by M. A. Owens
Strange that an expert would be living in a place like this. I walked up three floors of creaky stairs and stood in front of Kerdy's door. Along the hallway, there were large holes in the floor that I had to step over and walk around. Wallpaper, who knows what color it started as, was peeling from the walls in long, curling sheets. The smell of rotten wood, old garbage, and mildew flooded my nostrils and took hold over my sense of smell, and I suspected I'd still be smelling traces of it for hours. This was the Black District all right, and I thought my apartment was bad. It was a luxury hotel compared to this.
I knocked, but there was no answer. The door looked like someone had kicked it in repeatedly. Maybe the door got stuck and she had to do it, or maybe someone tried to break in. There were several smaller holes and a large one, splintered gaps extended above and below them. The door was in such bad shape I could peer through it like it wasn't even there. I peeked in through a gap that was big enough for my whole head to fit through and saw a cat sitting at a table inside, tinkering with the radio. She was a silver tabby cat, on the smaller side, about the same size as me.
I knocked again. This time just the force of me knocking pushed the door wide open. Without looking up, she spoke in a raspy voice.
"Sure. Just let yourself in." She seemed to have trouble pressing a part into that radio for just a moment, but as she finished her sentence it gave way and she dropped it into place with a grunt.
I tipped my hat "I'm sorry to intrude, ma'am. I didn't mean-"
"You think I don't know the state of my door? Besides, you're awfully polite for a burglar."
"Are you Kerdy?"
"What's it to you?" she snapped.
"I'm not here to cause any trouble for you ma'am. I just-"
She sighed and put down the screwdriver she was holding, looking up at me for the first time. "You know, the ones who cause the most trouble are always the ones who don't mean to."
There was real wisdom in what she said. "Trouble's something that follows me everywhere I go. I'm a private detective. Name's Trigger. As far as causing you trouble, I'm afraid I'll have to roll the dice. I'm here to ask you about the Grand Gobbler."
She immediately gave her attention back to the broken radio. "What about it?"
"Are you aware it was stolen recently?"
"No. Why would I be? You think I stole it?"
"Did you?"
She put down the screwdriver again and looked up at me. "Well, Mr. Private Detective, even if I did I guess it's probably long gone now isn't it?"
"On account of this being the rough part of town, and this place being so easy to walk into?" I shook my head. "Maybe you had a buyer set up and delivered it straight to them. Maybe you've got it locked up somewhere else. Maybe someone else is holding it for you."
"Maybe it gobbled and flew away."
"Yeah, maybe so," I grunted. "I like you, Kerdy, so why don't we play it straight?"
"Yeah? Well, I don't like you, so why don't you play it straight out the way you came in?"
Something about this cat was off, but I couldn't quite place it. She was older than I expected, but not so old she couldn't be dangerous. Her voice was dry and raspy, but I bet she could disguise it if she needed to. Was she Bad Kitty? It would certainly fit. She was a tough-looking cat despite her size and apparently sharp. She knew her way around valuables, and she had inside knowledge about the Grand Gobbler. She knew where it was when Agatha had it. She knew the security measures for the neighborhood. She knew who would be in the house.
"How did you know it was real?"
She ignored me completely, picking up a different tool and a spool of wire.
I persisted. "What's that you're using there?"
"Soldering iron and solder wire."
I tilted my head. "What's that used for?"
She readily spewed answers now after having been hostile just a moment ago, without looking up from her work
"Binding contact points to complete circuits."
"Where did you learn to do all that?"
She looked up at me again, as if she suddenly remembered she disliked me, but said nothing.
I took another chance. "Say, my radio's been acting up recently and I don't really want to get a new one. Gotten real attached to this one. Can I trouble you to look at it?"
She looked back down at the gutted radio in front of her, but didn't answer.
Oh well, it was worth a shot. I turned to walk out, but as I put my paw on the door handle I heard her speak behind me.
"Five dollars. If you don't like the price, go somewhere else."
Figures. I could outright buy a decent one for that, but it was an opportunity to learn more about her and an excuse to come back here. I turned part way back around and tipped my hat before walking out. Was this cat really Bad Kitty? I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough.
11
I stopped by the office to see if there were any messages for me and to check in on my secretary, Zelda. When I walked in, she looked at me as if she'd seen a ghost. It hadn't occurred to me to take the time to let her know I'd be away for a few days.
"Detective, is everything all right?"
"Just trying to find a killer. Any messages for me?"
"Petey came by today to see you. Like he did yesterday. And the day before that. He said to stop by at your earliest convenience, but to make it soon."
I sighed as I hung up my coat and hat. "Yeah, I won't be able to put that off much longer. What else?"
"There was another dog here to see you. He was in here the morning after the murder."
My ears perked up. "Oh yeah? What did he look like?"
She placed her paw on her chin, deep in thought. "Let's see. He was a black schnauzer."
"What was he wearing?"
"He had on a long blue coat."
I grinned. "I wondered when he would show up. Give him a ring. Tell him I'm in this morning and to come straight over. I'll be waiting in my office."
