Shirley Murphy - Cat Spitting Mad

Harper nodded and hugged her. The cats had never seen him so tender-as if his own predicament had stripped the cop veneer away for the moment, left him vulnerable.

"The second figure, Dillon. Could you identify the second man? The man in black? Did you recognize him?"

"No, just someone in black, hitting Ruthie. I never saw his face.

"But Crystal knew there were two men. Said she was hiding me from both." She yawned, her eyes blinking closed. "When she locked me up, I knew I'd been stupid to come with her. But then it was too late."

Harper turned off the tape recorder. "It won't be long, we'll get you home. You're safe now. Climb in the bunk and get some rest." He grinned at her. "You did good, Dillon. I'm proud of you. And whoever comes down those stairs, Charlie and I are armed." He grinned. "And mean-tempered."

Charlie helped Dillon up the rusty ladder and fixed her blanket over her. And the kit crept close, snuggling her head under Dillon's chin. Dillon was gone at once, in deep, exhausted sleep.

Dulcie crouched near, on the foot of the bunk, idly swinging her tail, watching the sleeping child and the sleeping kit. Below her on the cold floor, Harper and Charlie sat close together, their backs to the wall, watching the black, empty root cellar and the open rim of the earthslide. They looked, Dulcie thought, as if they belonged together.

When Joe leaped up to stretch out beside Dulcie, across the mouse-chewed mattress, he lay with every sense alert, every muscle tense, watching and listening; and Dulcie, too, felt safe.

She was just drifting off when Harper said, "How did you find her, Charlie? I didn't want to question her anymore. Did she manage to get to a phone? That brief version you gave me while we were switching cars didn't make a lot of sense."

"She was locked in that tiny room under the stairs, Max. Pitch dark, no windows. No light, no running water. A mattress on the floor. I'm surprised she's in as good a shape as this. She's a tough child."

He looked hard at Charlie. "So now we've had a little diversion. How did you know she was there?"

"Max, you won't believe this."

The captain was quiet. Above them, Joe and Dulcie watched Charlie, ready to yowl and start a fight if she said too much. Would Charlie, in a heady moment of closeness with Max Harper, be tempted to betray them? Share secrets with Harper that later, with a clearer head, she would wish she could swallow back?

She won't, Dulcie thought. Not Charlie, not ever.

But when she glanced at Joe, he didn't look so sure.

"Max, I had a dream. It was so real I woke up sweating, terrified."

Harper's profile went rigid. That hard, ungiving cop look, that I-know-you're-lying look that Joe Grey knew too well.

"It was like Dillon was right there, her face in my face, shouting in my face. We were in a dark, tiny room-all concrete. She was so frightened, was beating at the door-right in my face, beating and pounding on the door, shouting, 'Let me out! Please, Crystal, let me out of here!'

"I've never had a dream like that, not so real."

Harper's profile didn't change. He wasn't buying this.

"I sat up. Knew I couldn't go back to sleep. I thought of phoning Crystal, and knew I daren't do that. I got up, threw on some clothes, and headed for Crystal's. I knew it was crazy, but I couldn't help going.

"Crystal left as I was coming around the corner, I saw her car pull out. I was scared she had Dillon with her.

"I had a hammer in my hand, from my toolbox. I went to the side door, under the house. I was going to smash the glass but it was unlocked, like she forgot to lock it."

On the top bunk, Joe grinned at Dulcie. Charlie was doing it up right, she even had him believing. He was mighty glad he had, on the second try, managed to slide that bolt.

"I found the door under the stairs, I knew she was there. It was the place I'd dreamed of. All I could think was, get her out of there, get her away."

She looked at Max, lifted her hand to touch his face. "I drove the bolt back, got her out, and we ran."

Harper looked hard at Charlie. He said nothing.

"What, Max? She's a very tough little girl." She rose and stepped to the bunks, stood looking at the sleeping child, raised her eyes to the cats, and winked. Then turned back to sit beside Harper.

"This Dallas Garza, Max. What is he doing? Is he helping you? Is he honest? Does he talk to you? What does he tell you?"

"He's doing his job, Charlie. He's not supposed to keep me informed-though as a matter of fact, we had a talk yesterday.

"I asked him if Mr. Berndt had filed a report or tendered informal information regarding the case. Garza said not to his knowledge."

Harper eased his back against the concrete wall. "When I was in the grocery yesterday, Mr. Berndt apologized for acting like an old woman about the groceries. I asked him what he meant."

He reached for a cigarette, forgetting he'd quit, then dropped his hand. "Seems Berndt told Wendell, couple of days ago, that he'd noticed Crystal Ryder was suddenly buying a lot more groceries-peanut butter, kid cereal, a lot of kid food. That it made him curious. From what he'd observed, Crystal lives on salads, yogurt, and an occasional steak.

"Berndt had asked one of Crystal's neighbors, a real talkative woman, if Crystal had a child visiting. Molly-Molly Gersten. Molly hadn't seen a child. She can see the front of Crystal's apartment, the front door and windows, from her kitchen.

"Berndt thought it was interesting enough to call the station. Wendell was on the desk, and Berndt gave him the information. Wendell told him he'd pass it on at once, to Detective Garza.

"Garza said he never got it."

Charlie nodded. "Tonight, Wendell stopped Crystal when they were chasing and firing at us. But then he let them go. He had to have heard the shots. But he let them go." She turned to look at him. "What are you going to do?"

"About Wendell?" Harper looked deeply at her. "Time, Charlie. Time, patience, and a cool head."

"I'm not long on patience or a cool head." She studied his face. "Who do you think killed them?"

"Maybe Baker. Maybe Lee Wark. Maybe Crystal."

"Not Wendell."

"Wendell is a follower, not a very bold type. Easily influenced. I inherited him on the force-should have sent him packing."

"But who do you think attacked them-and almost killed Dillon?" she said softly.

"Charlie, you know I can't make that kind of premature call. It muddies the waters. Makes a case harder to work."

"But that's the problem. You're not working this case. Your own future is at stake and your hands are tied. You're not allowed to dig out the facts."

"And that is as it should be."

"I wouldn't be worth a damn as a cop. I'd be champing at the bit all the time, wanting to hurry up an investigation, get to the bottom line."

Harper looked at her a long time, a look so intimate that Dulcie looked away, embarrassed. "You might," Harper said, "make a good cop's wife."

Charlie's face went totally red.

"Well," he said gently, "you can cook and clean. Repair the roof and the plumbing, feed and care for the horses, even train a dog or two. In fact, come to that, you're not a bad shot, either." He reached to his belt. "I'll try the radio, see if we can get a line on Clyde-though I doubt we'll get much, this far underground."

Charlie leaned forward to tie her shoe, as if getting control of herself.

Harper's hand was on his radio when, atop the bunk, Joe Grey froze, watching the short stair and the black cellar beyond. A faint brushing sound, too faint for human ears. Hissing, unable to avoid a low growl, he took off up the steps and up the stairs beyond.

Behind him, Harper extinguished the light and palmed his automatic. Charlie moved to follow Joe, but Harper pulled her back, shoved her to a crouching position at the side of the fallen door. Only Dulcie followed him, racing into the night.