Cat In The Dark

29

WALKING BACK the cat," Max Harper told Charlie as he popped open a can of beer, "means to lay out the evidence and work backward-reconstruct the crime." The five friends sat around a wrought-iron table in the landscaped patio of the freshly painted apartment building. Moonlight brightened the flower beds, which were softly lit by indirect lamps hidden behind the tall banks of Nile lilies that Wilma had planted as background for lower masses of textured ground cover. The brick paving had been pressure-washed, and it gleamed dull and rich, lending to the patio garden a quiet elegance. The new wrought-iron furniture in a heavy ivy pattern-umbrella table, lounge chairs, and chaises- completed the sense of comfort. Harper looked curiously at Charlie. "Where did you hear that phrase, to walk back the cat?"

"I'm not sure. Something I read, I suppose."

Wilma said, "Isn't that a CIA term?"

"I read that in a romance-mystery," Mavity offered. "That's the way it was used, when the CIA was wrapping up a case." The little woman seemed completely recovered. Her memory had returned fully-she had recalled clearly the events surrounding Winthrop Jergen's murder and, once she came to grips with the truth about Jergen, she had been stoic and sensible, her idolization of the financier had turned to anger but then to a quiet resolve. Now she had put all her faith in Max Harper, to recover her savings.

But the fact that Dora and Ralph had come to Molena Point not only to trap Cumming but to keep Mavity from losing her money had hurt Mavity deeply-that Dora had died trying to help her.

Mavity was dressed, tonight, not in her usual worn white uniform but in a new, teal blue pants suit, a bargain that Wilma had found for her. The color became her, and the change of wardrobe, along with her returned health, seemed perhaps the mark of a new beginning.

Of the little group, only Max Harper, stretching out his long, Levi-clad legs and sipping his beer, seemed aware of Charlie's unease. He watched the young woman with interest. She was strung tight, seemed unable to keep her bony hands still, sat smoothing and smoothing her cotton skirt. As he considered the possible cause of her distress, and as he went over in his mind the last details of the Sleuder and Jergen case, while paying attention to the conversation around him, he was aware, as well, of the two cats crouched on the brick paving near the table-uncomfortably aware.

The two animals seemed totally preoccupied with eating fish and chips from a paper plate, yet they were so alert, ears following every voice, the tips of their tails twitching and pausing as if they were attending closely to every word. When he'd mentioned "walk back the cat," both cats' ears had swiveled toward him, and Dulcie's tail had jerked once, violently, before she stilled it.

He knew his preoccupation with the cats was paranoid-it was these crazy ideas about cats that made him question his own mental condition. Of course the two animals had simply responded to the word cat, they were familiar with the word from hearing it in relation to their own comfort. Time to feed the cat. Have to let the cat out. A simple Pavlovian reaction common to all animals.

Yet he watched them intently.

His gut feeling was that their quick attention was far more than conditioned response.

The cats didn't glance up at him. They seemed totally unaware of his intense scrutiny, as unheeding as any beast.

Except that beasts were not unheeding.

A dog or horse, if you stared at him, would generally look back at you. To stare at an animal was to threaten, and so of course it would look back. One of the rules in dealing with a vicious dog was never to stare at him. And cats hated to be watched. Certainly, with the cats' wide peripheral vision, these two were perfectly aware of his interest-yet they never glanced his way. Seemed deliberately to ignore him.

No one at the table noticed his preoccupation. Charlie and Clyde, Wilma and Mavity were deep into rehashing the reception they had just left.

They had come up directly from the library party, to enjoy a take-out supper in the newly completed patio and to continue the celebration-an affair that had left Harper irritated yet greatly amused. A reception for a cat. A bash in honor of Wilma's library cat. That had to be a first-in Molena Point, and maybe for any public library.

The party, besides honoring Dulcie, had quietly celebrated as well the departure of Freda Brackett. The ex-head librarian had left Molena Point two days earlier, headed for L.A. and a higher paying position in a library which, presumably, would never tolerate a resident cat. A library, Harper thought, that certainly didn't embody the wit or originality-or enthusiasm-to be found in their own village institution.

He didn't much care for cats. But Molena Point's impassioned rally to save Dulcie's position-gaining the wholehearted support of almost the entire village-had been contagious even to a hard-assed old cop.