He arrived sooner than I expected. Zelda buzzed my office, and I had her send him in. He burst through the door like it was the finish line of the dog races. He was still winded, his eyes wide with nervous excitement. I could tell he hadn't been to the Black District often, if ever. He was still wearing that expensive looking blue coat, and in a neighborhood like this that just wasn't smart. Dog like that gets picked out of a crowd and mugged in a heartbeat. Or worse. Since I was having good luck with taking chances, I took another to see if he'd had any run-ins with our killer yet.
"Sir, have a seat. Were you followed?"
He sat down and leaned hard to look behind him, as if whoever it was might've followed him into this very room. "No. No, I don't think so. Although, detective, I must tell you I've been getting strange looks every time I've set foot in this district. It makes me feel unsafe."
"There's a thrift store around the corner. Ask them for the shabbiest coat that will fit and have them bag up your blue coat. Be extra nice to the clerk at the counter. Be sure to thank them and give them a quarter tip, minimum. Say it was for bagging up your old coat."
"A tip? For doing their job? Is that customary here?"
"No, it's just customary if you want the clerk to like you so they don't spread the word that there's a black schnauzer walking down the street with a coat that's worth several months' rent."
He pulled his shoulders back and held his head just a little too high in an overly dignified, almost theatrical fashion. "Why, that's preposterous! Why should I be expected to change my behavior on account of hooligans? Do you always place the blame on the victim in this manner?"
I stared at him blankly. "Suit yourself. What's your name?"
He relaxed again. "My name is Benjamin. I'm the great-great-grandson of the first mayor of the city."
"So what do you need a private detective for?"
"I was recently parted with a valuable family heirloom in a very unfair manner. I was taken advantage of. I didn't know who took it until recently and I was unfo
rtunately only able to track them down as it has now been stolen from them."
"Feel like Agatha ripped you off?"
"Yes, detective, and what's more-" he cut himself off and stared at me for a moment. "How did you know I was talking about Agatha?"
"Mr. Benjamin, I know a lot more than you think, so you need to give it straight. You already know I investigated the burglaries in the Rose Garden Estates, here in the Black District. You know because when you went to see Agatha the other day, someone else was already there. So, you eavesdropped on their conversation, and that's how you got the details about me. Then, mustering every ounce of patience you had, you waited until the other visitor left before you came out and requested a visit yourself. But you couldn't restrain that temper of yours. You ranted and raved until she had you thrown out. How am I doing so far? Pretty good?" I asked with a grin.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He looked more relieved than upset. "Yes, with some minor inaccuracies, but that is essentially the truth of the matter."
I nodded. "Let me fill in some blanks for you. I bet you want to know what happened after."
Benjamin straightened back up in his chair and said, "Go on."
"See, that visitor who beat you to Agatha's house was a little quicker than you on wanting to arrange a meeting with me." I studied him carefully. I wanted to measure every reaction to see how familiar he may already be with the details of the story. "He left a message for one of his subordinates to meet with me. Now, here's where the details get a little sketchy. Maybe you can help me clear them up."
He nodded, seemingly oblivious to the details that were about to follow. "All right."
"The subordinate was followed into my apartment and..." Nothing. No reaction. "...was murdered, just outside my apartment door."
He stood up, his eyes wide. "Murdered?"
I nodded my head in affirmation. "Yeah. Don't act so surprised."
We went silent for a moment, sizing each other up. Finally, Benjamin got the hint.
"Now, wait just a minute! You don't think I did this, do you?"
"It's like this, Ben. Maybe you leave Agatha's house all in a huff, your temper boiling. You follow the cat to where he hands off an envelope. This sounds like a lot of legwork, but it all happens quickly. You follow this letter until it's handed off to a dame and then it reaches my apartment. You're angry, but you've never attacked or killed anyone before. It takes a little too long to work up the nerve. You decide you're just going to knock her out and take that letter she's carrying. Problem is, she's a small cat and you don't know how much force to apply. So you go to crack her in the skull with something. She screams just before you do it, because she turned around and saw you over her shoulder. That was probably another big factor in using too much force. It startled you. You quickly realized you'd gone too far and because of the scream you won't have time to search her for the letter, so you make a break for it through the exit door," I explained.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my desk, and put my paws together. He looked ready to blow his top again. Good. I wanted to see just how bad his temper was. "All of this is just a working theory. Feel free to point out some 'minor inaccuracies'. I want to have my details straight when I give the story to the police."
He worked himself up to yelling now. "The police? You think I did this?"
I leaned back in my chair. "You got a reason why I shouldn't?"
"Detective, please believe me! After I overheard their meeting, I went home. I wanted to think it over. I didn't follow anyone! I–"
I slapped my desk with both paws, which startled him out of his rambling stupor. "Shut up and sit down!" Benjamin wasn't the only one with the bad temper. "Look, I don't think you did it either. I want you to understand just what kind of predicament you're in. I've seen a lot of dogs and cats carry longer sentences with weaker testimonies than that. Whoever killed that cat likely has two possibilities in mind. One, if they're a little smart, they'll mean to do away with you soon. Yes, I mean murder in case that wasn't clear. Or if they're smarter, they'll frame you for the whole thing. Either way, you better pull your brain out of your wallet and stop thinking about that stupid statue. It's time to start wondering how you're gonna save your own hide."
