Zero at the Bone (6 page)

The big man who’d come out of the men’s room leaned down to her and said in a stage whisper, “This is the first time I’ve ever seen McElroy at a public function when he wasn’t wearing an animal somewhere on his person.”

The group chuckled conspiratorially.

“Don’t knock it, Vic,” the woman said. “It brings in the money. It will be fun to see how he manages to turn this into a fund-raising event.”

“Oh, he will seize the day,” said a tall, cadaverously thin man, who was much older than the others and had deep pockmarks on his cheeks and forehead. “If he doesn’t reverse the cash-flow problem, he can kiss off this job. And McElroy loves the limelight too much to give it up easily. Somehow he will manage to turn this to his advantage.”

They stopped whispering as the director spoke. His voice, clearly accustomed to speaking to groups, filled the room. “Most of you know me. I’m Sam McElroy, director of the Austin Zoo. It falls to me today to discuss some very bad news. You all know that early this morning one of our veteran keepers, Lester Renfro, was killed in a tragic and highly unusual accident. All of us here at the zoo are grieving for him.”

He bowed his head for a moment to indicate grieving before continuing. “I’m going to share with you everything I know about the accident. It isn’t very much because Mr. Renfro was alone at the time and, of course, the autopsy and police reports aren’t complete yet. But here’s what we have been able to make out: Lester—Mr. Renfro—arrived early for work today. He often did. That’s the kind of worker he was. Starting time is six-thirty, but he was seen by one of the night watchmen arriving about six-ten. Apparently he entered the Phase Two zookeepers’ area to feed the tigers. Since the last two days were fast days for the large cats, he would have wanted to feed them right away.”

A buzz of excitement flared through the room. Several hands shot up. “Mr. McElroy—question, sir!” called one of the reporters, waving a notebook in the air.

“Please, gentlemen, ladies. Let me finish my statement and then I’ll try to answer any questions I can.” The buzz died down but hung in the air as a background hum.

“Apparently Mr. Renfro was looking through the observation window in the steel door that leads from the keepers’ corridor to the outdoor display area when a Siberian tiger broke the window and dragged him through into the exhibit. The medical examiner’s preliminary report, which Lieutenant Sharb has just shown me”—he gestured toward the very short man standing next to him—“indicates that Mr. Renfro died from a broken neck.” McElroy glanced down at a page of notes in his hand. “Most of the ribs on the left side of his body were fractured. And there were multiple lacerations on his face, hands, and arms.”

The buzz began to rise in volume again. McElroy raised a hand to quiet it down. “At seven-thirty this morning Hans Dieterlen, our senior keeper”—he gestured to the morose man who stood on his other side, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back—“stopped at the Phase Two building to confer with Mr. Renfro about a leopard they were planning to sedate this afternoon. He entered the building, using his own key, and called for Mr. Renfro. When he got no answer, he looked into the corridor and saw glass on the floor and one boot.” McElroy paused here and the room was dead quiet. It was evident to Katherine that the director savored the telling of a good story.

“He stepped into the corridor, noticing glass shards hanging out of the window frame and Mr. Renfro’s hat impaled on one of them. Just then the face of a tiger appeared in the window. Of course, Mr. Dieterlen left the corridor and secured the door. He radioed for help immediately, fearing the worst. In accordance with section three of our emergency protocol, he called for the shooting team.

“Only two of the five members of the team were on the premises at the time. Danny Gillespie was in the office when Mr. Dieterlen’s call came in, so he was able to grab a rifle and get to the scene within four minutes. That’s an excellent response time. The head of the team, Victor Jamail, was there five minutes later with a twelve-gauge shotgun. When they saw Mr. Renfro lying face down in the outside exhibit and the tiger lying about fifteen feet away, they could tell it was too late. So they did not fire at the tiger. Instead, the two of them and Mr. Dieterlen used a fire extinguisher from the building to frighten the animal into its holding cage. They determined that Mr. Renfro was dead and called an ambulance and the police. And now you know just about all we know about the accident.”

Reporters started to wave their arms and call out questions to him.

The director held up a palm to stop the babble. “But let me say one last thing before you ask your questions. Mr. Renfro was working alone with the tigers even though we all know it is far better to work dangerous animals in pairs, the way we used to. But recent cutbacks in the city budget have forced us to reduce our staff and economize in this way. I can’t tell you how much we all regret this.”

