On the bed beside Mavity, Dulcie lay pretending to sleep as she fitted together Mavity's scenario with what she and Joe already knew.
Winthrop Jergen had left his apartment at about two, telling Mavity and Pearl Ann that he had an appointment up the coast. Charlie arrived at three and left again a few minutes later, headed for the Blackburn house. Pearl Ann was already upstairs in his rooms repairing the towel rack. As Charlie left, Mavity carried her cleaning things up to his apartment.
"When I came in, Pearl Ann said she was nearly out of shower caulking-that good, plastic kind that she likes. She said if I'd go down to the village for some, she'd start on the refrigerator for me, put the ice trays and shelves in a dishpan to soak. She don't mind working up there when Mr. Jergen's not home…" Mavity jerked her hand, sloshing coffee on the white sheet.
Grabbing a handful of tissues, she tried to mop up the spill. "I can't get used to it-that he's dead. His throat-the blood…"
Wilma took Mavity's cup and wiped the sheets. She handed her more tissues, wiped off the cup, and poured fresh coffee for her. Dulcie rose up from her nest of blankets to rub against Mavity's cheek. Mavity put her arm around the little cat and drew her close.
"Driving back up from the village, I passed Mr. Jergen's car parked three blocks from the apartments, and I thought that was strange. He'd said he was going up the coast. Oh, it was his car, I'd know that Mercedes anywhere, with its two antennas and those fancy hubcaps.
"Well, I thought he must have met his client there and taken their car. Though that did seem odd, that he would park three blocks away. Or maybe he'd had car trouble. I never heard of a Mercedes having car trouble, but I guess they can.
"I parked and hurried in through the patio because Pearl Ann would be waiting for the caulking. Mr. Jergen's windows were open, and I heard him and another man shouting at each other, real angry. It was a strange voice but-something about it seemed familiar.
"And then I heard banging and thuds like furniture being knocked over, and then a gasp. Then silence.
"I ran up the stairs, but I was scared. I was ready to run down again. I listened but I couldn't hear nothing, so I pushed open the door."
She stared into her coffee cup as if seeing a replay of Jergen's murder. When she looked up at Harper, her voice was hardly a whisper.
"He was on the floor. Lying on the floor beside his desk. The blood… And Pearl Ann-Pearl Ann kneeling over him stabbing and stabbing… Swinging her arm and stabbing into his throat with that terrible ice tray thing."
Mavity sat hugging herself. "I backed away real quiet, out the door. Pulled it closed, praying she didn't hear me, that she hadn't seen me.
"I didn't know where the other man was. I kept looking around for him. I felt weak as jelly. I took off my shoes so she wouldn't hear me going down the steps. I ran down in my socks, to my car. I never stopped for nothing. Kept seeing Pearl Ann kneeling over him stabbing and stabbing…
"I dug my keys out of my purse. I was trying to jam the key in the door…"
She looked up at Harper. "That's all I remember. Then the red neon sign at night glaring in my eyes, and I was in the backseat lying on my shoes, my face against a dirty shoe. There was a McDonald's wrapper on the floor-it smelled of mustard.
"And then being dragged or something, that's all fuzzy and dark. Then I was in bed in that hospital and you were there, Captain Harper, sitting slumped in the chair." Mavity pulled the quilt up, careful not to disturb Dulcie.
"When you first entered the apartment," Harper said, "before you went out again for the caulking, do you remember anything strange, at that time, anything out of order in the room?"
"No. The room was neat, the way he keeps it. His desk was clean and neat, nothing on it except a few files lying in a neat pile on the blotter. Well, I guess you could say that was unusual. Mr. Jergen always put everything away, always left his desk with nothing but the blotter and the pens, the regular desk things, no papers."
She frowned. "There's one other thing. I'd forgot. I'm sure his computer was off when I first came in. But when I got back with the caulking and saw-saw… Pearl Ann… I think the computer was on."
Mavity hugged herself. "He shouldn't have been there at all. He had an appointment up the coast. Maybe he forgot to do something at the computer. Maybe he came back to do that."
She looked hard at Harper. "Why did she kill him? Why did this happen?"
"Besides the files and the computer," Harper said, "was there anything else out of order?"
