Kayla nodded, and Odelia could tell she was already making plans to stake out Charlie’s mansion, along with her friend Janet, hoping to catch another glimpse of the singer, and this time maybe even get her hands on that coveted autograph.
“Is there anything else you want to know?” asked Kayla’s mother, placing a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “If not, I’d like to get out of here. I need to go to work, and Kayla needs to go to school.”
Kayla looked dismayed at the prospect.“Mom! I can’t go to school. Not after what happened. It’s like going back to school after-after-after President Kennedy was shot!”
“Trust me, honey, Charlie Dieber is no Kennedy. And besides, he’s not dead, is he?”
“But—”
“No buts. You already missed half a day of classes—I don’t want you to miss the rest, too. You’re going to school and you’re going to forget all about this terrible business. And so am I,” she added, her frown deepening as she spoke.
Outside the interview room, Chase and Odelia watched as Kayla and her mother walked away, still arguing about going to school or not. It was obvious that now that she’d been through such a life-changing event, the girl wasn’t ready to sit in school and learn about geography or math. She wanted to hang out at Charlie’s place with her friend instead.
“And?” asked Chase. “What do you think?”
“I’m thinking that these girls make lousy witnesses. They were all so focused on Charlie that they didn’t see anything else.”
“And I think you’re right,” said Chase, dragging his fingers through his curly brown hair. “But we’re still going to have to go through each and every witness report in hopes of finding something we can use.”
Just then, Uncle Alec walked up.“We’re collecting all the video and picture material from everyone who was outside that radio station. Can you start combing through it? I have to warn you though—it’s a lot. Looks like every single person waiting for the Dieber to come out had his or her smartphone up and was filming the whole thing.” He nodded at his niece. “Which is a good thing. We might get lucky, and nail this guy before he tries again.”
Chase and Odelia moved into one of the larger rooms near the back of the police station, where a technician had set up a computer and was busy downloading data from the dozens of phones and other devices confiscated from the witnesses being interviewed.
They both took a seat behind the computer and the techie showed them how to access the data. For the next two hours Odelia saw more footage of Charlie Dieber than she’d ever seen before. Unfortunately it was all the same scene, and at no point did the famous singer break out into song, or show them some of his smooth dance moves. All he did was bite the dust over and over again, looking like a kid who’d just crapped his pants.
Chase seemed to enjoy the look of pure terror on the singer’s face—Odelia did not.
“I think this must be his best performance yet,” Chase commented after they’d gone through the scene about a dozen times, each time shot from a different angle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this got him the Oscar for best performance in a comedy.”
“Ha ha. Very funny, Chase. How would you react if someone tried to shoot you?”
“I’d definitely not look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like a bunny rabbit about to be put down by the big, bad hunter.”
“I think you’re prejudiced. So maybe you should recuse yourself from this case.”
“Like hell I should. I’m not prejudiced. I just don’t care about the kid is all.”
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be on this case. Only someone who truly cares about Charlie Dieber will do their level best to bring his shooter to justice.”
“You mean someone like you.”
“That’s right.”
“Honey, if I can’t be on this case because I don’t like Charlie Dieber, neither can half the cops in this outfit. Mostly because we’re not thirteen-year-old girls with braces.”
“I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl,” she said defensively. “And I got rid of my braces a long time ago.”
He gave her a grin.“I would have loved to see you in braces. I’ll bet you looked cute as a button.”
“I think I still have them somewhere,” she said, her belly going slightly weak at his wolfish grin.
“Don’t tempt me. We still have a couple more hours of this stuff to go through.”
And so they had. Not that any of it was in any way helpful. None of the footage showed anything beyond Charlie hitting the deck, and being bundled into his stretch limo.
Chapter 6
We’d been scoping out the back alleys of Hampton Cove for what felt like hours—looking for Clarice in what I knew to be her usual haunts and hangouts. For some reason Clarice likes dumpsters. No idea why. I find them foul places where only death and decay lurk. Not to mention the odor they spreadis positively foul. But to each their own, I guess, and since Clarice likes dumpsters, that’s where we had to be if we wanted to find her.
“I’m tired, Max,” said Dooley after we’d tapped yet another dumpster and called out Clarice’s name in the faint hope of getting a response. “Maybe we can do this some other time?”
“We can’t do this some other time,” I told him. “Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”
He gave me a blank look, so I decided to remind him.
“If we don’t dislodge Diego from my home he’s going to extend me the same courtesy.”
He stared at me, clearly not comprehending.
“If we don’t kick him out, he’s going to kick me out!”
“Oh—right. Of course. Only, he won’t do that, will he? He may be bad, but he’s not bad to the bone.”
“He is, Dooley,” I assured my friend. “That catis bad to the bone.”
“Can you guys shut up already and give me a paw?” Brutus called out from the back of the alley. He’d been going from dumpster to dumpster, giving each one a hard rattle, calling out Clarice’s name all the while.
“I don’t think we’ll find Clarice, Max,” Dooley said, now really deciding to embrace his inner voice of gloom. “Remember she likes to hang out in the woods near the Writer’s Lodge? I’m sure she’s out there right now, being fed by some writer with writer’s block.”
Dooley was right. The first time we ever met Clarice was out in the woods, near Hetta Fried’s place. Hetta rents out a small cabin to writers and other creative desperados, eager to escape their busy lives and hone their craft surrounded by all of nature and woodland creatures like Clarice. And since these creative geniuses usually are the top of the cream and have money to burn, they treat their temporary feline companions very well indeed.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe we should expand our search to the lodge.”
“Of course I’m right. I’ll bet she’s curled up on the lap of Stephen King or Dan Brown or JK Rowling, being fed Cat Snax. She might even feature in one of their next books.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” I asked, licking my paw and making a face when I realized I’d stepped into a piece of rotten fish.
“Wouldn’t what be great, Max?”
“To be the cat of a famous writer, and feature in their books?”
“And when they turn that book into a movie, to be asked to star as yourself in the Hollywood version,” Dooley said excitedly.
“I think I’d want to be in a Dan Brown book,” I said. “To be Professor Langdon’s feline sidekick. And then I could be in the movie with Tom Hanks.”
“I’d want to be in the sequel to the Hunger Games. Fight the forces of evil side by side with Jennifer Lawrence,” said Dooley, a dreamy look coming over his face.
“Or to be in a new Harry Potter movie!” I cried. “To be a shapeshifting cat, capable of amazing feats of witchcraft. And a chance to hang out with Emma Watson, of course.”
We both sat gazing into the middle distance for a moment, the roseate glow of our Hollywood careers lending me a momentary respite from the stark reality of my life.