It appeared that Pearl Ann had not lived here alone. Before the mirror were two rows of toiletries, one for a man, one for a woman: hair spray and jasmine cologne on one side, can of shaving cream and bottle of shaving lotion on the other.
Two pairs of men's shoes stood in the open closet next to Pearl Ann's jogging shoes, all as neatly aligned as the shoes of soldiers placed for inspection. Above these hung a man's trousers and jeans and polo shirts and, in her half of the closet, four pastel jumpsuits of the kind that Pearl Ann favored for work, a skirt, and two blouses. In the tiny bathroom, which had no counter space but only a basin, the thin scent of shaving cream and aftershave was mixed with Pearl Ann's perfume. The man's odor was strongest around the bed. As the two cats inspected the room, Greeley stood leaning against the door frame with a strange little smile on his face, as if he were secretly amused. Azrael had remained in the hall, separating himself from their investigation with a barrier of disdain.
They had not told the black torn the results of their surveillance at Pander's restaurant, or who Dora and Ralph's host had been; they had not sought him out, to tell him, and Azrael had not come to them. Maybe, Joe thought, Azrael had gone to Pander's after all, had watched them watching Dora and Ralph. He didn't like to think that he had been so unaware, so blind to the dark tom's presence.
Now, searching for he knew not what, pawing open the drawers of the waterfall dresser, Joe found only a man's Jockey briefs and socks. No lady's panties or stockings or nighties-as if Pearl Ann didn't have much, as if she'd taken what little she owned with her to San Francisco.
In the doorway, Greeley looked increasingly smug, harboring his amusing little secret. Joe, losing patience, leaped onto the dresser and fixed him with a hard stare.
"You can keep your own council if you choose, Greeley. Or you can trade it."
"What could a cat trade? What would a cat have that would interest old Greeley?"
Joe turned his back and began to wash.
"Well, what?" Greeley shouted.
"This is about your sister," he told Greeley.
"What about my sister?"
Joe looked back at him, remote and ungiving.
"What about her!" Greeley snapped.
"She's gone," Joe said. "She disappeared. You tell me about Pearl Ann-tell me what you're grinning about-and I'll tell you about Mavity."
"Gone where? What do you mean, gone?"
"The cops are looking for her."
"You're lying. Why would the cops… I don't believe you. Mavity wouldn't be into anything the cops care about. She's as straight as a fencepost. You cats are such liars."
"What do you know about Pearl Ann?"
"You, first. Can't trust a cat to keep a fair trade."
"She might be wanted for murder," Joe said shortly. "Or she might have been murdered. Murdered, while you wallowed here frying your brain in rum."
"You stupid cat-you think I believe what a cat says?"
"She vanished from Winthrop Jergen's apartment this afternoon." Joe looked at Greeley with distaste. "Jergen was found with his throat torn open. And Mavity has disappeared."
Greeley had turned very pale. "She wouldn't kill anyone. No matter what he did, she wouldn't kill him."
Joe stared at him.
Greeley looked back a long time, his glance flicking to Azrael, to Dulcie, to the window.
"Fair trade," Joe said. "Your turn."
Greeley picked up a straight chair from beside the dresser and set it beneath the overhead light.
"Pearl Ann Jamison," he said. "What a sweet little lady." Standing on the chair, he tipped the plastic light cover askew, reached inside, and drew out a thick envelope. Climbing down, he nearly toppled the chair, caught himself against the bed. Glancing out the door at Azrael, almost as if asking permission and receiving only a haughty look from the black cat, he tossed the packet on the chenille spread.
"My partner saw her hide this. He loves looking in windows. He's a regular voyeur." Withdrawing the contents of the envelope, he spread it across the chenille. Joe looked down from the dresser as Dulcie leaped up onto the bed. They studied with interest an airline ticket, a fistful of credit cards, and three driver's licenses.
The airline ticket was partially used, the stub indicating that the holder had traveled from Georgia to L.A., then L.A. to Molena Point. The date of arrival was about the time Pearl Ann had applied for a job with Charlie. The return portion didn't show any reservation. The ticket had been issued in the name of a Troy Hoke.
There was a Georgia driver's license and a Visa and social security cards for Troy Hoke, a second set for a Terrill John, a third set for William Skeel. The pictures were all of the same man: a thin, familiar face, long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. There was no ticket, and no license or charge card or ID for Pearl Ann; presumably she had her cards with. her. Greeley leaned against the dresser, giggling.
Dulcie looked the cards over with widening eyes, her ears sharp forward, her tail twitching. Suddenly she leaped for the closet.
But Joe was ahead of her, sniffing at the lineup of shoes.
"All the same size," Joe said.
"And all the same stink," she replied. The cats looked at each other, their eyes dark with excitement.
Greeley began to laugh.
"You got it, you cats. You got it! You been looking for Pearl Ann Jamison." He guffawed, emitting rum-laced fumes, rocking back and forth.
"You got it. This Pearl Ann Jamison," Greeley shouted, spittling rum-laden spray, "this Pearl Ann fits them Jockey shorts just fine."
24
AT THREE A.M., Max Harper pulled into Sam's All Night Burger up on Highway One. He'd been looking for Mavity Flowers but, spotting Clyde's yellow '29 Chevy, he had wheeled in and parked beside it. He sat a moment admiring the car's gleaming finish and boxy, trim lines. Clyde had been working on this one for two years, and she was a beauty. Not many women had this much attention lavished on them-or turned out as elegant, either.
Clipping his phone to his belt beside his radio, he locked the unit and headed into the restaurant. Stopping at the counter to order cherry pie and coffee, he moved on back, where Damen sat hunched over a sandwich and coffee. Sliding into the booth, he picked up the menu out of habit. "Any luck?"
Clyde shook his head. He looked dead for sleep. "Not a sign of Mavity. And I haven't seen Wilma or Charlie for a while. If either one found her, they'd take her back to Wilma's. Her phone doesn't answer."
"I saw Wilma around midnight, up on Ridgeview. She had hoped Bernine would ride with her, said she guessed Bernine had gone out."
"Only Bernine Sage would party while her latest love interest lies cold in the morgue."
"He isn't her love interest anymore-he's no use to her now." Harper reached for a cigarette, tamped it, stuck it in his mouth unlit. "I wired Atlanta on this Warren Cumming. As Mavity said, charges against Cumming were dropped. His partner, Troy Hoke, was convicted, did a year for theft by fraud against Dora and Ralph Sleuder and five other victims. He's been out just over six months.
"Shortly after Hoke's trial, Cumming left the state. Gave a Florida forwarding address, a private postal box. Forfeited on the lease of his Atlanta apartment, closed his bank account, took the balance in cash."
"Big money?"
"Very small. I'm guessing he had larger accounts in other names and that the Florida move was a red herring."
Billie, the straw-blond night waitress, brought Harper's pie and coffee. She was sixtyish and smelled of stale cigarettes, her thin face dry and deeply lined. Setting the pie down, she spilled cherry juice on the table. Scowling, saying nothing, she wiped it up.
"What's with you?" Harper said.
"Fight with LeRoy," she said shortly. She looked hard at Harper. "What's with these guys? Does he have to mess around with that stupid motorcycle all the time?"