“Is he the only one with keys?”
“No, the cleaning crew can get in and out, and we have a spare set in my office in case Bill is sick,” Pat says.
“Are you going to explain what’s going on?” the man who I assume is Bill asks.
“Bill, please just work on feeding the animals you can feed without any equipment,” Pat says.
“Can I look at the meat that’s been prepared?” I ask.
She’s looking a little green at the thought but nods. “Bill, please walk Detective Paige through the building.”
Bill hesitates over the “detective” part but leads me over to the walk-in freezer. “Can I know what’s going on?”
“We’ll have a talk,” I say. “Is this also where the deceased African wild dog was kept until pickup?”
“No, the body was kept in a small freezer reserved for deceased zoo animals.”
“In your area?”
“Yes, but far from the food.”
“Were you the one who handled the body when it was picked up earlier today?”
Bill is growing more confused by the moment. “I was. Did someone steal the body? I knew someone should have gone with it.”
“No.”
I walk through the freezer, but there doesn’t seem to be anywhere someone could sneak a body part in among the beef and poultry. Of course I’ll have the techs do a deeper dive, but my vote, for now, is that the body isn’t being stored here. He walks me around, but unless he’s the killer, I have full confidence this man would recognize a strange piece of meat. Would the others? I’m unsure, but I have a feeling nothing goes by unwatched by Bill. “Are you preparing the second feeding of the day?”
“Yes.”
“I’m assuming you toss the meat out, bones and all?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the animal.”
“And then you collect the bones? Where do those go?”
“Your questions are quite strange,” he says.
“Let me ask this… were there any animals that weren’t as hungry as they usually are?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I think… Greta might have… said something along those lines. I work back here. I don’t feed them.”
“Can you get me a list of all of the people who know how to ready the meat?”
“I… can. Then can I know what’s going on?”
“Sure,” I say because there’s no way he’s not getting some questions with the clean way he butchers things.
THREE
Liam
When I walk out, Gabriel is talking to a young woman who looks just as confused as everyone else.
“That’s Greta,” Bill says, telling me that Gabriel must have asked the same question I did. “Can I ask what kind of detective you are?”
“Homicide.”
