As Tommie McCord and his friend turned away into a dark residential street, leaving the scene, and headed up toward the crowded hillside cottages, the cats followed them over the rooftops. The cats watched as they were arrested. No shot was fired. Tommie tried to run, and got pepper spray in his face, which made him double up, choking. His friend got a dose of the taser that put him on the sidewalk, for trying to take down Officer Wade. Cuffed and helped into a squad car, they would be, as Kit said, "Locked in a cage themselves. Let's see how they like that." This kit was not big on forgiveness.
39
The cells of Molena Point jail were indeed satisfyingly overcrowded. Men were stacked in the bunks and sleeping on pads on the concrete floor. The department's evidence room was equally full, its safe filled with sufficient small, sealed bags of jewelry and valuables to convict an army of thieves. The detectives' reports had gone to the DA. All arrestees had been denied bail. It would be some weeks after the Greenlaws moved into their new house before the town would be treated to the full details of the sting-or to that part of the story that could be told, and that those in the department knew. Some facts would remain unrevealed even to the chief-forever, the three cats hoped.
The Greenlaws' housewarming was impromptu but satisfying in its camaraderie and good cheer. The hodgepodge of treasures with which the old couple had furnished their new home formed an amazing collection, gleaned from used-furniture stores, garage sales, and the most exclusive shops. On a three-day shopping trip to the city with Hanni Coon, to the exclusive designer showrooms, they had purchased the last pieces; except for the bright primitive rugs, which had come from Hanni's own showroom. Among their purchases was a large box marked "Kit," destined for the tree house.
The night after the last deliveries were made and in place, George Jolly's team arrived bearing trays of delicious selections; the Greenlaws' front door was propped open, the department brought the wine and beer, and cops and civilians crowded the bright rooms. While out in the tree house, Dulcie and Joe and Kit reclined among a tangle of exotic new pillows.
Lori Reed and Dillon Thurwell had been eager to carry the pillows and the cats' loaded plates up a ladder. The girls had wanted to have their own supper there, but Lucinda made it clear this was Kit's exclusive property. Both girls had, however, begun dreaming of tree houses of their own, plotting how to accomplish that endeavor.
The cats, full of delicacies, sleepily watched the party from their cushions, through Kit's open window, and listened to conversations and laughter too tangled together to make sense. Cop talk; woman talk; talk of children and clothes and cooking; cop jokes and excessive high spirits. The Rivas trial was scheduled for two days hence. The eighteen prisoners had decided on one group trial, perhaps because their sleazy L.A. attorney might charge them less-if they were paying him at all. Who knew what kind of favors Luis was calling in? Certainly the single trial would cost the county far less. Though Roman Slayter would stand trial alone for the murders of Frank Cozzino and Delfino Rivas. The evidence in both cases was solid. Ballistics showed that one of Slayter's several guns had killed both men. Three other firearms were found in the trunk of his car, including a .22 revolver. Chichi thought Slayter had killed Dufio because Dufio alone had seen Slayter kill Frank. Certainly Dufio had been near when Frank went down.
"And the gun that I found under Abuela's dryer," Dulcie said, "that didn't kill anyone."
Joe shrugged. "Not that they know of. But it was stolen. Who knows what might turn up later, in some other case."
"There she is," Dulcie said, peering out the tree house window. "Chichi. Just coming in." The tabby cat stared, her green eyes wide. "How different she looks!"
Chichi stepped across the tile entry beside Detective Davis and Dallas Garza, just behind Ryan and Clyde. Since the department knew the whole story, since Chichi had furnished a preponderance of evidence, she was more than comfortable with the officers. She did not look hard now, not like the brittle Chichi Barbi the cats knew. She was dressed in a soft, pale, loose-fitting blouse belted over a gathered skirt, and sandals. Her pale hair was pulled back and caught at the neck with a simple clip. She wore little makeup, just a touch of lipstick.
"She's really pretty," Joe said, gawking. "Who would have thought?"
Dulcie and Kit smiled. All females like to see a successful makeover; unless of course they are jealous.
"She told Clyde she might stay here," Joe said, "after the trial. Look for a real job and a small apartment. Says she likes the village." He watched her with interest. "Since the sting, since they arrested Slayter, she hasn't come on to Clyde at all." He yawned, full of Jolly's delicacies, and sinfully comfortable among the cushions; and for a little while, the gray tomcat dozed.
He woke when Dulcie nudged him. "Come on, people are leaving, we can clean up the plates."
He stared at her. "You can't be serious. After what we just had to eat?" But Dulcie spun away through the window, Kit followed her, and the three cats headed across the oak branch and in through the dining-room window. They paused on the wide sill. People were shrugging on coats, carrying away little paper plates filled with leftovers. Charlie beckoned to them and as she cleared the long table, she filled clean paper plates for them.
"I don't know how you can eat so much." She set their suppers down on the windowsill, and stroked and hugged them. "Such good work," she whispered. Though they didn't dare answer, they let their looks warm her. From the kitchen door, Wilma watched them, smiling.
At the dining table, Pedric was saying, "… the faux jewelry, every gleaming diamond and emerald as fake as Grandma's teeth." The thin old man laughed with pleasure.
"Yes, it was," Harper said, sitting down across from Pedric, patting Charlie on the behind as she passed. "Even the key-locked safe at Marineau's was a set-up. We got some nice fingerprints off of it, and off the fake jewelry-some of those guys weren't a bit careful." Harper's long, weathered face looked happier tonight than the cats had seen in a long time. "Store owners polished the jewelry all up before it went in the cases, not a trace of their own prints."
Wilma and Lucinda came in from the kitchen and sat down. Lori and Dillon heaped their plates for the third time, and retired to the far corner of the living room, beside the tall bookcases. At the table, Detective Davis, who had resisted earlier and had eaten little, now filled her plate. If Davis was dieting, she'd lost the battle, this night.
"And all your reports are in, to the DA," Pedric said.
Harper nodded. "Two weeks ago. We're pleased that Judge Anderson denied all bail. And with this sleazy attorney Luis brought up from L.A… They don't have much of a case."
Lucinda said, "And not a civilian hurt, by the grace of God and the skilled way the department handled it."
"Mostly by the grace of God," Harper said. "And the information Chichi and a couple of snitches provided."
Davis said, "We didn't have enough on Luis or Tommie to lock them up before the sting. They'd have been right out on bail… only circumstantial evidence to the first jewelry store burglary."
"What you did," Lucinda said, "was amazing." She looked at Chichi, who had come out of the kitchen with Charlie. "What Chichi did was very brave."
"Not brave at all," Chichi said, sitting down. "I was so angry, and hurting. I never believed the cops killed Frank, they knew he was on their side. But no one… Who was going to believe me? Luis swore at the hearing that he saw a cop shoot Frank. He did that for Slayter, lied for Slayter." She looked up at Lucinda, a hurt, naked look. "I did the only thing I could think of, hang in with Luis until I had the evidence. I hated that, hated being nice to them. I was hoping to find the gun." She looked at Harper. "But that turned out fine, that you found it.