The Cat, The Professor And The Poison

Twenty-six

Shawn arrived at eight the next morning, before Kara and Candace were even awake. The coffee was on, and he smelled it the minute I let him in through the back door.

Merlot and Syrah were at his feet almost immediately, and he knelt down to greet them. They adored Shawn, seemed to love the way his strong hands massaged them. They probably missed John’s masculine touch, and Shawn’s kind of petting seemed to make up for their loss a tiny bit. “Where’s Chablis?” he asked.

“She has become Dame Wiggins’s protector and groomer, and a second mother to those kittens. That’s how I found the microchip. Chablis thinks she can lick the thing out of Dame Wiggins.”

Shawn laughed, and after he’d given both cats an equal share of attention, he stood and said, “Tell me there’s enough coffee for me, ’cause it smells good enough for me to wade across a cold river to get some.”

I filled a large mug and handed it to him.

“This might just get me through the day,” he said.

I picked up a stack of cat quilts-I always have quilts squirreled away for emergencies. “These are for your new rescues. They’ll need some comfort. I’ll set them by the door so you don’t forget them.”

Shawn smiled. “Every cat goes home with a quilt since I met you. Thank you, lady.” He held up his scanner. “Now lead me to Dame Wiggins.”

I set the quilts by the small table at the back door, and we went downstairs with Merlot and Syrah leading the way. But cats learn quickly, and the boys stopped in the middle of the game room and sat down.

“What’s with them?” Shawn said as we went to the bedroom.

“That’s as far as they’re allowed to go, according to their boss, Chablis,” I said.

He smiled. “Your cats have the craziest personalities, Jillian,” he said as he went into the bedroom. He had brought his coffee and took a hefty swig.

“They are the best cats on the planet,” I said.

Chablis was curled up with the kittens, and Dame Wiggins was napping. Wiggins lifted her head and meowed when we came close. But Chablis wasn’t sure she liked this invasion and was on her feet and between Shawn and Dame Wiggins in an instant.

We both knelt, and all it took was a few strokes from Shawn and Chablis started purring. She even plopped down and turned over on her back. Yup, all the cats loved Shawn.

Before scanning Dame Wiggins, he scratched her under her chin, and she, too, began to purr. I took this opportunity to gently pet the kittens Chablis wanted all to herself.

Shawn searched with his fingers and found the small lump. “Yup. She’s got one all right. This might be good news for someone.” He held the scanner over the area, pressed a button and then looked at the display.

And appeared totally confused.

“Something’s wrong,” he said.

“With your scanner?” I asked.

“Maybe. I should get a number, one we can match in a database. But there’s no number. Just a bunch of computer gibberish.” He felt around again. “This is bigger than any chip I’ve ever implanted, too.”

“All the chips are the same?” I said.

“Not exactly the same, but never this big,” he said.

“So what do we do now?” I said.

“Like I mentioned, Doc Howard is due in this afternoon to help me immunize and test the new cats that have arrived. Mind if we come back? He’s more up on this microchip system than I am,” he said. “I just know how to put them in and do the paperwork.”

“That would be great. I had another question, though,” I said.

“About Dame Wiggins? She looks great, and those kittens seem healthy just by looking at them, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

“It’s not that. It’s about animal activist groups,” I said.

“Oh.” He held up his mug. “Then that information can only be bought with more coffee.”

I laughed, and we went upstairs.

Once Shawn and I were settled at the kitchen table, both of us with fresh coffee, I said, “Tell me what you know about these groups.”

“Um, that might take all day, and I’ve got to get back to the sanctuary.” He held the mug between both his hands, looking distracted now.

“There are some who believe animals shouldn’t be domesticated at all-shouldn’t be kept by people, right?” I said.

“Very true. Those are the worst kind. You know why?” His tone was harsh now.

“Why?” I said.

“Because they just want to dump them. They don’t really care about the animals. It’s all political. They think they know how all of us should live our lives. Man, do not get me started on those types.”

