by Simon Hawke
"Well, his father was Congressman Solo, and he himself worked as an assistant district attorney, then served two terms as D.A. before he was appointed police commissioner."
"He hadn't mentioned any of that," I said, with some surprise. "I'd somehow gotten the idea he worked his way up through the rank and file of the cops. Guess I assumed that when he said he took a degree in criminology."
"And one from Harvard Law," said Karen.
"Hmm. Sounds like he's a pretty big wheel in this town. But wouldn't police commissioner ordinarily be considered a step down from district attorney?"
"I see you know something about city politics," said Karen, with a smile.
"I read the papers."
She grinned again. I could tell she was enjoying this conversation. I was having a pretty good time, myself.
"Well, there was some talk about getting him to run for mayor," she said, "but apparently he wasn't interested. He wanted to stay in law enforcement. Word is he's still carrying a torch for his wife, who was killed in a shooting about ten or fifteen years ago."
"Yeah," I said, "I know about that."
She looked at me with interest. "Is it true? That he's still carrying a torch for her, I mean."
"Yeah, I'd say it's true. Why?"
She shook her head. "No reason. Not that it's any of my business. I just think it's sort of sweet, I guess. Sad... but sweet. He must have really loved her."
"I gather she was someone pretty special," I said.
Karen shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I was just a kid then, still in high school. I remember hearing about it on the news, though. He was in the D. A.'s office at the time. They played it up pretty big."
"Yeah, I imagine they would. D.A.'s wife gunned down in drive-by shooting. Details at eleven. Reporters have never been among my favorite people."
"Boy, I'm with you there," said Karen. "They're all a bunch of vultures."
"That's flock," I said.
"Huh?"
"Flock of vultures. Bunch of grapes, flock of vultures."
"Gaggle of geese," she said.
"Pride of lions," I countered.
"An exaltation of larks," she came back.
"A sty of cops," I said.
"Watch it."
"Sorry, officer. I won't let it happen again."
"Well, I'll let you off with a warning this time."
I laughed and she looked alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I was just laughing. I know, it sounds like I'm choking on a hairball, but I can't help it. That's just the way it works."
"You had me worried for a second there," she said, with a chuckle. "So, how long are you going to be staying with the commissioner?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think either one of us has really given it a lot of thought. We barely even know each other. It's sort of an unusual situation."
She nodded. "Think you might make it permanent?"
I shook my head. "I try not to think along those lines. Life isn't permanent, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah."
"What time is it?"
She glanced at her watch. "About eleven."
"I didn't realize it was so late. I should probably be getting back," I said.
"Come on," she said, getting up, "I'll give you a ride."
I glanced dubiously at the scooter. "On that thing?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"I can think of a number of reasons," I said.
"Oh, don't be a pussy," she said.
"Cute," I said. "Very cute."
"Sorry, couldn't resist."
"All right, how are we supposed to work this?"
She threw her leg over the scooter and patted the seat between her legs. "Hop on."
"I don't know about this," I said, as I leaped up onto the seat and sat down with her legs on either side of me.
"Don't worry about it," she said, as she reached for the handlebars. "Long as you don't go squirming around, you're not going to go anywhere."
"If you say so," I replied, uncertainly.
"Relax," she said. "Logan Towers, right? It's a short ride and I won't go fast. Just don't go digging your claws into my legs."
She brought her thighs closer together, cradling me so I wouldn't slide around, and punched the starter button. With a soft hum, the scooter rose about a foot or so off the ground and we were off, skimming down the mall.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied, enjoying the feeling of the breeze rippling my fur. "This is kinda fun."
"I live to ride," she said, as we skimmed past park benches and pedestrians. "You should see the scoot I've got at home. Custom job; built it myself. It would eat this thing alive."
"I'll take your word for it."
We skimmed down to the end of the mall and then headed south on Broadway. She kept the speed down to something reasonable, but it was still a lot faster than I was used to going. And I decided that this kind of transportation wouldn't be all unpleasant getting used to. In a car, you were enclosed, but on one of these scooters, you were right out there in the wind and you could see everything around you much better. It wasn't entirely without risk, of course, but then what is? And Karen really seemed to know what she was doing. Of course, that made perfect sense. Police motor officers received extensive training on their scooters and were generally much better riders than the average person. On top of which, other drivers have a tendency to slow down and behave themselves whenever there's a cop around.
We took a left at Ninth and headed east a few blocks, to Logan. And as we turned the corner, we ran into a police convention. In addition to the squad cars, there were two fire trucks, a paramedic van, and a bomb-squad truck. Flashing lights were all over the place. Right in front of the entrance to the underground garage of Logan Towers were the burnt-out and still-smoking remains of a car.
Karen pulled over to the curb and I hopped down, then she got off and I followed her as she walked up to one of the officers on the scene.
"Jeff, what's going on?" she asked.
"Looks like a homicide," the officer replied. "Explosive device wired to the car. Bomb squad just found what's left of it." He glanced down toward me. "What's with the cat?"
"This is Catseye Gomez," she said. "He's a thaumagene, staying with the commissioner. I was just giving him a ride home."
