The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan Page B

pyramided on the floor. Mulligan bent down and laid his palm on the bottom sheet. “He was just here.”
    Zach’s eyes fogged with tears. He licked his lips. They’re going to search the place. They’re going to find the red bag under the bed. Then it’s over. He would never be able to explain things now. If they found the red bag, he would never be able to convince them that he was not their man.
    â€œAre the windows open in the other room?” Burke asked.
    Mulligan nodded absently. “But Southerland would’ve seen him if he used the fire escape. He was just here, and he left through the door before we came.”
    Please Jesus please , Zach thought. He leaned closer to the peephole, almost lifting onto his toes. He really did feel like crying: It was half terror and half frustration. How could he have let this happen? How could he have done this to himself? He had had a perfect plan. A perfect way to present the evidence to the police so they would believe it, so it would convince them. How could he let it all go wrong like this? For God’s sake—how could he have overslept?
    â€œMaybe he went to breakfast,” Brown said. And now, as Zach watched, as he prayed, the little round white man was kneeling down painfully. He was bowing his head down so he could look under the bed.
    He’s going to find it. He’s going to find the red bag. Zach’s mouth contorted. One tear ran down his cheek. He blinked it away so he could see out the peephole. With the blackness so close around him, his whole being was concentrated on the other room, on what he saw.
    â€œMaybe he went to work,” said Burke. “I mean, he may not even be the guy.”
    That’s right! That’s right! thought Zachary desperately. I may not even be the guy, for Christ’s sake.
    He saw Brown straighten. He heard him groan. Brown looked at Mulligan. Mulligan, blinking mildly, turned his head to survey the room.
    â€œSome kind of red overnight bag under there,” Brown said. “We oughta toss this whole place.”
    Mulligan nodded again, as if he hadn’t heard. “He might’ve gone for a bagel. That’s true. Southerland can watch half an hour, rope him if he comes back. Burke can go to the magazine, ask around there. That way we don’t scare him away. And half an hour, forty-five minutes, we can come back with a warrant too. That way we’ll be legal guys. Happy legal guys for all to see.” He said this tonelessly, softly, as if to himself.
    â€œListen …” Burke, the big black man, tugged his own earlobe. “Listen, the feds are gonna go nuts. They’re going nuts now. Aren’t we gonna bring ’em in at all here?”
    Detective Mulligan just kept nodding, kept looking around. Then he said: “Fuck the fucking feds.” Only he said it very mildly. It sounded strange coming out of his blinking, baby face.
    With one last nod, he started walking to the door. The other two exchanged a glance and followed him.
    Zachary stood amazed. They were leaving! Just leaving! Yes! he thought. His whole body was taut and eager as he leaned toward the keyhole, as he watched them go. Detective Mulligan paused at the door, his hand on the knob. Zach peered at him, protected by the dark; feeling well hidden now and powerful—and a little guilty, too, about that sense of secret power. Staring out at Mulligan like that, he thought the detective looked like a pretty decent guy actually. A sweet guy. Zach would have liked to come out and talk to him directly. Explain things to him, person to person.
    But he didn’t; he didn’t move. He stood still, his head jutting forward, his bloody clothes smearing his chest. He held his breath as Mulligan took one last look around. Then the detective pulled the door open. Zach watched as he went out, as the others followed after.
    The door shut. Zach started to breathe again. He pulled away from the