Never Sorry Page 2

  Leigh responded that she had, and described it.

  "I'm afraid you won't be able to drive the car home tonight," he said evenly. "We're examining evidence in the employee parking lot, and your car will be needed for a while longer."

  She opened her mouth to protest—and to ask more questions—but Frank cut her off with a pale, raised palm. "Don't worry. One of the officers will give you a ride to the bureau. You can call someone to pick you up from there."

  The bureau?

  Leigh sat, speechless, while the detective tucked his notebook neatly into its designated pocket. "We'll need fingerprints from you, and everyone else who was in the zoo after hours," he said matter-of-factly, rising. "And of course, your clothes will be taken as evidence."

  Leigh looked at the dried streaks on her khaki uniform. Fashionwise, the ensemble was no loss, but taking the clothes off one's back seemed a little third world, and a trip to a police station in the middle of the night was out of the question. Besides, she needed her car. She had important things to do—like be at her other job by 8:00 AM.

  She stood up to protest, but Frank's attention had already been diverted to a younger officer who approached with heavy footsteps. "We can't do any more until we get the vet," the man announced somewhat breathlessly. "The zoo hospital's locked up, but he's not answering at home."

  "He's probably en route," Frank answered, turning to walk toward the tiger run. "Ever heard of night court? Well, now we've got night surgery."

  The younger man chuckled insincerely at his superior's attempt at humor, and the two moved off.

  Leigh fumed silently. She wasn't sure how he did it, but Frank had managed to make her feel like a prime suspect and an unimportant bystander at the same time. An officer would give her a ride to the bureau. When? And what was she supposed to do in the meantime?

  She had almost decided to follow Frank and tell him she was calling a cab when she realized why the police were looking for Tanner. For the crime scene to be fully investigated, the tigers would have to be sedated. Yet she knew the police would never find the zoo vet by calling his house all night. If they had asked her, she could have told them that Tanner was probably sacked out in the hospital lounge, by now sound asleep.

  She started after the officers, but stopped. She would get the vet herself. Detective Frank could fall all over himself thanking her later.

  ***

  Though all the walking paths in the zoo were now fully illuminated, every light in the dreary-looking concrete block hospital was off, and the doors were locked. No wonder the police had assumed it was empty.

  Leigh lifted the tail on the plastic squirrel affixed to the downspout by the back door. A key hung from a peg underneath. She opened the door, replaced the key, and stepped inside.

  "Mike? Are you awake?"

  The name sounded strange to her ears. She had certainly always thought of him as Mike, but as a respectful teenager, she'd opted for "Dr. Tanner." Especially with that persnickety wife of his always hanging about watching for indiscretions. What a shrew, Leigh remembered. She had never understood what a man like Tanner had seen in Stacey the Wonder Witch, but at least he had finally got enough gumption to divorce her.

  She flipped on every light switch she could find as she made her way to the staff lounge. She was an adult now—she could call him Mike if she wanted to. And if she wanted more, well, that was her business, too.

  The makeshift staff lounge consisted of one green vinyl couch, a drink machine, and a corroded metal waste basket. The ambience evidently wasn't a problem for Tanner, who was sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world.

  Leigh flipped on the fluorescent lights overhead, but received no reaction. "Mike!" she said louder. "Wake up!"

  The form shifted position only slightly. Leigh sighed, but didn't begrudge the opportunity to admire his sleeping form. Mike Tanner was one of the Southern variety of cowboys. He was good with pickup trucks, guitars, and any hoofed mammal—but worthless with a lasso. His long, lean form was crumpled onto the narrow couch, his feet hanging off the near edge and hovering possessively over his disengaged boots. Had she ever seen him with his boots off? She didn't think so.

  She plopped down on the narrow ledge of couch that wasn't already occupied, and bounced.

  Tanner sat up quickly, looking at Leigh with cloudy eyes. He rubbed his face with his hands, then focused on her and smiled. "Well, this is a nice surprise. I thought you left. Where've you been?

