.

All during that warm afternoon Al worked in the dahlia beds on the opposite side of the grounds. He wished he had more time to watch Vera but there was a lot to be done around the park right now. At four o’clock he wiped the sweat from his forehead and hurried to the commissary.

Young Doc stood with him outside Vera’s cage as Al threw in the meat. There were no onlookers today. Vera lay under the rock ledge. She slept heavily.

“This is the fourth day she hasn’t eaten.”

“It gets me.” Young Doc screwed up his smooth tanned face. “If I don’t find out what ails her, or if anything should happen to her, I’m liable to lose my job.”

Al didn’t think he could stand it if anything happened to Vera. He hardly dared say what had occurred to him. “She couldn’t be poisoned, could she?”

“Might be. I don’t know. Listen, Al, I’ve got to go home now. My wife phoned — she doesn’t feel well. The baby’s due any minute, you know, and she’s kind of nervous with this first one. I promised her I’d be home for supper. But I’ll be back later — probably about eight.”

“Okay. I’ll grab a bite, then I’ll come back and stick around.”

When Young Doc had gone, Al stood for a moment by Vera’s cage. Then, as he turned away, his eyes caught a movement at the edge of the woods. Joe was there, ambling along, carrying his hamper. Al raised a hand in greeting. But Joe didn’t come over. He waved, then moved off toward the old gate.

As Joe walked away, the back of his sloping shoulders looked so pathetic that Al nearly forgot about Vera. A guy like that ought to have a plump, good-natured wife. Joe must feel awfully lonely at times. Al knew. Days it wasn’t so bad — he was busy doing what he enjoyed; but there were other times when the loneliness got to him and he would have given anything to have someone to talk to. Anybody. Just talk. Not get involved.

While Al ate his supper at the counter in a nearby hamburger joint he read a morning paper he’d picked up off one of the park benches. People were always in trouble — his eyes flicked over the headlines — shooting each other, double-crossing each other, divorcing each other, getting food poisoning, speeding and getting smashed up; the world sure was a mess.

Some young girl had disappeared — been missing a week. Well, so what? Maybe she wanted to disappear. Some people did. Maybe she’d gone off with a man. Some girls did that too. They sure did! Al glanced at the clock on the wall over the cigarette machine. He had time to waste, so he read on.

The young girl, Sally Brett, had a mother who had notified Missing Persons. She also had a husband, who was not at all worried and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. He thought she might be visiting a friend. He had practically told his wife’s mother to mind her own business. Sally, he said, had left nearly all the expensive clothes he’d bought for her in the closet, including a mink coat. Sally, he said, would be back, if only to get the coat.

I’ll say! Al agreed. But the newspaper story wasn’t getting his full attention because it was flanked by an ad showing a luscious girl in a bikini. Hell, he thought, it’s been a longtime!

He picked up the plastic bottle and squirted ketchup on his burger, then he went back to the Sally Brett story and took a closer look at her picture. Mouth smeared, big and pouty; eyelashes made up and everything; her hand up to her cheek, coy-like; a great big ring on her finger. Al had seen a hundred like her. He knew the type. What a crummy world! Everybody gimme gimme gimme.

Disgustedly, he folded the paper and put it aside. He hated to be reminded of his own former wife. Squeeze a man dry, then toss him away like a used lemon as soon as a bigger and juicier lemon came along.

He ordered a second cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie from the blonde behind the counter. Her bottom was small and round and had a certain way of pushing against her skirt when she moved. He felt like pinching it. When she came back with the pie and coffee he looked into her blue eyes briefly. They were hard and knowing. Hell, nothing ever turned out!

He sipped his coffee and watched the girl’s bottom. After a while he finished the pie, paid his bill, went outside, and spat viciously on the pavement.

It was nearly eight and the darkness had a navy-blue look when he met Young Doc in front of Vera’s cage in the circle of light from a tall park lamp. Young Doc carried a flashlight like his own and half of a small cardboard box. “Sorry to keep you so late, Al.”

“That’s okay. I’ve nothing to do.” He wondered how late the blonde worked at the hamburger joint.

“Well, I felt I had to go home. Wife’s pretty nervous. No baby yet. — Now, first I want to have a look around the cage. Vera’s out by the moat. Close the opening, Al, so she won’t come in.”

Al unlocked the cage. He tugged the steel bars down over the low opening that led to Vera’s outer area. He waited while Young Doc flashed his light around.

“What do you expect to find?”

“I really don’t know. She might have thrown up. And I want to look for droppings. I suppose it would be better to do this in the daylight, but I’m rather anxious. I don’t want to wait until morning. Wife might have the baby and then I’d be tied up.”

Young Doc moved away, poking around, the cardboard box ready in his hand for anything he might find.

