Dulcie needed another female, another lady cat who understood the frightened, excited, lonely confusion that must be a part of motherhood. She needed Kit. Kit had never been a mother, but she was female. She would know how to ease Dulcie, Kit could lay on that special tenderness that even the most loving tomcat didn’t quite know how to handle. But Kit wasn’t there. And across the room Dulcie, seeing Joe’s own confusion, turned her face away, curled up in the corner of the couch and pretended to sleep, pretended that she was just fine.
Yet even now, as he tenderly watched her, the tomcat’s mind was of two opposing passions. He was struck with worry over his lady, but yet he burned to claw deeper into the case at hand. To see the full reports, to anonymously call Max and add his own information to the mix.
Max knew the key to the attacks lay somewhere in San Francisco, but neither of them knew what that key was, what element drew the varied victims together. Joe was kneading his claws on the shelf, wired to race home and call the chief, when Ryan knocked at the open door, Billy behind her.
“Interviews done?” Max said, motioning them on in.
They stepped inside. “Done,” Ryan said, “and we’ve run our errands. Evijean did tell you we’d be back?”
Max scowled and shook his head. “Not a word.” He reached for the phone as if to speak to Evijean, then seemed to change his mind. He looked up at Billy. “I won’t be long,” he said, “a little paperwork to finish. Charlie’s up at the rescue building. We’ll be home in time to feed the horses and we can start dinner.”
A smile lit Billy’s brown eyes. He liked cooking bachelor style with Max. He sat down on the couch beside Dulcie, gently stroking her.
Max glanced down at Kathleen’s notes, then looked at Ryan. “Ben always carried his cell phone?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting down beside Billy. “Juana went over that, in my statement. He always had it, either in his shirt pocket or his jacket. He never set it down on the job or left it in his car, he never mislaid it. Juana searched his apartment, his car, searched the jobsite and my truck that he uses to pick up supplies. No phone. She’s concerned about what pictures he might have taken before . . . right before he was shot,” she said softly.
Max nodded; they talked for a few minutes about Ben, his habits, his interests, his deep caring for the rescue cats. Joe guessed that Juana would have covered most of that, too. But another take was always good. Max said, “Did Ben ever tell you why he moved down from the city? Did he have family there?”
“He had no family at all. None. I was wondering . . . about a service when the body is released?”
“We’ll put something together,” Max said. “Talk with Charlie about it. Maybe that little cemetery out by the water. You’re sure he was all alone in the city? No girlfriend?”
“He said, in the city he was hardly ever home. The construction firm he worked for put him out on jobs in Sacramento, Redding, up the coast—all too far to commute. He said he was tired of that, he wanted to live near his work. He said once, ‘How did I have time to date, to even meet anyone?’ He liked the smaller town atmosphere of the village, he wanted to settle in one place, he loved the small community. He was lonely, Max. He was just so young, he was just getting started making a life for himself.”
“And you’re sure he had no other problems? Bad trip with a girlfriend that he didn’t want to mention? Any other reason to leave the city, besides his dissatisfaction with work?”
“Not that he ever said. Surely you’re not thinking drugs, not that clean-cut boy.”
Max was quiet, looking absently at his notes, his thoughts to himself. Ryan, seeing that he had no more questions, rose and scooped Dulcie up from the couch. “Come on, my dear, I’m taking you home, you need some supper.”
Watching them, Joe dropped down to the desk and came to the edge—thinking of a phone, a fast ride to the nearest phone. Ryan gave him a startled, then amused look. She came around the desk carrying Dulcie and gave Max a hug. She scooped Joe up over her shoulder and they left the office.
And Ryan, like Dulcie, seemed to know exactly what was on Joe’s mind. She hurried out, thinking, Phone, he wants a phone. That wild, intense look in his eyes—like he wants to shout right out at Max. He’s been scanning Max’s desk, reading everything in sight. Something he found really grabbed him; he’s burning for a phone, burning to share it with the chief.
13
With the tomcat twitching to get to a phone, Ryan took him home first. She meant to pick up Rock, drop Dulcie off to be coddled by Wilma, then head for the beach. No matter how heavy her workload or Clyde’s might be, the big dog needed his twice-a-day gallop. The minute she stopped in their own drive Joe scrambled over her shoulder, out the driver’s window, and up to the top of the king cab. She watched him leap to the roof and vanish across the shingles. He’d be through his tower and onto Clyde’s desk before she’d backed out again. She could hear Rock pounding down the stairs barking, ready for his run. As she let him out the front door and loaded him up, she envisioned Joe on the phone talking with Max—the gray tomcat sitting straight and tense at one end of the line, Max Harper swinging his feet off the desk, sitting up, alert, when he heard the snitch’s voice—and that too-familiar craziness hit her: that Alice in Wonderlandgiddiness. None of this was happening, none of this was possible. But all of it was happening, right now, right in her face.
Joe dropped to Clyde’s desk, listening to Rock thunder down the stairs, to the front door slam and the king cab pull away. Then listening to the silent house, the upstairs rooms empty and still, a few golden dust motes floating. He looked across at little Snowball curled up on the love seat all alone now, one white paw over her pink nose. When he leaped to the couch to nuzzle her, the cushions were still warm where Rock had lain napping beside her. Joe snuggled close for a few moments, gave her a warm lick on her ears, but then he returned to the desk.
He didn’t use the house phone, he pawed the hidden cell phone from among a stack of papers, the phone that Clyde had bought him and registered in a false name: Joe’s insurance against some moment of failed caller ID blocking on the Damens’ landline. He sat for only a moment washing his paws, going over the items he needed to tell the chief, hoping Max and Billy hadn’t left yet. Turning on the phone, he punched in the single digit for the desk at MPPD. Half the time, Max didn’t turn on his own cell, knowing he could be reached by radio. Joe was sorry to hear Evijean answer.
Any of the younger officers who might be standing in for a moment would have put him directly through to Max. Speaking patiently, he asked for Captain Harper. He knew what was coming. Evijean’s voice was cold and authoritative. “What is your name? You will need to give me your name.”
“This is a personal call, Evijean. Everyone in the department knows my voice. I need to speak with Max now.”
“I can’t connect an unidentified caller, that’s against departmental rules. You will have to identify yourself.”
“Rules? What rules?” The woman was nuts. “What? Security rules? What damage do you think I can do over the phone? If you don’t connect me, Max will know it pretty quick and you, my dear, will be pounding the street for a new job.”
He could feel Evijean’s rage through the phone line, could almost smell the smoke.
“I cannot connect you without identification.”
He thought of calling Max’s cell, but it would probably go to voice mail. He didn’t want to leave a message, he wanted to talk with Max. He could try for Juana or Dallas, but he’d get the same routine. The silence stretched out unbroken and then there was a click. Evijean had hung up.