Кроха - Dedication

Joe Grey smiled. “Of course I do.” Well, the ferals did know, from past encounters, what police work was about. When Willow told him the number he said it over twice, committing it to memory. Now he burned to get to a phone. He said his hasty good-byes, nudged each cat gently and touched noses and promised to return soon.

“Most likely,” Joe said, “a detective will be out to look the scene over, to photograph the tire marks and those footprints back and forth into the woods.”

“What about our pawprints?” Willow said.

Joe thought about that. “They know there are feral cats up here, they think you are one of the wild bands that CatFriends feeds. Charlie has made it clear you are to be left alone, to be protected. They won’t be surprised to see pawprints.” He gave Willow a final friendly nudge, spun around and raced back through the woods and across the berm to Ryan, praying she hadn’t left.

He found her in the car, sitting quietly. He leaped in. “Thank God you waited.”

“What else would I do? You take off like gangbusters, all riled up. I knew I’d better wait.”

Standing in her lap he snatched up her cell phone and hit the button for the station—hoping he wouldn’t get Evijean.

Of course he got Evijean. “Captain Harper is not . . .” she began with her delaying routine.

“Evijean,” Joe said coldly, “I have the license number the chief is waiting for. If he doesn’t get itnow, pronto, you’ll never get a recommendation for another job, no matter where you look—and believe me, you’ll be looking.”

Evijean put him through.

The conversation was brief. Max said, “I’m putting the information out as we speak. We’ll see what this gets. Again, many thanks. This could reel in our fish.” And he hung up.

When Joe ended the call Ryan grinned and caught him up in a hug that, as usual, deeply embarrassed him.

When he explained what the ferals had found, she hugged him again, and he felt her tear dampen his cheek. “Those dear clowder cats. I can’t believe they’ve grown so close to humans—to care about human problems, to get that information to you.”

She looked at him, frowning. “If you hadn’t been here, do you think one of them would have come down into the village to find you? The village, the streets and buildings, seem so threatening to them.”

“You and Kate were here, you’re here every day. And Charlie. It was Charlie who sprung that trap for them when one of them was captured, sprung it and crushed it.” Joe looked at her coolly. “They would have come to you,” he said with assurance.

She nodded. “They’ve helped us, helped the law before. They do trust humans. When Sage was so badly hurt by that killer—when he was so scared—he put all his trust in John Firetti to help him—and that was hard,” she said. “Sage was scared to death. But now,” she said, “what made Tekla and Sam turn up in the hills onto that narrow little road instead of hitting the freeway?”

“When they left the rental,” Joe said, “did they see an unmarked surveillance car? Or thoughtthey saw one? Or they passed a black-and-white cruising, maybe it slowed to watch them?”

She smiled. “Whatever happened, they got nervous. Found a place to hole up until dark, thenthey doubled back to the freeway.” She started the car, glancing down at Joe. “I guess you’ll want a ride down to the station, to see how this falls out?”

“I guess I’d like that,” Joe Grey said, twitching a whisker.

“The law will find them now, Joe, with this information. They’re sure to stay on the freeways if they want to make any distance.”

“Right. But which freeway?” He thought of the tangle of highways that led out of Molena Point. “Which freeway, Ryan? And heading where?”

30

Alone in her tree house Kit huddled among her cushions sad and grieving, still licking away tears for Misto. Joe was with Ryan, up at the shelter. Dulcie would be cuddled close to Wilma. And Kit had parted from Pan at the Firettis’: Mary and John need him, they need Misto’s son close. I need him, too, but they need him more. And I need Lucinda and Pedric, I need my dear humans. I need not to be alone just now.

Why had the three of them ever parted? What if something happened to her old couple before they could return from that huge, cold land? But what if something bad had happened in the Netherworld? How would that be any different? How would Lucinda and Pedric feel if Pan and I hadn’t returned?

Besides, she thought sensibly, you could get hit by a truck right here in the village. Life is never certain, no one said it was all neatly laid out and safe. No one said life comes with a guarantee. Pedric always tells Lucinda that. You have to walk quick, watch quicker, and take your chances.

But still she grieved. She napped, and when, waking, still she felt lonely, she left her tree house and went down into the gardens and wild fields to hunt.

It was late that evening that she slipped into Kate’s basement apartment, where Kate had installed a cat door. Having feasted on mice, she licked all the blood off her paws and whiskers to make herself presentable if she were to sleep in Kate’s bed. The cat door made her feel so welcome that she slept there with Kate that night, the next night, and the next; in fact she moved right in. Missing Lucinda and Pedric, she took solace in Kate’s gentle ways and in their small suppers together that were indeed more companionable than any lone hunt. In bed at night they talked about the Netherworld and about Kate’s own adventures there in the darker realms that Kit and Pan had avoided.

“The magic is all but gone,” Kate said. “As the magic dies, fewer and fewer children are born. Without the magic that includes love, those babies who do live are pale and weak. Even the shape-shifters’ skills are fading . . . I can no longer change,” Kate said sadly. “After I decided notto do that anymore, I tried twice.” She looked shyly at Kit. “I couldn’t. I miss looking in the mirror and seeing that lovely, cream-colored queen looking back at me, my golden eyes and ivory whiskers, the marmalade streaks in my fur.”