Al leaned against the rocks and looked through the open top of the cage at the early stars. A long pale finger from a huge arc light somewhere — advertising cars, probably — traveled repeatedly across the sky. It was a quiet night. But noisy too, if you knew how to listen. Bug sounds; persistent buzzing, intermittent chirpings; the low hum of city traffic; the toot of a horn; a sudden screech of brakes. Somewhere, not far off, he heard voices and laughter.

A cool breeze stirred the leaves in the deserted park. Al shifted a little and saw the outlines of the peaked roof of Joe’s house across the street. What did Joe have to go home to? Nothing. The same as Al. Having money didn’t make a house any less lonely, did it? He really ought to go and see Joe. Maybe tomorrow night he’d just drop over. Unless he saw him during the day. Then perhaps he’d just mention getting together or something. Maybe Joe liked to play cards. Al would be okay there. Cards he understood.

Funny thing, but he was certainly drawn toward Joe. Oh, he’d never give another woman a chance. To hell with the blonde in the hamburger joint! With Joe it was different. They were both alone, both without love. Al was afraid of love. You could jump from love to quite another feeling pretty fast. He knew. He’d loved his father. Once. And he’d loved his wife. But he’d felt hate for her too, that day he found out about her stealing his money and giving it to that stinking sailor. It had taken all his strength to control his emotions. She’d got out of the apartment just in time.

Young Doc was saying something. “Saw you talking to Joe Brett today. Have they found his wife?”

“Joe who?”

“Joe Brett. Comes around here all the time. Lives right over there.” Young Doc gestured. “His wife went away last week and nobody seems to know where or why. He used to teach at some school — I can’t remember which one; anyway, he got fired for making passes at one of the students. Then he married this twenty-year-old girl. He must be fifty if he’s a day. Some people!”

“Did you say Brett? Joe Brett?” He’d never known Joe’s last name.

“Yeah. Did he say anything about his wife? Whether they’d found her?”

Al stood absolutely still. Joe had said he wasn’t married.

“Doc, are you sure the guy you saw me with is Joe — Brett?”

“Of course. My wife’s folks knew his mother. They used to say his mother ruined him, made him a namby-pamby. Then she died and he seemed to change, got kind of wild. After he married this girl, Sally, he got namby-pamby again. It’s the same guy all right. My wife’s mother talks about him a lot — seems to worry about him. You know how women are.”

A strange thing was happening to Al. Something awful. Instinctively he tried to fight it, but his insides started going around as if an egg beater was churning them up. Hotness seemed to envelop him and his heart started pounding so that he could almost taste it. He ran his tongue over dry lips and his hands were clammy. He felt sick.

With savage force he clenched his fists. He saw that Young Doc, who had been bending over in one corner, straightened up now and turned around. “Well, I’ve got a few samples. Now, I guess we’d better get the truck and take her over where I can keep an eye on her for a few days.”

Al moved slowly. He was trying hard not to shake. Vera. He almost said it out loud. Vera. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong at all. He wished there was. In the middle of the cage he stopped. He had trouble focusing his eyes. Then Young Doc’s face was there in front of him.

Al heard himself say, “Doc, there’s something I guess I gotta tell you.”

Hours later Al sank onto a bench near Vera’s cage. The sun was barely up. Vera was somewhere off in the moat area and Al was glad he couldn’t see her. He hunched forward, clasping and unclasping his hands which hung between his knees.

Well, he’d told them. He’d had to do it. But how he wished he hadn’t gone with them to Joe’s house! Only because he, Al — a friend — seemed to be standing there alone did Joe let them in.

He’d never forget the look on Joe’s face when the others stepped out of the shadows and the four of them advanced toward Joe — a couple of police detectives, Al, and Young Doc.

A picture of the girl was there too. He saw it on the table in the front room. And her hand with the big ring on it was up to her cheek the same way, coy-like. Sally Brett, the missing girl.

Al wrung his hands. If only he hadn’t followed the older detective into Joe’s kitchen and been right there behind him when he opened the refrigerator door! Some parts of the human body you can’t dispose of very easily.

But he hadn’t wanted to stay in the front room and see them holding Joe down on the floor like that. He hadn’t wanted to hear Joe’s shrill, unnatural voice screaming his hatred of women; boasting of his cleverness with the lock on the old gate; telling about sneaking into the park with his dreadfully burdened hamper.

Al got up and started to walk. On the path he came to a sign that read: Please Don’t Feed the Animals.

He went into the bushes and threw up.

Afterward, he made his way over to the duck pond. He dropped on the sloping bank and buried his face in the cold wet grass. He hit the ground weakly with his fists and shivered a little from the dampness seeping through his clothes. Hell, the world sure was cockeyed! How come something always found a way to keep that coating around his heart from softening?

After a while he sat up. He watched five ducks glide by in perfect formation. He concentrated hard on the pattern of ripples they made in the still pond and tried to think about something nice and plain and ordinary and normal. Like Young Doc, who’d finally got around to phoning his wife and was with her right now, in some hospital, while she was having a baby.