Page 18 of Evil Bones
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”
“Water would be good,” I said.
Balodis disappeared back into the hall, heading, I presumed, to a kitchen. In seconds, I heard thewhooshof a refrigerator door, then ice rattling against glass.
I looked around.
In addition to the sofa cushioning my butt, the room held two armchairs, all three upholstered in a burgundy-and-green floral print. The side and coffee tables were blond, probably oak. I guessed the last updating of decor had taken place sometime in the sixties.
Framed pictures crowded the top of a sideboard by the far wall. I was idly scanning the collection when one image caught my attention.
Two men stood holding hands facing each other in front of an altar. They wore corsages in their lapels and gold bands on their fourth fingers. Ringman, we’d called the digit as kids.
Beyond the couple, a preacher clutched a Bible and beamed her approval. Above them curved an arch made of flowers. It was a classic wedding shot.
The man on the right was Ralph Balodis.
Clarification of the implosion of marriage number one?
My gaze was still lingering on the photo when I heard a throat clear.
I turned.
Balodis didn’t say a word. Just watched me.
“It’s a lovely picture,” I said.
“His name was Michael Fielding. We were married a very short time.”
I waited, hoping he’d reveal more. He didn’t.
“Was?” I queried his use of the past tense.
“Michael died four years ago. Cryptococcal meningitis.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Balodis’s withdrawal from life made sense now. It wasn’t because of a dead horse. It was due to the loss of his partner.
As usual in situations of heightened emotion, I didn’t know what to say. Though I empathize with the sorrow of others, I’m lousy at expressing condolence or comfort.
Didn’t matter. Balodis was already moving on.
After handing me the glass of ice and a bottle of Evian, the vet sat in one of the flowery chairs and said, “You say someone is disfiguring animals.”
I told him the whole ugly story.
He listened without interrupting.
“This abuse is still going on?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What would you have me do?”
“We’d like you to examine each kill. For the earlier ones you’ll have to work from photos.”
“The goal being?”