Kate shook her head, embarrassed. “I was lovely,” she said longingly. “Though not as beautiful as you.” She stroked Kit’s mélange of black, brown, and orange fur, as soft as silk. “I couldn’t change,” she said again sadly. “My own magic was gone.”

Kit felt sad for her. But she couldn’t change, either, she never had; in the Netherworld she and Pan had tried. But they were happy; they didn’t need the complications that came with being a human person. Mortgages, income taxes, stalled cars. Let humans deal with those irritations. Maybe next time around she and Pan would be human, burdened with human responsibilities. But right now they were free spirits.

Each night Kit slept safe and content beside Kate, waiting for her own humans to come home. Each morning, Kate rose early, if only to enjoy the sunrise. She liked to sit on the deck with a cup of coffee, looking down on the village, watching the world come awake. On the fourth morning when Kit woke she heard the glass door slide closed, heard it lock, heard Kate’s step up the outside stairs, heard her car start in the drive. Heard her back out and head away. Kit rose, yawning. Sometimes the carpenters came early to the shelter. In the tiny kitchen, leaping to the table, she found the porridge and the fried egg Kate had left for her. Beside them lay a note, held down by the porridge bowl.

Lucinda called my cell. They took a late flight last night, the four of them. I’m picking them up at San Jose. We’ll be home before noon.

Kit licked the note, shivering. Lashing her tail, she raced the length of the apartment, leaped from bookshelves, bounced on the unmade bed, flew to the dresser and almost slid off again. She was so excited she thought she couldn’t eat, but the next minute she was back in the kitchen devouring the cereal and egg, slurping it up so fast she scattered half of it on the table. Then she was out the cat door, up the hill, up her oak tree, up its rough bark into her tree house, where she could see the approaching street, where she tried to settle down to wait. Tried to settle down. Fidgeting and twitching, she knew quite well it would be hours before they got home.

She thought of going to tell Pan, but she didn’t want to disturb their grieving household with her own excitement. She could go tell Dulcie and Wilma or she could tell Joe Grey if she could find him. She could call anyone, she wanted to tell someone.

But Kate would do that, Kate would call their friends from her cell phone; and Kit didn’t want to leave home, because what if they caught an earlier flight and got home sooner than Kate said and she wasn’t there at all? Sighing, she wriggled deeper into her pillows, put her nose under her paw and tried to be patient. For the flighty tortoiseshell, patience didn’t work very well.

31

Pictures of sporting dogs filled the walls of Dallas Garza’s office, a fine succession of bird dogs with whom Dallas had hunted for much of his childhood and most of his adult life; had hunted any time he could, between college, the police academy, and then police work. Dallas’s last two, aged pointers had died not long ago. He had not bought another pup, he had little time now to train and work a sporting dog—and he was not a man to replace his respected hunting partners with a little lapdog; that was not his style.

Beneath the handsomely decorated walls, the detective’s desk was a tangle of odd papers, handwritten notes, computer printouts, faxes, and bank information from a dozen cities: account numbers, the names of his contact at each bank. Leaning back in his chair, the phone to his ear, Dallas was talking with the manager of a small Kentucky bank. So far this, too, sounded like a dead end. Each account Tekla had opened across the country, each in a different name, had been closed out, the money withdrawn, and all information on the bank records had proved to be counterfeit. False addresses that turned out to be short-sale houses or vacant lots. He had left Juana’s office some time ago, where she was tracking the couple through rental agreements.

The Bleaks had apparently lived this lifestyle for several years, under a revolving collection of pseudonyms. Apartments secured with invented information, bogus past employment that no rental office had bothered to check. Or, if the information had been looked into and found wanting, the applicants had simply been sent packing. Tekla and Sam would move on, and no complaint was made. What good was it to have efficient police, if civilians didn’t pass on suspicious information when they had the chance?

When he heard Juana’s step crossing the hall he motioned her in. She looked frustrated and tired. She poured a cup of coffee, filled Dallas’s cup, sat down at one end of the couch, laid a clipboard on her lap, the page covered with neatly inscribed notes. They looked at each other in silence. They looked up when Max appeared, coming from his office, carrying a half cup of coffee. His twisted smile held them both.

“What?” Davis said.

“The Bleaks’ brown SUV is a Ford,” he said, looking smug. “Don’t know what year, but we have the license number, I just put it on the BOL. It’s all across the country now.”

Davis laughed. Dallas said, “Was that from the snitch?”

Max grinned and nodded, making Dallas smile. The detective said, “I heard Evijean grousing at some phone call. When she shut right up, I assumed she put the call through. Is our snitch getting her trained?”

Max laughed. “Let’s hope so.” He glanced at Dallas’s scattered notes, then at Juana’s yellow pad. He sat down at the other end of the couch. “What’ve you got?”