"Hi, Gomez," he said. "Jeff Coles. Friend of the commissioner's, eh? He's upstairs in 3-E."
"3-El" I said. I glanced toward the blown-up car. "Susan Jacobs?"
Coles nodded. "Yeah. The radio personality. You knew her?"
"No, we never met, but I was just talking with her cat this morning."
"Well, maybe you'd better go up, then," Jeff said.
"I'll take him up," said Karen. She glanced back toward the wreckage. "Did she make it?"
"What, are you kidding? Look at that thing. You didn't hear it go off?"
She shook her head. "No, I was downtown, on the mall. The buildings must have blocked the sound."
He shook his head. "Man, I was cruising about four blocks away and I heard it blow. I was the first one on the scene. The blast took out half the widows across the street."
"I'll talk to you later," Karen said. "Come on, Catseye."
We went through the door and past the security desk. One of the cops was taking a statement from the guard on duty. We went into the elevator.
"Floor, please."
"Three," I said.
"Thank you, Mr. Gomez."
The doors slid closed.
"Fancy," Karen said.
"Security building," I said. "Though it didn't seem to do Miss Jacobs any good."
"Yeah," said Karen, making a tight-lipped grimace.
We got off at the third floor and went down the hall to 3-E. The neighbors were probably all at work, because I didn't see anybody except for a couple of cops in the hall. They nodded at Karen as we approached.
"The commissioner in there?" she asked.
"Yeah," one of them said. He grim
aced wryly. "You ready for this? They're trying to take a statement from the victim's cat. She's being a real handful, too. Yowling up a storm in there." He glanced down at me. "What's this, the boyfriend?" he added sarcastically.
"Hey, shove it, bonehead," I snapped. "Step aside."
He stared at me with astonishment and actually stepped aside before he had a chance to think about it. Karen grinned and followed me into the apartment.
There were several detectives in there, but Solo was running the show. He still hadn't changed from the gym and was dressed in blue police-department sweats and running shoes. He was hunkered down in front of the couch, talking to Princess when I came in. Or at least trying to talk to her. She was in a real state. She was curled up on the couch, her ears laid back, and every couple of seconds, she would raise her head and let loose with a grief-stricken yowl. I jumped up on the couch beside her and, instinctively, she recoiled and hissed.
"Take it easy, kitten," I said. "It's only me."
"They killed her, Gomez!" she yowled. "The lousy chauvinist bastards killed her!"
Solo took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "I'm glad you're here, Gomez. As you can see, she's quite distraught. Maybe you can help calm her down. We need to find out if she knows anything."
"The bastards!" Princess yowled. "The lousy, murdering bastards!"
"I know, kitten, I know," I said, reaching out to touch her paw gently.
Solo straightened up and glanced at Karen.
"Motor Officer Karen Sharp, sir," she said. "I gave Gomez a ride home from the mall."
"Thank you, Officer Sharp," he said. "Stick around. She's used to being around a woman, it might help. Her name is Princess."
"Yes, sir."
Karen squatted down beside us. "I'm sorry, Princess," she said. "I'm truly sorry."
Princess glanced toward her and Karen held her arms out. With a soft, mewling little sound, Princess went to her and Karen picked her up, stroking her softly. So much for my comforting presence.
Karen sat down on the couch, holding Princess and stroking her gently. Solo sat down next to her and I jumped onto the coffee table. Solo looked at me and nodded, indicating that 1 should talk to her.
"Kitten, I know this is pretty rough," I said, "but we need to find out some information, anything that might tell us who did this. They shouldn't get away with it, Princess, and they're not going to get away with it, but we need your help. Do you think you're up to it?"
She looked at me and nodded. She was still pretty frazzled, but Karen's holding her seemed to calm her down. I glanced at Solo, but he nodded that I should continue. I guess he figured he could jump in if I didn't ask the right questions.
"Okay, Princess," I said. "Now, these questions might be a little tough, but they've gotta be asked. Can you think of anybody that might have wanted to harm Susan?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. "The people who are against us," she said.
"Against you? You mean against ERA?"
"Yes," she said bitterly.
Solo frowned and I explained. "Equal Rights for Animals," I said. "It's a group Princess and Susan Jacobs started together, along with some of their friends."
"It's the first I've heard of it," said Solo, frowning.
"We were trying to get an animal rights bill on the ballot," Princess said. "Our goal was equal rights for animals and citizenship for thaumagenes."
Solo raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He glanced at me and I picked up the prompt.
"What makes you think someone would have wanted to kill Susan because of that?" I asked.
"We've had threats," Princess replied.
"What kind of threats?"
"Phone calls," she said. "Both here and at the station. I was upset about it at first, but Susan said it was nothing to worry about. She said there were always kooks calling up the station with stuff like that."
"Calling up a radio station is one thing," I said, "but calling her at home is something else again." I saw Solo nod in agreement. "Was her number listed?"
Princess glanced from me to Solo, then back again. "No, I don't think so."
"And she didn't change her number after she started getting the threatening calls?" I asked.
"She saved the tapes from the answering machine," said Princess. "She was going to dub them and put them on the air."
"Why?"
