Cat Spitting Mad (18 page)

C
hunks of
concrete had fallen where one wall was crumbling, and rising from the debris stood a rusted, two-bunk bed with mouse-chewed mattresses. On the floor beside its iron legs were stacked more bulging cans of food, their labels presenting stained and faded pictures of tomatoes, beans, and corn—ruined cans ready to poison anyone foolish enough to sample their contents. Or, as Dillon had said, ready to explode in your face. Atop one can was a limp box of disintegrating matches and a grime-covered first-aid kit. The dozen gallon bottles of spring water against the wall ought, by this time, to be growing frogs. In the far corner lay a heap of animal bones and a strip of hide with short brown hair. “Deer,” Harper said, picking up a leg bone with hoof attached, and a jawbone that had long ago been licked clean.

“No puma would drag his kill down here. The deer might have been sick, stumbled and fallen, then foxes and racoons were at him.”

Joe wanted to tell Harper that a cougar
had
been
there, that his scent was fresh, that he had come prowling long after those bones were abandoned, and that this male might have a lay-up somewhere else among the ruins, maybe even in the standing portion of the house itself. That he might, scenting their fresh trail, return to have a look.

A curious cougar, if alarmed and cornered, could turn deadly.

Dillon yawned, looking longingly at the upper bunk. Tossing her blanket on top, she was about to climb up when Harper put his arm around her.

“Give us a minute. You're so tired—if you lie down you'll be gone. We need to talk. Come sit down, let me ask a few questions, get it on tape. Then you can sleep.”

Dillon sat down on the floor between Harper and Charlie, her back to the concrete wall, the three of them watching the cavernous opening that yawned beyond the frail barrier—though Joe would far rather see the cougar approaching than Crystal and her friend. Light from the flashlight bounced against the wall, brightening Charlie's carrot-colored hair and Dillon's darker, auburn bob. The tape recorder that Harper took from his pocket was no bigger than a can of cat food.

“Do you mind the tape?”

“No. We do tapes at school.”

“You hid here after the murder?”

“Yes, he was chasing me,” she said, yawning.

“Who was?”

“The man who killed Ruthie and Mrs. Marner. The
same man who shot at us tonight. Crystal said his name was Stubby Baker.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Did you know a Stubby Baker?”

“No. I didn't know that man.”

“The evening of the murder, did you see the killer's face? Could you identify him if you saw him again?”

“His hat was pulled down and his coat collar turned up, but I got one good look. When his face was close to me. Thin face. Bony. Those eyes—black eyes. The same man as tonight, with the gun. And he was riding Bucky.”

“You're sure it was my gelding?”

“Of course I'm sure. I know Bucky. Your horse, your saddle. Bucky's bridle—that nice silver bit. The man's hat and clothes looked like yours, too. When he rode up to us, with the hat pulled down, I thought it was you. I thought how strange you had your hat pulled down because the sun wasn't in your eyes, it was behind you, real low in the sky. Then I saw—saw it wasn't you.”

“You saw his face clearly.”

“At first, just his eyes. The sun was all dazzle behind him. But he looked right at me. Whispered, ‘Help. Help me,' and he went limp over the saddle, limp down over the horn like he'd fainted or something. He grabbed at the horn and slid down, fell on the ground. Mrs…. Mrs. Marner got off to help him. He…Do I have to tell more about it now?”

“We can talk about it later. How much did you see of his face? Tell me again, the general shape of his face.
Was he clean-shaven?”

“He…” She looked at Harper, frowning. “His face was thin like yours. No beard or mustache. Smooth, no black stubble.” She held her hands to her own face, indicating where his hat was pulled down and his collar turned up. “Thin, long face, like yours,” Dillon said apologetically. “But no wrinkles. And—real high cheekbones. And black eyes.
Not
you, Captain Harper. Not your eyes. Cold black eyes. And his mouth—a thin, hard mouth.”

Harper glanced at Charlie. “You don't have paper or a pencil?”

“I don't have my purse, only my keys.”

“Later, would you try a sketch?”

She nodded, as if etching Dillon's description into memory.

“We'll do a lineup,” he told Dillon. “When he grabbed Helen, how did you get away?”