"Not that I noticed. Seemed the same as always, neat, everything in order. Pearl Ann had started working in the bathroom, but she stopped to get the refrigerator started. The kitchen was neat and clean, the way he always left it."
Harper made some notes and rose. There was a tight, hard look about him. Wilma walked him to the door, where he paused, gave her a hug. "You look tired. She'll get through this, Wilma. If we can pick up Hoke, Mavity should be clear, I think we'll have enough to take him to the grand jury."
"And if you don't find Hoke?"
"Let's wait to see what happens."
Wilma leaned against him, very thankful for Max Harper. She would hate to face this, to try to help Mavity, without Max there to go the extra mile.
He stood looking down at her. "I didn't tell you this. Some of the blood on Mavity's white uniform was Jergen's."
She only looked at him, frightened again suddenly
"The report came in this morning. But from the way the blood was smeared, the lab thinks it was wiped on, possibly by the murder weapon."
"It wasn't spattered or pooled on."
"Exactly. And we're not sure, yet, that the ice tray divider was the murder weapon."
He didn't move out the open door, just kept looking at her. "It would strengthen our case considerably, if I knew who our informant was. If I knew who the woman was, who tipped us about Hoke. It might make the case, if she were to testify against Hoke."
"I'm sure it would," Wilma said. "Maybe she'll come forward. Let's hope so." She hated this, hated lying to him.
"She never has. She's helped us on three cases but has never identified herself, never offered to testify." He continued to watch her. "Same voice, same woman."
Wilma widened her eyes. "You think it's me, Max? Are you saying I'm your mysterious informant?"
"No," Harper said. "I don't think that." He looked at Wilma for a long time, then turned away, heading for his car. Wilma moved to the window, watching the patrol unit slide away into the village, thinking what a tangled web had drawn them all in-and, for Harper, what a cat's cradle of leads and unanswerable questions.
28
GREELEY URZEY'S sour, boozy smell filled Wilma's car thicker than steam in a sauna. Despite the fact that she drove with all the windows down, the stink of secondhand rum and stale sweat made her want to boot the old man out and let him walk to her house-except, of course, he wouldn't. He'd head back for that hovel among his cases of 90 proof.
She could have stopped by Mavity's cottage and insisted that he take a bath and change his reeking clothes, but she hadn't wanted to take the time. Mavity was so anxious to see him; Wilma hadn't even waited, as she'd promised herself, for the old man to sober up.
But even as rum-sodden as Greeley was, he seemed genuinely worried about Mavity. He sat leaning forward, staring hard through the windshield as if to hurry the car faster-and clutching the black cat in his lap.
She had to smile at the way he'd slipped the cat in. After the police officer let her into the Davidson Building and saw her safely downstairs again with Greeley in tow, she'd waited alone in the dirty hall for Greeley to go back upstairs and fetch his jacket. She didn't think he'd run out on her-there was no other entry, just the second floor windows. She'd watched, amused, when he returned clutching not only the jacket but the black cat nestled down in the wadded-up leather as if the animal might not be noticed.
Drunk and argumentative, he'd insisted on bringing the beast despite the fa
ct, as she'd pointed out, that Mavity disliked Azrael, and that it was Mavity's comfort they were concerned about here.
Now as she drove across the village, the cat sat possessively on Greeley's lap, a huge black presence which, unlike most cats, made no move to leap out the four open windows. "He'll do as I tell him," Greeley had promised drunkenly, "or he'll know what for."
Well, maybe the cat wasn't as bad as Mavity claimed. Certainly it was a handsome animal; admiring him, Wilma reached gently to stroke his broad black head-and drew her hand back at the blaze of rage that flamed in his slitted orange eyes.
So much for making friends. The animal was as unsocialized as its master.
The cat watched her narrowly as she parked in her drive and killed the engine, its gaze strangely calculating-as eerie as Poe's "The Black Cat" with its chilling stare. The figure of a gigantic cat… I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat… a large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree…
As she herded Greeley toward her kitchen door, escorting the drunken, smelly old man into her clean house, she felt like she was bringing home a parolee just released from the drunk tank- except that Greeley smelled worse. The instant she opened the door, the cat leaped inside, brushing boldly past their legs with none of the wariness most cats exhibited upon entering unfamiliar rooms.