"We were going to do a talk show," Princess replied. "Susan thought the tapes would be a good example of the kind of coercion and repression imposed by homo-chauvinist attitudes."
"What about these tapes?" I asked. "Where are they?"
"I think she put them in her desk," said Princess.
One of the other detectives immediately went to the desk and started looking. "Top drawer's locked," he said.
"Break it, Ryan," Solo said.
One broken desk drawer later, the detective had the tapes. There were three cassettes, rubber-banded together, wrapped in a piece of paper with the word Threats written on it. He handed them to Solo.
"Nicely labeled and everything," he said wryly.
"Did she ever call the police about these threats?" I asked.
Princess shook her head. "I don't know."
I glanced at Solo. "She ever speak to you about them?"
He shook his head. "No. We didn't really know each other very well. Just said hello in the elevator, that sort of thing." Then he smiled slightly and shook his head.
"What?" I said.
"Nothing," he said. "You're doing very well. You'd make a pretty good cop."
"Yeah, but I'd look silly in a uniform," I replied. "Princess, you're here most of the time, did you ever actually hear any of these calls?"
"Yes," she said. "I heard them all. All the ones that came on the answering machine, anyway."
"I don't suppose you recognized the voice? I mean, did it sound at all familiar?"
"No. It sounded muffled. But it was a man's voice. I'm sure of that."
"Same voice every time?"
"Yes."
"We'll take these tapes and listen to them," Solo interjected. "What about her personal life, Princess?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, was she seeing anyone?" said Solo. "Involved with someone special?"
"I don't see what that has to do with. .. with ... what happened," Princess said.
"I don't know that it does have anything to do with it," said Solo, "but we need to look into any sources that might help us, anything that might produce some information."
"What about it, kitten?" I asked. "Did she have a special man in her life?"
"Mark Michaels," Princess said. "The general manager at the radio station."
One of the other detectives wrote it down.
"How serious was it?" Solo asked.
"You mean were they sleeping together?" Princess asked, in a tone that implied it was none of his business.
"I mean how serious was it?" Solo asked again. "Was it merely casual, or was it a serious relationship?"
"It was a serious relationship," said Princess.
"Okay," said Solo. "What about her friends? Can you give us any of their names?"
"Her best friend is... was. .. Dana Cain," said Princess. "And she was also close with Christy Ivers. You'll find their numbers and addresses in her phone book."
"In the desk?" asked Solo.
"The top drawer," Princess said. "It's a little black book." She looked up at Karen. "Thank you. I think I'm all right, now."
Karen let her off her lap and Princess settled down onto the couch beside her. She looked like something... well, like something the cat dragged in.
"Who else was she close to?" Solo asked, while the detective went to the desk again to get the phone book.
"Why don't we take a break?" I interrupted. "We can go through the names in the book with her later. I think she could use a breather."
Princess glanced at me gratefully. "Thank you, Gomez," she said.
"Sure," said Solo.
"Princess, the detectives need to do some work in here. Would you like to come up to my apartment for a while? Have some milk or water, something to eat?"
"I don't think I could eat anything," said Princess, "but I could do with a drink, thank you."
"Gomez, why don't you take her up?" He reached into the pocket of his sweats, took out his keys, and handed them to Karen. "Officer Sharp, stay with them, will you?"
"Sure thing, Commissioner," she said.
One of the cops came in from outside. "Commissioner, we've got a crowd of reporters outside."
"That figures," Solo said.
"The chiefs down there, talking to them. He said to tell you he'd give them a short statement and then be right up."
"Okay, thanks," said Solo. "Let's get the lab boys up here. I'll want-"
I didn't hear the rest of it. We were out the door and on our way down to the elevator. The cop I'd sassed gave me a sour look as we went by, but though he looked as if he'd have liked to drop-kick me, he didn't say anything. Apparently, as an animal friend of the commissioner's, I had some clout. But then not everyone was an animal lover. And it looked like maybe Susan Jacobs had found that out the hard way.
Five
EARLIER that morning, I'd had an uneasy feeling that it was going to be a long day. I hadn't known the half of it. Maybe one of these days I'd figure out why trouble has a way of following me everywhere I go. Maybe it's my color. Maybe what they say about black cats is true. I'd been with Paulie, and now Paulie was dead. Grief had come to Princess only a matter of hours after I had crossed her path. Solo took me in and Susan Jacobs got killed right on his doorstep. I hadn't even met the lady and, in a crazy sort of way, I somehow felt responsible. Maybe it was because in her own cockeyed sort of way, Susan Jacobs had been trying to do something to improve my way of life. And maybe I shouldn't have given Princess such a hard time about it. Maybe I should have stayed in Santa Fe. Maybe I was just plain bad luck.
I took Princess into Solo's guest room, where she curled up on the couch and conked right out. When I came back into the living room, I found Karen standing by Solo's desk, staring at the framed photograph of his late wife. She didn't hear me come in. She just stood there, staring at the picture, then she picked it up for a closer look. "Beautiful, wasn't she?" I said.
Karen gave a small guilty start, then slowly put the picture back down on the desk. "Yes, she was," she replied softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy."