Jerking Prey's jacket back over his shoulders to confine his arms, Casselrod took Prey's own gun. Joe watched him pat Prey down and remove the plastic-wrapped packet from Prey's shirt pocket.
Holding his gun on Prey, Casselrod backed toward the cab. At the same moment, police cars moved in from both corners, parking diagonally to block the narrow street. Detective Garza swung out, followed by three uniforms. They grabbed Prey, and Garza was on Casselrod. Kicking him toward the cab so he went off-balance, Garza swung him around, taking his gun and forcing him against the vehicle.
Within seconds, Prey and Casselrod had been searched and cuffed and secured in the backseat of a squad car. Garza had their guns, and he had the plastic-wrapped package. Joe Grey sat on the roof smiling with satisfaction as the black-and-whites pulled away, taking the two to their new accommodations. He hoped MPPD could offer them a long, extended visit.
27
The setting moon painted a line of brilliant light along the clouds' ragged edges, a display so spectacular that up on the hills the two cats paused from devouring their freshly killed rabbit and sat looking toward the heavens, held by that burning stitchery.
It was only a few hours since Augor Prey and Richard Casselrod had been arrested, a positive event in an ongoing scenario that seemed, to Joe Grey and Dulcie, far more nebulous than the clouds shifting above them. The department had Prey's.38 revolver. By tonight or tomorrow the ballistics report should be in. With that thought to cheer them, the cats fell to again, sharing their warm, bloody kill.
They ate in silence, making a leisurely meal, then washed up, licking gore from their whiskers. Around them the tall grass shivered in the predawn wind. What concerned the cats at the moment was that Vivi and Elliott had been released.
They had no idea on what grounds Garza had picked up the Traynors and brought them in for questioning; but the thought that they were free again was not encouraging. They had no notion, either, what Adele McElroy might have learned from NYPD about the Traynors.
"If this comes down the way I think," Joe said, "Vivi and Elliott could split any minute-get edgy and pack a bag the way Prey did, and they're gone. Well, Harper and Garza will be expecting that." But still, he began to pace, looking restlessly down the hills toward the Traynor cottage.
"Relax," she said complacently. "You know Harper has an officer in place. And they weren't packing earlier. I watched until they went to bed."
"A tail won't know until they get in the car and take off."
"So, the law will pick them up." She licked blood from her paw. But then she rose, with a little half-smile. "You're not going to rest until we have a look." And she took off down the hills. Galloping through the forest of tall grass, the two cats could not be seen-only the thrashing line of their flight wildly tossing the grass heads.
Dropping down off the hill, they raced beneath a rail fence and through a garden that had been decimated by grazing deer, its roses nibbled away until only ragged fragments of petals remained, scattered like potato chips. Down through the village gardens they sped, as the courthouse clock struck five, then swiftly across empty side streets. Approaching the Traynor cottage, they passed the department's surveillance car, an old blue Plymouth Rent-A-Wreck parked four doors away, its engine and tires still warm, the smell of coffee perfuming the air around it, though no driver was visible.
The Traynors' black Lincoln was gone. The house was dark. Scorching up the oak tree to the high living-room windows, they looked down through the glass.
"They haven't moved out," Dulcie said. "Vivi wouldn't leave that tangerine satin robe, it's too gorgeous. She wears it every morning." The room was its usual mess, the robe tumbled across a chair under Vivi's red sweater, a pair of sandals tossed on the coffee table next to an empty cup and a torrid-looking paperback romance, the heroine with enough cleavage to hide a sheep dog.
Dropping to a lower branch, they looked into the study.
The computer still reigned on the desk like a small electronic god. The stack of research was still on the shelf. Only the new chapter was missing; there were no freshly printed white pages aligned neatly beside the blotter. The cats waited for what seemed hours, and no sign of the Traynors. The sun was pushing above the hills when Charlie's old Chevy van pulled into the drive, its bright blue paint glistening, its rebuilt engine purring. Last year Clyde had completely rebuilt the engine and fixed the rusting body, pounding out dents, applying filler and primer, then expertly sanding before it was painted-a labor not of love but in return for Charlie's carpentry work on the neglected apartment building that Clyde had purchased. Their exchange of work had been a fair trade all around.
They watched Charlie swing out of the van, hauling her caddy of cleaning supplies to the back door, to disappear inside. Soon they heard her loading the dishwasher, then opening cupboards.
But soon the study light came on, and she wheeled the vacuum in. Standing at the desk, she bent to try the drawers, her kinky red hair falling loose from its ribbon. Was she looking for the manuscript? All the drawers were locked.
"If the Traynors have skipped," Joe said, "maybe they mailed the manuscript to Elliott's agent, maybe hoping when they surface again the second half of the advance will be waiting?"
Dulcie sneezed. "Could they really believe that?"
When Charlie hastily turned on the computer, the cats hurried along the branch where they could see the screen, watching her bring up chapter 1 of Twilight Silver, then move to the final pages. They were so fascinated that when a mockingbird flitted boldly past their noses, they hardly noticed its rude taunting.
Taking a floppy disk from her pocket, Charlie put it in the computer and went through the steps to make a copy.
Glancing out toward the drive, she dropped the disk in her pocket, then went through the little ritual of shutting down the machine. "Nice timing," Joe said. The computer was chuckling its closing noises when the Lincoln turned into the drive.
Vivi got out of the car alone; Elliott wasn't with her.
"He's not in the house?" Dulcie said, glancing through the study door to the empty hall.
The moment the car turned in, Charlie snatched up Traynor's research from the bookshelf and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, tucking it out of sight under her sweatshirt. By the time Vivi crossed the drive and turned her key in the back door, Charlie was vacuuming the hall. And the cats learned nothing more until that night when Charlie and Harper, Dallas Garza and his niece showed up at Clyde's for sandwiches and a few hands of poker.
Harper and Garza were in a gala mood, their expressions as smug as Joe had ever seen. Clyde looked at them patiently, waiting for whatever big news they were holding back. When the officers said nothing but simply began to count out chips and shuffle cards, Clyde glanced at Joe, as frustrated as the tomcat. Couldn't people just come out and say what was going on with them, couldn't they simply tell a person why they were grinning? Ryan and Charlie remained expressionless, waiting to see what would develop.
The kitchen smelled of salami and onions, and echoed with the clink of poker chips. Harper dealt, fanning the cards with a thin, practiced hand. The cats, to keep a low profile, retreated to the laundry and cozied down on the bottom bunk next to Rube. The old Lab was sound asleep, softly snoring. Harper said, "That's a nice car, that Lincoln the Traynors drive. I understand they picked it up from the Ford dealer when they got off the plane, ordered it months ago, before they left New York."
Clyde looked at Harper, puzzled. "Are we supposed to be impressed?"
Harper shrugged. "I don't know. You wouldn't expect a multi-million-copy best-selling author to drive a ten-year-old Mazda."