Shirley Murphy - Cat in the Dark

"My partner saw her hide this. He loves looking in windows. He's a regular voyeur." Withdrawing the contents of the envelope, he spread it across the chenille. Joe looked down from the dresser as Dulcie leaped up onto the bed. They studied with interest an airline ticket, a fistful of credit cards, and three driver's licenses.

The airline ticket was partially used, the stub indicating that the holder had traveled from Georgia to L.A., then L.A. to Molena Point. The date of arrival was about the time Pearl Ann had applied for a job with Charlie. The return portion didn't show any reservation. The ticket had been issued in the name of a Troy Hoke.

There was a Georgia driver's license and a Visa and social security cards for Troy Hoke, a second set for a Terrill John, a third set for William Skeel. The pictures were all of the same man: a thin, familiar face, long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. There was no ticket, and no license or charge card or ID for Pearl Ann; presumably she had her cards with. her. Greeley leaned against the dresser, giggling.

Dulcie looked the cards over with widening eyes, her ears sharp forward, her tail twitching. Suddenly she leaped for the closet.

But Joe was ahead of her, sniffing at the lineup of shoes.

"All the same size," Joe said.

"And all the same stink," she replied. The cats looked at each other, their eyes dark with excitement.

Greeley began to laugh.

"You got it, you cats. You got it! You been looking for Pearl Ann Jamison." He guffawed, emitting rum-laced fumes, rocking back and forth.

"You got it. This Pearl Ann Jamison," Greeley shouted, spittling rum-laden spray, "this Pearl Ann fits them Jockey shorts just fine."

AT THREE A.M., Max Harper pulled into Sam's All Night Burger up on Highway One. He'd been looking for Mavity Flowers but, spotting Clyde's yellow '29 Chevy, he had wheeled in and parked beside it. He sat a moment admiring the car's gleaming finish and boxy, trim lines. Clyde had been working on this one for two years, and she was a beauty. Not many women had this much attention lavished on them-or turned out as elegant, either.

Clipping his phone to his belt beside his radio, he locked the unit and headed into the restaurant. Stopping at the counter to order cherry pie and coffee, he moved on back, where Damen sat hunched over a sandwich and coffee. Sliding into the booth, he picked up the menu out of habit. "Any luck?"

Clyde shook his head. He looked dead for sleep. "Not a sign of Mavity. And I haven't seen Wilma or Charlie for a while. If either one found her, they'd take her back to Wilma's. Her phone doesn't answer."

"I saw Wilma around midnight, up on Ridgeview. She had hoped Bernine would ride with her, said she guessed Bernine had gone out."

"Only Bernine Sage would party while her latest love interest lies cold in the morgue."

"He isn't her love interest anymore-he's no use to her now." Harper reached for a cigarette, tamped it, stuck it in his mouth unlit. "I wired Atlanta on this Warren Cumming. As Mavity said, charges against Cumming were dropped. His partner, Troy Hoke, was convicted, did a year for theft by fraud against Dora and Ralph Sleuder and five other victims. He's been out just over six months.

"Shortly after Hoke's trial, Cumming left the state. Gave a Florida forwarding address, a private postal box. Forfeited on the lease of his Atlanta apartment, closed his bank account, took the balance in cash."

"Big money?"

"Very small. I'm guessing he had larger accounts in other names and that the Florida move was a red herring."

Billie, the straw-blond night waitress, brought Harper's pie and coffee. She was sixtyish and smelled of stale cigarettes, her thin face dry and deeply lined. Setting the pie down, she spilled cherry juice on the table. Scowling, saying nothing, she wiped it up.

"What's with you?" Harper said.

"Fight with LeRoy," she said shortly. She looked hard at Harper. "What's with these guys? Does he have to mess around with that stupid motorcycle all the time?"

"Better than another woman," Harper told her.

"I don't know, Max. Perfume is easier to get out of the laundry than grease."

Harper tried to look sympathetic. When she'd gone, Clyde said, "Why doesn't she leave him?"

"Never will. She just likes bitching about him." But he looked distressed, too. Despite dealing with the dregs of the world, Harper never got used to people staying in a bad marriage. His own happy marriage had ended far too soon, when Millie died of cancer; he didn't have a lot of sympathy for people who put up with anything less than a completely wonderful union. To Max's way of thinking, it was better to be alone. He tasted his pie, ate half of it before he spoke again.

"After Hoke was released, he received several phone calls to his Atlanta apartment." He glanced up at Clyde. "All were placed from the Sleuders' phone. And a few days after the last call, he left the state. That was four months ago."

Clyde had stopped eating, was quiet.

"Shortly before the Sleuders flew out here on vacation, they placed several calls to a Molena Point pay phone a block from the Davidson Building.

"The way I see it, Dora Sleuder stumbled onto Cumming's whereabouts by chance. Try this: Dora makes a casual phone call to her aunt-evidently they talked once or twice a month, family stuff, keeping in touch. During the conversation, Mavity mentions her new investment counselor, brags about how well she's doing.

"She tells Dora how wonderful Jergen is and describes him- you know Mavity, going on about Jergen's youthful looks and silver hair. The description fits Cumming, and Dora starts asking questions."

Clyde nodded. "Like, how old is he? How does he dress and talk? How he furnishes his office, what kind of car he prefers…"

"Exactly. Now assume that Mavity's description was so much like Cumming that it got Dora and Ralph wondering, made them decide to check up on this Jergen."

"But…"

"They knew that Hoke was just out of prison-they'd kept track of him. And they knew he'd be burning to get at Cumming, for setting him up. Hoke did all the time for that scam. Cumming didn't do a lick.

"Dora and Ralph decide that this Jergen could be Warren Cumming, and they sick Hoke on him, encourage Hoke to come on out here and take a look."

"But how did they find Hoke? Through his parole officer?"

Harper nodded. "We have the parole officer's phone record, and we've talked with him. He remembers a woman calling him, said she was Hoke's niece, that Hoke had some things of her mother's that he'd put away before he went to prison, that she wanted to get them back. Parole officer wouldn't disclose any information, but he took her phone number, passed it on to Hoke-he's obliged to do that. Figures he'll watch developments. This officer keeps good records, the Sleuders' number was there in his logbook.

"So Hoke calls Dora, and she tells him about Winthrop Jergen. According to Hoke's phone bill, they talk for over an hour. The next day Hoke moves out of his apartment, leaves Atlanta."

Harper slipped a photograph from his pocket, handed it across.

The man in the picture was thin and pale. Light brown hair, long and tied back. One low shoulder. A bony face, thin eyebrows.

Clyde stared. "The guy who hangs around the apartments. Mavity calls him 'the watcher.' This is Troy Hoke?"

"Yep. And we have Hoke's prints, from the Atlanta file." He mopped up cherry juice with a forkful of crust.

"Did they match the prints from the murder scene?"

"The only prints we got at the scene were for Jergen himself, and for Mavity and Charlie."

"You didn't get Pearl Ann's prints? They should be all over the place. She cleaned for him regularly, and she did the repairs. Except…" Clyde thought a minute. "Pearl Ann wears gloves. Has some allergy. Gloves to work on the Sheetrock, to clean, to paint."