  Leigh smiled back. Actually, she had walked out on him, which was why she had left the hospital in such a rush to begin with. The evening had been quite memorable. The camaraderie of a complicated surgery, then—well, the other. But she had her principles, principles which happened not to be in agreement with the clamoring of her hormones. After Tanner had taken the gerenuk back to its stall for recovery, she stayed only long enough to clean up, then vamoosed. She knew he often spent the night at the zoo, and she could take only so much temptation.

  "I did start to leave," she answered. "But something happened."

  Behind long lashes any woman would kill for, Tanner's eyes widened with concern. "Are you okay?"

  She nodded her head, a wave of sadness suddenly creeping over her. How well had he known the tiger keeper? Had they been good friends? She was certain, despite the detective's vague dismissal, that it was Carmen whose body she had seen. It wasn't just logical—she knew. Her sixth sense was finely attuned, and Carmen was, after all, more to her than just a new coworker.

  How should she tell him?

  "There's been a tragedy. Someone was killed behind the tiger exhibit."

  Tanner sat up, fully alert. "An accident?"

  Leigh shook her head. "I don't think so."

  Tanner blinked twice, then pulled on his boots and started for the door, motioning for Leigh to follow.

  "You'll need to load the dart gun," she called, jumping up after him. "All four tigers have to be knocked out."

  He wheeled around, incredulous. "Why? You said somebody was killed behind the exhibit."

  "The body was thrown in," she said simply.

  Tanner swore colorfully and strode to the pharmacy cabinet. He collected some supplies in a tackle box, closed it with a bang, and headed for the exit, sweeping one arm around Leigh's waist on the way.

  He opened the clinic door and stepped back to let her through. Leigh's heart melted. Chivalrous—even in a crisis.

  She walked outside, then turned. "There's one more thing you need to know," she said to his back as he closed the door. "I think it was Carmen."

  Though his face was hidden, the tremor that passed through his body couldn't be missed. He grabbed her arm and took off at a jog.

  ***

  Detective Frank stopped Tanner a few paces from the tiger's gate. He did not seem unduly pleased when Leigh arrived with him. "Why didn't you tell me the vet was still here?" his words were calm, but behind his puffy lids, dark eyes flashed.

  "You didn't ask," Leigh said defensively, the bad feeling creeping back into her stomach. "I figured I'd just get him myself."

  Frank pulled his gaze away from her, somewhat reluctantly she thought, and turned to Tanner. "I'll need to ask you several questions," he said in a more respectful tone. "But right now, we need those tigers out of the way. For at least a half hour, if possible."

  Tanner nodded, then drew a breath. "Who was killed?"

  "We don't know, and we won't find out until we can get to the body," Frank replied irritably. "Now, how long will this take?"

  It took hours, or so it seemed to Leigh. She sat miserably on the brick wall outside the tiger run, feeling slighted that Tanner didn't need her help, but also relieved. Relieved that her eyes wouldn't be given any further fodder for nightmares.

  Yet patience had never been one of her virtues, and after ten minutes of torturous inactivity, she decided to see what fate had befallen her car. The employee lot ran along the far side of the tiger run, the entrance being farther down the hill
and around a bend. Leigh walked down the path and over to the gate, which was standing open, evidently to admit the police. Normally, the gate stayed locked, except at shift changes when it was monitored by a guard. Employees could leave through the one-way turnstile, but after-hours arrivals had to be more covert. Leigh had been taught on her first day how to sneak under the fence where it crossed a chasm—and she had found the path well worn.

  She walked through the open gate and out into the brightly lit parking lot, but didn't get far. Yellow tape outlined a large area abutting the tiger run—and the "secret" entrance. Leigh swallowed. Being basically lazy, she had parked her car as close to the hole as she could get. A cluster of people buzzed about the Cavalier, one pointing at the driver's door, another photographing it. Two other people in uniform walked away from the car and toward the hole, gesturing at the ground.

  "You shouldn't be out here, Miss," a stern voice called.

