The Cat, the Collector and the Killer

by Leann Sweeney

  * * *

  Close to seven that evening, I walked past a lone man wearing dirty blue jeans and an equally filthy shirt sleeping on one of the benches outside the door to the police station. He didn’t stir and I was glad the smell of pizza didn’t wake him. I supposed I would have shared a slice or two had he asked, but I’d rather be talking to my police friends than with whoever this guy was. He could be waiting for a ride or, as was the case at times, he might be hoping to be arrested for loitering so he’d have a place to sleep in jail, a place only a tad more comfortable than the bench he’d chosen.

  Once I was inside the waiting area, a young woman I didn’t recognize stood and smiled broadly. She couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

  “Hey there. I’m Jillian Hart, Chief Stewart’s wife.” It still seemed odd to call myself his wife, maybe because it was rare that I had to introduce myself that way. Living in a small town made such introductions unnecessary most of the time.

  “Oh, hi. When I met my dad for the first time, he mentioned you.” She held out her hand.

  Her fingers, long and thin, were cool to the touch and her skin was as pale as a winter moon.

  “Your dad?”

  “Mike Baca,” she said.

  I almost gasped in surprise. Mike had never mentioned a daughter. “I am so sorry . . . What is your name again?”

  “Grace. Grace Templeton. I was adopted by my stepfather. He’s gone, too. Heart attack. He was Mom’s husband number four. Mike—my biological father—was number two. I only met him once, right before my mother called to tell me he’d died, too. I wish we’d had more time to get to know each other.”

  I blinked away my surprise and found I was struck by her smile. Yes, very much like Mike’s, and here she was, talking about loss and pain and smiling the whole time. But her blue-green eyes told the truth. I saw sadness there and it tugged at my heart.

  “We would have reached out . . . had we known about you.”

  She nodded knowingly. “I was getting ready to leave the country when we talked. He said I would need a proper introduction, that he wanted to surprise everyone here.” She gestured toward the hallway lined with closed doors. “I wanted to come and make sure everyone knew—because that’s what he wanted.” There came Mike’s smile again. It was eerie.

  “He was one of the best men I ever knew.” But terrible at choosing partners—a trait that had turned out to be a fatal flaw.

  Meanwhile, the pizzas might be ice-cold by the time my friends were ready to eat. But there was so much I wanted to know about Grace. The questions, however, would have to wait.

  She must have read my mind because she said, “Oh, the food. Everyone has been talking about pizza ever since you called B.J. Let me help you take them to the back.”

  I handed her the two top boxes. “You’re assisting with dispatch?” We walked through the swinging half door that separated the waiting area from the rest of the police offices.

  “Yes. Answering phones, taking messages, doing what I can to help. My dad must have been talking to me because I knew something was wrong here in Mercy. I called yesterday, the second after I had the dream, and talked to B.J. I dropped everything and came here. School will still be waiting should I decide to return, but there isn’t much work for art history majors these days anyway.”

  “You quit school to come here?”

  “I did. Sometimes you have to do what you’re called upon to do.”

  We’d reached the break room—the deserted break room—at the end of the corridor. I set the pizzas on the small table in the center of the room.

  “Chief Stewart has everyone in his office,” Grace said. “I’ll tell them the food is here.”

  With that, she went across the hall and knocked on Tom’s door. Soon I was joined by Candace, Morris Ebeling, Lois and B.J. Morris, once Candace’s partner, had gained a few pounds around the middle. Since he was pushing seventy, maybe Tom had him doing more desk work.

  Grace took a slice of pizza and walked back to the waiting area and the ringing phone.

  “What about Tom?” I asked Candace.

  She already had her mouth full of cheese and pepperoni but managed, “Still working.”

  B.J. hadn’t started eating yet and filled me in. They had just made a revised list of witnesses and possible suspects after Shawn offered his information, as well as tips from concerned citizens who’d called in. Tom was making the timeline more complete.

  I put several slices of his favorite pizza as well as a cheese slice for me into an empty box and walked our dinner over to his office. That sandwich I’d eaten earlier hadn’t quite done the job.

  After I opened the door all the way, I saw that his blue eyes were shadowed beneath, his heavy lids showing his complete exhaustion. When small-town crime wasn’t just graffiti and jaywalking anymore, the load on the officers was horrendous.

  He glanced away from his computer and his smile erased some of the weariness at once. “My favorite person in the world carrying my favorite food. Doesn’t get any better than that.”

  I set the box on his desk. He came around and pulled me to him. The hug turned into a kiss that lasted so long I almost lost track of where we were.

  “I missed you,” Tom said when the kiss ended.

  “Same here. Yet it’s only been one night without each other. Now, time to eat and you can tell me about Grace Templeton. What the heck, Tom?”

  But Tom devoured one slice of pizza before saying anything. I wondered if he’d been living on coffee all day. Finally, after he wiped his mouth and swigged water out of the economy-size bottle that had been sitting on his desk, he spoke.

  “She just showed up. Said she was Mike’s daughter and knew she had to be here to help us. I didn’t have time for questions. B.J. needed relief and the last woman we had in here just couldn’t manage all the calls and messages. When there’s a murder, everyone believes they have answers. The number of calls isn’t as bad as when I worked in North Carolina, but it’s been close.”