Dulcie ate her fish and chips slowly, half of her attention uncomfortably aware of Harper's scrutiny, the other half lost in the wonders of her reception. She had held court on a library reading table where she had secretly spent so many happy hours, had sat atop the table like royalty on a peach-toned silk cushion given to her by the Aronson Gallery. And as she was fawned over-as Joe admired her from atop the book stacks-Danny McCoy from the Molena Point Gazette had taken dozens of pictures: Dulcie with her guests, Dulcie with members of the city council and with the mayor, with all her good friends.

Danny had brought the local TV camera crew, too, so that highlights of the event would appear on the eleven o'clock news. Young Dillon Thurwell had cut the cake, which George Jolly himself had baked and decorated with a dark tabby cat standing over an open book, a rendering far more meaningful than Mr. Jolly or most of those present would ever imagine. Perhaps best of all, Charlie had donated a portrait of her to hang in the library's main reading room, above a scrapbook that would contain all forty signed petitions and any forthcoming press clippings.

Not even the famous Morris, who must have press people available at the twitch of a whisker, could have been more honored. She felt as pampered as an Egyptian cat-priestess presiding over the temples of Ur-she was filled to her ears with well-being and goodwill, so happy she could not stop purring.

Not only had the party turned her dizzy with pleasure, not only was Freda Brackett forever departed from Molena Point, but Troy Hoke was in jail for Jergen's murder and for the attempted murder of Mavity. And soon, if Max Harper was successful, Mavity would have her stolen money.

Life, Dulcie thought, was good.

Licking her whiskers, she listened with interest as Max Harper walked back the cat, lining up the events that had put Hoke behind bars awaiting trial for the murder of Warren Cumming.

Hoke had not been indicted for the murder of Dora and Ralph Sleuder. That crime, Harper speculated (and the cats agreed), would turn out to have been committed by Cumming himself- but Warren Cumming alias Winthrop Jergen need no longer worry about earthly punishment. If he was to face atonement, it would be meted out by a far more vigorous authority than the local courts.

A plastic bag containing morphine had been found in Jergen's apartment, taped inside the computer monitor, affixed to the plastic case.

"It's possible," Harper said, "that Hoke killed the Sleuders, and taped the drug there after he killed Jergen, to tie the Sleuders' murder to him. But so far we have no evidence of that, no prints, no trace of Hoke on the bag or inside the computer."

"But what about Bernine?" Charlie said. "Bernine had dinner with Dora and Ralph."

"That was the night before," Harper reminded her. "The night Dora and Ralph received the lethal dose, they had dinner at Lupe's Steaks, down on Shoreline-one of the private booths. Not likely they would know about those on their own. And despite Jergen's entry through the back door…" Harper laughed. "… wearing that pitiful football blazer and cap, one of the waiters knew him."

Harper shook his head. "The man might have been creative with the numbers, but he didn't know much about disguise.

"And Bernine Sage has an excellent alibi for the night of the Sleuders' deaths. She was out with a member of the city council. She was," he said, winking at Wilma, "trying to work a deal to destroy the petitions the committee had collected for Dulcie."

"The library cat petitions?" Wilma laughed. "That was pretty silly. Didn't she know we'd have done them over again?"

In the shadows, the cats smiled, but at once they shuttered their eyes again, as if dozing.

Their private opinion was that though Bernine had an alibi for the night the Sleuders were killed, she had been instrumental in their deaths. If she had not pumped the Sleuders for information, then reported to Jergen that the couple meant to blow the whistle on him, Jergen/Cumming would likely not have bothered to kill them.

"I can't believe," Charlie said, "that I worked with Pearl Ann for three months and didn't guess she was a man. That makes me feel really stupid."

"None of us guessed," Clyde said. "Hoke put together a good act. I swear he walked like a woman-guys notice that stuff. And that soft voice-really sexy."

They all stared at him. Clyde shrugged. Charlie patted his hand.

"A guy in drag," Harper said, "slight of build, thin arms, slim hands-a skilled forger and a top-flight computer hacker."

