Night of the Animals(86)

Astrid was genuinely perplexed by Atwell’s alarm.

“It is a zoo, Atwell, right? I don’t mean to be funny, but . . . and who said it wasn’t an emergency?”

“I appreciate that, ma’am, but it sounded beyond that—Inspector—I mean, past what a zoo should sound like.” Atwell spoke now in a snappish, annoyed tone.

“Maybe it’s because it’s the night before the General Election,” Astrid said. “Animals are constitutionally liberal—and the polls don’t look good.”

Atwell groaned. “Right. Ma’am. Damn it. With respect, and I know it’s not my place, but I feel you’re not taking it seriously. You should. It sounded like murder. Then a man half-dressed came sprinting past the car. He looked crazy, with hair all sticking up, and a head that looked—it looked compressed. He was pounding my window, ma’am, then he ran off, toward Albany Street. He was saying the jackals were loose. He said he was the night watchman but . . . I don’t know . . . for some reason, I didn’t believe him, to be frank, guv. He said there was someone in the zoo. He wanted into the pandaglider, but I wouldn’t do it, ma’am. I wasn’t scared, ma’am. It just didn’t seem advisable, yeah? But, well, I believe we have an incident here that goes beyond my regular training, ma’am.”

Astrid felt a chill on her neck. She said, “Jackals loose—that’s new.” No wonder the autonews was on the prowl. “Stone the crows. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you off, Jasmine, but you can surely understand . . . this is all . . . it’s just . . . never before, not in my time.” She scratched her nose. “What did the man look like? I’ve met the night watchman—he’s the night keeper, too—Dawkins. Odd fellow. He’s quite a fat biffa.”

There was a pause. “This man wasn’t fat at all, ma’am. He was a string bean.” Atwell didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know now. I’m actually hearing something new now. I’m staying where I am, ma’am. Something’s making a terrible row over the fence, ma’am. You know—GBH of the earhole,* yeah? It sounds like a thousand jackals. I’ve not seen one, however. But ma’am, I don’t know what a bleeding jackal looks like anyway.”

“I’m sure they’re all bark,” said Astrid. It still seemed likely that some drunk or Flōter sleeping rough in Regent’s had spotted Atwell patrolling by herself and decided to lark about. Atwell was an attractive young woman, second-generation English (her mother and father were from New British Guyana’s modest middle class, a schoolteacher and a chemist, respectively), with lovely very dark green eyes and dark, clear skin the color of burnt honey. No doubt such a man would enjoy any sort of attention she would deign to offer him.

“There’s one other thing, ma’am,” said Atwell. “The man said his mother was still in the zoo. His mother! That took the prize, Inspector. Honestly, I felt nearly desperate. I wanted to open the glider—I felt desperate to—but I would have been defenseless, yeah?”

Astrid turned with a jerk of annoyance in the old phone booth, and noticed that old Tom was standing next to her, looking sad and concerned. He must have followed her from the meeting. Astrid felt embarrassed.

“Atwell, I’ll come down, OK? I’m certain you’ve been had is all, and if it’s not that, it’s nothing to worry about. You’re on the Broad Walk?”

“Yes, ma’am. But ma’am, I think something is actually wrong. I have a feeling this is rather serious, ma’am.”

At the best of times, certain young probationers occasionally got on Astrid’s Flōt-frazzled nerves, but she found herself now feeling an ugly, confusing irritation toward Atwell, and she hated it.

“Well, perhaps,” said Astrid. “I’ve got some feelings, too, PC. We’ve had—what?—a dozen ‘spectacular nothing’ alarms at night this week? Right. Of course something’s wrong, of course it’s possibly serious . . . Jasmine. I’m afraid I’m sounding condescending, PC. Sorry. But stay there. I’ll take a cab. Give me twenty-five minutes or so.” She looked at Tom directly and raised her eyebrows. She pointed at her eyes to indicate she was on an Opticall. She shook her head, as if she were talking to an insane person. “Make that thirty.”

“Good, Inspector. Thank you, Inspector. And Inspector?”

“Yes?”

“Should I make sure the chief inspector is aware of all this?”

“Oh, no. Let Omotoso sleep.”

There was a pause. She said, “Are you quite sure I shouldn’t at least notify the zoo’s security team? Mr. Beauchamp and all?”

Astrid shook her head. “Oh, for f*ck’s sake, no, Atwell. Not Beauchamp, no. I’d like to assess things, with you, before we proceed.”

“Right, ma’am. Number thirty-two out.”

Astrid blinked off, and turned toward her fellow FA member.

“Oh, Tom, I’m sorry I didn’t clean up the tea,” said Astrid. “I’m having some troubles, Tom. Work. It’s this orange-freq, see?” She pointed to her eyes. “I’ve been a right cunt with my colleague.”

Tom gazed at her eyes carefully and frowned, then looked into them anew, scrutinizing. “That’s a demeaning expression. It only degrades you.” Gone was the tobacco-scrounging farter; arrived was the Dominican brother who had slept with London’s dead.