“Dad!” she screeched, pulling the receiver a few inches from her mouth. “Somebody for you!” The crash of the phone on the tabletop rang in my ears.
“Yes?” The man’s voice sounded tired, as if he’d been running a marathon.
“Mr. Winters, my name is Rebecca Desjardin. I’ve been asked by Janey’s family to help out with the investigation.” There was a sudden intake of breath on the line. “I was wondering if I could come by the house and talk to you.”
“Sure.” A loud crash sounded in the background, breaking glass. “Please, as soon as you can. I’d like to get this resolved as soon as possible.”
I didn’t have to mention Jess or the Farm or anything that would connect them to the Pride. You never knew who was listening these days. I wasn’t lying, honestly. We were really her family, just one with extra skills and abilities to bring to the table.
“Do you have my address?” Mike shouted into the phone as a rap song threatened to overwhelm us both.
“Yes. I’ll be there in about an hour or so.” Hanging up the phone I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing from my ears. The stress in his voice didn’t take an expert to hear, he was taking this hard. It’s one thing to lose your mate, another to lose her to a killer. The crap from the Inquisitor wasn’t helping any.
By the time I got back on the road with a refill of coffee the rush hour was in full effect, commuters racing home to the north of Toronto and the workers racing south out of factories and businesses toward their homes in the city. Years ago it had been reversed and it would probably reverse again in my lifetime as the cycle continued with people emigrating from the city and back in again as prices shifted and it became fashionable, not to mention affordable, to live downtown.
The Gardiner wasn’t bad for once and I managed to slide into a parking spot not far from the Winters home just before dinnertime. The row of houses had been there for decades, many of them built back in the day when having street after street of identical houses had been all the rage.
The front of the Winters' house had a postage stamp-sized lawn, the grass brown and torn up by more than just animals. On the porch sat three stacks of plastic containers filled with board games and books, wedged up against the bay window looking out onto the street. Trotting up the steps, I rapped on the front door.
A stiff breeze shot up the street, carrying the sweet smell of dishes originating in a thousand countries being placed on a plethora of plates for people to eat, talk over or just savour.
Mike Winters opened the door. He stood about six feet tall, with dark hair and a set of bright blue eyes that could pierce a girl’s soul in a second, except now they were bloodshot with deep, dark bags giving his face a skeletal look. He gestured me in without talking, closing the door with a strange gentleness.
“Fiona! Michael! Upstairs.” The quiet command had the two teenagers racing up the stairs, but not before a scowl attack from the pouting girl. For his part Michael gave me a glance over the screen of the PSP in his hands as he disappeared from sight.
Mike led me to the living room, sitting down on the faded red leather couch as I took the matching chair to his right. The table held a variety of papers, all open to the obituaries with a few clippings of Janey’s death lying near a pair of scissors. Collections of dried flowers sat on the mantel over the fireplace and hung up on the wall—obviously Janey who had had quite the mad decorating skills. The last thing he probably wanted to look at right now was anything to do with death.
A coffee mug on the table didn’t contain coffee. I could smell the whiskey without having to concentrate too much. Mike gave a half-hearted sad smile with no hint of an apology.
“It’s been a rough couple of days.” He picked up the mug. His fingers gripped the ceramic so tightly I was afraid it would shatter. “We’re just... It’s been a shock.”
“I’m sure.” Pulling my notebook out of my right pocket, I flipped it open. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were trite, but true.
“Did you know her?” He took a sip, sloshing it around in his mouth like a mouthwash before swallowing.
“She was a bit older than I was. But I remember seeing her around the Farm.” I glanced at the photographic gallery spread across the walls between flower arrangements. Kids on horses, kids on hay wagons, kids at amusement parks with silly grins on their faces. One wedding picture with an ungodly number of people in the background, probably family and friends on both sides. “How are they holding up?”
“Mad. Sad. Angry.” He glanced at the level of whiskey in his mug and frowned. “I’m thinking of sending them up to the Farm for a few days and letting them run free, work it out of their system. After the funeral, of course.”