Hoke, dressed as Pearl Ann, had been picked up in Seattle carrying eight hundred thousand dollars in cash, sewn into the lining of his powder blue skirt and blazer-money he had transferred from Jergen's accounts to his own accounts in two dozen different names in nine San Francisco banks. It had taken him some time to draw out the money in various forms-cash, bank drafts, cashier's checks, which he laundered as he traveled from San Francisco to Seattle, where he was picked up. The police had found no witness that Pearl Ann had boarded the San Francisco bus in Molena Point. But they located the car Hoke had rented in Salinas, under the name of William Skeel, after deliberately wrecking Mavity's VW and dumping Mavity in the alley beside the pawnshop.

"It looks," Harper said, "as if Jergen had come to suspect Pearl Ann's identity. As if, the day he died, he had set Hoke up.

"He told everyone he was going up the coast, then doubled back hoping to catch Hoke red-handed copying his files. He parked a few blocks away and slipped into the apartment while Hoke/Pearl Ann was working. The hard files he'd left on his desk were bait-three files of accounts newly opened, with large deposits. All with bogus addresses and names that, so far, we've not been able to trace."

Harper sipped his beer. "Hoke comes up to do the repairs, opens those hard copy files with three new accounts, all with large sums deposited, and he can't wait to get into the computer. Sends Mavity on an errand, uses Jergen's code, intending to get the new deposit numbers and transfer the money. We're guessing that he was about ready to skip, perhaps another few days and he meant to pull out for good.

"But then Jergen walks in on him at the computer. They fight, Hoke stabs him with a screwdriver…" Harper looked around at his audience. "Yes, we found the real murder weapon," he said gruffly. "Jergen was near death when Hoke stabbed him with the ice tray divider-maybe to lay suspicion on Mavity, to confuse forensics. Or maybe out of rage, simply to tear at Jergen. This is all conjecture, now, but it's how I piece it together.

"He hears a noise, realizes Mavity has returned, maybe hears her running down the stairs. Goes after her, snatches up one of those loose bricks that were lying along the edge of the patio." He glanced at Mavity. "And he bops you, Mavity, as you're trying to get in the car.

"After he loads you in the backseat, he realizes he has the bloody screwdriver. Maybe he'd shoved it in his pocket. He buries it down the hill, with the brick.

"He may have moved the VW then, to get it out of sight. He cleans up and changes clothes, then heads out. Takes his bloody jumpsuit and shoes with him-all we found in the duffle he left was a clean, unused jumpsuit. We may never find the bloody clothes. They're probably in the bottom of some Dumpster or already dozed into a landfill-the Salinas PD checked the Dumpsters in that whole area around where Hoke wrecked Mavity's car.

"It's still dark when he dumps Mavity into the alley by her car and leaves her. He walks to the nearest car rental office, waits until eight when it opens. Gets a car and heads north. He's left his own car in the storage garage a block from the Davidson Building where he kept it-registered in one of his other names.

"We'd like to find the bloody clothes, but even without them we have plenty to take him to court. The money trail alone is a beauty."

The FBI computer expert who had come down from San Francisco to trace Cumming's computer transactions had followed Hoke's transfers from Jergen's accounts, using the code words supplied by Harper's anonymous informer. The Bureau had put out inter-office descriptions of Hoke and of Pearl Ann. Two Bureau agents picked him up at the Seattle airport, in his blue skirt and blazer, when he turned in an Avis rental in the name of Patsy Arlie. He was wearing a curly auburn wig.

"But the strangest part," Harper continued, watching the little group, "is my finding the screwdriver the way I did, the day after Jergen was killed."

He had discovered it the next morning when he came down the stairs from Jergen's apartment after meeting with the Bureau agent. He had been late getting back from Salinas Medical that morning; the agent, using a key supplied by Clyde, was already at work at Jergen's computer. The weapon was not on the steps when he went up to the apartment, nor did Harper see it when he arrived.

But when they came down, it was lying in plain sight on the steps, flecked with dirt and grass seed.

"When we started looking for where it might have been buried-worked down the hill where the grass was bent and broken and found the loose dirt-and dug there, we found the brick, too. The dirt and grass matched the debris on the screwdriver, and of course the traces of blood on it were Jergen's.