Immediately he scented Dulcie's cat door and flew at it, sniffing and growling, and before she could stop him he turned his backside and drenched the little door with his testosterone-heavy stink, applying liberally the mark of male dominance and possession.
Shouting, she slapped at him with her purse-and jerked her hand away as he sprang at her, his swift claws raking her arm, leaving long red welts oozing drops of blood.
"You make that cat behave, Greeley. Or you'll put it outside."
Greeley shrugged and offered a helpless grin. Wilma found some peroxide in the emergency cupboard, poured some on a paper towel, and scrubbed the wounds, thinking of rare tropical infections and blood parasites. Snatching a spray bottle from the sink, she poured ammonia into it, to mix with the water. "He claws me again or sprays again, Greeley, he gets a shot of this in the face. He won't like it."
The cat glared. Greeley looked back grinning, amused that she would threaten his tomcat. Giggling, he headed for the dining room, stumbling unsteadily past her.
Before the cat could leap after him, Wilma slid through the door and slammed it in the beast's face.
Making sure the latch clicked, that the door was securely shut, she guided Greeley down the hall toward her bedroom. Ushering him in, she wondered if his boozy, sweaty smell would cling in the room forever. Down the hall behind her, she heard the kitchen door click open.
The cat came swaggering out of the kitchen, giving her a stare as sharp as a stabbing knife and pushed past her into the bedroom.
Mavity was asleep. Greeley leaned over his sister and delivered a peckish kiss, surely scratching stubble across her soft skin. Mavity woke, stared up at him vaguely, and drew away, grimacing at his smell.
Unperturbed, Greeley sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands in his with a gentleness that surprised Wilma.
"Dora's gone," Greeley slurred. "My little girl's gone. And Ralph gone, and that man you set such store by." Glancing to where the cat was sniffing around the dresser, Greeley whispered, "Death sucked them in. Sucked them all in. Death-death before the moon is full." Strange words for the drunken little man. Leaning down, he put his arms around Mavity, holding her close.
The cat watched, seeming almost amused. And as brother and sister comforted each other, the beast began to prowl, nosing into every inch of the bedroom, turning occasionally to observe Wilma, his huge topaz eyes as evil, she thought, as twin glimpses into hell.
Annoyed at her own fear, she went to make some coffee.
But, hurrying down the hall, she could feel the tomcat watching her. And when she glanced back, its eyes on her glowed so intently she turned away, shaken.
What was this beast?
Dulcie hadn't told her the nature of this animal.
Fixing a tray with coffee and sugar and cream and some pound cake, she returned quickly. The cat was not in sight. She set the tray on the night table and checked under the dresser and bed, then went to search the house. She didn't like to think of that creature alone with Dulcie.
She didn't find the animal. When she returned to the bedroom, Greeley was crying drunkenly, the tears rolling down his stubbled cheeks.
"… feeding those chickens when she was only a little girl, and helping her mama to plant the garden-my little girl… And that old goose used to chase her! Oh, how she would run," Greeley blubbered. "I killed that goose, killed it… But now-I couldn't kill whoever hurt her, couldn't save my little girl. So cold-so cold there in all them lilies…"
As Greeley doubled over, weeping, the black cat reappeared and leaped onto the bed. Mavity paled and shrank away from it, looked as if she'd like to hit it. Wilma watched, shocked, as it began to stalk Mavity-and thought of the times Mavity had complained about the beast's dirty habits. Surely, there was no love between them. But now the animal looked dangerous. As he crouched to leap, Wilma grabbed him, tossed him to the floor. The black cat landed heavily and jumped at once to the foot of the bed where it began pawing Greeley's jacket that lay crumpled on the blanket.
Clawing at the wrinkled leather, he slid his paw into a pocket, and with a quick twist, dragged out a black-feathered carcass. Taking this in his mouth, his ears back, his head low, he began to stalk Mavity. She jerked away, gasping, as Wilma snatched the blood-streaked bird.
But it wasn't a bird. The thing was hard under her fingers, not soft and limp like a dead bird. She turned it over, looking.
It was a small wooden man, the black feathers wrapped around him like a cloak and tied with red cord. His face was painted with blood red lines like a primitive warrior. His hair felt like real human hair, the side locks stiff with dried red mud, as if he were made up for some primitive ritual.