I nodded. “Might be for the best.” A pair of wild cats dashing out and about on the estate wouldn’t be noticed and Ruth would probably welcome the chance to mother them to death. “Kids are pretty resilient. You’d be surprised what they can work out when they’re on their own.” A stray lock of red hair flipped across my face as I spoke, forcing me to tuck it back behind one ear.
“I guess.” Finishing his drink he put the empty mug down on the table beside the cut pieces of paper. “Guess this is a little morbid, eh?” The man waved a hand over the clipped newspapers with a nervous chuckle.
“Not really. Give the kids something to remember her by.” I picked up one of the obits. “You had her cremated.” The upturn at the end of the sentence presented him with a question.
“As per the rules.” He let out a low squeaky sigh, startling me. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but...”
I nodded my agreement with the statement.
“Tell me about that night, if you don’t mind.” I dropped my voice to what I hoped was a low, comforting tone. “I know you’ve told the police, but...”
“But you’re kin.” A weak smile settled on his face. “She was working late that night, said something about making sure the school projects were graded before she came home. It was a bit of a mess at the school, some jokers scribbling crap on the walls the day before and everyone was out of sorts.” He glanced at the black-and-white photograph at the top of the obituary. A contented light-haired woman beamed back. “Kids.”
I nodded, encouraging him with my silence.
“She called me at about five, said she was leaving the school. Turns out her car wouldn’t start. We’d been having problems with the Toyota for weeks, nothing new there. She would have walked to the nearest streetcar stop.”
“On Queen.” I filled in the gaps. “That would have been the quickest way home.”
He nodded, staring at the tabletop. “Except she didn’t make it for dinner. Then I waited and waited.” A deep sigh echoed around the two of us. “By nine I knew something was wrong. Then the police showed up at the door.” Mike let out another pained sigh, huffing in stages. “I could smell their fear, can you believe it?” His eyes darted up to meet mine, suddenly feral. “Cops, afraid of me. Like I’m a bad guy. Hell, the worst thing I’ve done is keep stale bread on the shelves a day too long.”
“It’s a tough thing to do.” I felt strange standing up for the police. “They were afraid of what you’d say or do. Can’t blame them.” I extended a finger to tap her picture with my nail. “She’d probably have ripped them to shreds if it had been the other way around.”
A choked laugh came out. “Oh, for sure. Janey, she never liked to let go but when she did...” He reached over to scratch the back of his shoulder. “I’ve still got scars from when we were dating.” The sheepish grin disappeared in a second as his focus returned down to the papers. “And now the cops are saying nothing and it’s all going to go away without anyone paying.”
“Someone’s going to pay.” Standing up, I put the notebook in my leather jacket’s right pocket. “That’s why they sent me.” I hated to make promises, but this was something that needed to be taken care of. Anyone who could slip behind a woman like that and kill her couldn’t be left on the
streets whether he was a Felis or not.
“He strangled her, you know.” He rubbed his hands together. “I saw the bruises on her neck when I went to identify the body. I’m not stupid. I watch enough television to know what that looks like.” The weary man shot me a sideways glance. “I think it was another one like us.”
I nodded. “Board thinks that too.”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t understand. We don’t...” His hands shook from side to side. Couldn’t blame him, there had never been a murder in the Family in recorded history. And there was a lot of that.
“I’ll find out the truth. Promise.” I didn’t know what else to say, as if anything I could offer would blunt the shock and the pain. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything out.”
“Thank you.” Getting to his feet he looked at me, biting his lower lip. “I just don’t understand.”
Loud music played upstairs as Mike escorted me back to the front door. Some sort of rap-pop slop stuff. Mike shrugged with a weary smile. “I can’t stand that crap.”
“Kids.” We exchanged one of those knowing “aren’t-we-wise-for-our-age” glances we both knew was only for the moment. “I realise this is a pretty silly question, but did Janey have any enemies you know of?”
“She was a teacher.” Mike opened the door. The dying sunlight was bright and intrusive as it split up between the houses, sliding between the buildings and cutting through the shadows. Putting his hand over his eyes he squinted as I stepped out onto the porch. “Probably every kid she failed and every parent she pissed off by failing their kids. Standard.”