  Leigh turned around to see a portly, red-headed policeman standing by the employee gate. He hadn't been there before. Had he followed her?

  "Come on back and have a seat," he urged, more politely. "We'll be leaving shortly."

  She saw no point in arguing, as her car was clearly going nowhere soon. It was only as she turned back toward the gate that she saw the lot's only other occupant, a red Grand Am, parked on the far side of the entrance. Leigh's eyes were drawn instantly to the vanity plate adorning its rear. CAKY-10. She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. There could be no more question about it. Caky was Carmen's nickname, and she had always thought of herself as a ten.

  C.A.K. Carmen Andrea Koslow.

  Chapter 3

  Leigh sat miserably on the stone wall for another fifteen minutes before Detective Frank reappeared, a defeated-looking Tanner in tow. Tanner put a sympathetic hand briefly on her shoulder, then sat down beside her. Frank, Leigh noticed, did not miss the gesture.

  "Miss Koslow," the detective began, his voice assuming an edge that made her nervous. "We have reason to believe the deceased may indeed be a keeper here, Miss Carmen Koslow. Is she any relation to you?"

  Leigh took in a deep breath. It was a question she had been asked countless times before. Once, on an occasion she preferred not to remember, by another policeman. She gave the same answer she always gave, and was glad it was the truth. "Not that I know of. But there are several Koslows in the area—we might be related way back." And if we are, I'd rather not know about it.

  The detective didn't scribble this time, but stared at her with penetrating dark eyes—a stark contrast to his pale face. "Did you know Carmen Koslow before you came to work here?"

  Leigh swallowed and nodded. "We went to middle school and high school together. At North Hills. We were thrown together because of our names, but we weren't close. Until I came to work here, I had no idea where she was or what she was doing."

  Frank had decided to scribble after all. He pulled out his notebook, propped his leg up on the wall and started to write on his knee. The action brought on a coughing spasm so severe it made Leigh's own lungs hurt. When he had recovered, he spoke. "Before you started working here, how long had it been since you last saw her?"

  Leigh paused. She had grudgingly attended her ten-year reunion a few years ago, but Carmen hadn't been there. "Not since high school graduation," she answered.

  Tanner, who had sat through the interrogation with his head in his hands, turned to look at her. "You weren't friends?" he asked quietly, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Leigh couldn't help casting a glance at Frank, who of course had heard the question and was now watching her like a hawk. "Not particularly," she answered vaguely, wishing Tanner would keep his mouth shut. What had Carmen told him, anyway?

  Frank looked at her for a long moment. She was normally good at staring games, but the detective was better. She looked away, her anxiety growing. "Are we going to the bureau now?"

  The detective stopped staring at her and began nibbling on the end of his pen. "In a few minutes," he mumbled. "You two stay here until we call you."

  Frank returned to the tiger run, and when he was out of earshot, Leigh turned to Tanner. "Can't you just drive us in your truck?"

  Tanner shook his head sadly. "They're doing something with it, I don't know what. It's parked way over in the main lot, so I'm not sure why it's important." He stretched out his long legs in front of him and sighed.

  "I can't believe she's gone. I never thought anyone would do this to her."

  Leigh watched him closely. His voice was filled with sorrow, his deep-blue eyes moist. He must have known Carmen fairly well. Furthermore, he must have known a side of her that Leigh hadn't.

  "She told me you were one of her favorite people in high school," he continued morosely. Then he gave a small smile. "I wasn't surprised. You seemed like a fun girl to be around."

  Leigh forced herself to smile back. So Carmen had spoken well of her. That wasn't too surprising. One learned not to be surprised by anything Carmen did.

  A sudden roar from one of the tigers sent prickles up her spine. The big cats were awake already. And the body?

  She turned to Tanner. "You're sure it was Carmen?"

  He winced suddenly and turned away from her. After another moment with his head in his hands, he answered. "They haven't recovered the whole body. At least not yet. There were—" he broke off, then cleared his throat into a fist. "They found legs and one arm. That's all."