“He hit her and cut—I saw him cut her throat.” Her voice shook, but she looked at him steadily. “Ruthie and I were kicking and hitting him, from our horses, trying to get him off Mrs. Marner. He grabbed Ruthie's leg and pulled her off. It was all plunging horses and blood and screaming. I couldn't…I hit and kicked, but when he grabbed for me I kicked Redwing, slapped my reins into his face, and whipped her.” Dillon looked at him desolately. “I ran away—I hung on to the saddle. He was pulling at me, I was nearly off. I kicked Redwing and hung on hard, kicked him and hit her, and Ruthie screaming and screaming behind me. I—I left them, Captain Harper. Left them there. I ran away.” She hid her face, crying. He put his arms
around her, held her tight, letting her cry, looking over her head at Charlie, his face so filled with pain that the cats wanted to hold Harper safe, the way he was holding Dillon. And Charlie reached to touch his cheek.

But when Dillon could stop crying, Harper held her away. “Then what happened?”

“I kept going, as fast as Redwing could run. He came pounding behind me. When I looked back at him, I saw the other man back there. He had Ruthie, I could see her white blouse. He was hitting and hitting her. Then I ran into a branch, it nearly knocked me off. I had to lean low, kind of dizzy. Redwing was running full out. It hurt and I felt so dizzy I was scared I'd fall—or that she'd fall, stumble and fall. It was getting dark. He was getting closer. Bucky's so big and fast, he was coming so fast, and the Marners' horses were running after his horse, all wild, their reins and stirrups flapping.”

She blew her nose.

“And then?” Harper didn't let up: he was going to have it all before he let her sleep.

“Then I was around the bend—that bend in the trail, by the ruins?” she said tiredly.

“Yes?”

“I knew he couldn't see me there, it's all trees. You know the place. I slid off and whacked Redwing hard; sent her flying, and I hid in the bushes.

“When he'd gone past, ducking low under the branches and beating Bucky, I doubled back and ran.

“I thought if Redwing kept running it would be awhile, under those trees, before he saw I wasn't on her. I ran through the bushes and into the old house and
upstairs so I could see if he came back.

“He did,” she said, swallowing. “I saw him coming. That was the worst time, when I saw him coming back. I was so scared I didn't think I could move.

“I hid in the nursery, in that box beside the fireplace, under all those pieces of wall piled around it. I didn't know where else to go. I knew I could get the box open without moving all the stuff, I'd looked in it once. You don't really notice it—just looks like part of the junk.”

Dillon shivered. “I heard him coming up the stairs, heard him moving around the room. I was so scared. The box was like a coffin, and I'd trapped myself in there.

“I had the pocketknife Dad gave me, I had it open. Thinking, what good would that little knife do? He was bigger than me, he'd take it away from me.

“But I thought if he grabbed me and didn't see it, if he pulled me up to his face the way he did Mrs. Marner, jerked her right up to his face, I'd jab it in his throat before he ever saw. I was trying to remember where the carotid artery is, exactly. I felt sick. I knew I had to try.”

Joe looked at Dulcie. Her eyes were wide with pain and with love for the child. Dillon clung to Harper, clutching his arm. She might be thirteen and nearly grown, but at that moment she seemed only a little child, wanting to be protected. And Dillon reached to Charlie, pulling her closer, hanging on to them both.

People talked about therapy, Joe thought. Talked about crisis counseling. What a child really needed was to be held tight and loved, and helped to talk it out.

Harper said, “You heard him leave the nursery?”

“I thought he left. I wasn't sure—maybe he was waiting. I stayed still for a long time.”

Harper nodded. “How long do you think you stayed in the box?”

“I don't know. Maybe an hour. It seemed like forever. When I came out it was really dark. I peeked out first. It was quiet, I couldn't hear him. But I waited some more, until I had to pee, bad. I didn't hear anything but the crickets. When I came out, I crawled over to the edge where the floor ends and looked down.

“It was dark but the moon was coming up. I could see the pale garden walls, so if Bucky was there, I thought I'd see him—except if the man had hidden him, and was waiting for me. He killed Helen and Ruthie—or hurt Ruthie. I knew what he looked like. He'd have to kill me.

