Cat In An Indigo Mood

Chapter 56

Evidence of Things Not Seen

Molina looked at Matt and Temple, sitting side by side on her office chairs.

"I know what Nose E. is," she said. "I don't know what the hell Nose E. thought he was scenting. Unfortunately, we detectives don't sniff' our way to glory. So a drug-and-bomb-sniffing pooch pointed a paw. This case has nothing to do with drug and bombs.

"What did the dog smell? I don't know. You don't know. You want to take this to court, with a Maltese as the main witness? I don't think so."

"There's a reason," Temple insisted. "Those animals were on that trail for a reason."

"What? They want to nail a killer? They're animals. They can be trained, but they can't reason."

"Oh, I don't know. I've seen Louie's wheels turning."

"I've seen windmills turning. I don't ask them to testify in court."

"Look." said Matt, "why not investigate this man? His background, his possible motive? Isn't that what you do all the time?"

"Yessss," Molina hissed in frustration, "but there is usually a little thing called evidence, physical or behavioral evidence, that gives the police some reason to investigate."

"What about animal instincts?" Temple asked. "That's behavioral."

Molina's eyes narrowed to laser-blue slits. "So is piddling on the rug. We don't build cases on it."

"What about human instincts?" Matt asked. "I know one of the men from my ex-priests'

group called the radio station, talked to me on the air."

"Did you recognize a voice?"

Matt grimaced. "We all develop that institutional pulpit voice. I recognized the syndrome, yeah, but not a specific voice. Not well enough to point a finger."

"Well, then. You do not have a dog's keen hearing. And you"--here she glared at Temple---

"do not have a dog's keen sense of smell, Strawberry Lady or no Strawberry Lady. We have three murders here: three women dead who came from wildly different spheres of life and experience, in one case, of age as well. Each was strangled. Each somehow . . . was punished for leaving. Something. This is beyond doggie sniffing."

"Would you take my request seriously if I told you I think I know the murder weapon?" Matt said, like a man who had committed to a great risk.

"You do?'"

"At least in the first murder. Your murder, Lieutenant."

"It is not my murder, any more than it is your murder. But what weapon are you thinking of?"

"It may sound far-fetched, but, if my idea has a possibility of being right, will you look into the dog's . . . suspect?"

"You give me a feasible murder weapon in the first case, and I'll investigate Lassie." She glanced from one to the other, expecting nothing.

Matt took a deep breath. "A rosary."

"A rosary! Much too small. The average rosary is--what? Fifteen inches around. You couldn't even slip it over someone's head."

"Large beads on a chain. Nodules. Regular."

Molina rubbed the back of her neck with an impatient hand.

"Yes, the general pattern, but--" She grew suddenly quiet.

Temple edged forward on her chair seat. What? she wondered. She didn't know a rosary from a string of pearls, but she knew a sudden insight when she saw one a-borning.

"Matt?" She glanced at him.

He was even more intent on Molina than she was. Temple understood that he was playing her, as Max would play an audience--that Matt knew the answers and was making Molina face them despite herself.

When had he become so certain? When had Molina become vulnerable enough to be wrong? To need help to see the obvious?

"The Catholic rosary." Matt said softly to Temple. "Ten spaced beads, a central single bead between two larger spaces, then ten more beads, for a total of five, 'decades.' Not barbed wire, but not unlike it, in a way."

"But the size--" Molina broke in.

Matt's eyes remained on Molina's face. "The size is too small, unless--"

Molina waved away his unvoiced explanation. "Unless you're talking about the oversize rosaries some orders of nuns wore with their habits. They were strung on an extremely sturdy cord. So, is a nun the suspect?"

"Anyone with access to such . . . artifacts would be."

"Look, I concede that you know your religious artifacts, but who would keep such an antiquity today? Nuns haven't worn those old habits for more than thirty years."

"Are thirty year-old guns incapable of being fired?"

"Who would hang onto such things?"

"Who indeed? Maybe you should look into certain people's backgrounds. Lieutenant, and you might start where the dog suggested."

"Idiots!" She stood- "You are both idiots. And l am an idiot for even considering this wild goose chase. I'll look into it, all right? I'll put valuable person-power on this crazy theory of yours. But then how do the other killings fit in?"

Temple stood too, although she was not nearly as impressive as the almost six-foot-tall lieutenant. "Maybe they don't. Maybe assuming they do fit is trying to link the unlinkable."

"That's . . . unthinkable."

Matt stood. "Murder always is. Let us know if we can be of help."

"Of more help," Temple amended.

Molina snorted in disgust and did not look up from her desk when they left.

She sounded like Nose E. on a roll.