P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

“And that’s the problem, Lieutenant. That is the problem. We want you gone. Easy way or hard way.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ Sergeant? You leave your robe and hood home tonight?”

The man just laughed. “Listen,” he said. “We don’t want to mess with you, Lieutenant. We’re sorry for your loss and all that happy horseshit. But in the meantime, take that trip, why don’t you? Make it a long one.”

“As in, go the fuck away and live a lot longer?”

“There you go,” the deputy said. His gun hand twitched and Cam heard the. 45’s slide rack forward and lock. He hadn’t been aware that the gun had been racked open. He’d mostly been concentrating on that great big hole at the business end. Now it was chambered and cocked and pointed right at him.

“Everyone will understand,” the big man said. “Your woman’s dead, all the fun’s gone out of policing, and you suddenly have more money than God. You fold your tents and steal away into the desert night and that will make perfect sense. And here’s the thing, Lieutenant: Either you can arrange it or we can arrange it.” He stopped talking for a few seconds, then said, “Bye now.”

The man stepped back into Cam’s house. Cam heard the dogs barking up on the hill and mentally swore at them. He waited until he heard the front door shut and then hurried through the house. He heard a powerful engine start up outside. He swept aside the curtain and saw what looked like an unmarked police cruiser headed up the cul-de-sac. He tried to catch the plate or the county letters, but the plate light had been turned off. There were no white dazzle side numbers visible as it drove under the streetlight.

Okay, he thought, definitely not Manceford County. But had he been a real cop? Anybody could doctor up a Crown Vic.

As he walked back into his house, he realized his heart was beating at twice the normal speed. Then he heard the phone ringing and grabbed it.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Cam,” Jaspreet Kaur Bawa said. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

You’re hardly as disturbing as the past few minutes have been, he thought. “No, not at all, Ms. Bawa. Jay-Kay, I mean.”

“Oh, good. I always hesitate to call police officers at home. Although I understand you will be spending more time at home.”

“Looks like it,” Cam said. “I’m on a leave of absence. But I suppose you already knew that.”

“I had heard that, Lieutenant Cam,” she said. “What will you do, then? Take a trip perhaps?”

“Not you, too,” Cam said.

“Pardon?” She sounded genuinely confused, and Cam realized she had probably just been making polite conversation.

“How’s the electric chair investigation going?” he asked. “Or are you even still involved? Do you work with ATF, too?”

“I work for the Bureau only,” she said. “But the Charlotte field office is, in fact, working closely with the ATF. They know what the explosive was, but there is still discussion about how it was set off.”

“Well, I’m out of that loop right now,” Cam said. “I think the whole Sheriff’s Office is out of that loop, actually. And to answer your question, I don’t know what I’m going to do. It won’t involve police work, though.”

“That was a terrible thing that happened. And the agent and I had only been gone for, what, an hour? I was frightened, actually.”

“I can understand that. Dodging a bullet doesn’t make the fact of the bullet go away.”

“Are you sad, I mean, that this woman was killed? I understand that you knew her other than as a judge?”

Cam explained the history between him and Annie Bellamy. “So yes, I am sad. I think we had a shot at something permanent.”

“I am sorry,” she said. “I was very angry with her for letting those two killers go free. But I understood there were legal issues. And this country is obsessed with legal issues, isn’t it? The story is that you will inherit a great deal of money.”

“So it would seem,” he said. “That was all news to me, though, and I think it will take some time. Lawyers. Real estate settlements. Taxes. Is this all they talk about around the coffeepot in Charlotte?”

She laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “It made for an interesting bit of gossip, I’m afraid,” she said. “The drama of the bombing, the possible connection with the Internet executions, and then your ‘surprise’ inheritance. Much more interesting than hunting down the latest terrorist alert. But some of the talk was perhaps more serious, Lieutenant Cam.”

“You can call me just Cam if you’d like. I’m a paper lieutenant right now.”

“Very well, Just Cam,” she said. It was his turn to smile.

“So what are they saying?”

“That the motive to execute the two robbers was much stronger than the motive to kill the judge. Until they found out about the will.”

“Cui bono,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Cui bono. It’s a Latin term that means, roughly, ‘who gains’? It’s a first principle in homicide investigations. Who stands to gain by the victim’s death. Apparently, that’s me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I think that was the thrust of the conversations. Mr. McLain did not take the notion all that seriously, but the ATF people apparently still do.”

“Glad to hear I’ve got McLain on my side,” he said. “So, Jaspreet, is that why you called? To warn me that I might be a suspect in the Bellamy bombing?”

“Well, yes,” she said.

“Not to worry. I didn’t do that. I had no knowledge of any will or inheritance, nor any reason to expect to benefit in any way from Annie’s death. Just the opposite, in fact. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Well, someone did this terrible thing, Just Cam,” she said.

“Yes, someone did, Jaspreet. And I have every confidence that the combined resources of the Bureau and the ATF will find them and get them. Don’t you?”

It was her turn to hesitate. “I’m not so sure,” she said. “There seems to be more going on with this investigation than a search for one person. But of course I’m only a consultant, so there is much I am not privy to.”

“Unless, of course, you turn loose those big mainframes and start reading other people’s E-mail,” he said.

She laughed again. “I must confess to letting people think I can do much more than I really can do,” she said. “Federal ciphers are provided by the NSA. No one breaks NSA code.”

“Unless they let you into the office,” he said. “And then let you open up a workstation to examine office fire walls and other security devices. Like we did in the Sheriff’s Office. And at the courthouse.”

“Sometimes that level of access is necessary if I am going to help my clients,” she said primly.

“And your computers never forget a line of code, do they?” he asked.

“That is their nature,” she said.

“You be careful, Jaspreet,” he said. “Like you said, the feds have really big computers these days, and they’re looking at all of us now. If they look your way, they’ll see you.”

“I am always careful, Just Cam,” she said. “And I have every respect for this government’s computers. But perhaps less for the people who operate them? Anyway, you, too, should be careful, I think. Stay in touch?”

“As best I can, Jaspreet,” he said. “As best I can. And I may be hitting the road for a while.”

“Take that Dell portable with you, perhaps,” she said. “The one you bought two years ago?”

He chuckled. She was showing off now.

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “Have you looked for James Marlor?”

“I have not. Would you like me to try?”

He told her about the cabin. “I couldn’t tell if it had been used recently or not. But it seems the perfect place to lay up.”