John Saul - Black Lightning

“So what are you gonna do?” Rayette asked as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled two cans of Coke off the bottom shelf.

“About what?” Heather asked, taking a tin of cat food out of the cupboard next to the refrigerator.

“About the man you saw.” Rayette popped the tabs on both cans and poured their contents into two large glasses, then dropped into one of the chairs at the big table in the corner of the kitchen. “I mean, what if Kevin’s right?”

Heather scooped a lump of Friskies into Kumquat’s dish. “He didn’t even see me,” she said, giving her voice a lot more conviction than she felt.

“But what if he did?” Rayette pressed. “I mean what if—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Heather set the dish on the floor. Then she frowned as she realized that Kumquat hadn’t been rubbing up against her legs the way she always did while her dish was being filled.

“Come on, girl,” Rayette protested. “If he did see you—” But her friend was no longer paying any attention to her.

“Kumquat?” Heather was calling. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

When the cat didn’t appear immediately, Heather went back to the foyer. “Dad? Is Kumquat back there?”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning,” her father called from the den.

Frowning, Heather went upstairs and checked her room. When she didn’t find the cat there, she searched the rest of the house, then came back to the kitchen. “She’s gone,” she reported to Rayette.

“Maybe she got a look at some big tomcat and went out to get her some,” Rayette suggested, leering lasciviously.

“She’s spayed,” Heather replied.

“So’s my aunt Tanya, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still like it,” Rayette retorted.

“Rayette!” Heather groaned. She opened the back door and once more called out for the missing cat. “Kumquat! Come on, kitty. Supper’s ready.”

Kevin and Boots came into the kitchen, the dog instantly spotting the open door and seizing an opportunity to make a break for freedom. Heather moved to slam it closed before the dog could dart through, but Kevin stopped her.

“It’s okay. Dad told me to take him outside.”

“Look around for Kumquat, okay?” Heather asked.

“He’s your cat — you look for her,” Kevin argued, but quickly changed his mind when he saw the glint in his sister’s eye. “Okay, okay.”

“Maybe we all ought to go hunt for her,” Heather said.

“Let’s just finish our Cokes, and if she still hasn’t shown up, then we can go look for her,” Rayette countered.

Deciding it would be easier to go along with Rayette than try to argue with her, Heather sank onto the chair opposite her friend. Where could the cat have gone? True, she let Kumquat out every morning and every night, but the cat never stayed outside very long, and always spent most of the day sleeping on her bed. Then she noticed the door to the basement wasn’t shut quite tight. Abandoning her Coke, she went to the door, pulled it open and looked down the stairs.

The usual darkness of the cellar was broken by a glow of white light. Her father must have gone down there sometime during the day, and if Kumquat found the door open, her curiosity alone would have made her go through it. “Kumquat?” Heather called again, starting down the stairs. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, Kumquat!” Coming to the bottom of the stairs, Heather scanned the room for the cat. Neither seeing nor hearing anything, she crossed to the workbench, reaching for the string that would shut off the glaring fluorescent light. Just as her fingers closed on the string, her eyes fell on something sitting on top of the workbench.

A large, furry bug with bright green wings.

Startled, Heather jumped back, then realized it wasn’t a bug after all. But what was it? Reaching out, she gingerly picked the object up. Turning it over, she saw the needle-sharp point of the fishhook protruding from the mass of fur, and immediately felt like an idiot for being frightened by a fishing fly. On the other hand, if it had made her jump, what would happen if she tossed it at Rayette, who was terrified of bugs? Taking the fly with her, she turned the light off and went back up the stairs, closing the door behind her. Approaching the table with an exaggerated nonchalance, she grinned at Rayette. “Want to see what I found?” Without waiting for a reply, she tossed the fly onto the table, eliciting a gratifyingly loud shriek from her friend. Catching on to the joke even as her screech died away, Rayette was about to vent her outrage on Heather when Kevin called from behind the garage.

“Heather? Hey, Heather! Com’ere, quick!”

Responding to the urgency in his voice, both girls ran down the back steps and out into the yard. As they rounded the corner of the garage, they stopped short. Kevin was squatting on the ground, holding a growling Boots in his arms. Hearing them behind him, Kevin turned and looked up at his sister, his face ashen.

“Bootsie found her.” He was breathing hard, fighting tears. “Just like he found Mrs. Cottrell this morning.”

Her heart pounding, Heather moved closer to her brother, praying she wasn’t going to see what she already knew must be there.

Lying half hidden under the wooden decking that supported the trash barrels was Kumquat.

Her fur was matted with blood and her chest was torn open.

Instinctively, Heather started toward her pet, but Rayette stopped her. “Don’t, Heather,” she whispered. “Don’t even touch her. Just leave her where she is, and let’s call the police.”

Sobbing, unable even to speak, Heather let Rayette lead her back to the house. They came through the back door just as Heather’s mother came in the front. While the two girls were still blurting out what they’d found behind the garage, Anne was dialing the police.

Mark Blakemoor was considering whether to knock off at five like a normal human being, or go on working until he’d caught up with the stack of files that seemed to grow on his desk at an inexorable rate. Glancing up at the clock on the wall of the tiny cubicle he and Lois Ackerly shared, he saw that he still had ten minutes before he’d actually have to make a decision. He returned his attention to the open folder in front of him. It was nothing more interesting than a copy of Joyce Cottrell’s Group Health personnel record, in which he’d been hunting for something — any little scrap of information that might indicate she’d had an enemy. The problem with Cottrell, though, was that she not only didn’t appear to have any enemies, but hadn’t appeared to have any friends, either. Even her employment jacket didn’t have much to say about her. She’d been working at Group Health for better than twenty years, and in all that time, had accumulated neither praise nor criticism. Apparently she did her job well enough to keep it, but never showed enough initiative to be promoted, either.

Tossing the file aside, he turned his attention to Lois Ackerly, who was already clearing her desk in preparation for an on-time departure, instantly annoying him, though he couldn’t have said whether it was the fact that she was leaving on time that irritated him or that she had someone to go home to.

Reflexively, he glanced at the spot where a picture of his ex-wife had once sat. Except, instead of seeing a picture of Patsy Blakemoor in his mind, it was Anne Jeffers’s image that popped out of his subconscious. Got to stop that, he told himself. More to get Anne’s image out of his mind than because he really wanted to talk about it, he asked Lois Ackerly if she’d had any more luck with her investigation into Joyce Cottrell’s background than he’d had with his.