  Leigh's stomach made a move for her throat, but she willed it down. Two legs and an arm? Where was the rest? She asked the obvious question. "Could the tigers—"

  Tanner shook his head violently. "No way. They were well fed. They weren't eating what they had, just—"

  He stopped, but Leigh knew enough about cats to guess the statement's unpleasant ending. Just playing with it.

  "The police think the rest of the body was dragged out under the fence." He stated flatly.

  Leigh thought of the rustling leaves she had heard when she first approached the shed, and her heart rate increased. "Did Detective Frank tell you this?"

  Tanner shook his head. "Frank didn't tell me anything. I overheard the cops talking while I was monitoring the tigers."

  "Then they can't really know for sure that it's Carmen," Leigh offered, though personally she had no doubt.

  He shook his head again. "There's more. Her purse and keys were still in the shed, along with her torn clothes—and there was a clump of hair on the floor, stuck in the door jamb."

  Leigh didn't have to ask what type of hair it was. Carmen's waist-length jet black mane had been her pride and joy.

  "And there was another thing," he said miserably. "The tigers left—" he stopped, swallowed, and continued. "There were rings still on her hand. I recognized one."

  Leigh's stomach performed another odd maneuver, and she wondered if it would ever feel normal again. She was not, and had never been, a bosom buddy of Carmen Koslow's, but she was sorry the woman was dead. Coming upon the gruesome scene had unsettled her thoroughly, and as if that weren't disturbing enough, she had Detective Frank's odd demeanor to worry about too. Now, adding insult to injury, there was a look of pain in Tanner's eyes that no self-respecting woman could misinterpret, and she didn't care for it one bit.

  "You recognized one of Carmen's rings?"

  Tanner nodded, and sighed again. "Yep," he said softly, falling back into an even thicker Southern accent. "I gave it to her."

  ***

  The Central Detective's Bureau would not have been Leigh's first choice of a location to spend her pre-dawn hours, but her preferences seemed not to matter. She was whisked away in a patrol car before she had a chance to pry further into Tanner's relationship with Carmen, and was fingerprinted before she had a chance to sit down. To add further insult, Frank had insisted that a female officer accompany her into the restroom while she traded her bloody uniform for jail apparel. The bright orange jumpsuit put her at a distinct psychological disadvantage as she faced Frank
across the table in the interrogation room. To make matters worse, she couldn't get the ink off her fingers, and she was pretty sure there was still blood in her hair.

  "Now," Frank began offhandedly, "I know you've already answered questions at the scene, but we're going to need an official statement on audiotape as well. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak with an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed for you without charge before the questioning begins. Do you understand these rights as I have read them?"

  Leigh's mouth had dropped open on the second sentence. "Excuse me," she said when her senses were partially recovered. "Did I miss something? Am I being arrested?"

  The detective closed his red-rimmed eyes and sighed heavily. "You people watch too much TV. The Miranda warning isn't only for individuals under arrest. Before we take a statement from anyone who's a potential suspect, we read them their rights."

  Leigh's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She didn't entirely trust Frank, but she had no reason to assume he didn't go by the book. The words "potential suspect" were not reassuring, but she had done nothing wrong, so what did it matter?

  "Do you waive and give up those rights?" Frank pressed impatiently.

  Leigh ground her teeth. Even if she didn't do anything, she should probably still get a lawyer. But who? Criminal defense lawyers cost money she didn't have. A public defender? She looked at her watch. 4:00 AM. Did PD's work night shifts? Fat chance.

  She sighed and shifted in her seat. Surely there would be no harm in just telling her story straight and getting it over with. Any funny stuff and she'd clam up.

  Frank drummed his fingers on the table and stared at her.

  "Fine," she said, a little more obstinately than she intended. "Tape away."

  At the detective's prompting, she repeated her story, careful not to say anything more than was absolutely necessary. When she had finished, he began with a new line of questions.