Shirley Murphy - Cat Seeing Double

Garza nodded.

"I left Charlie in the car with the keys and phone and radio. She was more scared than she let on. Landeau's guard dogs watched her the whole time, while Landeau jived me along. Sheriff said the feds are spotting marijuana patches up there, that they took out a couple last week, over in the national forest. The sheriff was… maybe holding something back. Telling me what he knew I'd learn anyway."

Max leaned back in his desk chair absently reaching for a cigarette though it had been more than a year since he quit. "I talked with DEA. They think the Landeaus have been backing small meth labs in several counties, using the take to finance some marijuana operations. Good chance Hurlie could be involved."

"As could the sheriff?"

Harper grunted. "I hope not. Maybe intimidated- that's a political appointment, you well know. Important thing is, you have enough on Gramps to go to the grand jury."

"I have more than that. I might have Rupert Dannizer's killer."

"Oh?"

"I ran prints on Marianna Landeau. Her real name came up Martie Holland."

"That's one of the women we couldn't get a line on, supposed to be in the Bahamas. Some years back, Mike had her on parole."

Dallas nodded. "That's a long story. Your snitch got her prints to me last night. Don't know how. Don't know why," he said quietly.

Harper listened, saying nothing.

"I came down last night, ran them through AFIS. Had a warrant for her issued on information, and called San Francisco."

"She was in the city. Well, I sure missed that one."

"As did Wills and Parker. Well, the woman has a whole new identity. If you'd never seen her… San Francisco picked her up at her Nob Hill address early this morning. All packed, said she was going up to their country place. But she had a ticket for Caracas."

Harper grinned.

"They took her in, impounded her car. Searched the house, found a hand truck in the garage that, from its dust tracks, had been moved recently. Track marks match those from Ryan's driveway. I thought I'd send Green and Davis early tomorrow, to pick her up. D.A. has called the grand jury for her, and for Gramps Farger. They're able to meet day after tomorrow."

"Very nice."

"I'll rest easier when Ryan's completely in the clear. We'll all rest easier when this bomb trial is under way."

Harper nodded. "Ryan doing all right?"

"Keeping her head."

"When did you talk with Mike Flannery?"

"He's back, he came straight down here, got in yesterday morning, worried about Ryan. He didn't know then about Martie Holland's prints, the snitch hadn't delivered them yet. Brought them right to my door, last night. Half-a-dozen compacts the guy apparently lifted from the Landeau cottage." The two officers looked at each other, a Don't ask, don't try to figure look. And out in the hall, Joe Grey turned to scratch a nonexistent flea, then appeared to collapse once again into sleep.

"Mike says he has enough on Martie Holland to establish motive," Dallas said. "He'll testify before the grand jury. I remember a good deal about her from when he had her on parole; I was working in north Marin then, never ran into her. Don't remember seeing a mug shot. But I knew then, through Mike, that she was involved with Rupert. I don't think Ryan ever knew about that. Mike will be by in a while, to fill you in. Where's Charlie?"

"Up at the house getting settled. And seeing her cleaning crews. We'll bring the horses back down tomorrow. You going to let that cat sleep in your door all day?"

"Why not? Well, now look. You woke him."

Yawning, Joe Grey rose and headed up the hall in the direction of the locked security door. If no officer opened it, he knew that Mabel would come out from behind her counter and oblige. He had a lot to tell Dulcie, and a lot to tell the kit that would please her.

He'd like to have one more look at Marianna-Martie, at that cold piece of work, before she went to prison.

He could watch the trial, of course, if it was held in Molena Point. He and Dulcie had, during past trials, enjoyed a private and uninterrupted view from the window ledge above the courtroom; they wouldn't miss a thing providing the weather was warm enough so the windows were open.

But he'd like a look at Marianna now, when they brought the woman in. He didn't know why, or what he expected to see. Call it a hunch. What he'd like to see was how Rock responded to Marianna Landeau-Martie Holland.

It was only a hunch, but a hunch so strong it made the fur down Joe's spine rise and prickle.

The roof had been raised; its two long slanting surfaces stood upright, forming the new walls of the bedroom suite. The new roof trusses overhead were covered with tar paper and plywood and shingles, weather tight. Where the fresh studs of the end walls were still open the setting sun slanted in, turning the late afternoon light golden with floating dust motes. The forty-foot space was otherwise empty, or nearly so. The carpenters were gone for the day, the two younger men heading home as Ryan and her uncle Scotty descended the stairs to the kitchen, brushing off sawdust. Joe and Dulcie wandered the sun-warmed space alone, relishing its vastness and the challenge of unconquered heights.

Leaping to a sawhorse then atop a ladder they gained the soaring rafters. From that vantage they could see, through the open ends of the vast room and beyond the tops of the dark oaks, the ocean's breakers blowing with foam. Nearer, just below them, the village rooftops angled cozily, inviting a run across those slanting shingles. On a neighbor's roof a flock of bickering crows shouted and swore. From the outside stairs, Scotty looked up at the cats, and laughed, taking pleasure at the sight of them. The redheaded, red-bearded giant had told the younger carpenters that cats were just as lucky at the site of new construction as were cats on shipboard.

Close around the cats, the warm air smelled sweetly of fresh-cut lumber-and of hickory-scorched beef from the back patio, where Clyde had the rotisserie turning over glowing charcoal, preparing a welcome home dinner for the newlyweds. But when, from the rafters, the cats spotted Harper's truck turn onto the narrow street they galloped down the stairs, pushing into the kitchen through Rube's dog door.

They watched Ryan throw her arms around Charlie then hold her away. "You got back yesterday! You look great! How was the wine country? Did you have lunch at Beaudry's? Isn't it beautiful! You're sunburned."

Charlie laughed. "Like a patchwork quilt. We saw the Jakeses' new addition. We love it, Ryan. It's beautiful. When can you build my studio? Maybe redo the kitchen and enlarge the master bedroom. Or maybe-"

"Anyone home?" Dallas shouted, coming in through the front door with Mike Flannery. Wilma entered just behind them carrying a bakery box under one arm, and the tattercoat kit balanced on her shoulder. She set the box on the kitchen counter, but the kit made no move to jump down or to leap to the top of the refrigerator beside Joe and Dulcie. She clung to Wilma, tucking her face beneath Wilma's chin and would not look up at the two cats. Wilma looked highly amused, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkled. Her long white hair was escaping in tendrils from its clasp and her lipstick was worn away as if she'd hardly had time to tend to her own concerns.

Full of uneasy questions, Joe and Dulcie followed the party as everyone carried plates and silverware and beer out onto the patio. Charlie and Ryan were still deep in conversation. The cats liked seeing Charlie find a woman friend she truly cared for, she'd always been such a loner. They had observed Wilma and her older contemporaries long enough to see the warmth and strength that could evolve from such a sisterhood, a friendship very different from Charlie's solid friendship with Clyde-and now of course her most enduring friendship of all, with Max himself.