P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

He awoke the next morning with a neck ache. The shepherds were nudging him, still worried. He looked at his watch. It was 1:15. He looked out the window. There was daylight. Okay, so it wasn’t morning. Good pill, that. He was still slumped in the living room armchair, hence the aching neck, and the phone was ringing. Answering the phone wouldn’t bring Annie back, nor would it cure the neck ache, so he decided to ignore it. He fed the dogs and shooed them outside through the dog door, then shuffled down the hall to his bedroom, stripped down, and took a long, hot shower with the nozzle pointed at the side of his neck that hurt the most. He shaved while he waited for the hot water to do its magic. It seemed to work right about the same time as the hot-water heater admitted defeat.

He got out, dried off, and then the phone started up again. Fair enough. Time to rejoin the human race. It was Bobby Lee. He asked how Cam was doing. Cam told him that he was alive, had just awakened, and needed coffee. The sheriff said he was sending a car and that then they were going to meet with Special Agent McLain, if Cam was up to it. Cam dutifully said he was. Bobby Lee didn’t sound convinced, nor was Cam, but it would probably beat sitting around the house. He went to make coffee and then find a fresh uniform.

When he got to the office, McLain was already there, along with the sheriff, Lt. Frank Myers of Major Crimes, and the supervisor of their bomb squad. A captain was there from the State Bureau of Investigation.

McLain led off by reciting the standard formula that they were there to help. Everyone dutifully nodded. The feds were always there to help. He said no decision had yet been made to take over federal jurisdiction in the bombing incident at the judge’s home, although they probably would. The sheriff said that he fully expected the federal authorities to assume jurisdiction, and that his office was ready to cooperate in any way it could. McLain announced that terrorism was probably not a factor in the fatal bombing, and everyone nodded sagely. The next ten minutes were occupied with similar pronouncements. Cam mostly just sat there. He was thinking about Annie, and repeatedly telling himself that she had never known what hit her. One moment, she’d been starting the car; the next moment, there’d been nothing but a lingering echo.

“Lieutenant?” the sheriff said, and Cam realized he’d missed a question.

“Sorry,” he said, not sure who had asked it. “It was a long night. Say again, please.”

“I said,” McLain repeated, “do you believe the bombing is linked to that minimart case and the subsequent executions on the Internet?’”

“Yes,” Cam replied.

“Why?”

“She shouldn’t have dismissed those charges.”

That provoked a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Cam realized that he needed to dress that comment up a little.

“Four significant things happened prior to this bombing,” he said, “Simmonds disappeared, and we now know he was executed. Butts disappeared, and we know he was at least abducted. Given the video, he, too, presumably was executed.”

“Why ‘presumably’?” McLain asked.

“We have K-Dog’s body,” he said. “We don’t have Butts’s.”

McLain nodded and made a note.

“The other two things were the ‘You’re next’ message to the judge via a supposedly private and secure judicial network, and then the shooting incident at her home. So, yes, I think the bombing is the culmination of a revenge effort.”

“On the part of this James Marlor,” McLain said.

Cam hesitated and saw Bobby Lee giving him a warning look. “That’s been our assumption. Marlor’s gone completely off the grid, with one exception-a hit on his checking account a couple of days ago.”

“Is it possible that Marlor has had some help?” McLain asked.

The sheriff jumped in on that question. “As in?”

“As in some local police,” McLain said. Cam saw that the sheriff didn’t seemed shocked at this suggestion, which told him they had already kicked the notion around before he got there.

“Possible, but not likely,” Bobby Lee said. “I mean, we’re talking abduction, murder, obstruction, a hit on a judge. That’s a big step for any cop to take, no matter how pissed off he might be about a judge’s ruling.”

“Your people get pissed off at her ruling?” McLain asked.

“You bet your ass they did,” Bobby Lee said promptly. “So did I. She was way off base, as far as I’m concerned. But of course that’s not our call. And once the AG blessed it, the issue became moot for us. My cops will bitch about it, but that’s about it.”

McLain nodded and looked down at his notes. “Lieutenant Richter, I understand that you had a personal relationship with Judge Bellamy?”

“Yes, I did,” Cam said.

“What was the nature of that relationship, if I may ask?”

“Personal,” Cam said.

Bobby Lee made a face. “They were married many years ago, Special Agent,” he said. “When the lieutenant was just starting out as a cop and Bellamy was just another lawyer. They got a divorce, and lately they got back together. She’d been through two husbands in the interim.”

“What’s the relevance of this?” Cam asked. “You think I set the bomb?”

“No, Lieutenant,” McLain said. “But we’ve done some initial checking. You know, basic stuff. Like who might benefit if the judge died.”

“You mean pending cases?” Cam asked, puzzled.

“No, Lieutenant. Who might benefit personally.” He looked at Cam to see if he understood. Cam, clearly baffled now, looked at him and then at the other people in the room.

“Yeah, and?” he said.

McLain leaned forward. “Actually, I called her attorney. Asked about her estate. Did you know what was in her will, Lieutenant?”

Cam thought McLain was starting to sound like an Internal Affairs officer. He shook his head. “She went through three husbands, including me,” he said. “She divorced two and one died. She never had children, and she was an only child. I have no idea of what’s in her will. Why would I?”

“Because you are the sole beneficiary of her estate,” McLain said with a thinly disguised note of triumph. He looked up from his notes. “You, Lieutenant, are now a millionaire.” He paused to let that news sink in.

Cam blinked. He didn’t know what to say.

“Literally a millionaire,” McLain continued. “And this is news, I take it?”

“Sure as hell is,” Cam said. He shook his head in amazement. “I never thought about it. I guess I assumed…”

“Assumed what, Lieutenant?”

Cam shrugged. “I never really thought about her estate or her money. When we split, she was making a lot more than I was as a detective, so we just split and that was that. Actually, she offered to pay me alimony, but I declined. But money, wills, estates? That never came up between us.”

“Something north of ten million,” McLain said, consulting his notes again. “You see our problem, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Cam said. “I don’t. What is your problem?”

“Motive, Lieutenant,” McLain said. “James Marlor had a motive to kill the two suspects who burned up his family. He had somewhat less of a motive kill the judge, although one can make that case. There are indications that someone inside law enforcement might be playing in this game. So who might that be? Who might also benefit if the judge dies?”

“And that would be me?” Cam asked in astonishment.

No one said anything. Cam looked at Bobby Lee, who mouthed the word lawyer.

Cam shook his head angrily. “Look, Special Agent, you’re way the hell off base with this. Annie Bellamy and I were seeing each other. I’d best describe it as an extended experiment. There were no rules, no deals, no promises.” He paused for a moment. “The only special thing about it was that we were all each other had in the way of a personal relationship. I don’t date, nor did she. It was kind of-I don’t know-a relief not to have to do the dance every time, like you might with a brand-new person.”