Read Online Zorilla At Large! by William Stafford - Free Book Online Page B

here.”
    ***
    â€œYou took your time,” Miller accused Brough when he joined her in the car park.
    â€œWell, you know,” Brough blushed, “When nature calls...”
    â€œOr when Oscar bloody Buzz calls, more like. Get in. There’s been another murrr-dah!”
    â€œIf that’s meant to be a Scots accent, Miller, it’s a dismal failure - and why a Scots accent anyway?”
    â€œNever mind,” said Miller. “I forgot you’ve never watched ITV.”
    She drove them into town and pulled up outside the museum. The forensics were already swarming over the place, their little white tent the hive.
    â€œSame m.o.” said the SOCO upon seeing the detectives’ i.d. “Same three slashes, same remnants of fur. I must warn you though,” he addressed Miller directly, “There’s a lot of blood. It’s more like an art installation than a crime scene.”
    Miller awarded him a cold stare. “I can handle it.”
    Brough followed Miller under the strips of police tape across the entrance. “This fur,” he spoke to the SOCO over his shoulder, “Do we know any more about it? What kind of animal?”
    â€œStill awaiting results,” the SOCO shook his head. “But I’d say it was something large.”
    Miller grunted. “You can’t tell me you believe an animal is responsible for all this.” She gestured to the corridor where the walls and floor were slick with the blood of Mavis Morris.
    â€œWell –” the SOCO began.
    â€œI mean,” Miller cut him off, “Is there any sign of the victims being eaten? Animals don’t usually kill for the sake of it.”
    â€œWell, no...”
    â€œSo, Miller, how do you account for the animal fur at each scene?” Brough smirked, folding his arms to mirror the SOCO’s stance.
    Bloody men! Always siding with each other, Miller fumed inwardly. Well, it wouldn’t do Brough any good trying to get into the SOCO’s plastic over-trousers - Miller had already clocked the wedding ring beneath the latex glove.
    â€œPiece of piss,” she said. “Our murderer wears fur. Honestly, sir, the way you’re going on, anyone might think you think the bloody zorilla’s the killer.”
    Brough gaped. He had been thinking nothing of the sort but he couldn’t bear to be out-thought by his detective sergeant. “Good thinking, Miller,” he managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth. “The next question is why.”
    â€œWell, we can ask the bastard that when we catch him.”
    â€œAnd why here? And why here?” Brough waved at what was left of the museum attendant, currently illuminated by more camera flashes than at a fashion shoot.
    â€œWhere’s the zed, you mean?” Miller glanced around. “Perhaps they’ve got a zebra here. Or a Zulu.”
    The SOCO nudged Brough. “What is she babbling about?”
    â€œOur latest thinking is that all the victims are linked by the letter zed. Any ideas?”
    â€œI don’t know...” the SOCO pursed his lips. “I haven’t set foot in a museum since I was in primary school.” He nodded to a poster advertising the history of the moving image. “That any good?”
    Brough’s eyes widened. “Possibly... I wonder...”
    He pushed through to the exhibition hall. Miller followed.
    â€œSir?”
    â€œEureka!” Brough stood proudly at one of the displays. On a plinth was a slotted drum on a stand. Around the inside was a series of pictures. “You spin the drum,” Brough explained, “And the little man jumps up and down.”
    â€œReally?” said Miller.
    â€œNo, not really, Miller. It’s an optical illusion. The persistence of vision. You see-”
    â€œSo what?” Miller interrupted before he could launch into a lecture.
    â€œHere’s our zed, Miller,” Brough rolled his eyes. “This