Trotting across the parking lot, she stood to the side of the glass front door, peering around the molding to look in.
The room was full of officers, most of them occupied at their desks. Near the front, behind an official-looking counter, two male and one female officer were bent over a book or ledger. She knew from Clyde that Captain Harper wanted to redesign the station, give the separate operations more privacy and security. But Molena Point's mayor was a hard man to deal with, stubborn and shortsighted. Though, from the talk she heard, the mayor was sure to be replaced, come the next election.
She could not see Clyde inside. She backed away from the door and slipped into the bushes that flanked the solid brick wall of the building.
She waited a long time. A woman went in, but she seemed nervous and kept glancing at her feet. A young couple entered but he held the door for her. There was no way a cat could slip past him, unseen.
Finally two officers entered arguing, swinging the door wide and hurrying on in. She nipped in behind their heels and slid behind a stack of brown cartons.
Concealed, out of sight of the preoccupied day watch, she peered out across the floor, studying the tangle of feet and desks and wastebaskets. The metallic bark of the police radio was low, but jarring. She thought communications was in a room to the left. Now she spotted Clyde, she got just a glimpse of him at the back of the room. He was moving away down the hall beside a uniformed officer.
She thought his companion was Max Harper, but who could see much from this angle? Everything was desk legs, human feet in black regulation shoes, and wastebaskets. She studied the room, weighing her options.
She could make a dash between the desks, hoping the preoccupied officers wouldn't notice her. Or she could go around through the courthouse, and in through the back hall. She had used that route from the courthouse the last time she renewed her driver's license. She watched an office boy making his way toward her, pushing a metal handtruck. As he approached the boxes, she hunkered low.
He stooped right beside where she was hidden, not an arm's length from her, and began to load boxes. She crouched, waiting.
When he had loaded his truck and headed toward the back, she fell in behind him, following at his heels. The boy, intent on his cart and on avoiding the room's clutter, had no clue a cat was following. She stayed close, but he hadn't quite reached the hall when she felt eyes on her. Warily she glanced around.
Behind the nearest desk, an officer was watching her with a little twisted grin on his round face, and one eyebrow raised. He was young and pleasant-looking, pink-faced. Just the kind of man, she thought, who might pick a cat up and make a fuss over her. She didn't know whether to move on quickly, or to get out of there. She sure didn't want Clyde to see her.
At the next desk a dark-haired woman officer had stopped work, too, and was looking, a dimple playing at the corner of her mouth. In a minute the whole room would know a cat had sneaked in.
But both officers remained silent, glancing at each other amusedly. Maybe she was the best laugh they'd had that morning.
She daren't look behind her. Who knew how many cops, by now, were watching her four-footed progress? But maybe no one would feel the need to pet the nice kitty, or to chase her away. What had made her think she could walk past a bunch of cops without every eye on her? She held her breath, and moved on quickly.
Catching up to the boy, she pressed so close to his heels that his pant legs brushed her face. And then ahead she heard Clyde's voice coming from the last conference room.
She swerved away from her companion and slipped inside.
Clyde sat with his back to her, at a conference table. She nipped under a line of straight chairs that marched along the wall.
Max Harper stood beyond the table, copying something on the Xerox. She backed deeper into the shadows, watching his lean back, his long sun-weathered hands delicately flipping over each page of Clyde's notebook and placing it carefully in the machine.
When Harper finished, he handed the notebook across the table to Clyde. She felt deeply relieved that Clyde wasn't into this ugly business with Jimmie, that Clyde had come to Harper.
Clyde dropped the notebook in his pocket. "Could you get to those four before they're sold? While they're still in the shop?"
"I'll call San Francisco this morning, see if we can get a man down here. If we can make those four, we'll start contacting everyone on the list."
"You can't keep it in the department, to save time?''
"We can check out the VIN numbers, but we can't check for any change in the motor numbers. We need a man from the National Crime Information Bureau for that. They won't tell anyone-not even law enforcement-where the numbers are on the various cars and models."
Harper grinned. "Just as well. Let that information leak out, and the punks start using acid on the motor numbers, and it all hits the fan."
Clyde said, "Can you give me a few more days before you contact them? Another week? I still think there's something more."
"If you had one shred of evidence, Clyde…" Harper leaned back, lit a cigarette. He exhaled such a heavy reef of smoke that she had to press her nose against her leg to keep from sneezing. "You know I need sufficient cause for the judge to give us a warrant. If you had some indication of hidden cash, of laundered money…"
A jolt shook her. Laundered money. As in foreign bank accounts.
Clyde shook his head. "I've searched Beckwhite's office. Nothing. Nothing in Osborne's office. But I still think I'm right, that there's a money trail."
She waited while they discussed a deadline for Clyde, settling on three days, and finished their coffee. She could hear no sound from the hall, except the police radio. When they began making small talk about Harper's horse, which he kept up the valley, she nipped out, careened down the hall into the adjoining hall and through the inner door to the courthouse.
Crouched in the courthouse hall behind a concrete cigarette stand, hating the stink of stale ashes, she waited until two secretaries entered the ladies' room. She slid in behind them; and in a booth, she changed to Kate.
She came out of the booth straightening her shirt. She checked her reflection in the mirror, smoothed her hair. She wished she had a comb and some lipstick. She patted the checkbook and keys in her pocket, and stood staring at herself, thinking.
She could go back into the station now, as soon as Clyde left. See Max Harper, tell him about the foreign bankbooks. Take him home with her, get the evidence he wanted.
But probably Harper would have to ask her questions, and right now she didn't want to answer any questions. Who knew, maybe he'd need a search warrant to take the bankbooks, even if it was her house. She wished she knew more about the law. The bankbooks weren't hers-they were Jimmie's property.
Or were they community property? By being married to Jimmie, was she somehow involved in his crimes?
And if Harper's questions and police red tape slowed her, the whole thing could take hours. She didn't want to stay in Molena Point, even for a few hours. She needed to get away, as far away from Jimmie as she could, away from the village.
She left the ladies' room and stood looking out the glass courthouse doors at the bright morning. Clyde's car was gone, the parking space beside the Suburban was empty. The courthouse clock said nine-forty.