The Penguin Who Knew Too Much(45)

Apparently he’d kept the large flightless birds in the same enclosure with the hoofed animals. I spotted a sign for ostriches, and then one for rheas. The ostrich sign noted that “Ostriches are economically the most important species of ratite.” I deduced that “ratites” was the jazzy scientific term for large flightless birds, though I made a mental note to check that with Dad before using it in front of Dr. Blake. I had gotten the impression that Blake considered me an intellectual lightweight, and I kept feeling the need to remind him that I wasn’t a total idiot.

Eric soon tired of the empty cages and became impatient. So when we found Lanahan's office—a small prefabricated shed with a power line running to it and a “Zoo Administration” sign over the door—we didn’t linger long. I rattled the doorknob, but not surprisingly it was locked. I peered through the windows and then moved on, looking for something to entertain Eric.

I lucked out when we hit the koi pond. Eric began amusing himself by dropping leaves onto the surface of the pond and watching the fish come up to investigate them. I suspected their interest in leaves meant that the koi were getting more than a little peckish. I made a note to find out what koi ate and draft someone to bring a supply of it out to them once a day or so, before they all either died or turned to cannibalism. Though perhaps it was too late on the cannibalism angle—the pond contained some awesomely huge koi.

“Don’t let Spike fall in,” I said, and headed back to Lana-han's office. Eric's occasional shouts of laughter and Spike's more frequent barking reassured me that they were happily occupied.

I spent a longer time peering in through the windows, and took some photos with my digital camera. Then I pulled out the screwdriver and dental picks I’d brought along.

The year I was twelve, Dad had taken a sudden interest in burglary—probably inspired by reading a few too many of Lawrence Block's Bernie Rhodenbarr books. He spent the entire summer trying to learn to pick locks. He always liked to involve a child or two in these educational experiments, and since Rob was too young to be trusted with sharp objects, and my older sister, Pam, considered herself too sophisticated for the project, I spent much of my summer learning along with him. Dad had proved a singularly inept burglar, but I’d gotten good enough to handle reasonably simple locks. I’d kept his burglary tools, just in case. And luckily, Lanahan's door didn’t have a complicated lock. I set to work.

Of course, I’d gotten out of practice. One of the drawbacks of living honestly, or at least being organized enough that I rarely misplaced my keys. I poked and prodded for about fifteen minutes without much success, but at least I was beginning to get my burgling skill back. From time to time, I could hear Spike barking in the distance, as he and Eric continued to explore the zoo.

Victory! I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then opened the door and slipped inside.

Lanahan obviously wasn’t a minimalist. The office was chock-full of every kind of clutter: books; office supplies and equipment; foods, both human and animal; assorted veterinary supplies; toy animals in various sizes; framed photos; enough rocks, branches, dried flowers, leaves, shells, and other bits of nature to fill a museum.

Every kind of clutter except one: paper. Lanahan's desktop was completely paper free. Not too weird—he could have been one of those people who insist on clearing their desk at the end of every day. If I cleared my desk, I’d only lose the contents for the next six months, but some people found it useful.

The desk drawers and the file cabinet were unlocked, but they contained no files, only a few empty green hanging folders. But I found several boxes of manila file folders, the top one half empty, so he must have done filing at some point. And the stack of green hanging folders was overflowing, as if someone had piled up two or three boxes’ worth on top of the open box. Putting them back after emptying them, perhaps?

So much for finding files to help me with the animals.

I considered the possibility that the chief had hauled away all of Lanahan's papers for analysis, but that didn’t sound like his usual procedure. He had so little room down at the station that he wasn’t prone to hauling off huge wholesale lots of evidence. He’d examine everything in place, then lock it up and go away again. If there had been anything to examine.

I went outside again, and spotted four industrial metal trash barrels. I went over and peered inside them, one after another. No papers. Plenty of drink cans, paper cups, candy wrappers,

soda bottles, empty cigarette packs—the usual detritus you’d pick up if you were cleaning up after the public.