The zoo group in front of Katherine began to whisper again. The young woman reached up and patted the big man’s shoulder, as if to console him for something. Then she smiled around at the men. “See,” she whispered, “he’s a genius. He did get the fund-raising in. And he saved you from having to speak to these vultures, Vic.” The third man in the group remained silent, just shaking his head. He was a powerfully built man who had his short sleeves rolled up to reveal a string of tattoos on both arms, running from his bulging biceps down to his thick wrists.

Every hand in the room was up now, with voices calling.

“Mr. McElroy!”

“Sam.”

“Lieutenant Sharb, question!”

“Please … over here.”

McElroy raised a hand again. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this in an orderly way. Mr. Samuels, from the
American-Statesman,
let’s start with you.”

The bearded reporter shouted above the noise. “We don’t want to be macabre here, sir, and there’s no delicate way to ask this, but our readers will want to know whether the tiger ate some of Mr. Renfro.” The room was silent for about twenty seconds. Katherine felt her stomach turn over very slowly.
Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh.

The director finally found his words: “Mr. Samuels. You understand that the autopsy report is not finished. I have said that there were multiple lacerations on Mr. Renfro’s body from the attack. It is difficult to determine whether those injuries were inflicted in the initial attack or, um, later on. Next question to Miss—”

Samuels pushed his way to the front of the crowd and drowned out the director’s voice. “Wait. I haven’t finished my question. Lieutenant Sharb, let me ask
you.
Were there parts of the body missing? There are rumors flying that the tiger ate considerable portions of him. Is it true?”

The director looked down at the short policeman, who sighed and stepped forward. “Mr. Samuels,” he said in a low, raspy voice, “it appears that the tiger may have ingested some flesh. Yes.”

Flesh of my flesh.

Every hand in the room was up now. The noise level rose and Katherine felt the heat in the room rise with it. She pulled a crumpled Kleenex out of her bag and swiped at her wet brow. Samuels was jumping up and down now yelling, “What body parts? Has the tiger’s excrement been analyzed?”

McElroy had to shout over the noise. “Okay, Miss James from
The Dallas Morning News.
Your turn. Go ahead.”

A shrill female voice rose above the background noise. “This animal has eaten human flesh. Aren’t you afraid that this tiger has become a man-eater? Shouldn’t it be destroyed?”

The zoo workers in front of Katherine looked at one another and collectively rolled their eyes skyward. The tattooed man narrowed his eyes, stretched his arms out, and tensed his hands into a simulation of tiger paws. Then he pretended to creep up toward the woman who’d asked the question. The group around him had to stifle their laughter.

Sam McElroy looked at the woman as if she were a heathen to be converted. “Miss James. Tigers are predators with one mission on earth. They are born to hunt and kill. It’s what they were created for. He was just being a tiger. No. We have no intention of destroying him.”

“But isn’t it true that once a tiger has tasted human flesh, he becomes an incorrigible man-eater? Won’t that make him just too dangerous to have around?” the woman shouted back.

The director bit off his words. “Tigers are very dangerous. This tiger was born here at the Austin zoo and we have always known he was particularly aggressive and dangerous. He is a real tiger. If we are looking for blame here, Miss James, we need to look to the engineer who determined that the glass in that window was thick enough to withstand a determined five-hundred-pound tiger. We ought to look at the city council members who voted to cut our budget by a fourth this year so that our keepers have to work alone. This is what we should be looking at, not blaming a tiger for doing what he was born to do.”

Katherine was certain that he was right. She didn’t want the tiger destroyed either. But she wondered how she would feel about seeing him. It reminded her of an incident she hadn’t thought of in years. When she was in high school she’d had a part-time job with a trainer who worked mostly with guard dogs. He had two beautiful young Dobermans he was training. One day a group of boys climbed the fence and tormented the dogs, who attacked and mauled one of the boys almost to death. Before the ambulance had driven away with the injured boy, the trainer had ordered the dogs into a down-stay and, with tears running down his face, had shot them both in the head. Weeping, Katherine had asked him why. He had said because he wouldn’t be able to look at them with pleasure anymore. She wondered if she would ever be able to look at the tiger with pleasure.

