The Spill of Sangria Blood

Tom Dantry lie twisted and battered in the lion enclosure. Orange feathers stuck out of his right eye and the back of his head balanced on a metal tip poking through a bloody hole in his skull. If Dantry saw it coming, it likely didn’t matter. The tranquilizer dart scrambled his brain before breaking the skin on the back of his head.

From the wound, a stream of sangria blood pooled on the bricks. I figured the killer exhaled heavy into a blowpipe or the dart ripped from a gun overfilled with compressed gas. Either way, this murder ended the life of my good friend Tom. I intend to find the killer and shove the dart gun, point first, up his ass.

My name is Torely Stone. My job borders on the mundane. I hear guest stories, patrol the zoo grounds, and write citations for dogs off their leash. Murder does not make the top of the list of a zoo security guard. Apart from the gruesomeness of seeing Tom’s dead body, I am pissed.

As a former Diablo Valley sheriff, I have a reputation for obtaining justice. Something I plan to do even if it takes giving up my retirement job to find the killer.

Tom was a friend, my boss, and the head zookeeper at the Kokosia Zoo on the central coast. We pledged the same fraternity at Fresno State, and he begged me to come to work for him after I retired as sheriff.

He worked late hours, loved telling stories about paranormal oddities, and was a bachelor. I counted Tom among my few friends. He sometimes joined me for a drink with zoologist Amy Peters, who spends too much time doting on the giraffes, herpetologist Frank Withers, who ponders poisonous toads and fancy bottles of bourbon, and my niece Carrie Leary, my sister’s girl. Carrie is more of a daughter than my assistant.

Being Friday, we met at Spinnakers Bar across from the Welcome Gazebo for happy hour, nachos, and a chance to wash away the week. This time, Tom begged off saying he needed to think. I figured he found a good book to read. He always picked reading over drinking at a Spinnakers. So I said goodbye and the rest of us rushed over to drink mojitos and tell funny stories about the week.

We stayed drinking pretty late and I was probably the last one to hear about the murder. I overheard the bartender whispering to one of the cocktail waitresses. 

I bolted upright in my chair, suddenly sober. “Dead? How?”

“Found in the lion enclosure …,” the bartender trailed off. 

“Christ,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. Just what I need – another high-profile clusterfuck. “I need to get over there.”

I grabbed my jacket, my mind already racing. Dantry was exacting and sometimes terse, but death by lion? That’s a hell of a way to go. As I rushed to the scene, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be anything but a routine investigation.

We arrived behind the lion enclosure as the patrol officers secured the scene. I recognized Tom right away. Amy shrieked and fainted with Mark catching her in mid-fall. Frank, who had tossed back one too many whiskey shots, wandered off to the nearest bench to hold his head. 

Dantry’s body lied crumpled on the ground, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. His once-pristine suit now a tattered mess, stained dark with blood. 

I crouched down beside the body, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. Up close, the brutality of the attack became even more apparent. Tom’s face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. His neck was bent at an odd angle, clearly broken, and there were tranquilizer dart feathers sticking out of his forehead.

“Jesus,” I whisper, fighting back a wave of nausea. I’ve seen my fair share of corpses, but this… this is something else.

As I examined the body, something nagged at me. The injuries were severe, sure, but they don’t quite fit with a lion attack. The tranquilizer dart suggested Tom was caught off guard and then fell into the lion’s den.

I stood up, my mind whirling. This wasn’t just a tragic accident. This was murder, plain and simple. But who would want Dantry dead badly enough to throw him to the lions?

I looked more closely at the dart embedded in Dantry’s skull. As I examined the body, a detective sidled up beside me and we stared down at Dantry’s twisted corpse. I thought I’d open with some small talk.

“What murder weapon did that?” 

The detective ignored me. Spend two weeks off the force and you are a memory. Spend ten years in retirement and you might as well be dead.

“Unless you can point out the killer, I suggest you step back there behind the tape,” said the dick.

“Maybe you don’t recognize me?” It irritated me I had become such a ghost.

“How’s that?”

“I used to be your boss. Sheriff Torely Stone.” He stepped back to scrutinize my face before shaking my hand.

“The name’s Winters. Bill Winters,” the detective said. “Sorry. I joined the department after you left.”

“No worries. I’m chief of security here. Dantry was my boss.”