“Are there any of those types around here?” I said.

“Probably. But you know, when I saw that meat in the professor’s house, I was thinking this was about the raw-food movement. That’s what he was feeding them, right? Raw food?”

I shook my head, confused. “What?”

“You have to know about the raw-food people, Jillian. You’re smart about everything that has to do with cats,” he said.

“Well, I do know a little about that. I know some folks think animals should eat unprocessed and raw food, like they would in the wild. But that’s not anything radical. I mean, some advocates of raw food go a little overboard, but it’s become a commercially viable-” I put my hand to my mouth, felt my eyes widen. “That’s what VanKleet was doing. That’s why he thought he was going to hit the jackpot. Because he thought he was making a commercially viable raw pet food.”

It was Shawn’s turn to look confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I just figured something out, thanks to you. Anyway, back to these activists. Do they have names for their groups?” I said.

“Only the big umbrella organizations. But I can tell you one unique way they operate. Actually, Allison figured this out. She’s the computer geek.” He sipped his coffee.

“So tell me,” I said.

“They use the Internet to communicate. Ever heard of Twitter?”

“Yes, but I don’t know much about it,” I said.

“Well, Twitter isn’t the only game in town. There’s another thing like it-can’t remember the name right now. Anyway, Allison says they send each other these little coded messages about where animals are being held and if they don’t think it’s a good situation. Like in a lab, or even like what was going on at the professor’s place.”

“Coded messages? Like Morse code?” I said.

“Almost, really. I guess on these sites you can only use so many words. Allison’s the expert on this, but she says she’s followed some of these messages, and they give addresses. Send out the alarm. Like, ‘Anyone in the area of such and such address. Ten chimps need help.’ Stuff like that. Of course, sometimes the messages are good. There are people who inform about cats or dogs that are about to be euthanized and plead for people to go adopt.”

“Oh, that is a good thing,” I said. “I guess these people are networked and ready to act when called on. But you’re saying the problem can be what they decide to act upon?”

“Exactly.” Shawn drained his mug. “Wish I could tell you more, but I got to get back. Thanks for the jump start with the coffee. Doc and I will be here later today about that chip. And I’ll ask Allison if she knows anything more about this activist stuff on the Internet.”

I thanked him and gave him a big hug before he left.

Kara, I thought, as I locked the back door. Kara could show Candace and me how this network thing works.

I made a fresh pot of coffee, hoping a second round of that wonderful aroma would rouse the sleeping beauties. It worked, at least for one of them.

Candace stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “You get up way too early, Jillian. I’m supposed to be watching you, so you need to stay in bed until I get up.” She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured herself some coffee.

I grinned. “Shawn came to scan the chip. Someone had to be awake.”

“Oh yeah. You’re gonna miss Dame Wiggins when he takes her to her owner, huh?” she said.

“His scanner couldn’t read the number,” I said.

“Broken equipment?” It was Kara. Chablis was supposed to be the stealthiest one around here, but Kara had her beat.

Unlike Candace, Kara was dressed in cropped pants and a peasant shirt. Made her look younger than twenty-nine.

“Shawn thinks the chip’s the problem, not the scanner.” I went on to explain about the chip being too large. “But his visit was valuable in other ways.”

“Can we sit and talk?” Candace said. “Chasing that stupid coward yesterday has taken a toll on my thighs. I haven’t been on my treadmill since this case started. And that’s not good for a cop who’s supposed to be in shape.”

We went into the living room and sat down, Kara in the chair that had become her favorite spot. “I am allowed to listen, right?” she said.

“Certainly. And I’m hoping you can help me understand something,” I said. “But first, we forgot about one piece of evidence-not that there haven’t been distractions. Remember the meat?”

“We’re gonna talk about that meat before breakfast?” Candace said. “I’ll try not to puke on your fine wood floors, Jillian.”