"It had been wiped hastily, but there were two partial prints, both Hoke's. Whoever found the weapon," Harper said, "saved the court considerable time and money, and certainly helped to strengthen our case."

He knew he should be fully satisfied with the case against Hoke-they had plenty to hang the man-but this business of the screwdriver, of evidence turning up in that peculiar way, gave him heartburn. This was getting to be a pattern, and one he didn't live with easily.

No cop liked this mysterious stuff, even when the evidence led to a conviction. Unexplainable scenarios were for artists, for fiction writers, for those who dealt in flights of fancy. Not for law enforcement who wanted only hard facts.

The cats, having finished their fish and chips, lay stretched out on the bricks sleepily licking their paws, staring past Harper but watching with their wide vision Harper's frequent glances in their direction. Dulcie, washing diligently, carefully hid her amused smile. Joe, rolling over away from the police captain, twitched his whiskers in a silent cat laugh.

The morning after the murder, just moments after Wilma deposited an angry Dulcie at Clyde's house and Wilma and Clyde and Charlie headed for Salinas Medical, Joe and Dulcie had bolted out his cat door and doubled-timed up the hills to the apartments, where they settled down to wait for the FBI investigator. How often did one have a chance to observe a Bureau specialist at work?

Crouching in Jergen's kitchen, they had watched the thin Bureau agent deftly scrolling through Jergen's files using the code words Cairo and Tiger that Dulcie had given to Harper, tracing each money transaction that Hoke/Pearl Ann had hidden. Only when they heard the crackle of a police radio, and a car door slam, did they slip back down between the walls, trotting into the patio in time to see Harper going up the stairs.

Leaving the patio, wandering down the hill to hunt, they had caught Pearl Ann's jasmine scent and followed it with interest through the tall grass. The trail was fresh, maybe a few hours old, the grass still sharp-scented where it had been trampled.

Where they found the earth disturbed, Pearl Ann's scent was strong. Digging into the loose soil, they had pawed out the screwdriver, then the brick. The brick smelled of human blood. They recognized the screwdriver as Pearl Ann's, a long Phillips with a deep nick in the black plastic handle. Gripping the dirt-crusted handle carefully in his teeth, Joe had carried the weapon up the hill and halfway up the stairs, where he laid it on a step in plain sight. They figured, as thorough as Harper was, he'd search for where it had been buried and discover the brick, as well.

But as for the village burglaries committed by Greeley and Azrael, those crimes were another matter. Joe and Dulcie had given Harper no clue.

Maybe Greeley would confess and return the stolen money. If not, the cats still had plenty of time to nail him-Greeley and Mavity would be leaving early in the morning to take the bodies of Dora and Ralph home to Georgia. The funeral had been arranged through the Sleuders' pastor. Dora and Ralph had been active in their church and would be buried in the church plot they had purchased years before.

Mavity and Greeley would remain in Georgia long enough to sell the Sleuders' home and belongings, reserving whatever mementos they cared to keep. Whatever moneys of the Sleuders' might be recovered from Warren Cumming's hidden accounts would be divided between brother and sister. The moneys proven to be Mavity's would of course come to her, once the FBI accountants finished tracing each of Jergen's individual account transactions and Hoke's transfers.

The cats watched Charlie take the lid off a plastic cup of hot tea, handing it to Mavity. "Will Greeley be taking his cat with you on the plane? It seems…"

"Oh, no," Mavity said. "He doesn't need to take it. He'll come back with me when we're finished in Georgia-he can get the cat then. He's flying on one of them elderly coupons, so his fare's all the same even if he goes home through Molena Point. And a very nice lady, that Ms. Marble who has the South American shop, she's going to keep the cat. Why, she was thrilled. Seems she's very taken with the beast."

Dulcie and Joe exchanged a look.

"I didn't think," Charlie said, "that your brother knew anyone in the village."

"Greeley went in there because the cat kept going in, made itself right at home. They got to know each other, being as they've both lived in Latin America. It's nice Greeley has found a friend here. Well, she does keep those awful voodoo things…"

Mavity stirred sugar into her tea. "I'm sorry Greeley wouldn't come with us tonight. Said he just wanted to walk through the village, enjoy the shops one more time. I've never known Greeley to be so taken with a place."