“Well, I’m sure you wanted him dead.” Winters chuckled at his poor joke. I did not appreciate the humor. Still, I knew better than to make myself a suspect. I smiled and let it go.

Winters bit the end of his pencil. I could tell he was struggling to come up small talk to impresses a former sheriff. I broke the awkward silence. 

“Dantry only hung out with a few of us and he often preferred to be alone,” I offered, as Winters continued munching on the eraser.

“I don’t get why he was here with the lions?” Winters said. “Did he often take walks after the zoo closed?”

Tom should have been home. There was no explanation for him to be wandering the zoo after hours. I refused to speculate; there had to be a good reason.

I turned my attention to the lions, expecting to find them agitated or aggressive after their gruesome meal. Instead, I was met with an eerie calm. The big cats lounged languidly in the moonlight, barely sparing a glance in my direction. It’s as if Dantry’s mangled corpse wasn’t even there.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” I muttered, scratching my head. “You fellas seem awfully relaxed for having just snacked on the zoo director.”

One of the lions yawns, showing off a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. I suppressed a shudder.

“Torely?” a voice called from behind me.

I turned to see a small group of zoo staff approaching, their faces a mix of shock, grief, and… something else. Suspicion? Guilt? Anger? It was hard to tell. Word of Tom’s  murder spread fast and it seemed most of the zoo’s staff had found themselves at the lion’s enclosure.

Rachel Holt, the head zookeeper, stepped forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there was a hardness to her expression that set off alarm bells in my head.

“We’re all devastated by Tom’s death,” she said, her voice catching slightly. “He had grand plans for the zoo, but often at the expense of animal welfare. We butted heads frequently.”  She hesitated to add, ”We had a fight tonight… But I didn’t murder him.”

That seemed a bit too specific. I noted it and waited for the rest to speak.

Eli Price, the zoo’s veterinarian, hung back, his thin face pinched with worry. He kept adjusting his glasses, a nervous tic that didn’t escape my notice.

Miguel Serrano, the maintenance supervisor, scoffed. “I’m not surprised by his death. The man was a tyrant. Always breathing down our necks, threatening to fire us for the smallest mistakes.”

Price elbowed Miguel sharply. “Show some respect, man. He’s dead.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole,” Miguel muttered.

Jenna Shaw, the PR manager, wrung her hands nervously. “Mr. Dantry and I had our… disagreements. He wanted to hide some questionable decisions from the zoo board and the public. I told him it was a bad idea. I just hope that didn’t lead to his murder.”

That seemed a bit on the nose. I decided to come back to it. I took in all their reactions, and my mind already started piecing together a web of motives and opportunities. One thing was for sure: I thought the world of Tom, but he wasn’t winning any popularity contests around here.

The rest of the gang circled around the zoo staff. Zoologist Amy Peters sided up to Rachel Holt whispering about something. Frank Withers rubbed his chin looking green and Carrie came closer waiting for me to speak.

“Well, folks,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real zoo-dunit on our hands. Who wants to be the first to tell me where they were when Dantry took his final lion nap?”

“In case you forgot,“ barked Detective Williams, “You’re not in charge here.”

I had jumped right into my sheriff shoes to solve the case forgetting I was no longer Diablo Valley Sheriff. Winters was right; I no longer led a man hunt.

I motioned for him to speak in private.

“Let me see if I can sort them out. I won’t get in your way,” I motioned over at the zoo employees, “And besides, they work for the zoo. They might confide in me.”

A chill pushed through the crime scene. Cool, moist air from the west replaced the hot, dry breeze from the east. A gust of wind tossed the crime scene tape against the fence around the lions. A stack of papers flew off a clipboard. They bounced along the path and one of the crime scene guys ran after them. 

“The end of the Santa Ana’s, said Winters. “Going to be a cool night.”

With the changing wind, Winters’ attitude also seemed to cool too. “You can talk to them and report what you hear. But, make no mistake… This is a police matter and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The sudden breeze coming off the ocean made Dantry’s murder feel like a punch to the gut. It felt so wrong and I wanted to scream. The rest felt the chill too. Amy rubbed her neck and pulled away from Rachel. Frank raised his arms in the air and took a deep breath. 

That’s when I saw it: a piece of paper protruding from Tom’s coat pocket. Frowning, I reached in and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper.

