Inside the dim apartment Juana flicked on the dull overhead bulb; she left the door open for additional light as she examined the small, shadowed room.
Knowing that Ben would never again sleep in that narrow bed, eat a meal at the little table, or pet his three rescue cats made Joe swallow hard and look away.
As Juana examined the big wire cages, the three rescue cats eyed her warily: a half-grown black female, a big white tom, and a black-and-white tuxedo male. Juana photographed the cages, the walls, the concrete floor, then began to lift fingerprints from the cage handles and from their flat metal latches. Why would the killer, if he had been in there, have any interest in cat cages? Whywould the killer have come there?
Had he planned to kill Ben here in the apartment this morning, but Ben had already left? Or did Ben have something he wanted, something so valuable that before following Ben to work he had slipped in here to search?
This whole case seemed so senseless. Innocent victims, four of them dead. Banker Ogden Welder; Merle Rodin; James Allen, who had been attacked while wiping the windshield of his car, and died shortly afterward, in ER. And now Ben Stonewell. While the other assault victims had been left alive as if their attacker had no desire to finish them. None of this, Joe thought,none of it adds up.
He watched Juana bag a cluster of short black hairs from the bed, and that gave him a start. Anything involving cat hairs unsettled him. But those weren’t his hairs, they’d belong to one of the rescues. When Juana finished with the main room, Ryan and Billy lifted out the three rescue cats and put them in the carriers. Setting these outside the front door, they got to work breaking down the big cages into flats. Davis watched them carefully; civilians were never left alone at a crime scene, even the most trusted friends. That was, in part, for their own protection, if questions should arise later about the possibility of contaminated evidence.
Fighting the bolts on the old cages, Ryan and Billy slowly removed the sides and tops. Before loading the big wire flats in the truck, Ryan stepped outside with her cell phone. The cats, slipping into the front seat beneath the open window, crouched listening. She made two calls, the first to Wilma, to tell her that Dulcie and Joe were safe, and to talk a moment about Ben. But then when Wilma asked if Dulcie was all right, the tabby hissed and lashed her tail. Do they have to fuss over me? Just because I’m with kitten, do they have to treat me like I’m helpless?
Ryan’s next call, to Celeste Reece, was a long and tearful conversation. The cats could tell from Ryan’s gentle words that Celeste was shocked and upset. After a long while, Ryan said she’d bring the rescues on over if Celeste had room. Ryan listened, nodded, and hung up. As she and Billy loaded the flats into the truck bed, Joe peered out, torn between staying with them or remaining behind. He glanced at Dulcie. “We could just slip inside, search in the shadows behind Juana.”
“Oh, right. Just how do you propose, in that tiny space, to keep out of Juana’s sight? You know her better than that.”
Waiting wasn’t Joe’s style, but they stayed sensibly in the truck. Peering from the cab window into the apartment, they watched Juana meticulously photographing the little table beside Ben’s cot, paying close attention to some kind of marks on its surface. Juana stepped outside once, as Ryan headed for the backseat with the first carrier. “Did Ben have a laptop? And a printer?”
“He may have,” Ryan said. “He submitted a printed résumé. But he could have done that anywhere. Library, UPS, Kinko’s.” Ryan looked at Juana questioningly.
“Table’s a bit dusty,” Juana said. “Two items have been recently removed. Clean underneath and with slide marks. Did Ben have a smartphone? Did he take and print any pictures?”
“He had a smartphone. I never saw any prints he’d made. I think he took some shots of work in progress. Probably just for the record and didn’t bother to print them. I keep the same kind of record. Unless . . .”
Ryan paused, frowning. “Unless Tekla criticized something more than I knew. Unless she was onhis back, too, when I wasn’t around, and he wanted proof of the work he’d done? If he did take pictures for that reason, I’d like to know what it was about. I guess his phone would be at the coroner’s, he usually kept it in his jacket pocket.”
But Juana had already keyed in a call to Kathleen Ray.
“You’re still at the coroner’s. Did you find a phone, was there one on the body?” She waited, then, “And Dallas didn’t find it at the scene?”
Joe wanted to shout, Ask about a notebook, too! Did she find a spiral-bound notebook? Beside him Dulcie was strung tight, they both wanted to slip into the apartment to scent the marks on the table, see if they could detect what a human sleuth might miss. But one look at Ryan, as she opened the back door of the king cab, and he knew they’d better stay put. They were already in trouble for not staying in the truck bed.
They watched, peering back between the bucket seats as she strapped the cat carriers onto the backseat. When she’d finished, they leaped to the floor back there, in the shadows where Billy might not notice them. Glancing up at Ryan, they tried to look small and defenseless, but Ryan only scowled.
Billy got in the front next to Ryan, she started the engine, and they headed down the hills to deliver the rescues to Celeste Reece. Maybe by the time Juana got back to the station, she’d have found something of interest, have pulled more pieces together. Maybe by the time they slipped into the station again, Davis’s written report would be on the chief’s desk? And, with luck, Kathleen’s list of Ben’s possessions? Maybe she would find the notebook. Maybe then the odd bits of intelligence might start to make sense. Then, it would be time to slip away and call Harper.
Kit and Pan pressed on up the tunnels in blackness, their whiskers brushing outcroppings, their keen ears catching the echo of empty spaces that halted them in their tracks. They found their way sometimes by the luminescence of scuttling crabs, the iridescence of blind fishes flashing through dark rivulets. Scrambling up through the blackness toward their own world across underground springs that soaked their paws, they didn’t know day from night. They crossed stone bridges trusting their whiskers, trusting the tiniest movement of air. They wondered if they werefollowing the same path that they had descended. Or would they keep climbing and circling forever?
“I don’t think. . . .” Kit began. But Pan eased closer to her and purred and licked her ear to steady her and on they went, Pan’s bold attack on the darkness soothing and calming to the tortoiseshell. And then at last as they rounded a bend the tunnel grew wider—and they saw ahead the faintest glow, the thinnest shaft of light. “Sunlight!” Kit whispered. “Oh, sunshine!” Soon golden light blazed in at them, the portal shone wide open, and they bolted out into the brilliance. “Our sky,our world,” Kit cried, reaching tall, whirling around on her hind paws, staring up into Earth’s infinite spaces that swept away forever; beside her Pan, too, leaped for the sky. They were home, reveling in the vastness of their own bright and endless domain, their own universe.
11
Celeste Reece worked hard for CatFriends’ rescued strays, finding homes for lost and abandoned cats. She lived south of Ben’s place, down along the canyon nearer the village, a square, sturdy woman, her iron-gray hair layered short and neat, her voice low. Her way with a cat was understanding and always gentle. She attended CatFriends meetings at the Damens’ house where Joe liked to lounge among the group and slyly enjoy the variety of snacks laid out on Ryan’s tea cart.