Scenarios

of us one at a time, picked me to go first, and herded me into another room.

The first thing he said was, 'This is the screwiest shooting case I've come up against in twenty years on the force. What in bloody hell is going on here?'

'I was hoping maybe you could tell me.'

'Well, I can't-yet. So far it looks like a suicide, but if that's it, it's a candidate for Ripley. Whoever heard of anybody blowing himself away in a lion cage at the zoo?'

'Any indication he locked himself in there?'

'We found a key next to his body that fits the little access door in front.'

'Just one loose key?'

'That's right.'

'So it could have been dropped in there by somebody else after Kirby was dead and after the door was locked. Or thrown in through the bars from outside.'

'Granted.'

'And suicides don't usually shoot themselves in the chest,' I said.

'Also granted, although it's been known to happen.'

'What kind of weapon was he shot with? I couldn't see it too well from outside the cage, the way he was laying.'

'Thirty-two Iver Johnson.'

'Too soon to tell yet if it was his, I guess.'

'Uh-huh. Did he come on the job armed?'

'Not that I know about. The rest of us weren't, or weren't supposed to be.'

'Well, we'll know more when R and I finishes running a check on the serial number,' Branislaus said. 'It was intact, so the thirtytwo doesn't figure to be a Saturday Night Special.'

'Was there anything in Kirby's pockets?'

'The usual stuff. And no sign of a suicide note. But you don't think it was suicide anyway, right?'

'No, I don't.'

'Why not?'

'No specific reason. It's just that a suicide under those circumstances rings false. And so does a suicide on the heels of the thefts the zoo's been having lately.'

'So you figure there's a connection between Kirby's death and the thefts?'

'Don't you?'

'The thought crossed my mind,' Branislaus said dryly. 'Could be the thief slipped back onto the grounds tonight, something happened before he had a chance to steal something, and he did for Kirby-I'll admit the possibility. But what were the two of them doing in the Lion House? Doesn't add up that Kirby caught the guy in there. Why would the thief enter it in the first place? Not because he was trying to steal a lion or a tiger, that's for sure.'

'Maybe Kirby stumbled on him somewhere else, somewhere nearby. Maybe there was a struggle; the thief got the drop on Kirby, then forced him to let both of them into the Lion House with his key.'

'Why?'

'To get rid of him where it was private.'

'I don't buy it,' Branny said. 'Why wouldn't he just knock Kirby over the head and run for it?'

'Well, it could be he's somebody Kirby knew.'

'Okay. But the Lion House angle is still too much trouble for him to go through. It would've been much easier to shove the gun into Kirby's belly and shoot him on the spot. Kirby's clothing would have muffled the sound of the shot; it wouldn't have been audible more than fifty feet away.'

'I guess you're right,' I said.

'But even supposing it happened the way you suggest, it still doesn't add up. You and Dettlinger were inside the Lion House thirty seconds after the shot, by your own testimony. You checked the side entrance doors almost immediately and they were locked; you looked around behind the cages and nobody was there. So how did the alleged killer get out of the building?'

'The only way he could have got out was through one of the grottos in back.

'Only he couldn't have, according to what both Dettlinger and Hammond say.'

I paced over to one of the windows-nervous energy-and looked out at the fog-wrapped construction site for the new monkey exhibit. Then I turned and said, 'I don't suppose your men found anything in the way of evidence inside the Lion House?'

'Not so you could tell it with the naked eye.'

'Or anywhere else in the vicinity?'

'No.'

'Any sign of tampering on any of the doors?'

'None. Kirby used his key to get in, evidently.'

I came back to where Branislaus was leaning hipshot against somebody's desk. 'Listen, Branny,' I said, 'this whole thing is too screwball. You know that as well as I do. Somebody's playing games here, trying to muddle our thinking-and that means murder.'

'Maybe,' he said. 'Hell, probably. But how was it done? I can't come up with an answer, not even one that's believably farfetched. Can you?'

'Not yet.'

'Does that mean you've got an idea?'

'Not an idea; just a bunch of little pieces looking for a pattern.'

He sighed. 'Well, if they find it, let me know.'

When I went back into the other room I told Dettlinger that he was next on the grill. Factor wanted to talk some more, but I put him off. Hammond was still polluting the air with his damned cigarettes, and I needed another shot of fresh air; I also needed to be alone for a while. I could almost feel those little random fragments bobbing around in there like flotsam on a heavy sea.

I put my overcoat on and went out and wandered past the cages where the smaller cats were kept, past the big open fields that the giraffes and rhinos called home. The wind was stronger and colder than it had been earlier; heavy gusts swept dust and twigs along the ground, broke the fog up into scudding wisps. I pulled my cap down over my ears to keep them from numbing.

The path led along to the concourse at the rear of the Lion House, where the open cat-grottos were. Big, portable electric lights had been set up there and around the front so the police could search the area. A couple of patrolmen glanced at me as I approached, but they must have recognized me because neither of them came over to ask what I was doing there.

I went to the low, shrubberied wall that edged the middle catgrotto. Whatever was in there, lions or tigers, had no doubt been aroused by all the activity; but they were hidden inside the dens at the rear. These grottos had been newly renovated-lawns, jungly vegetation, small trees, everything to give the cats the illusion of their native habitat. The side walls separating this grotto from the other two were man-made rocks, high and unscalable. The moat below was fifty feet wide, too far for either a big cat or a man to jump; and the near moat wall was sheer and also unscalable from below, just as Hammond and Dettlinger had said.

No way anybody could have got out of the Lion House through the grottos, I thought. Just no way.

No way it could have been murder then. Unless-

I stood there for a couple of minutes, with my mind beginning, finally, to open up. Then I hurried around to the front of the Lion House and looked at the main entrance for a time, remembering things.

And then I knew.

Branislaus was in the zoo office, saying something to Factor, when I came back inside. He glanced over at me as I shut the door.

'Branny,' I said, 'those little pieces I told you about a while ago finally found their pattern.'

He straightened. 'Oh? Some of it or all of it?'

'All of it, I think.'

Factor said, 'What's this about?'

'I figured out what happened at the Lion House tonight,' I said. 'Al Kirby didn't commit suicide: he was