Gray Matter (6 page)

She pulled off her right glove and put out her hand toward the box into which the cat had disappeared. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she said, using her most sincere you-can-trust-me-I’m-kind-to-cats voice. “Nice kitty.”

A tentative meow came from the box. After another minute of coaxing, the cat came out and sniffed her fingers. She sat still and let herself be examined. The cat was young, no more than six or eight months old, and beautifully marked, sleek and healthy. She—PJ was somehow certain the cat was a she, it was something in the way she walked—was gray tiger-striped on top. About midway down each leg, the stripes stopped and there was a band of solid orange. The cat’s belly and paws were pure white, and there was a white tip on the end of her tail, which was now waving like a little flag of truce. Her eyes were the color of honey with the sun shining through it and her whiskers were long and elegant.

It wasn’t until the cat jumped up into her lap that PJ noticed that the fur around the cat’s rear was smelly, damp from being licked by the cat, and stained brown. A quick examination confirmed both that she was correct about the cat’s sex and that the cat had soiled itself. The licks she had aimed in that direction weren’t doing a good job of cleaning up. Her front paws looked a little odd, too, kind of dirty around the feathery edges which reminded PJ of a snowshoe hare’s feet. PJ had once had a cat which crapped on himself every time he got into a fight, and had to be bathed before he could be let back into the house. This cat must have been very frightened, and PJ closed her eyes as something dawned on her.

The cat was probably in the apartment at the same time as the murderer.

Just then, Leo came back in. The cat snuggled deeper into the crook of her arm, burying its face.

“I see you found the cat,” he said.

“Yes, and I’m taking it home.” She raised her chin defiantly.

“Hey, Doc, everybody’s got a soft spot. You don’t have to act so defensive.”

“Is that so, Leo? Where’s yours, exactly?”

There was a strange croaking sound, and she realized Leo was laughing. “I think I had one,” he said, “but thank goodness it healed over.”

She smiled. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

“I WANT TO TALK
to the investigator who’s handling the murder of that piano player,” Pauley Mac said. He was in his bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed, using the old black rotary phone he’d brought with him from Florida. “I have some information about the case.”

“One moment, please,” said the 911 operator. “I’ll transfer you to Homicide. Stay on the line.”

You bet, bitchy,
said Dog to himself.
Bitchy, witchy, slit and tit, let’s do it doggie-style. I’m just the Dog to do it.

Pauley Mac rolled his eyes up in exasperation and sent Dog back to his corner. Not that he usually stayed there.

“Homicide.”

“I told the operator I want to talk to the officer who’s working on the piano player’s murder investigation. I may have important information. Can you tell me who that is?”

“Just a minute, let me check. Looks like it’s Schultz, Detective Leo Schultz.”

“Why, I think I know him,” said Pauley Mac. “He that skinny guy with long black hair?”

“Not this Leo Schultz. He’s about six feet tall, heavy, and hasn’t got much thatch on the roof, if you catch my meaning.” The clerk chuckled at her own joke. “He’s signed out to field investigation right now. I’m sure someone else can help you. Let me transfer you.”

You can help me, slut. Help me fuck you. Slick chick, lick dick. I’d like to get a sniff of your ass…

“Thanks, that sounds like just what I need,” Pauley Mac said, ignoring the voice in his head. He waited until he was put on hold and then hung up.

It had been so easy to find out who was working on the Burton murder. It was a little game he played. When Dog was in his killing cycle, he used another aspect of his personality, Pauley Mac, to keep track of things by sidling in close to the investigation. In the past he had been a janitor at a police station and a morgue attendant.

The killing cycle had been in a dormant phase for a couple of years, but something had triggered in Pauley Mac the deadly stirrings, the inner imperative to kill again. The voices of those killed during his previous cycles echoed and argued in his mind. Pauley Mac believed that he acquired the special knowledge of the deceased by consuming the victim’s brain.

