"Don't you see, Dulcie? There's no way you can tell Harper this."
"But we have to tell him. This is the only conclusive evidence that Rob didn't kill her."
Joe glanced away toward the mouth of the tunnel. Dulcie's theory did make sense. What other explanation was there for the presence of the watch buckled around Binky's collar?
"Maybe," Dulcie said, "maybe if we could find the missing paintings, Mahl's fingerprints would be on them. Maybe then we wouldn't need the watch. But," she said, "if the watch isn't important, if it can't be used for evidence, then why did Binky bring me here?"
He didn't want to talk about that. The idea of a cat beyond the grave leading them here shook him; such thoughts thrust him head-over-tail into speculations far too unsettling.
Dulcie rose. "Come on, let's go sit in the sun, I'm sick of the mud and stink and of having to look at poor Binky."
But at the mouth of the drainpipe she paused, looking out warily.
"No danger," Joe said, pushing on out. "He's gone. By now that mutt's locked in the pound." He stretched out in the hot grass. "I was hoping one of those cops would shoot the beast, but no such luck."
"So what happened? Tell me what happened."
"I just got settled above the second mark, up in that eucalyptus tree beside the stakeout car, when I heard shouting up the hill.
"I could see out through the branches some kind of disturbance, and I figured you were in trouble, or soon would be. I took off for the Hamry house.
"When I got there, Varnie was in the truck, goosing the engine, and Stamps was running up the hill, chasing the dog.
"Varnie took off in the truck-it looked like he was going to leave Stamps to take the rap. But the other two surveillance cars were already moving. They whipped in from both ends of the street to block him. Cops jerked him out of the truck, there was a lot of confusion. They handcuffed him and locked him in a police car, and three cops took off running after Stamps.
"The young photographer was torn up pretty bad, his face and throat bleeding. Two cops were patching him up, trying to stop the bleeding. I didn't hang around, I caught your scent mixed with the dog's scent going up the hill, and I took off again.
"All the way up the hill his scent was mixed with yours, and I smelled blood. And then I found the grass all torn up, around that little tree, and the smell of you and the dog and the blood, and I thought the worst.
"I kept running, following his track, then way above me I saw that the cops had cornered Stamps and were cuffing him. There was no sign of the dog.
"I had nearly reached them, trying to stay out of sight, when down they came, forcing Stamps ahead of them and dragging the mutt by its collar. I heard one of them say something about rabies, about locking up the mutt for observation. Of course they'd do that after he mutilated one of their finest.
"There was so much blood on its muzzle I was sure you were dead meat. The higher I got up the hills, the more certain I was.
"But then I came up the next rise and here you were. Sitting in the sun purring like you didn't have a care."
She smiled, and licked his face. "So they're all in the slammer. Varnie. Stamps. The dog."
He grinned. "You did a number on the mutt."
She smiled modestly, gave him a speculative look. "Joe, even if we could find the paintings and prove that Mahl took them, that doesn't prove he killed Janet. Only Mahl's watch, if Janet's fingerprints are on it, could…"
"Mahl could say he'd given her the watch, maybe the night of the reception."
"Why would he give her his watch? He hated Janet."
Joe sighed. "There's no point in talking about it, there's no way we can get that evidence to Harper. Even if we could, what would he tell the court? He just happened to find a dead cat, and this watch was buckled to its collar? He just happened to look up that drainpipe?
"And why, if she was conscious enough to buckle the watch around the cat's collar, couldn't she get herself out of the burning studio?"
"You don't want to see how it might have happened," she said irritably.
"I'm just looking at it the way the police would, Dulcie. And the way an attorney would. Janet wasn't trapped under anything heavy, and she had no broken bones. If she could buckle the watch on Binky, why couldn't she get out-crawl through the window?"
"Don't forget that when her van exploded, it turned that fire into an inferno." She licked her paw. "Janet was weak from the aspirin, sick and weak, trying not to faint. Her doctor's testimony-he said aspirin would make her pass out. She was just able to move her hands, buckle on the watch."
"Maybe," he said doubtfully. "But another thing- would Janet be welding, with Binky in the studio? Would she light her torch with her cat so close? His long fur… "
"I'm guessing she usually made him leave before she actually got to work. Maybe she'd taught him to go on outside, out the open window. But that morning he didn't go out, he was there when the fire started. She was disoriented, maybe didn't realize he hadn't gone out until he ran to her after the explosion."
She shivered. "Janet sent Binky to safety with the evidence. And Binky-Binky came to me. Now," she said softly, "now we have to help."
The morning had grown bright, the sun warm on their backs. "If we can find the paintings," she said, "then Harper will pay attention to the rest of the evidence."
Joe just looked at her. She was so hardheaded. "And where are we going to look for the paintings? Don't you think Mahl would have taken them back to the city that night?"
"He had to be in a hurry, he had only a few hours to get down here, switch paintings, load up Janet's canvases, stash them somewhere, and get back to San Francisco, to the hotel. San Francisco is huge," she said. "Would he have time to hide them somewhere in the city? Don't forget he lives miles north, across the bridge." She gave him a clear green look. "Maybe it would have been faster to hide them in the village."
"Sure. Right here in his Molena Point condo."
Mahl had kept the condo after he and Janet were divorced; he used it on weekends, and had seemed to enjoy running into her in the small village.
"If we can get into the condo," she said patiently, "maybe we can find some receipt for a warehouse or locker. The receipt for Charlie's rental locker has the name and the locker number on it. Coast City Lockers, up on Highway One." She nuzzled his neck. "We could try. We got into the gallery, that wasn't hard. So we can get into Mahl's condo."
Joe looked at her a long time, then rose and prowled up the hill above the buried drainpipe. Pausing on the tallest of the three little hills, he cocked his head, studying the mound and the way it nestled up against the big hill behind.
Below at the mouth of the pipe she sat in the sun watching him, curious-she had no idea what he was up to, but she could almost see the tomcat's wily mind ticking away, turning over some wild idea.
From the little hill, Joe smiled. "Go up the tunnel, Dulcie. Stand beside Binky and yowl-scream like the devil himself is tickling you."
"Do what?"
"Sing, baby. Make a ruckus, scream and wail-sing like I sang to the Blankenships."
She cocked her head, let her eyes widen. She smiled. She vanished within the tunnel, running.
And atop the little hill, Joe bellied down, his ear to the earth, listening.
He heard her, her voice louder than he'd imagined. Down there her yowling song echoing along the pipe must be loud enough, even, to wake poor Binky. He followed the sound beyond the little mound, where the earth curved down again, against the larger hill. Pausing to listen, he soon pinpointed her exact location, and there he clawed the grass away, inscribing a large ragged X.
When she joined him, racing up out of the tunnel, he was still picking up little stones from among the grass, carrying them in his teeth to drop them into the X. She helped him, pressing the stones down with her paw deep into the earth, constructing a sturdy hieroglyph.
And then, finished, they headed down the hills to pay an unannounced visit to the weekend apartment of Kendrick Mahl.