The cats, imagining Greeley gazing casually into one of the village's exclusive shops while Azrael slipped down through its skylight, rose quickly and, feigning a stretch and a yawn, they beat it out of the patio and across the street, heading fast down the hill.

Watching them, Charlie rose, too, and slipped away.

Standing under the arch, she saw them disappear down the slope, watched their invisible trail shivering the grass as they hurried unseen toward the village.

They had certainly left suddenly.

But they were cats. Cats were filled with sudden whims.

Except, she didn't think their hasty departure was any whim.

From somewhere below she heard faint voices. The girl's laugh sounded exactly like the female voice she'd heard the night she watched Joe and Dulcie on the rooftops.

She shook her head, annoyed at her wild imaginings. Molena Point was a small village, one was bound to hear familiar voices- probably from one of the houses below her.

But she felt chilled, light-headed.

Hugging herself to steady her shaken nerves, she was gripped by an insight that, until this moment, she would not have let herself consider.

An insane thought.

But she knew it wasn't insane.

A footstep scuffed behind her, and Clyde stepped out from the shadows. He put his arm around her, stood hugging her close, the two of them looking down the hills. After a moment, she turned in the moonlight to look squarely at him.

She wanted to say, I've suspected for a long time. She wanted to say, I know about the cats. I didn't know how to think about such a thing.

But what if she was wrong?

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she felt giddy, disconnected. She recalled the night she'd walked home from dinner and saw Joe and Dulcie racing across the roofs so beautiful and free- the night she heard those same voices.

And suddenly she began to laugh. She collapsed against Clyde laughing, tears streaming. What if she was right, what if it was true? She couldn't stop laughing, he had to shake her to make her stop. Holding her shoulders, he looked down at her intently. He said nothing.

After a while, as they stood gazing down the empty hill, he said, "Were you really jealous of Bernine?"

"Who told you that?"

"A friend." He took her face in his hands. "So foolish- Bernine Sage is all glitz. There's nothing there, nothing real. She's nothing like you. What's to be jealous of?" He kissed her, standing on the moonlit hill, and whispered against her neck, "My friend tells me I'm not romantic enough-that it takes more than a few car repairs to an old VW van to please a lady."

Charlie smiled and kissed him back. It was a long time later when she said, "Doesn't your friend know how to mind her own business?"

"Oh, meddling is her business. That's how she gets her kicks." He held her tight.

Down the hills, not as far away as Charlie and Clyde imagined, the cats stood rearing among the tall grass, looking up the hill and watching the couple's hugging silhouette, and they smiled. Humans-so simple. So predictable.

Then Joe dropped down to all fours. "So what will it be? We find Greeley and blow the whistle on those two thieves-and maybe open a real can of worms for Harper? Or we find them, try to talk them out of this one last burglary?"

"Or we let it go?" Dulcie offered. "Let this hand play without us?" She went silent, thinking of dark Azrael: Satan metamorphosed. Beast of evil.

Portender of death? Was he really that-really a voodoo cat? A bearer of dark, twisted fate?

"When we charged out of the patio just now," Joe said, "hot to nail Greeley-that was a paw-jerk reaction." He waited to see the effect of his words, his eyes huge and dark in the moonlight.

She said, "I don't think we can stop them. Why would Greeley listen to us? And if we call the station…"

If Greeley was arrested and went to jail, and Azrael stayed on with Sue Marble, they might never see the last of his criminal proclivity, of his cruel nature.

She studied the village rooftops, the moonlit mosaic of shops and chimneys and oaks, so rich and peaceful. And she thought of Azrael moving in with Ms. Marble and all her voodoo trappings, and she wondered. Was there, unknown to Sue, evil power among those idols? A wickedness that Azrael could manipulate?

Joe said, "Greeley's all that Mavity has. It would break her heart to see him arrested."

"Maybe they'll go back to the jungle," she said, "if we let them go. If we don't interfere. Maybe they'll go where they belong- back to the jungle's dark ways."

Joe considered this. "Maybe," he said, and twitched a whisker. "And good riddance to el gato diablo." He looked down at Dulcie, and winked. And where moonlight washed the tall grass, their silhouettes twined together: one silhouette, purring.