When he was a child, his abusive parents told him over and over that he didn’t have the brains of a dog. One day he decided to prove them wrong. With a child’s reasoning, he killed a neighbor’s dog, cracked its skull with a rock, and ate its brain. After that, he responded to his parents’ beatings and tirades by growling. As a teenager, Pauley Mac killed them and others, until the killing urge diminished. Years would pass, blank times of his life, during which he held menial jobs (no-brainers, he would chuckle) and sometimes bought himself some female company. Then he would get the urge again, the desire to fill the void inside where love should have been. If he could just do this thing or have that thing, life would somehow be better. So he killed in cycles, and each cycle had a theme and was marked by some ritual which was important to him at the time. The theme of the last cycle was sports, and as far as he was concerned, he was now a well-rounded athlete, even though he still got out of breath when he took the basement stairs two at a time. The new theme was fine arts, and since Pauley Mac had recently taken up whittling, the ritual was carving his self-portrait into his victim’s skin. His first carefully chosen victim was a pianist from the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, because Ma always thought playing the piano was a fine thing to do.

Pauley Mac checked the phone book, but as he suspected, there were several listings which could be the man he wanted. Or it could be none of them, if Schultz had an unlisted number. This did not faze him at all; it simply meant that his search would have to get more personal. He selected some clothes that made him fade away and become practically invisible in public. Jeans, not too tight, not too baggy, worn-looking but not tattered, and a clean blue work shirt with a name tag over the pocket: Mike, your basic blue collar worker on his lunch break.

Dog usually went around nude at home, so Pauley Mac had to be careful to make sure clothes were in place before Dog went out. Sometimes Pauley Mac slipped up, and Dog made it out the front door naked. Pauley Mac remembered one time in particular that Dog had opened the door on Halloween night and sent a group of trick-or-treaters squealing down the block. Looking back on it, they both thought it was funny.

Pauley Mac drove over to Euclid Boulevard and parked a couple of blocks away from Burton’s apartment. He got out and walked to the coffee shop, where he took a small table near the window and ordered coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich, no pickles. He didn’t know whether Detective Schultz was in the apartment now or not, and couldn’t risk walking to the rear of the building to check. But he felt confident that sooner or later, he would catch a glimpse of his man in this area.

He had been there about an hour and was on his third cup of coffee when Schultz came into the coffee shop. He knew at a glance it was the man he was looking for, but he was surprised to see that the detective was accompanied by a woman. A good-looking one, even though she was older than he usually liked, he thought as he ruthlessly squelched Dog’s baser comments. She was curved where a woman should be curved, and solid-looking. He liked a woman with enough padding that her hip bones didn’t jut out. He thought that if you could see a woman’s ribs, she was just too insubstantial to use for sex, at least the kind of sex he liked. Dog growled in assent, and a thrill traveled up and down Pauley Mac’s spine like an elevator.

Maybe we can slide it in,
Dog said.
Hot slot, wet pet, juicy Lucy.

Pauley Mac watched as Schultz ordered a cup of coffee to go and the woman ordered a large Coke. He noticed that they paid separately, which meant that there was no connection between them, romance, sex, or even close friendship, at least not yet. The woman must be a cop too, and they had probably just begun working together. They left, and within a couple of minutes a car came out from the alley and turned onto Euclid. He couldn’t make out the driver, but the good-looking woman was sitting in the front passenger seat holding a large box on her lap which blocked his view of the driver. The car was faded red, a model he didn’t recognize, but he caught the license number. He got up to leave, using the bathroom first. He let Dog have a little fun in there, spraying and smearing the walls, since he wasn’t planning to come back to the coffee shop.

“OPEN UP, IT’S MOM,”
PJ said as she knocked on the motel room door. She had tried her key, but Thomas had the security chain fastened. She was glad he was so sensible. He opened the door right away. As she reached to give him a hug and a kiss, he pulled away slightly and shoved a potato chip in his mouth. That certainly cut out the prospect of a kiss.

“Mom,” he said, talking around the chip, “don’t do that mushy stuff. We’ve talked about that before.”

“I didn’t think it was too much to ask for my son to greet me with a hug after I’ve had such a rough day,” she said irritably.

“You think you’ve had a rough day! I ran out of soda three hours ago.”

A glance at his face told PJ that he was serious. Irritation grew into anger. “You listen to me, young man…”

She knew that annoyed Thomas big time, and she really shouldn’t have done it. Thomas turned his back on her, mumbling something which she barely caught but which she thought came from her A list of banned words. There was an A list, a B list, and a C list. Using a C word cost Thomas a dime, a B word cost a quarter, and an A word cost a dollar.

“That will be one dollar, please,” she said icily. The mumbling continued.

“Two dollars. Care to go for your whole allowance?”