She sprang to attention. A reporter was asking if the zoo was worried about a lawsuit, if the safety procedures had been sufficient.

“No,” the director boomed. “Our safety procedures are excellent, as good or better than any zoo in the world. There are more accidents in zoos than you are aware of. The work is dangerous. But the Austin Zoo has had only one other fatal accident in our fifty-six-year history and that was more than three decades ago, way before my time. We have an excellent safety record.”

A woman in front yelled out, “Why were you withholding food from that tiger, Mr. McElroy? It sounds cruel. If the tiger hadn’t been starving, maybe this would never have happened.”

The small zoo group had kept up a steady, whispered commentary on the questions. Now the thin older man hissed in a falsetto, “Poor, abused pussy cat. God, these bunny huggers piss me off. Maybe she’d like to go in the cage and comfort poor Brum. How do people get so ignorant?”

“Two fast days a week is standard practice at all zoos,” the director said patiently. “The purpose is to replicate eating patterns in the wild so that our large cats do not become obese in captivity. It is not cruel in any way.” He pointed at a man in the front row. “Yes. Next question.”

“This is a question for Mr. Dieterlen, since he was there when the shooting team arrived. Mr. Dieterlen, I understand and support the reasons for not destroying the tiger now, but why didn’t Mr. Gillespie or”—he glanced down at his notebook—“Mr. Jamail shoot the tiger when they first arrived on the scene? Mr. Renfro might still have been alive when they got there.”

Hans Dieterlen took a step forward and looked hard at his questioner. When he began to speak, Katherine was surprised at the thick German accent. “Mr. Gillespie, who was first to arrive, is an excellent marksman. If there had been any reason to shoot, he would have shot.” He stopped speaking and stepped back, apparently a man of few words.

“But, Mr. Dieterlen,” the reporter said, “why have a shooting team if they aren’t going to shoot in an emergency like this?”

Hans Dieterlen stepped forward again. “All zoos have shooting teams to respond in case of dangerous animals escaping and endangering the public. In cases of any threat to the public they are instructed to shoot without hesitation. But in this case there was no danger to the public and the harm had been done. It was clear Mr. Renfro could not possibly be still alive. You would have known it too if you had been there.” He stepped back and leaned over to whisper something into the director’s ear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the director said, “we need to limit this to two more questions, please. Go ahead, Mr. Cannon. You’re next.”

“What about the calls and public reactions you are getting here at the zoo, Mr. McElroy? What seems to be the consensus in terms of whether the tiger should be allowed to live?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Cannon. We do not make decisions like this based on public reactions. Siberian tigers are an endangered species. It is against federal law to kill them. We couldn’t do it even if we wanted to. Of course, we are already getting a great many phone calls. The usual mix: some sensible, some crank, some downright scary. Certainly some say the animal should be destroyed. I’m sorry to say we have had some threats against the tiger’s life. That is why we have taken the precaution of removing all the large cats from exhibit for a while.

“Last question. You there, in back.”

A deep man’s voice said, “We’ve talked a great deal about the tiger. But how about Lester Renfro? What sort of person was he? Is the zoo planning some sort of memorial for him? Does he have a family?”

Katherine felt her body clench up.

The zoo group began whispering again. “Lester Renfro,” sighed the big man who had hit her elbow. “The only family that’s likely to miss him is Felidae.” The others nodded sadly. Katherine studied their faces. Were they sorry he was dead, or did they just regret the disruption of their schedules? She was torn between listening to them or the director.

“A good question,” answered the director. “Mr. Renfro was an exemplary employee. Devoted to his work. It was his whole life. He had been going to night classes, working on a degree in biology at the University of Texas, so I think a good memorial would be a scholarship fund for keepers who want to pursue higher education. He could have done many more lucrative things, but he chose to be a zookeeper. He was at the Austin zoo for thirty-seven years. He worked with reptiles and small mammals before he became senior keeper of the Phase Two unit, large cats.” The director looked into space for a minute, seemingly in thought. Then he said with genuine conviction, “He really cared. He was an advocate for his animals. Uh, family? Well, he was a divorced man with no close family here, I believe. We were his family. The animals were his family. He died doing what he loved to do.”