Shirley Murphy: Cat Fear No Evil

"A long, slow process," Clyde said.

"But effective," Dallas said. "We're lucky to have this information; the snitch really put us onto this one. It's a damn sight more than you ever expect to get on these cases."

Garza looked at Max. "It would be nice to have an ID on this snitch. And to know how he operates, how he gets this stuff… how he knows to get it." The detective sipped his beer. "I'd give a lot to know what made him suspect Dorriss in the first place. Or maybe," Garza said, leaning his elbows on the table, "Maybe none of us wants to know. This guy is a gold mine. Sure as hell, no one wants to discourage him."

"Whoever he is," Harper said, "he was shrewd enough to substitute old credit card and gas bills in Dorriss's file for the current ones. Not leave the empty file for Dorriss to spot the minute he opened the drawer."

Lying on the kitchen counter, Joe Grey kept right on washing his paws, though he did allow himself a hidden smile and a glance at Dulcie.

Harper said, "When we went through the house this afternoon, we found five bits of torn paper as well, that match the torn pages of Quinn's notebook. Found them near the hearth in the master bedroom. That," Harper said, smiling, "makes Dorriss a prime candidate not only for the burglaries but for Quinn's death."

"The notebook," Dallas said, "plus a partial fingerprint on Quinn's back doorknob that has been identified as Dorriss's. As if Dorriss may have slipped his glove off for a minute, working on the lock."

"Found a set of lock picks in his dressing room," Harper said, "taped inside a hollow tie rack." The captain smiled. "We've got the evidence, and we're hoping, when we get Consuela back down here, we can get her to talk as well."

Dallas said, "I have a feeling she'll talk, and Hollis, too, to save his neck. Hollis will be facing charges for kidnapping the Greenlaws, as well as vehicular theft. If he thinks it will go easier for him, I'm guessing he'll tell us all he can about his father." Joe Grey watched his human friends finish supper, then he raced with Dulcie and Kit upstairs, up to the rafters, and out to his private tower. The kit came last, dragging her cashmere stole up into the tower where she patted it into a little mound and lay down on it looking smug.

Clyde had replaced the cushions in Joe's tower with new ones. There was no smell left of the black tomcat, and, through Joe's cat door, the breeze off the sea was fresh and cool. Lying on the pillows looking out over the rooftops, Joe thought that the next weeks would be highly interesting, as the Molena Point PD worked on the multitude of charges against Dorriss, Consuela, and Hollis that the district attorney would ultimately prepare for the court.

"And what about Dillon?" the kit said sadly. The little tattercoat was painfully aware of her own part in Dillon's arrest.

"She wasn't booked," Dulcie said. "Didn't you know that, Kit? Leah and Candy were booked. Not Dillon. She was remanded over to the custody of her mother, under Captain Harper's supervision."

"Big deal," Joe said, "if Helen keeps on as she has been."

"I don't think she will," Dulcie said. "Dillon's parents are going away for two weeks, on a cruise. They arranged for Dillon to stay with Max and Charlie. Before you got home, Charlie told us Dillon was up there today, and she and Charlie went riding. Dillon wanted to know if she could still go to work for Ryan. I think that maybe it will come out all right."

Smiling, the kit curled down on her cashmere stole and was soon asleep; and Joe and Dulcie looked at each other contentedly. The next weeks would indeed be interesting, with all the action at the department, with indictments and hearings. But the best thing of all was to be together and to be among family. Dulcie said, "That black beast won't be back?"

"We've seen the last of him," Joe said. "I'd bet on it." He imagined Azrael wandering among dank stone vaults beneath granite skies or maybe only among the cellars and ruined underpinnings of San Francisco, of that many-faceted city. And he looked intently at Dulcie.

"If he did come back here, he wouldn't stay long, Dulcie. Not in our village. We've had enough of his kind."

SHIRLEY ROUSSEAU MURPHYhas received seven national Cat Writers’ Association Awards for best novel of the year, two Cat Writers’ President’s Awards, the “World’s Best Cat Litter-ary Award” in 2006 for the Joe Grey Books, and five Council of Authors and Journalists Awards for previous books. She and her husband live in Carmel, California, where they serve as full-time household help for two demanding feline ladies.

www.joegrey.com

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