Shirley Murphy - Cat Pay the Devil

As Clyde dished up their omelets, Joe pushed the paper around, facing Clyde’s plate. Far be it from him to hog the morning news. Twitching an ear at Clyde by way of thanks for an elegant omelet, he glanced down at Rube’s empty place on the floor, as he had done every morning since they’d had to put the old Lab down. And, as he did every morning, before he started to eat he said a little cat prayer for Rube that he supposed was just as valid for dogs.

Then he set to on the omelet, as ravenous as if he couldn’t remember his last meal. He ate slurping and enjoying, then at last gave his whiskers and paws a hasty wash, another flick of the ears for Clyde, and he was off-up the stairs, onto Clyde’s desk, up onto the rafter and out through his rooftop cat door. He paused in his tower for a hasty drink where the water was cool from sitting out all night; then he was out his tower window and across the roofs heading for Molena Point PD.

F ollowing the smell of sugar doughnuts, Joe padded silently into Molena Point PD on the heels of Mabel Farthy, who was carrying a bakery box. Behind the dispatch counter, a thin, redheaded young officer Joe didn’t know looked over at the tomcat and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s all right,” Mabel told him. “The cat has clearance.” The officer laughed and rose to leave, going off shift, turning the electronic domain back to Mabel. He reached out tentatively to pet Joe, stood stroking him as he filled Mabel in on late night’s events.

Last night’s excitement had all happened on Mabel’s eight-to-twelve shift. The after-midnight calls had been tamer: a few drunks, a loud teenage party, and two domestic disturbances that made Joe prick up his ears, though both had been settled peaceably. When the officer left, Mabel sorted through the faxes, yawning. Her dyed blond hair wasn’t quite as neat as usual, and her uniform was a little mussed. She hadn’t had much sleep, having been on duty last night and then doubling back this morning. She yawned again, came out from behind the counter, and went down the hall with the doughnut box. Joe could hear her filling the big coffee urn. From the counter, he watched her move on to Max’s office, heard her fill his smaller coffeepot from the bottle of water on the credenza, and the special brand of coffee he liked. Outside the glass front door, cars were pulling into the parking area that the PD shared with the courthouse offices. Soon, among other arriving officers, Harper and Dallas came in, heading down the hall, and turned into Max’s office.

Dropping soundlessly off the counter, Joe slipped along behind them and inside, under the credenza. Maybe they knew he was there, maybe they didn’t. Harper poured two mugs of freshly brewed coffee, handed one to Garza, and sat down at his desk. He turned on the computer, then opened the three hard-copy files that lay on his blotter. Garza sat down on the leather couch and removed a clipboard and file from his briefcase. Beneath the credenza, on the Oriental rug, Joe curled up, so full of omelet he didn’t even hunger for a doughnut.

The third murder, having occurred last evening, just before Max learned that Charlie was missing, hadn’t received much of the chief’s attention. Among the papers Dallas took from his briefcase was a copy of the coroner’s report on Peggy Milner.

“It was the next-door neighbors,” Dallas said, “the Barbers, who made the call.” He rose to refill their coffee mugs. “Bern says the knife we found didn’t kill her, though very likely it was used on her. Apparently, no prints, it was wiped clean. I sent it to the lab to see what they can do. There are flecks of dried blood between the blade and the handle. Bern says a wider, heavier weapon killed her, struck her in the throat.”

Max made a sound of disgust. Beneath the credenza, Joe shivered. The older he got and the more he learned about humans, the better he liked his own feline cousins.

“Milner is an insurance representative,” Dallas said. “Got home late, said he’d had three evening appointments. I took the information off his client files and time sheet, and we’ve talked with two of the three. Third guy, a builder, is up the coast this morning picking up some plumbing, should be on his way home by now. The first two check out okay. The builder was Milner’s first appointment last night, just about the time his wife was killed.

“Bern thinks the killer wore leather gloves; he found flecks of something like leather in the wound, maybe from an edge of rough-cut leather. Waiting for the lab on that.” Dallas sipped his coffee. “Again, like the other two cases, no sign of a break-in. The front door was unlocked. Milner said she often forgot to lock it.” Dallas shook his head. “No sensible woman, in a house alone, leaves the door unlocked.”

“Unless she’s expecting company.”

Dallas nodded. “There’s no indication, so far, that she had an outside interest.”

“Nothing from the Milners’ other neighbors?”

“Only the Barbers. They can see the Milner kitchen window from their kitchen. Mrs. Barber saw Peggy in there preparing her dinner. Ten minutes later Mrs. Barber was watching TV, and when she saw there was a movie on that Peggy liked, she phoned her.

“There was no answer. She tried again in a few minutes, tried three times. The light was still on in the kitchen, but now the blind had been pulled. She said it was unlike Peggy, not to answer. Told her husband she was going over to see what was wrong. He said not to do that, told her to call 911. She told him that was silly, and she went on over. Walked in the unlocked front door, found Peggy on the kitchen floor, bleeding. Ran home, and her husband made the call.”

Dallas looked down beneath the credenza where Joe Grey lay curled up pretending to sleep. “You might as well come out of there, tomcat, make yourself at home.” He looked up at Max. “Cat’s staying out of the way this morning. Funny, he almost seems to know when things are real busy.”

Joe smiled to himself, rolled over beneath the credenza, and appeared to go back to sleep.

“Thanks for last night,” Max said, “for putting the horses up and fixing supper with Ryan. You two could have stayed and eaten with us.”

Dallas laughed. “We ate half the chili while we were putting it together. You two needed time alone.”

“Charlie wasn’t too worn out to spoil her appetite. She ate almost that whole pot, and half a dozen tortillas.”

Dallas smiled. “I have to admit, my half-Irish niece makes pretty good Mexican soul food.”

“Charlie drank one beer with supper, fell into bed. I’d hardly put out the light and she was gone, snoring in my arms.” He looked a minute at Dallas. “That dog, last night. I never saw an untrained dog track like that. He went wild when he saw Charlie down there; Ryan had put my lariat on him, and he was jerking and fighting to get to Charlie.”

“Ryan and I talked about that. I think Rock’s worth training.”

“Could be. He had a bad start in life, but he has plenty of potential. What about the neighbors on the other side of the Milners’? Anything there?”

“No one home. That’s a second residence. Karen and James Blean. Gone most of the time. Peggy Milner takes-took-care of their yard and watered it for them, and she had a key to their garage.”

Max looked at Dallas with interest.

“I got the key from Milner last night, took a look. Not much in there, a few garden tools, a small workbench, a new roll of hose. No cupboards, nowhere to hide a weapon.”

Max nodded.

“No attic access. Some paint cans stacked under the workbench, and one of the cans had been opened recently. I asked Milner about it. He said his wife had borrowed a bit of white paint to touch up a scratch on their kitchen wall; he showed me where.