“Captain, Ruthie was only twenty-something, like my cousin. She was still in college.”

Harper nodded.

“I knew, when he chased me, I should have ridden fast down the hill for help. That I might have saved Ruthie. Except, that other man already had her. And going down the bare hills where I couldn't hide, he would have caught me. I was sure they were dead. I knew Mrs. Marner was dead.”

She looked up at Harper. “But I feel so…I'm alive, Captain Harper. And they're dead.”

He said nothing, he simply held her.

“I wanted to go home, but I was afraid he'd find me.
And afraid of the mountain lion, afraid it would smell blood and come prowling. I was bleeding, my hand was cut.” She showed him the scar, with the dirty mark where a piece of tape had come off. “Crystal bandaged it.

“I didn't see Bucky, but I could see a gleam of metal off through the trees like maybe a car, and that scared me. I thought it might be the man in black, so I came down here—down the broken back stairs and down the cellar stairs. I'd lost my barrette. I kept thinking if it was up there somewhere in the nursery, and one of them found it, they'd know I was there.

“I came down here and pushed that shelf thing across, and lay down on the top bunk, way at the back where he might not see me. I was so scared, I was like frozen.”

“I don't think you were frozen,” Harper said. “I think you did very well. How long were you down here, do you think?”

“I don't know. Until Crystal found me. It was still dark when she came. She called out to me, from that other cellar.”

Dillon looked at Harper. “She'd ridden with us so much, and she's so beautiful, I trusted her.

“She had a gun, I was glad she had it, to protect me. We got in her car, with the top up, and went to her place. She made me some soup and a sandwich and bandaged my hand, and then—then, she said, to hide me, keep me safe, I had to stay in the basement, that she'd lock the door so no one could get in, to hurt me.”

Harper nodded and hugged her. The cats had never
seen him so tender—as if his own predicament had stripped the cop veneer away for the moment, left him vulnerable.

“The second figure, Dillon. Could you identify the second man? The man in black? Did you recognize him?”

“No, just someone in black, hitting Ruthie. I never saw his face.

“But Crystal knew there were two men. Said she was hiding me from both.” She yawned, her eyes blinking closed. “When she locked me up, I knew I'd been stupid to come with her. But then it was too late.”

Harper turned off the tape recorder. “It won't be long, we'll get you home. You're safe now. Climb in the bunk and get some rest.” He grinned at her. “You did good, Dillon. I'm proud of you. And whoever comes down those stairs, Charlie and I are armed.” He grinned. “And mean-tempered.”

Charlie helped Dillon up the rusty ladder and fixed her blanket over her. And the kit crept close, snuggling her head under Dillon's chin. Dillon was gone at once, in deep, exhausted sleep.

 

Dulcie crouched near, on the foot of the bunk, idly swinging her tail, watching the sleeping child and the sleeping kit. Below her on the cold floor, Harper and Charlie sat close together, their backs to the wall, watching the black, empty root cellar and the open rim of the earthslide. They looked, Dulcie thought, as if they belonged together.

When Joe leaped up to stretch out beside Dulcie, across the mouse-chewed mattress, he lay with every sense alert, every muscle tense, watching and listening; and Dulcie, too, felt safe.

She was just drifting off when Harper said, “How did you find her, Charlie? I didn't want to question her anymore. Did she manage to get to a phone? That brief version you gave me while we were switching cars didn't make a lot of sense.”

“She was locked in that tiny room under the stairs, Max. Pitch dark, no windows. No light, no running water. A mattress on the floor. I'm surprised she's in as good a shape as this. She's a tough child.”

He looked hard at Charlie. “So now we've had a little diversion. How did you know she was there?”

“Max, you won't believe this.”

The captain was quiet. Above them, Joe and Dulcie watched Charlie, ready to yowl and start a fight if she said too much. Would Charlie, in a heady moment of closeness with Max Harper, be tempted to betray them? Share secrets with Harper that later, with a clearer head, she would wish she could swallow back?

She won't, Dulcie thought. Not Charlie, not ever.

But when she glanced at Joe, he didn't look so sure.

“Max, I had a dream. It was so real I woke up sweating, terrified.”