Shirley Murphy - Cat Spitting Mad

"The barrette, Wilma's barrette. Didn't Harper…" Joe stared at Clyde. "Didn't anyone tell Harper about the barrette? The one that Wilma gave Dillon? We found it up at the Pamillon place-the kit found it."

Clyde looked blank.

"I can't believe Harper wouldn't tell you-that someone in the department wouldn't tell him. His own men…"

Clyde laid down the shirt he was clutching. "How do you know this? How do you know it was the barrette Wilma gave her? And that she was wearing it Saturday? If it was the same barrette, she could have lost it anytime. Where on the Pamillon place? She could have been up there weeks ago, fooling around, she-"

"She was wearing it that day, that was in the paper, Clyde. With a description of it-silver, with turquoise bars. Her mother said she was wearing it that morning when she dropped her at Harper's place. And Dillon had it on when she and the Marners met Harper for lunch. The waitress in the cafe remembered it. That was in the paper."

Clyde looked hard at him. "And you found the barrette. After the detectives went over that place three times."

"So?"

"They need to know that, Joe! What did you do with it? You shouldn't move evidence. Why didn't you call the department? You could at least have told me!"

"We didn't move it. We didn't touch it. The department knows about it. What do you think we are, idiots? Why in the world would we move it? Why would we disturb evidence?"

"Cut to the chase, Joe. Did you call the station? Who did you talk to? An anonymous tip right now could really mess Harper up. When was this?"

Joe glared.

Clyde sat down on the bottom bunk, ducking under the top rail. "You didn't call Garza?" He fixed Joe with a cold glare. "You didn't lay one of your anonymous phone tips on Garza. If you start this stuff with Garza…"

"Start what stuff?"

"Start these insane, unwanted, disruptive, and probably illegal telephone calls. If you start that with Garza-"

"If you really need to know, we found the barrette on Tuesday. Garza wasn't here yet. And it wasn't me who informed the department. Nor was it Dulcie."

Rising abruptly, narrowly missing a crack on the head, Clyde snatched a wad of shorts and socks from the top bunk, flung them in the washer, and turned back to scowl at Joe. "Not the kit! You didn't teach that innocent kitten to use the telephone." His face had begun to flush. "Tell me you have not laid your despicable and alarming habits on that little innocent kitten."

"It wasn't the kit. The kit is afraid of phones. She thinks telephones transmit voices from another world."

Clyde let that one go by. "Who, then? Who called the station? Not Wilma. You haven't laid your dirty work on Wilma."

"If you must know, it was Kate. We found the barrette upstairs in the nursery. Kate pretended she found it, and she reported it- told them where to find it. Do you really want to put those red T-shirts in with the white stuff? You have a sudden yearning for pink Jockey shorts?"

Clyde snatched out the offending shirts. For a long moment, both were silent. Then, "You laid that stuff on Kate?"

"For all intents and purposes, Kate found the barrette. She went directly to Molena Point PD, as any law-abiding citizen would do. I'm surprised no one at the station told you or Harper."

"They're not supposed to tell me. They're working a murder case. This is serious business. The department's not supposed to talk to Harper, either."

"Who made that rule? He ought to be able to step back without being completely cut off."

"Lowell Gedding made that rule."

Joe swallowed. "Harper needs to know about the barrette. He needs to know that Dillon got away-at least for a while."

"And I'm elected to tell him."

"Who else?"

"And how do I explain that I came by such information?"

"Kate told you, of course. Fill her in-but get your stories straight." He studied Clyde a moment, then curled up on Rube's blanket and closed his eyes. Let Clyde sort it out.

He hadn't told Clyde about their spying on Stubby Baker, and about Baker's connection to San Quentin. He had to think about that. If Harper knew, he might be so angry, and so hot to follow up, that he'd do something foolish, maybe blow the case himself.

Oh, right. Harper had been a cop all these years, to do something stupid now?

Still, with the pressure on, and Harper so rudely excluded from the information loop, who knew?

This whole scene, Joe thought miserably, made him feel like he was clinging to a broken branch that was about to fall, hard, on the concrete.

Clyde said, "Lowell Gedding has complete confidence in Garza."

Joe opened his eyes. "Confidence in him to do what?"

Clyde glared.

"Confidence that Garza will come up with evidence to clear Harper? Or that Garza will stack the evidence to please those guys on the city council who'd like to see Harper out of there? Who'd like a softer brand of law enforcement?"

"You're letting your imagination run overtime. Harper asked Gedding to call in an investigator. That had to be done, to put Max at arm's length. Harper knows Garza's reputation, he has confidence that Garza will clear him. And if Gedding wanted to dump Harper, why would he call in an outside investigator?"

"Why would he not} Make it look good. Make a solid case against Harper. An investigator who's in Gedding's pocket."

Clyde's brown eyes blazed with indignation, but then with uncertainty.

"Gedding was mighty quick to suggest Garza," Joe said. "He had Garza right on the tip of his tongue, primed and ready, when Harper suggested an outside man."

"How would you know that?"

"I heard him. Dulcie and I heard him."

Clyde poured soap into the washer and slammed the lid, closing his eyes as if in pain. "I don't want to know how you two were able to hear Lowell Gedding and Max Harper, in a private conversation, behind a closed door, inside Lowell Gedding's private office."

Joe Grey smiled. "What I'm telling you, Clyde, is that Gedding came up too fast with the name of Dallas Garza. As if he had it all planned." He sat up straighter, studying Clyde. "Your face is awfully red. You really ought to think about the damage that stress does to the human body. How long since you've had a checkup? You really shouldn't get yourself so tied in knots."

Clyde turned on his heel and left the laundry.

Alone, Joe pawed a nest into Rube's blanket, and settled down, considering his options.

Despite the dangers and drawbacks, moving in with this new detective was the only thing he knew to do, if he wanted a line into Molena Point PD.

He could make a run every day into the squad room. Spend his time underneath Garza's desk-until he got caught and pitched out on his furry ear.

And from beneath the desk, what would he learn? He could hear phone calls and conversations, but he'd get no look at department correspondence or at Garza's notes and reports. And as to interviews, Garza had arranged all his appointments away from the department.

Rolling on his back, he shoved Rube's blanket aside. Long-term surveillance beneath the detective's desk would be about as productive as hunting mice in a bathtub.

He was going to have to move in with Garza, give it a try, hope that Garza brought work home at night, away from the department and from the officers who were close buddies with Max Harper.

He imagined Garza, late in the evenings, making his notes and listening to his tapes in private. Quiet evenings in a cozy cottage, perfect to think over the facts, see how they added up; and a good time to place sensitive phone calls.

Particularly if he meant to frame Harper.

Clyde returned with an armful of sheets, tossing them practically on top of Joe. "What are you grinning about?"