Ed Lacy - Shakedown for Murder

“Why?”

“I have some things to do here.”

She shrugged. “Well, if you wish. We'll change and eat in the village.” She started for the bedroom.

“No! I want you both out right now!”

“In our bathing suits? Please, Matt, while I realize how deeply you felt about the cat, I said I was sorry about the accident but....”

“Will you stay the hell out of here! I don't care where you eat—just leave me alone!” I heard the roar of my own voice and Andy's shrill, “Grandpops!”

I suddenly relaxed, got my nerves somewhat under control. Even tried to smile at Bessie as I took her trembling band, told her, “Honey, don't you see, I'm not only thinking about Matty—he's dead and gone. This wasn't any accident. This is a warning.”

“A warning? About what?”

“An attempt to frighten me off the Doc Barnes murder.”

Bessie tried to hide the anxious look mat slipped across her soft face. “But, Matt, that's over, solved.”

“The killer thinks I'm still on the case, didn't fall for that Nelson suicide thing.”

“Matty ate some bad food, that's too bad, but aren't you going overboard trying to connect a simple accident with...?”

“Bessie, Bessie, are you blind? You know what a fussy eater Matty is—was. You commented upon it several times. He wouldn't have eaten that food—I've never seen him jump on the table to steal food in his life! Don't you see, this is a plant, and a clumsy one at that, to scare....” I saw Andy staring up at me with big eyes—and bigger ears. “Andy, without saying a single word to anybody about what's happened, run over to the Johnsons, or whoever has a phone, and call the police. Just tell Roberts I want him up here pronto.”

“Yes, sir!” the boy said, taking off like a sprinter.

I waited until I heard him running down the road.

“Bessie, honey, this isn't any joke—it's damn serious. The killer came around to put the fear of God in me. He found Matty. Suppose he'd found you or Andy?”

Her face said she still didn't believe me. “Matt, doesn't that sound rather—fantastic? The heat spoiled some food and Matty ate it.”

“That's exactly what he wants us to buy—well, no sale! The killer has been riding his luck high, but with Matty he made his first mistake. He couldn't know Matty's eating habits, that Matty would never leap on the table for food.”

“Who knows how hungry the cat was?”

“Look, I certainly know all about his dainty appetite—it's impossible!”

“Now, Matt, be reasonable. I mean Matty could have.... He? You know who the killer is? Why Barnes was killed?”

“I don't know the why, but I have a hell of a strong idea as to who did it Bessie, what are we wasting time and arguing about? Whether you think I'm crazy or not, let's not take any chances. Take Andy over to the Johnsons and stay there for the night. Or until I call for you. I have a lot of work to do here: fingerprints and other clues. Okay?”

“Oh, Matt, you're not making much sense. I think you're....”

“Damn it, honey, what do you know about murder? Listen, at least humor me, even if you think I'm an old fool!”

“Matt, you know I don't think that. I mean, it's simply that.... All right, I'll wait for you at the Johnsons. Can I at least take some meat out of the refrigerator to cook over there?”

“No. After I have it analyzed, I'm throwing out every bit of food here. Forget food, you ate enough clams to last you a week. Honey, just turn right about and get. And don't worry.”

She giggled nervously. “Now you tell me—don't worry! I'll be waiting for you at the Johnsons. Matt, please take care—don't do anything foolish.”

I nodded, watched her cross the porch, go down the steps. It suddenly came to me how right she was: the chips were down and I'd damn well better be a good detective —no more second guessing.

I walked through the house slowly. Things seemed okay. But then he hadn't been hunting for anything—except me. I returned to the table and Matty. There didn't seem to be any skin or blood sticking to his claws. Yet I couldn't see him being manhandled without a fight. His mouth was wide open in a sort of gasp and some of the tomato-red food stuck in his throat. I sniffed at the bowl, the food smelled spicy and good. I took another sniff, bending so low the tip of my nose touched the mess. I jerked my head back, laughing aloud like a goon—the food was cold! I stuck a finger in: it was all cool—proving Bessie hadn't left it out on the table. There wasn't any doubt, it had been deliberate.

There wasn't anything to do until Roberts showed. I brushed away a fly buzzing Matty, washed up at the sink. I went outside, “locking” the screen door. It wasn't a lock, merely a catch.

I dropped in on the three cottages nearest ours. No one had been home in the afternoon—they'd all been at the beach. But he could have easily checked that first... seen me on the sand, too, or out digging those damn clams.

The entire End Harbor police motor pool was parked in front of the cottage—Roberts leaning out of the radio car. He waved a lazy hand at me. “Nobody home. What's all the excitement about now?”

My old distrust of him returned—hard and fast. Not that I thought he did it, but the motive behind everything had to be this small town scandal—and Roberts' main job was to keep a lid on it.

“Come inside,” I said, “unlocking” the screen door. He got out of the car, straightened his shirt, followed me in. When he saw Matty on the table Roberts whistled, pushed his hat back on his head, asked, “Ate some rat poison?”

“No, he was killed.”

“Got to be careful leaving these insecticides around. Too bad. What you want to see me about, Lund?”

“What kind of fingerprint equipment do you have here?”

“Not much—actually nothing to speak of. They've got a complete outfit at Riverside, of course, and Hampton Point. Guess if we ever had any need for taking prints, we could call on them. Why?”

“Why? To see if the killer left any prints!”

Roberts pulled at one of Matty's stiff legs. “What killer? Left what prints?”

“The guy who killed my cat. I think he also killed Doc Barnes and maybe Nelson. It's obvious.”

Roberts gave me a queer look, as if I was nuts. He sat down on a chair, fanning his face with his fancy cap. I asked, “What's the matter with you? If there were prints on the chair, your big ass has smeared them.”

“I'm far from getting the message, Lund,” he corned. “Send it to me slower. Now what about the cat?”

I told him about coming home from the beach, finding Matty dead, added, “But it's all a clumsy job. First off, the food was cool, meaning it hadn't been spoiled—that it was taken out of the icebox recently and poison added. Secondly, it must have been forced down Matty's throat, he never in his life ate off the table. It was done to scare me off.”

“Scare you off what?” Roberts asked, his voice sarcastically polite.

“Come on, Roberts! Off the Barnes killing.”

“Lund, you can't be starting that again? The case is over.”

“The killer doesn't know that! Listen to me, Roberts, before I was sticking my nose in for no real reason, but from now on I'm in with both feet. That's my cat!” He still was looking at me as if waiting for the punchline of a gag. The hell with you, I thought. You won't get off those glamour-pants, you're too much of a jerk. And the devil with trying for prints. Killer would be too smart for that And there wasn't time, anyway.

“Lund, I got a dog I'd flip over if he died. So I can understand why the death of your cat has upset your better judgement, but....”

“Stop it.”