Shirley Murphy - Cat Breaking Free

The elevator did not return. But suddenly Chichi came hurrying around the corner from the stairs-maybe she rang for it, then ran up, too impatient to wait. She paused at the open door, watching Dallas and the uniforms.

Frightened that she might be armed, Dulcie was about to shout a warning and then run, when she heard Captain Harper's voice coming up the stairs behind Chichi. Dulcie caught her breath, shocked, as the two came along the hall together, talking softly like a couple of old friends.

They entered Slayter's room, pushing the door nearly closed. Now, with the beat of jazz filling the street outside, she could barely hear them. Dallas was saying "… found him lying on the bed, curled up on his side like that, moaning like a stuck pig. He may have broken ribs. The shoulder looks dislocated."

Dulcie crept nearer, peering through the crack into Slayter's room. "Those scratches on his face and back," Dallas said. "Exactly like Hernando." The detective looked at Chichi. But when he said, "You have any idea what could have made them?" Dulcie lost her nerve and fled again, back up the stairs to the roof.

On the rooftops, Joe was awash in Tiger Rag and then Tailgate Ramble; if Dulcie were there, her paws would be twitching. He was edgy with worry about her. As he approached the leather shop, he spotted one of Harper's stakeouts, and drew back. But when he saw no action he moved on to the first jewelry store on Harper's list. Molena Point had as many jewelry stores as art galleries, both important elements in the village economy. Tourists loved going home with a painting or a bracelet or necklace to remind them of their bright vacation.

Lingering near the jewelry store was a pair of cops dressed as carefree tourists, mingling with the crowd. No one would notice their sidearms beneath those loose shirts. Most of the officers on loan from other towns had been paired with Harper's men, who knew the streets. He saw Officer Cameron, just up the street, dressed in ragged jeans and a long, loose sweater, her straight blond hair kinked into a curly mop. She limped only slightly from her gunshot wound. Beside her, Officer Crowley tried to ease Cameron's way through the crowd, his big bony hands and the thrust of his muscled shoulders slow and deliberate. His loose denim jacket might hide any sort of weapon, and very likely his camera. The two officers wandered among the crowd, brandishing big paper cups, half dancing to the jazz beat; they paused near two of the selected shops. Above them Joe Grey paced the roof.

He was edgy for the action to begin-and for Dulcie to catch up with him. He missed Kit, too, even though she would be sure to complicate matters. Lucinda was trying to keep her in, said she wanted Kit tucked up safe tonight. Who knew how long that would last? Though in truth, the little cat had seemed worn out, hardly objecting to Lucinda's bullying-grieving over the departure of her clowder. He was thinking hard of the kit, hoping she was all right, when something nudged his shoulder and a dark shape emerged from the shadows, her eyes wide.

"What are you doing, Joe? No one told me! Where's Dulcie? It's happening! Why didn't you tell me! It's coming down," she whispered boldly. "The st…"

Hushing her, Joe shouldered her away from the roof's edge. "Don't even say the word. Come on." He led her into a crevice between two peaks where they could talk. It took him some time to fill her in, twice that to appease her.

"But why didn't you tell me? I could help, I can…"

"That's just it. There's nothing more to do. You've already done more than your share. Without your information, Kit, this would never have happened. If it wasn't for you, the cops wouldn't have a clue! You're already a hero."

"But…"

"We thought you'd like to rest."

She looked at him as if he was crazy; she wasn't buying this. He licked her ear, explaining how worried they'd been about her, how glad that she was safe, that she'd escaped Stone Eye. It took a long time of coddling before she smiled again and made up, and followed him silently across the roofs. They were approaching another of the targeted jewelry stores when they spotted Officer Brennan wandering through the crowd, eating an ice-cream cone.

How different a man could look with a simple change of clothes. Instead of his dark uniform, Brennan wore a flowered shirt and a slouch hat. He looked thinner in the bright, loose shirt, but more florid. Half a block behind Brennan, rookie Jimmie McFarland wandered and gawked; he was dressed in a bright plaid sport coat and carrying a clarinet case, a big grin on his face. The two officers paused half a block apart, Brennan looking in the window of a golf shop, McFarland idly striking up a conversation with a pretty young tourist.

All over the village Harper's men were in place among the crush of civilians and with strict instructions not to fire their weapons, to use only a taser if such force was absolutely needed. That had to be stressful. And surely they'd got the word that three of their group had been spotted.

As the two cats crouched on the veranda of a penthouse above a leather shop, they saw tall, beanpole Officer Blake come around the corner, carrying a trombone case and a clarinet case. He'd have camera stuff in the trombone case; but Blake did play a mean clarinet. Joe watched three women in short skirts with amazement. Officer Davis was hardly recognizable out of her dark, severe uniform. In a miniskirt over those pale, stocky legs, Davis was not an appealing sight. All three women wore boots that could hide a weapon. He glanced at Kit. "What are you grinning about. You're not laughing at Davis."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't. It just seems so strange. Disguised cops, disguised crooks, and civilians mingling all together in the bars and restaurants. Like a story…"

"Luis won't think it's a story," Joe said darkly. They heard, in the distance, a Count Basie number echoing out from the Molena Point little theater where there was a Basie concert, his music copied by a new generation of jazzmen. It was perhaps six-thirty when, quietly among the crowds, the crooks began to move.

Slayter lay uncomfortably on a stretcher, staring up at Garza as the detective read him his rights. Captain Harper and Chichi Barbi stood near the door. From across the hall, Dulcie watched, drawing back behind the ice machine only as Garza finished and the two paramedics carried the stretcher out, accompanied by two armed officers. Harper and Chichi stepped out behind them and stood in the hall, talking. Behind them in the room, Garza was collecting evidence. Dulcie still hadn't figured it all out, except that Chichi didn't seem to be under suspicion for anything. That, while she was passing her snoop lists to Luis, Chichi had given copies to Harper.

Dulcie had watched Garza drop Slayter's cell phone into an evidence bag, and then Slayter's gun. She had watched the two officers search the hole in the corner, removing the plywood, shining their flashlights down into it and feeling back underneath the wiring, then dusting the plywood and wiring for prints. As happened so many times, she could only pray there were no paw prints or cat hairs.

Dallas had already printed the room before Chichi entered, and had bagged Slayter's clothing and personal items. He had photographed the scratch wounds on Slayter's face and back, and that was stressful for Dulcie. What did he think? What did he wonder? Now, in the hall, he asked Chichi, "You said you know nothing about how he fell? And about how he got those scratches?"

Chichi shook her head. "I didn't see it, I was in the village with Luis. He was talking with Slayter, on his cell. Slayter was describing one of your men. He… then he screamed, then a bang as if he'd dropped the phone, and Luis couldn't rouse him. The line was dead, Luis dialed him back and got the message recording. That's when he sent me to see what happened. How did he fall?"