He slumped down into his chair and bent forward, as if he were about to be sick. "All right, detective. You win," he said. Still bent over, he raised his head to look at me, eyes filled with fear. "We'll worry about the statue later. I want to hire you to keep me safe, and to make sure I'm not framed for the murder. I'll help in any way I can."
"Sorry, can't take on more clients at the moment, so let's call this a free consultation. First thing you'll do is take my advice and ditch the coat when you're in the Black District. You need to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, and that goes for anywhere you are. Get smart. Second, I can't put off talking to the police any longer. All I can do is keep your name out of it for now, and hope it buys me enough time to figure it out myself. Write down your address and I'll be in touch."
It seemed the depth of his predicament had finally sunken in. He was brooding, but no longer keen to argue. He picked up the pencil on my desk and scribbled his address onto a piece of paper before handing it to me. He stood up, took a deep breath to compose himself, and quickly left.
It was time to pay Petey a visit.
12
The three dogs on the force I knew best were Chief Patches, Colonel Buddy, and Petey. Patches, being the chief, worked in the Blue District ACPD headquarters. Colonel Buddy headed up the Adria division and Petey informally commanded the Black District division. When the old chief was in charge, the Black District was treated as a form of punishment for officers who had stepped out of line. You upset the chief, you get transferred to Black District. Simple as that. One of the many reasons the Black District was never known for their high-quality law enforcement.
Since Patches became the new chief, however, the status quo changed. One of the first things he did was raise the pay of Black District officers. Substantially. Now there were a lot of folk eager to be officers there. And they even started recruiting more cats. Turned out that a lot of these primarily cat neighborhoods didn't mind as much when familiar faces came in to check on things. Still had its dangers though. A lot of the more resentful cats consider those who became police officers to be traitors. One thing's for sure: you can't make everyone happy. But as far as I could tell, Patches was doing all he could.
When I walked into the district office, a little calico named Lulu greeted me from her desk.
"Oh, heya, Private T. You got here just in time. They put out a warrant for your arrest. Here to turn yourself in?"
For just a second there, she had me. Enough to make me flinch and freeze in my tracks before I noticed the smile creeping back onto the little jokester's face.
"Thanks a lot, Lulu. You want to give a dog a heart attack?"
She had now degenerated into full-blown cackling. "You should've seen your face, Private T. Hey Petey! The city's smallest hero's here to see you!" she yelled.
"Say, Lulu, can't you buzz him on the box there? And how do you know I'm here to see Petey?"
"This thing's busted again. And, of course, no one in the whole district can fix it. As for Petey, I bet he brings it up ten times a day. "Hey Lulu, has Trigger come by today? Hey Lulu, has Trigger called in? Hey Lulu, I have to step out. If Trigger comes by, tell him to come back in an hour or two."
Suddenly I was feeling lousy. Maybe I had my head stuck back in the old days under the previous chief when the cops were a lot more of a hindrance than a help to my line of work.
"Hey Lulu, unhook that thing for me and put it in a box. I know a cat that can fix them," I said.
"Sure thing, Private T. I'll have it ready for you when you leave."
Just then, a familiar pudgy greyhound poked his head around the corner. "Will ya look at who finally showed up?" Petey said.
"Yeah, yeah. Go easy on me. I've al
ready gotten the third degree from Lulu. You free?"
He bowed slightly and pointed both paws down the hallway in the direction he came from. "I've got time. Right this way."
Petey's office reminded me a lot of mine. Nothing extravagant and a little cramped. He had a desk lamp, a telephone, and a typewriter. Anything else would've been too much for the limited space. An old fan hung down from the ceiling that drooped like it was in a bad mood. And it apparently refused to work for the same reason.
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. "What've you got for me, Trigger?"
"How's that diet going?"
He laughed. "Going to hold me to that, huh?"
"Sure am."
"Fair enough. I was quite the athlete a few years ago. Would help with the job, but I know you didn't come here to discuss my diet, so let's set that aside for now."
I nodded. "Remember a while back when I was working on that Rose Garden case?"
"The burglaries, right?"
"Yep. Well, there was a particular item I think the burglar was after there. A valuable statue. Goes by the name of the Grand Gobbler."
He leaned back in his chair, absorbing the new information.
"This Grand Gobbler... and this is connected to the murder somehow?"
I shook my head. "Not just connected, Petey. It was the motive."
"I don't suppose you mean she was hit over the head with it."
"No. See, she was on her way there to see me. I found a letter on her, with instructions on what I looked like and where to find me. She was going to hire me to find the statue."
He mumbled incoherently to himself. He seemed to do that from time to time when he was theorizing. "Only someone else got to her first. Someone else was looking for the statue, and didn't like the competition. You think this Bad Kitty character plays in somehow?" he asked.
I raised my paw. "I'm still trying to figure that one out, Lieutenant. See, I've spoken to some folks in Adria who I was sure would've heard of her. No one has. This could've been a throwaway alias. You've still got the letter here, right? The one she left for me at my office, after the night she knocked me out in Rose Garden Estates?"