She could tell by the stiffness in his back that they weren’t making much progress on rebuilding their relationship. He went to his luggage, dug into a pile of underwear, and came up with two wrinkled dollars. He held them out to her, mouth set, not meeting her eyes. She took them, then thought for a moment and handed one back.

“We’ll split it. I may have been a little short-tempered there.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” The dollar disappeared into his pocket.

“So how’s the cat?” she said, grateful to change the subject. Schultz had driven her by the motel and she had smuggled the box containing the cat into the room earlier today. She wasn’t sure if the motel allowed pets and she hadn’t decided yet if she was going to own up to acquiring a cat. She could probably salve her conscience with the thought that she hadn’t owned a cat when she checked in, so she hadn’t really lied then.

“It’s still in the bathroom. It made some noise and then it shut up. Do you have any idea what that animal’s rear smells like? What do we need with a cat, anyway?”

“It’s a she, and that’s your dad’s prejudice showing. I happen to love cats.”

“Well, I don’t, and it’s going to be a nuisance. It’ll get fur on my black T-shirt. Whew!” he said, sniffing in her direction. “Speaking of smells, you smell weird.”

PJ sighed. She could hardly wait to wash her hair. She had thought it was psychological, that smell of blood floating around her face all afternoon.

“Let’s give her a try, OK? Maybe you’ll like having a cat around. She can be a wonderful companion,” PJ said, just a little too brightly.

“Yeah, and so is a twenty-dollar bill, but it doesn’t put fur on my clothes and barf on the rug.”

“Did she?” PJ said, suddenly concerned. “Barf on the rug?”

“No, but it will eventually. What’s in the bag, anyway?” He had noticed a small plastic bag that PJ had brought home.

“Cat food. We’ll talk about it again, but now I don’t have time to argue. We’re keeping that cat, and I’ve just decided to let you come up with a name for her,” she said. At least it felt good to be in control about something. “I have an appointment with the real estate woman in an hour, and I need to shower first. Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

“Nah. I told you I don’t want to look at houses. I don’t even want to be here.”

His face was so sad that PJ wanted to reach out and cuddle him. “I know, Thomas,” she said softly. “I wish things hadn’t turned out this way, but they did, and now we’ve got to make the best of it.”

“If you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your work and paid more attention to Dad, maybe he wouldn’t have hopped into bed with Carla.”

She recoiled, wondering how the two of them were ever going to get back on neutral ground, much less be a loving family again.

“That hurt,” she said. “You have no right to say that. You don’t know the whole story, and anyway, it’s none of your business. I’m the adult, remember, and you’re the child. What goes—went—on between your father and me is our business.” She was striking out, and her voice had a strident tone, but she didn’t care. Thomas turned away again, and this time she let him go.

In the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes and let them fall in a pile on the floor. The cat came out of the box, where she had evidently been sleeping, and kneaded the pile. Then she looked up at PJ and meowed plaintively.

“I know, little one, it hasn’t been a fun day for you either.” She dumped a package of Tender Vittles on the floor and refilled the cup of water she had left for the cat earlier in the day. She ran the shower as hot as she could stand it and stood with her face turned up to the water, letting the smells and the stress run down the drain.

It had been a busy afternoon. She had gotten a tour of the computer facility, found that her equipment was still in its original boxes in a corner of the room, and carried them back to her office. No one had volunteered to help, and she couldn’t find a rolling cart, so she had to make several trips. Then it had taken a while to unpack everything, stacking the manuals under her desk where she wouldn’t have to see them again and could use them to prop her feet up. It seemed odd to her that the Department had laid its hands on a Silicon Graphics workstation costing tens of thousands of dollars but there wasn’t a single spare multiple plug outlet with a surge protector to be found in the building. She shrugged and went out to buy one at Radio Shack. While she was there, she picked up some diskettes, another thing she had found was in short supply. She didn’t want to make a fuss about these out-of-pocket expenses on her first day, but her pockets weren’t very deep. If she couldn’t get supplies in a timely manner, she would have to make an issue of it with Howard. She could use a computer desk in her office, too, although she might have to suspend it from the ceiling to fit it in. The monitor took up a good part of her desk, and the keyboard was too high to be comfortable. It shouldn’t be at desk height. The brains of the computer sat on the floor next to the desk in a tower cabinet. She hadn’t unpacked the laser printer yet, and didn’t have any idea where she was going to put it. By the time she got the workstation booted up, it was after five o’clock. She had rushed out, only to get stuck in traffic again.