P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

Kenny gave Cam a look from the dining room, but he decided not to get into a discussion about just how those bastards got away with it. They thanked her, took the key, and then went next door. For the next hour, they conducted a general walk-through of the house. It wasn’t really a search. They found that his wife and stepdaughter’s clothes were still there, but not many of his. The house was clean and uncluttered, although dusty. The refrigerator was completely empty, but it was clean and running. The dishwasher was empty. Kenny wore rubber gloves, but Cam didn’t bother. It wasn’t a crime scene.

“He didn’t rush out,” Cam said finally. “Picked the place up, got rid of anything that could stink, arranged for someone to set the thermostat, pay the bills, and cull his mail. A totally planned departure.”

Kenny nodded, looking around the living room. “I’m thinking all those memories caved in on him and he just had to get out of here,” he said. “I wonder if he has another home, a cabin in the mountains or something.”

“We’ll have to get with his bank. See if this place is free and clear, and if there’s another mortgage out there.”

“Should we bring in a CSI team?” Kenny asked.

Cam shrugged. “No indication that anything bad happened to the guy,” he said.

“Besides losing his wife and daughter to those slimeballs,” Kenny said.

“Okay, besides, that, yeah. Looks to me like he just wrapped the place up and left. I think we’re going to need that electronic sweep after all, see if he’s on the road somewhere.”

Kenny sat down at the dining room table and began going through the small stack of keeper mail. “Most of this looks like first-class mail,” he said. “But I think it’s just disguised junk mail. And no bank statements.”

“That’s our next stop, I think. Find out which branch from the lady next door, go see how the money’s coming in and going out.”

Kenny looked up at him. “Who else would put K-Dog in an electric chair besides Marlor?”

Cam scratched his head. “What expertise would it take?” he said, ducking Kenny’s question for a moment. “To put a thing like that out on the Internet in such a way that it couldn’t be traced back to you? I mean, I don’t know dick about it, but it seems to me that if you weren’t a computer expert, you’d have to hire somebody to set that up. Otherwise, it would come back all over you. Wouldn’t it?”

“He would have to know a lot,” Kenny said, “ and have access to a pretty damned good computer to do it by himself. Not to mention capturing K-Dog, holding him in some remote place, building an electric chair, getting enough power to run it, then filming it with a digital camera, and then formatting that for Web play.”

Cam walked around the dining room, thinking out loud. “Marlor’s an environmental-science guy. Plus, he’s a doctoral candidate in science, which means he’s done everything for his Ph. D. except his dissertation. So he has to be competent in terms of computers and Web research.”

“I keep looking at motive,” Kenny said. “Nobody else really has the motive.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Cam replied. “Except maybe that bloodthirsty Indian woman. So, okay, let’s work it that way-make the assumption it’s him, then focus on the other two legs: opportunity and means. Unless, of course, Tony and Horace bring us word of a living, breathing K-Dog.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Kenny said.

“If you’re right, neither is K-Dog.”

The bank manager turned out to be a stunning redhead in her thirties. She did not look like any bank manager Cam had ever seen. Even Kenny, the professional pussy hound, was momentarily speechless.

“How can I help you, Officers?” she asked, slipping behind her desk and treating Kenny in particular to a dazzling display of legs.

They had called in advance, and now Cam produced the search warrant, which she actually read. Kenny had a barely disguised grin on his face as he studied her, and Cam could see that she was fully aware of Kenny.

“Okay,” she said, “I brought up his records.” She tapped a computer keyboard on her desk. “Savings account, checking account, some CDs, and just over a quarter of a million in a retirement account. Twenty and change in savings, and his Duke Energy pension is direct-deposited in his checking account on the fifth of every month.”

“We’re trying to locate Mr. Marlor,” Cam said. “We’ve talked to his sister and the lady who’s taking care of his house. What we get is that he just left for parts unknown. Can the checking account help us out?”

“What period of time?” she asked.

“He’s been gone for about eight weeks. That far back.”

She clicked some more and then studied the screen. “I don’t think so. He’s got the recurring bills on electronic bill payer. There’s no mortgage. I see some checks signed by Mr. Marlor and then endorsed by Mrs. Watkins-a neighbor, whose name is on the joint account-and there’re a few checks made out to other people. We autotransfer all but seven hundred from checking over to savings at the end of each month.”

“Anything signed by him in that time frame?”

She scrolled through images of the checks. “Nope,” she said. “He executed the new signature cards for the account almost… You’re right-it was eight weeks ago.”

“Where do his statements go?” Kenny asked.

She finally looked directly at him, and Cam saw Kenny give her his most winning smile. She blinked once before answering. Kenny had that effect on some women-okay, on most women-although this one was wearing both a wedding and an engagement ring. “The statements are generated but not mailed,” she said, clearing her throat. “Our customers can arrange it that way if they want.”

“Can they be accessed via the Net?” Kenny asked.

“That, too, has to be prearranged, but, yes, our customers can do anything they need to do electronically except for the signature cards.”

“Okay, so has there been any electronic action on any of his accounts?”

She tore her eyes away from Kenny and went back to the computer. Kenny gave Cam a sly wink, which made him feel even more superfluous. “No,” she said. “The last electronic transaction was five years ago, when he ordered up fifty thousand for a wire transfer.”

Kenny stopped flirting. “Wired to whom?”

“A bank up in Surry County.”

“Could someone there tell us who cashed it?” Cam asked.

“Good luck with that. It’s a privately held bank-on the edge of the mountain country. People up there really value their privacy, if you know what I mean.”

She gave them the bank’s name and address, and Cam thanked her for her help. He and Kenny went out to the car, where Cam dialed the number for Tony Martinelli’s cell phone. Tony reported that K-Dog hadn’t been seen at his regular hangouts for a week to ten days. They were on their way to an old girlfriend’s trailer. “Don’t get any on you,” Cam said, and switched off.

“Marlor’s gone, and K-Dog’s not to be found,” Kenny mused. “So two and two make…”

“We’ve got a ways to go before we jump to any conclusions,” Cam said, even though he, too, had already jumped to that very conclusion. “K-Dog may hole up once word gets out on Punk Street that the cops are really asking around. He’s going to think that we’re coming back about the minimart. Plus, I want to know what that fifty K was for. I’m thinking a cabin or mountain property.”

Cam’s cell phone rang. It was the bank manager.

“I just saw something you might want to know,” she said.

“Okay?”

“Mr. Marlor withdrew thirty-five thousand dollars in cash a few days before he set up the new signature cards. I would have noticed it earlier, except that you were asking about electronic transactions. This was done in person, at the counter.”