Six Geese A-Slaying(18)

“Great idea,” he said, rather loudly. “Let’s just go and do that while I’m thinking of it.” In an undertone, he added, “I’d appreciate it if you could find some way to distract that damned news-hound when he turns up.”

“Roger,” I said.

I strolled over to where Dr. Blake and Michael were standing, holding the camels’ reins and posing for the photographers.

“Go away,” Dr. Blake said. “You’re spoiling the pictures.” I ignored him.

“Bad news,” I said to Michael. “Santa’s dead.”

“Who?” Dr. Blake asked.

“Santa,” I repeated. “Though I assume Ralph Doleson was the intended target.”

“Oh, dear,” Michael said. “No bite marks on him, I hope.”

“No new ones, anyway. He was stabbed—no way they can blame it on Spike. Look, both of you—keep it under your hat for now. And the chief would really appreciate it if we could keep anyone from finding out for as long as possible. Especially that reporter.”

I had spotted Werzel now. If he’d donned the brown shepherd’s robe to be unobtrusive, it was a miscalculation. He was so thin that he could almost have wrapped the robe around him twice, but it barely came below his knees, revealing an awkward two-foot expanse of blue denim and a pair of ratty anachronistic brown shoes. And, damn it, he seemed to be watching us.

“We could offer him a camel ride,” Michael suggested. “Good publicity for the zoo, you know. He’s from The Washington StarTribune.”

“Excellent idea!” Dr. Blake exclaimed. Bashfulness was not one of his failings. He strode over toward Werzel and stuck out a deceptively gnarled hand. He seemed to consider shaking hands a competitive sport—if not a form of hand-to-hand combat—and I’d seen stronger men than Werzel wince after Dr. Blake had greeted them.

“Lovely to see you!” he was saying, as he mauled Werzel’s hand. “Meg tells me you might be interested in a camel ride!”

I rejoined Chief Burke and led him over to the pig shed.

“Hey, chief,” Horace said as we strolled up. “We’ve got a bad one.”

“You’ve been inside?”

“Just far enough to see if he needed medical assistance,” Horace said. “And Meg’s right—he’s definitely dead. No pulse, no respiration, eyes open and fixed.”

The chief opened the shed door, peeked inside, and nodded.

“We’ll need the medical examiner to pronounce before we can proceed, of course, but I have no doubt you’re right. Any chance you can help us out with this one?”

“Be glad to,” Horace said, nonchalantly, though I could tell from his expression that he was dying to work the case. Perhaps because he was still relatively new at forensic work, and enjoyed working what he called a “nice, grisly crime scene.” After twenty-five years with the Baltimore Police Department, Chief Burke looked as if he’d rather see anything else.

“Meg,” the chief said. “Keep an eye open and let me know if anyone’s heading this way. Any thoughts on whether he was killed here or just stashed here?”

The last bit, I realized, was directed at Horace.

“Almost certainly here,” Horace said. “If he’d been killed elsewhere and brought in here, where’s the blood trail?”

The chief nodded.

“Another interesting thing—” Horace began.

“Trouble,” I said. “Ainsley Werzel’s riding his camel this way.”





Chapter 7

“I thought you had someone distracting him,” the chief grumbled.

“So did I,” I said. “But I guess Michael and Dr. Blake underestimated the power of the press.”

“Are there any other doors to this shed?” the chief asked.

“No, but I suppose someone could try to get in or out through the windows,” I said. “In’s more likely; they’re shuttered on the outside.”

“Go in and guard the crime scene,” the chief said to Horace. “And can you call Debbie Anne and tell her to send Dr. Smoot over?”

Horace nodded and slipped inside.

Ainsley Werzel appeared around the corner of the barn and reined in his camel about ten feet away from us.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the chief said. “And take the camel with you.”

“What right have you—” Werzel began.

“You’re about to contaminate a crime scene,” the chief snapped. “Now take that thrice-blasted beast someplace else.”

Werzel’s eyes grew large, and he opened his mouth. Then he shut it again.