My heart quickened as I unfolded it. Two words were scrawled hastily across the paper: “Project Atlas.”

“What the hell?” I muttered, my brow furrowing. I glanced around, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. Winters was talking to some of the staff who were still huddled together. A few of them were talking in hushed tones, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

I stood up, discreetly slipping the note into my pocket. “Hey, Rachel,” I called out. “Was Dantry working on any special projects lately?”

Rachel looked startled. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just covering all bases. Thanks.”

As I turned away, my mind was whirling. Project Atlas. The suspicious behavior of the staff. It all had to be connected somehow.

“I need to keep this quiet,” I thought, my hand instinctively touching the pocket where the note rested. “If someone was willing to kill for this information, they might not stop at one murder.”

I pulled out my phone, pretending to check messages while I considered my next move. “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” I mused. “For Dantry’s sake, and to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

With renewed determination, I straightened my shoulders and headed towards the entrance to the zoo. I had a long night ahead of me, but I was prepared to do whatever it took to uncover the truth behind Dantry’s death and bring the killer to justice.

Before I could get to my car, a blood-curdling screech split the air. It wasn’t human—more like a chimpanzee with its tail caught in a tree chipper. Instinct kicked in, and I sprinted toward the sound, my hand hovering over my holster.

The stench hit me before I reached the chimpanzee house—a nauseating cocktail of sweat, blood, and fear. I burst through the door, nearly gagging on the smell.

“Sweet mother of—” I choked back the rest as I took in the scene.

Miguel Serrano was sprawled on the concrete floor like a broken marionette. His face was a Picasso painting of bruises, and blood oozed from a gash above his eye.

I knelt beside him, checking his pulse. Still ticking, thank God. His eyelids fluttered, and he let out a groan that would’ve made a seasoned funeral director wince.

“Miguel,” I said, tapping his cheek. “Who did this to you?”

His eyes snapped open, wild with fear and something else—rage. “Eli,” he spat, bloodied spittle dotting my shirt. “That crazy bastard set me up. He knew… he knew about Dantry’s plan.”

I frowned. “What plan?”

Miguel’s laugh was a wet, gurgling sound. “To kill the animals. Make room for an expansion. Eli… he couldn’t let that happen.”

This case was spiraling faster than a drunken ballerina. I needed to find Eli, and fast.

As if on cue, a shadow fell across the doorway. I whirled around, coming face to face with the man himself. Eli Price stood there, a tranquilizer rifle cradled in his arms like a newborn.

“Drop the weapon, Eli,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Eli’s eyes darted between me and Miguel’s prone form. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t kill Dantry. I couldn’t—”

A sharp crack echoed through the air, and Eli’s eyes widened in shock. For a moment, I thought he’d fired at me. Then I saw the dart protruding from his shoulder.

“What the—” I didn’t have time to finish. Another dart whizzed past my ear, missing by inches. 

I dove for cover, dragging Eli down with me. My mind raced. Someone else was here, armed with the same type of rifle. But who?

As I crouched behind a feed barrel, my heart pounding like a jackhammer, I couldn’t help but think that solving murders at the zoo was rapidly becoming the most dangerous job since alligator dentistry. And here I thought the scariest thing I’d face tonight was drinking too many mojitos.

I locked eyes with Eli, who’d taken shelter behind a stack of hay bales. His face was pale as a ghost, but there was a steely determination in his gaze that I hadn’t noticed before. We shared a silent nod, a wordless pact forming between us. Whoever was out there gunning for us, we’d have a better chance of survival—and answers—if we worked together.

“Any idea who’s trying to turn us into Swiss cheese?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

Eli shook his head, his eyes darting around like a meerkat on caffeine. “Could be anyone. Dantry had more enemies than a dung beetle at a shit convention.”

I snorted despite myself. “Alright, zookeeper. Cover me while I take a look.”

Slowly, I raised my head above the trough, scanning the darkness between enclosures. The zoo at night was an entirely different beast—shadows twisted into grotesque shapes, and every rustle of leaves sounded like a potential threat.

Then I saw it—a figure, darker than the surrounding gloom, slipping between the elephant and giraffe exhibits. They moved with the fluid grace of a predator, clearly at home in this nocturnal landscape.

“Bingo,” I muttered. “Eli, secure this area. I’m going after our mystery shooter.”

“But—” Eli started to protest.