“Shawn understood why that meat was there, but he probably assumed we knew, too. At least he assumed I did. But I didn’t put two and two together until I talked to him today. I think the professor was experimenting with a raw-food diet for those cats.”

“That makes sense,” Candace said. “There was blenderized meat in those jars; that’s for sure. But we’ve learned the professor was two slices of bread short of a sandwich, right? That diet he was creating could have been completely bogus.”

“Maybe not. He was a pretty respected scientist, despite his mental health problems. And raw-food diets have gotten lots of attention and are now commercially available. Expensive, but available,” I said.

“They are?” Candace said. “In cans, like what you feed your cats?”

“No,” I said. “Grocery stores are putting in refrigerators just for raw pet food.”

“No way,” Candace said.

I nodded. “Yup. So maybe VanKleet’s missing notebook contains valuable information. He may have had issues, but President Johnson called him a genius. He could have been developing something innovative concerning the raw- food diet.”

“He did tell Evan he was about to win the lottery,” Candace said.

“This is about a formula for pet food? That’s the motive?” Kara said.

“Not very glamorous, huh?” Candace said. “But what if this formula or whatever he’d cooked up-or maybe didn’t cook up is what I should say. Anyway, what if this was all in his head?”

“Then why did someone take that notebook?” I said. “I saw it, and an hour later it was gone.”

Candace said, “Good point. We should be looking at people who knew about this experiment and believed the professor could make millions.”

“Who knew?” Kara said.

“Lots of possibilities. Evan, for one,” Candace said. “Or anyone else in the family. Maybe even the guy who fired him. And let’s not forget Hoffman. Maybe he and the professor were in cahoots.” Candace stood. “I need to get on the phone with the chief about this. Thanks, Jillian.”

“You should thank Shawn for reminding me what we all saw that night,” I said.

Candace left the room, and Kara looked at me. “You said there was something I could contribute.”

I explained what Shawn had mentioned about activists communicating on the Internet.

“He’s right. I don’t know about animal rights people, but remember the election rebellion in Iran? Twitter was invaluable at getting the word out of the country about the protests and the resulting brutality.”

“Lots of people use this way to communicate?” I said.

“Millions. It’s mostly innocent stuff, but I can see how a terrorist might use this form of social networking to talk to other terrorists. How can anyone possibly follow all the hundred-and-forty-character messages going out every second of every day?”

“One hundred forty characters, not words?” I said.

“Right. Tweeting is a new language full of abbreviations. It takes some studying to get the hang of it,” she said.

“Shawn said there are other sites like Twitter. What do you know about those?” I said.

“There are. Twitter is big business and wouldn’t want their network used for anything even bordering on illegal,” she said. “They suspend suspicious accounts all the time. But some of the clones probably aren’t as careful.”

“Can you show me on my computer how this works?” I said.

“I can show you on your new phone,” she said.

A few minutes later, Candace joined us as I learned how to join the Twitter world. She learned a few things, too, though she already did have a Twitter account herself. But the bad news was, Kara doubted we could ever backtrack to identify anyone who was sending messages this way. Social networking was her thing, and she said the technology wasn’t there yet. How could anyone track the millions of messages going out every second?

But at least I felt more up on this now. And then while I was closing down the application, my phone rang.

I nearly dropped the thing. “Is Twitter calling?” I said before I pressed the TALK button.

Not Twitter-not even close. The female voice said, “This is Sarah VanKleet. I’d like to talk to you, if you have time.”

“We’re talking,” I said.

“Not over the phone. Can you come here? To the bed-and-breakfast where we’re staying? It’s called the Pink House.”

I kept myself from admitting I knew. “What’s this about?”

“My sons. Please? Can you humor me?” she said.

“Sure. When?” I said, wondering why she was calling me instead of Chief Baca or Candace.

“They do a very nice lunch here. Say, eleven thirty?” she said.

“I’ll be there,” I replied.

After I disconnected, I told Candace we had a lunch date.