  “What are people saying?” I placed my pizza crust in the box and wiped my fingers on a napkin.

  “Some are convinced that Minnie Schultz is a demented killer, based on town gossip after her trek down Main Street. But the victim’s being vilified far more.”

  “They think they’re helping to solve his murder by calling up and saying terrible stuff?” I said.

  “I suppose. It baffles me and makes for a slew of information that we can’t ignore. There could be a clue in there somewhere.”

  “I’ll answer the phone, too, if you need me to.”

  “I did plan to ask for your help, but not with that. We have to go through those boxes in Minnie’s house now that we have a search warrant that covers absolutely everything on the premises. I can’t risk evidence being tossed out of court because we rushed a warrant—not with so much stuff in that place. I was wondering if you could keep an inventory as Candace and B.J. go through them. One of them will dictate into their recorder, but I want written documentation as well. But I do have to warn you about that room where we found the body.”

  “Oh.” I paused to consider this. “I’d have to go in there?”

  “Probably. There’s not much room to move boxes around. Here’s the thing. Chester wasn’t dead right after he was hit on the head. Head wounds bleed profusely and—”

  “Would he have lived if someone called nine-one-one?” The thought horrified me. What an awful way to die.

  “He might have survived,” Tom said. “We don’t know for certain since the autopsy isn’t in. We did find evidence of what criminal profilers call ‘undoing,’ but I’m not sure about that.”

  I squinted at him, not understanding.

  He read me and went on. “Some people—like a good defense lawyer—might say the killer had shown remorse. Maybe we should leave it at that.” Tom stoo
d and picked up the pizza box.

  My gaze followed him as he walked around his desk, ready to leave the room. “Wait a minute. You’re obviously troubled. You need to tell me what’s wrong. That’s what this marriage thing means—that we share whatever upsets either one of us.”

  He sighed. “I never saw anything like this before, Jillian. The killer poured cat litter over Chester’s head.”

  My hand went to my lips and I whispered, “Oh my gosh.” I swallowed hard before speaking. “That’s just dreadful.”

  “Maybe it was remorse, maybe it was anger. We simply don’t know. Most of the tips we’ve received show how many people disliked Chester Winston—and the word dislike is being kind. Unfortunately, that expands the suspect pool to oceanic proportions.”

  “I guess you have to ask that question Candace always mentions. Why did this person have to die?”

  “And why now?” He glanced at his watch. “Where has the time gone? I have to get back to work.”

  I followed Tom out of his office and saw B.J. hurrying toward the waiting area. I was used to seeing him casually dressed and behind a desk. Of course, I knew he was over six feet, but the khaki stripes down the sides of his dark green uniform pants made him seem even taller.

  Grace waited at the end of the hall holding the phone out. Concern clouded her wide eyes.

  B.J. took the cordless phone, but he turned away from us so I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  Tom went on into the break room with the pizza box, but I stayed behind. They were used to crises here, but I had a sick feeling in my gut.

  When B.J. turned around, I saw his grim young face and knew something bad had happened.

  He nodded at me as I stood in the hallway feeling as if my legs were stuck in concrete. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he was about to tell the others.

  But I was so close to the door I couldn’t help but hear when he said, “It’s that shrink. She’s been in a bad wreck. They don’t know if she’ll make it.”

  Thirteen

  Even though I’d been told that Dr. Ross had been rushed into surgery, I decided to head to the hospital anyway. The spitting kind of rain we’d experienced this evening had now intensified into the real thing, and though I didn’t have far to run to my van, my short hair was wet and plastered to my head by the time I slid behind the wheel. I was hoping I could talk to Dr. Ross’s family and offer support. I felt the need to do something. In the short time since we’d met, I realized I liked and respected her.

  Meanwhile, I’d heard that Tom and Candace would be heading for the spot where the accident had occurred. Apparently the county sheriff’s deputies who responded to the accident said something was wrong at the scene—but that was all I knew. I couldn’t hear any more of the whispered conversation between B.J. and Candace.

  I didn’t get a chance to tell Tom I planned to drive to the hospital. By the time I reached my destination, the sky was pitch-black with rolling charcoal clouds and thunder rumbling angrily. Though I’d spent far too much time in that hospital in the last two days, I’d felt such a strong pull to return here for Dr. Ross. Once I’d parked, I pulled up the cat cam on my phone and activated the chat feature. I felt renewed guilt at leaving my kitties alone so much since the murder.

  I could see the cats, but they could only hear me when I said, “Calling all kitties,” into my phone. To my surprise Otto showed up first. He’d caught on right away to this camera thing, it would seem. We’d had a black-and-white barn cat at my grandparents’ farm named Jezebel, and I swore that cat could read minds. She was loving and the best mouser we’d ever had. Yes, tuxedo cats were quite smart. I took several screenshots of Otto and saved them to my camera. That guy was so darn cute.