"Voodoo doll," Mavity whispered, staring at the six-inch man then at Greeley. "You showed me those, in that shop. Where did you get that? Why would you bring that horrible thing here?"
"Only a plaything," Greeley said, patting Mavity's hand. "I didn't bring it. The cat-the cat likes a plaything. The cat found it…" He reached up to take the carving from Wilma.
She held it away. "Why did you bring this?"
"I didn't bring it! The cat brought it. Damn cat-always dragging in something."
"The cat put it in your pocket?"
Greeley shrugged. "He digs in my pockets." He grinned sheepishly. "He likes that Latin American shop. I expect it smells like home."
"I'll take it in the kitchen."
The black cat hadn't taken his eyes from the doll. But now he turned from it, fixed his gaze on Mavity, and crept up the bed again, toward her.
"Get him away!"
Grabbing the cat, Wilma drew back a bloodied hand. "Greeley, get the beast out of here."
"Get down!" Greeley scolded. "Get off the bed!" The cat hissed at him but leaped to the floor.
"And stay off," Greeley added ineffectually.
Wilma turned away, carrying the doll, but the tomcat leaped, grabbing for its grisly toy. She swung it at the cat's head until the beast ran. Mavity hadn't exaggerated-the creature gave her more than chills. When she turned to look back, the cat was not behind her and the hall was empty.
She laid the carving on the kitchen table. More than its ugliness bothered her. It seemed to hold around itself a deep oppression. As she stood studying the doll she glimpsed a shadow behind her, slipping along the floor.
She spun as the cat crouched to leap-whether at her or to snatch the doll she'd never know: At the same instant, an explosion of tabby fur hit him, knocking him sideways.
Dulcie was all over him, slashing and clawing. The black cat fought violently in a tangle of raking claws-but he fought only briefly before b
reaking away, and careened out through Dulcie's cat door, the empty door slapping behind him.
As quick as that, he was gone. Dulcie leaped to the table, looking twice her normal size, and began to lick blood from her claws. Gently Wilma stroked her.
"What a nasty beast. Are you hurt? Where did he hurt you?"
Dulcie spit out a mouthful of fur. "I'm fine. A few scratches. They'll clean right up." Her gaze fixed on the black-feathered doll. "Voodoo," she hissed. "Did Greeley bring this? That old, disgusting drunk… Or did Azrael carry it here?" She glared at Wilma, laying back her ears. "Why did you let Greeley bring that cat here-and with this?"
"I didn't know. I was trying to keep Greeley happy. I didn't want him making a scene, so I let him bring the cat. I didn't see this thing. And the cat seemed tame enough, seemed just an ordinary cat."
She looked hard at Dulcie. "But he isn't, is he?"
Dulcie studied Wilma a long time. "No," she said softly, "he's no ordinary cat. But he's not like us, either. He's not like Joe Grey-he's horrid." With an angry swipe, she knocked the feathered man to the floor.
"Azrael believes in these voodoo things," she said, hissing. "He believes in dark magic-he said it was a fine way to get back at those who mistreat you.
"I expect he wanted," Dulcie said softly, "to make Mavity sicker-just because Mavity doesn't like him, because she complained about his manners."
She fixed her green gaze on Wilma. "Why else would he bring this terrible idol, if not to torment Mavity and frighten her-or try some wild spell on her? Can that stuff work?" she said, shivering, staring down at the black doll lying like a hunk of tar on the blue linoleum. Wilma snatched up the feathered figure and hurried down the hall. Following, Dulcie watched Wilma shove the ugly little idol in Greeley's face.
"What is this about, Greeley? What did you mean to do?"
"It's only a native doll," Greeley said, laughing. "Indian kid's playtoy. The cat brought it."
"Voodoo doll," Wilma replied.
"Voodoo?" He looked at her as if she wasn't bright and choked out a rum-laden laugh. "Child's toy. That Ms. Sue Marble, she's got all kinds of stuff-them Guatamala blankets, all that Panama clutter. Nothing of any use, all that artsy stuff. Even them little gold people aren't worth nothing-not the real thing, not the real gold. Gold birds. Gold lizards. Sue showed me." But suddenly his face colored and he looked embarrassed, his eyes shifting away.
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