Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Quilt and the Corpse

“There’s more, but it’s good news again. I found no evidence on your cell phone bill that you spoke with Mr. Wilkerson at any time. Plus, no money seemed to have changed hands between the two of you—aside from him buying those quilts, of course. And we don’t have any evidence of that. My guess is he stole them when he stole your cat and you just don’t remember you had them lying around.”

“That’s not something I would forget, Chief. He got them some other way.”

“If you remember who you sold the quilts to, let me know.” He sounded like he was done with me.

“I promise you’ll be the first to know if I recover from my Alzheimer’s anytime soon,” I said.

He smiled at my lame joke. “Don’t believe I’m dismissing them. It’s just that those quilts could be one mystery we never solve, and it’s probably not important, just an odd connection between you and Mr. Wilkerson. You’ll be relieved to know we do not consider you a suspect in this murder.” He stood. “Thanks for coming in, Ms.—sorry—Jillian.”

I rose and took the flyer from my pocket, the one of the Tonkinese. “This is one of the cats Shawn has. You may want to call the owner so he can get his cat back. He’s someone who might have been angry with Mr. Wilkerson.”

He glanced at the paper. “Is this one of the people you were so anxious to have me call? As soon as the story broke, this man called us. Seems his cat had just disappeared and he wondered if it was in the Pink House. He’s already picked up his cat from the Sanctuary. And before you ask, this man has a solid alibi.”

“Another reason to believe this isn’t about the cats?” I said.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll try to be clear: I’m not crossing stolen cats off the list of possible motives. There could be very angry owners out there, but right now we have what, the five cats found in the house? I know you have more names from the flyers you went through, but we don’t have any connection between all those cats and the victim. If more evidence accumulates, I’ll—”

“I get it,” I said. “But perhaps this is about a cat not found in the house—maybe it’s about one that was there and was taken away when the killer left.”

Baca squinted at me, considering this. “I’ll keep that idea in mind.”

“You think that’s implausible, I know, but if that’s the case, you won’t mind if I try to reunite a few owners with the pets that Wilkerson might have stolen. After all, I have the same list of possibilities that Candace gave you this morning.”

His eyes darkened. Made him look all brooding in a Gothic novel sort of way. “Please don’t get in my way. A brutal crime was committed, Jillian. That should scare you. I know it scares me.”

“After what I’ve been through this past year, I’m done being scared about what life throws at me. I’ll try hard not to get in your way, but I won’t be sitting around, either. Cat people may have lost their friends because of this man.”

He sighed. “I can’t stop you—unless you interfere in my investigation. Then we call it obstruction of justice.”

“I call it finding justice—for those cats and their owners. They were victims, too.” And , I thought, if I follow the cats while you’re following the money, one of us might find a killer.

He looked down and shook his head. “You and Shawn. What a pair.”

Minutes later, I left the court building and headed straight for Shawn and Allison’s Sanctuary. While I drove, I thought about a police officer’s job and the need to prioritize. I got that. But I’d prioritized, too, and those cats were at the top of my list. I knew that Shawn’s fingerprints were found somewhere at the scene—somewhere they shouldn’t have been. Baca would never tell me about that, nor would Candace, but if I could make amends with Shawn—which I so wanted to do no matter what—maybe he’d tell me.

I made my way up the dirt driveway to the Sanctuary, the strangling kudzu vines on either side of me a healthy green and gripping onto trees and shrubs as if we hadn’t had a cold snap at all. No, that stuff would seize and control every plant until a hard freeze. I could only hope Shawn wouldn’t hang on to his anger that tightly.

This time Shawn rather than Allison came out to meet me. His stiff posture and unsmiling face indicated he was still very unhappy with me. I drew a deep breath and left the van.

“I sure hope you’ll talk to me, Shawn. I know you didn’t kill anyone. I know you could never do that.”

“You threw me under the bus.” His freckled fists were on his hips, his legs spread as if to stop me from going any farther.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “Should I have omitted that you had an argument with Mr. Wilkerson when they questioned me?”

“You told them that to save your own ass.”

“Shawn. Look at me.” I made the back-and-forth two-finger gesture for “look me straight in the eye.”

He did so, though grudgingly.

I said, “They would have found out anyway. I wasn’t the only person who knew you had a history with the man.”

He hesitated, then said, “You did what you had to do. I get that.”

“No, you don’t. You’re still angry, and that hurts. Please try to understand? I value your friendship—and Allison’s, too. And the work you do here is so important. I respect you.”

“They locked me up like a criminal on some frickin’ material witness excuse. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“It must have been awful,” I said.

“Two hours might as well have been two months. I do have a temper, but I’m an honest, God-fearing man, not a killer.”

I said, “I know that. Can we talk? My interest is the cats, as I’m sure yours is, too. We’re on the same page, Shawn.”

He still seemed uncertain, but when his shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his sides, I knew this silly standoff was over.

He waved and said, “Come on, then.”

Snug, the African grey parrot, greeted me with a “Hey there” when I entered the office, and Allison must have heard us arrive because she came in from the cat area. She looked back and forth between Shawn and me as if to ask, “Is everything okay?”

“We’re good,” Shawn replied to her silent question.

“I am so glad.” She reached out her hands and came over to me. Her hug felt as friendly and warm as the first time we’d met.We sat around the scarred desk—so unlike Mike Baca’s—the canaries singing and the spider hiding somewhere in his tank, thank goodness. I summarized my two visits with the chief, told Shawn about the flyers and the list of lost or possibly stolen cats and finished up by saying, “He claims they don’t consider Mr. Wilkerson’s cat thievery a solid motive. But you and I know different, don’t we?”

“Damn straight we do,” Shawn said. “He’s never seen the desperation that I’ve witnessed when folks come in here looking for their lost friends. Does the man not realize someone would do murder to get their best buddy back? If not, he doesn’t know squat.”

“He didn’t say it was impossible. He’s just focusing on other things.”

“Like me. Only because I looked in Wilkerson’s windows. That’s why they arrested me. Said there was evidence of trespassing.”

“I heard they found your fingerprints. You’re saying they were on the windows outside?” I said.

“Yeah. After I picked up the tuxedo, I went back to see what other cats Wilkerson might have been hiding away. Didn’t see any, though. I left before Wilkerson spotted me.”

Allison stood abruptly. “I think we could all use some coffee. How’s about it, Shawn?”

“Yeah. Coffee.” But he was looking at me, not her.