  Syrah came next and sat looking up at the camera and our little speaker. Otto rubbed up against Syrah as if asking him to explain this weird phenomenon. Soon the whole clowder was listening to me tell them where I was and that I would be home soon. No, they couldn’t understand, but I felt better just seeing their faces so acutely interested in hearing my voice.

  By the time I shook my umbrella as dry as I could outside the hospital, I wondered if Candace and Tom had learned anything about the doctor’s accident. The halls were oddly deserted, the bustle of the day gone. I asked at the information desk about the surgery waiting room and was directed to the second floor.

  One man sat alone in a corner, his balding head down as he stared at his clenched hands. I chose a seat on the green vinyl couch not far from his chair and set my damp umbrella on the floor. My hair was nearly dry, thank goodness, or I would have caught a serious chill in this cold place.

  The man glanced up when I sat down. His eyes showed fear—and those eyes were so like Dr. Ross’s I knew at once he was a relative.

  I spoke softly before he could look down again. “Are you here for Dr. Ross?”

  He pulled in his lower lip and nodded. “Do you know her?”

  “We only just met, but I felt so . . . so comfortable in her presence. When I heard about the accident, I wanted to offer my support.”

  He squinted at me. “You’re a patient of hers?”

  “No. I’m simply a new friend.”

  “How did you hear about this? Was it on the news?” He glanced at his watch. He then mumbled, “No. The news doesn’t come on for a while yet.”

  “I was at the police station when I heard. My husband is the police chief in Mercy.”

  His expression showed he understood. “You met her because of the lady they found in Mercy, the one Brenda was helping?”

  “That’s right. Will she be okay?”

  His face grew grim again. “She suffered a head injury, internal injuries and broken bones. Several doctors scrubbed in on the operation. I wanted to be in there, too. I’m a doctor as well, but since I’m her brother, they sent me out here with very few facts. This is a hard place for family members to wait. I have a new appreciation for what they go through.”

  “I’m Jillian Hart, and you’re . . . ?”

  “Peyton Ross.” He tilted his head and pointed at me. “You’re the one who took the cat from Brenda’s new patient. She told me what she could about that situation, but I don’t know the woman’s name, just yours. Confidentiality and all that.”

  “Yes. The woman is still here in the hospital and—”

  “Jillian?” I turned to see my stepdaughter, Kara, striding into the room. Her umbrella had done a good job keeping her dry. Her long dark hair wasn’t wet, and her trousers and shirt bore not a spot of rain.

  I stood and we hugged before I introduced her to the other Dr. Ross, explaining his relationship to the woman in surgery.

  “I am so sorry, Dr. Ross,” she said. “I was following up on the accident for the newspaper. I’m the editor. How is your sister?”

  He shook his head slightly. “I appreciate your concern, but I doubt Brenda would like anything written about this . . . if she pulls through.” His voice cracked as he went on. “She’s my only family.”

  Kara sat on the edge of the chair next to him. “If I write about her and what happened, maybe someone will come forward. There could have been witnesses.”

  He squinted again, accentuating the lines worn into his face. “Why do they need witnesses?”

  Kara blinked.

  I swallowed hard. He obviously had no idea there was anything suspicious about what had happened to his sister.

  “No one told you this might not have been an accident?” Kara said.

  He drew back. “What?”

  “From the initial examination of evidence at the scene, the police believe she was run off the road.”

  He collapsed back in his chair, looking confused, tears welling. “It could have been one of her patients,” he mumbled. “People never quite understand that therapists can be at risk.”

  “Did she mention an
y patient she thought might direct violence toward her?” Kara asked.

  “She would never tell me; she would never tell anyone unless the situation was so serious she feared for others. She never feared for herself.”

  “Sounds like a special and dedicated doctor,” Kara said. “You do understand I’m here to help, to get the story out there. Anything I report might prompt a witness to come forward.”

  “Shouldn’t I be talking to the police rather than a reporter? I mean, you seem like a perfectly nice person, but I’d prefer to hear from the police first.”

  Time for me to speak up, I decided. “Kara is my stepdaughter, and I can assure you, she would never put anything out there if my husband, Chief Stewart, didn’t give his approval. I don’t know if you’re from Mercy, but Kara is responsible, honest and wants the news to be in the public interest.” It sounded like a speech, and an unconvincing one, at that.

  He glanced back and forth between us. “My practice is in Columbia, so I live there. Here’s what I’m willing to tell you. Brenda only moved to Mercy so she could be closer to this hospital and the surrounding rural towns. She believed she could help in this area of the state better than in an urban setting. There’s very little psychiatric care around here.” He took a deep breath. “That’s the kind of person she is. Write about that.”

  Kara offered a small smile. “She has a mission. She’s one of the good guys. You want people to know that, right? You want to find out why this happened.”

  “I do. But only after I speak with the police.” He looked at me. “Is your husband the one investigating?”

  I nodded. “He went out to the crash scene after getting a call from the sheriff’s deputies who responded. He’ll know everything they do by now. Do you want to speak with him?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  So I called Tom, explained where I was and then handed the phone over to Peyton Ross. The two had a short conversation, and once he disconnected, he told us he’d been assured that Kara was telling the truth and that any publicity would be helpful. He added, “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not sure how I can assist you.”