I cut him off. “No buts, unless it’s yours staying right here. I need someone I can trust to watch my back.”

As I sprinted off into the darkness, chasing our elusive culprit, a voice in the back of my head wondered if I’d made the right call trusting Eli. But then again, in a place where the lions sleep after eating a snack and the staff might be killers, who could I really trust besides myself?

The pursuit took me through a labyrinth of winding paths, my footsteps echoing like gunshots in the eerie silence. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I pushed myself to the limit, determined to catch this shadow and unravel the tangled web of deceit that had ensnared the zoo.

“Stop!” I shouted, my voice bouncing off concrete walls and steel cages. “I have a gun!”

The figure darted left, then right, weaving through the exhibits with unnerving familiarity. I vaulted over a low fence, my lungs burning as I gave chase. The stench of animal musk filled my nostrils, a pungent reminder of the primal nature of this hunt.

As I rounded a corner near the primate house, I caught a glimpse of my quarry—a tall, lean silhouette that seemed to glide rather than run. For a fleeting moment, I thought I recognized something in their gait, but the notion slipped away as quickly as it came.

“Almost got you, you slippery bastard,” I muttered through gritted teeth, closing the gap.

Just as my fingers were about to graze their jacket, the figure seemed to evaporate into the darkness. I skidded to a halt, my chest heaving as I spun in circles, searching for any sign of movement.

“What the hell?” I panted, frustration bubbling up like acid reflux after drinking a tart lemonade. “People don’t just disappear into thin air. This isn’t some Houdini sideshow.”

I ran a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, the realization hitting me like a surly hippo. This case was deeper, darker, and more twisted than I’d initially thought. Someone here knew the zoo inside and out, could navigate it blindfolded, and had a motive worth killing for.

“Goddamn it,” I cursed, kicking at the gravel path. “I’m missing something. Something big.”

As the adrenaline faded, exhaustion crept in, settling into my bones like an unwelcome houseguest. I turned back towards where I’d left Eli, my mind racing with possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. One thing was certain—in this concrete jungle, the most dangerous predators walked on two legs, and I was determined to cage them before they struck again.

I trudged back to Eli’s location, my footsteps heavy with fatigue and frustration. The zoo’s nighttime cacophony of animal calls seemed to mock my failure, a discordant symphony of nature’s laughter.

As I approached, Eli’s silhouette materialized from the shadows. He was pacing nervously, the tranquilizer rifle still clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

“Stone!” he called out, his voice cracking. “Did you catch them? What happened?”

I shook my head, feeling like I’d just lost a game of high-stakes hide-and-seek. “Our mystery guest pulled a vanishing act. Either they’re part gazelle or they know this place better than the back of their hand.”

Eli’s face fell, disappointment etched in the lines around his eyes. “Damn. I was hoping… well, I don’t know what I was hoping for.”

“Join the club,” I muttered, leaning against a nearby railing. My mind was a jumble of theories and questions, each fighting for dominance like a pack of hyenas over a carcass.

“So, what now?” Eli asked, fidgeting with the rifle’s safety.

I studied him for a moment, weighing my options. Trust was a rare commodity in this investigation, and I wasn’t sure if I could afford to invest in Eli just yet.

“Now,” I said, straightening up, “we put our heads together and figure out who’s got the most to gain from this circus of chaos. You’ve been here longer than I have, Eli. Any thoughts on who might have a grudge against Dantry big enough to warrant murder?”

Eli’s eyes darted away, a flicker of… something… crossing his face. “I… I’m not sure. Dantry wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity, but murder? That’s a big leap.”

I nodded, unconvinced. “Sometimes the smallest push can send someone over the edge. Think harder. Any staff members acting strange lately? Any whispers of discontent?”

As Eli opened his mouth to respond, a distant crash echoed through the zoo, followed by an animalistic roar that sent shivers down my spine.

“Sardine on a cracker,” I muttered, my hand instinctively moving to my holster. “What fresh hell is this?”

Eli’s eyes widened in panic. “That… that came from the lion enclosure.”

I squared my shoulders, exhaustion momentarily forgotten as adrenaline surged through my veins once more. “Well, Eli, looks like our night just got a whole lot more interesting. You up for a little cat-and-mouse with some actual cats?”

The second part comes next week (October 24, 2024).

© 2024, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.