The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan Page A

over there. Bathroom.”
    â€œBurke the closet, Brown the John. I’ll move through,” said Mulligan.
    Now Zach had moved. He could see them. Not Mulligan—he’d stepped too quickly into the other room—but the two others, Burke and Brown. Burke was a black man, broad and muscular in a plaid jacket, a sky blue shirt. Brown was white; round, mustachioed; he wore a green leisure suit. Each man was holding a small revolver in his right hand. Each had it pointed upright. Each held his hand steady, his left hand wrapped around his right wrist.
    They’ll kill me , Zach thought, clutching the blood-soaked clothes to his chest. They figure I did it, and they’ll shoot me. Oh Jesus, please. What could I do? I just wanted something good. I just wanted something good of my own for me and Tiff. Just give me a chance to convince them, Jesus. Please. To get out and convince them. I’ll do anything, I swear, I’ll tell everyone what I think about you, I’ll explain your words to everyone, just please …
    He watched as the two detectives moved to their places. They moved stealthily but swiftly, taking long quiet strides. Brown went to the bathroom across the room. He entered and was out of sight. Burke was at the closet door in a second.
    Please please please please please , thought Zachary. He clutched his fists around his clothes, around his sneakers. His whole body shook. He could barely keep his quick breath silent. He hated himself for this, for praying like this. It wasn’t like him at all. It wasn’t the sort of prayer he believed in. But he was so afraid. Jesus, he was so fucking scared. He clamped his mouth shut to keep his teeth from chattering.
    Burke threw open the closet door.
    The detective held his gun high, right beside his cheek. He reached into the closet with his left hand. He moved Tiffany’s dresses to one side and then the other. He pushed them back and looked down under them. Then he stepped away again.
    By that time, Brown had returned to the bathroom doorway. Burke looked at him and shook his head once. The white man answered softly, “Not here.”
    Zachary continued to cower. He was in the secret compartment now. He had managed to slip in there as Mulligan gave his orders. It was a small chamber at one end of the closet. He had built it himself: He was an excellent craftsman, a fine carpenter. The door was pivot hung and molded at the edges. It looked just like the closet wall when it was closed. Then, when you put your shoulder to it, it swung around at the middle like a secret door in an Abbott and Costello movie. You could slip right into the compartment and the door would shut silently behind you.
    Inside, the compartment was dark and cramped, just big enough to stand up in. With the bundle of clothes in his arms, he had to stand very straight, his back against the wall. But he could jut his head forward and put his eye to the peephole—that’s how he watched the detectives moving.
    He had fitted the peephole with a wide-angled lens. He could see the bed through it and much of the room on either side. Out in the room, the peephole was hidden in yet another poster. A sketch of Adam and Eve on this one, and a little verse about how Eve was drawn from Adam’s rib in order to stand beside him, not below him or above. The peephole was hidden neatly in Eve’s left nipple.
    Now, as Zachary watched, Mulligan returned to the bedroom. He was a short guy, Zach saw. He did not look like a cop, not like a very tough cop anyway. He had a round baby face under receding curls of sandy hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, and he blinked repeatedly behind the lenses. His pug features were impassive, like his high voice. He was wearing a khaki trench coat.
    â€œWell, he was here,” he said mildly. He stood with the other two cops beside the bed. It was a cheap double bed with a metal frame. Its sheets were all tousled. Its gray blanket was