“Well, that narrows it down.” We shared another set of awkward glances.
Now for the toughest question. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. “There wasn’t any...” I waved my hand in the air in some vague shape. “Problems in your marriage, was there?”
He stared at me for a minute before responding. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” A scowl appeared. “What, you think she was having an affair?” His hands began to shake, his entire body following as he gritted his teeth and continued to speak. “You think Janey was...”
His eyes begin to narrow, the backs of his hands beginning to fur up slowly. His lips began to retract from his teeth as he let his breath out slowly.
“Stop.” I put my hands up and advanced, moving to let my jacket fall open as wide as possible, highlighting my weakness by showing my belly. “I didn’t say that. I was just pursuing a possible angle.”
His breathing became more laboured as he stared right through me, his fingers flexing back and forth. His face began to change, the faint orange fur shifting to cover his cheeks and his forehead, the nose beginning to retract just a bit.
I sighed once then moved into Mike’s personal space, face to face. “Mike Winters.” Dropping my voice as low as I could go I snarled even as I flipped my jacket down my arms and off, showing my white blouse. I’d done this before, calmed down angry males by moving into a submissive mode. It didn’t have to extend to rolling on my back to offer my bare stomach. The slightest aspect of appearing vulnerable would do. The leather jacket landed behind me as I lifted myself up on my toes and roared into his face, hoping the juxtaposition of the two would be enough to jar him out of his emotional state.
“Mike! Snap out of it!”
His eyes caught mine and locked, the irises already spinning into feline mode.
“Do not do this. In public? You remember the rules!” I glanced around. The street was empty but that could change at any minute. “Would Janey want you to get into a fight with me? With kin? Would Janey want you to help me find her killer or not?”
Evoking her name stopped him. Suddenly he blinked once, twice, the pupils returning to normal. I remained in his face as the light hairs retracted and he drew deep, gasping breaths as a full human again. He stepped away from me, surrendering the space. It’s one of those weird things, giving up the attack actually lets the submissive one win. I know it doesn’t sound logical but the last thing you think about when in the middle of a Change is logic, at least from what I recall.
“I’m sorry.” He sagged against the front door and for a second I thought he would faint. Grabbing his arm, I pushed him upright.
“Don’t worry. Perfectly understandable.” I forced a smile, hoping to reassure him. “I was out of line. I apologise.”
“No, no.” He waved me off. “You have to ask these types of questions, I know. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.” Taking deep breaths, he stared at his hands. “Close one there.”
“You have no idea.” I rubbed his back in small circles, feeling the muscles relax. “I hated asking that, you know.” Clearing my throat I turned the conversation back to more important topics. “I’ll be in touch if I find out anything. Just don’t leave the country, ’kay?” I smiled, encouraging him to return it with a chuckle. “Hey, it’s a classic.”
Mike stared down at his feet for a second, shuffling the pristine sneakers back and forth on the thick woven floor mat. “We’ll probably be up north in a few days if you need to reach us. Ceremony’s going to be tomorrow.” The man glanced from side to side. “You think you can find out who did this?”
“I’ll try my best.” That much wasn’t a lie. Taking his hand, I shook it, adding a bit of a twist with my little finger to remind him we were kin. “We take care of our own.”
While I walked back to the car I rubbed my stomach, trying to quell the nausea threatening to burst out and have me recycle the coffee and donuts. Even if it had been a random killing, which I didn’t believe, it definitely stuck a giant pin in the blimp of security the Pride had built around themselves. Ourselves. We had been told from birth that we were special, a whole world apart from the rest of society. That explained how we had to stay separate and secret in small packs around the world. Now in a single swoop, that invulnerability had been stripped away. Either we had become so weak a regular criminal could stalk, trap and kill us or there was a killer inside the Family. Either was unacceptable.
I would probably end up screwed no matter what happened. If Mike had attacked me I’d have been down in a second under those claws and teeth. He had forgotten but I hadn’t. I couldn’t.
Chapter 4
My front door was locked, the deadbolt untouched from this morning. It still hadn’t helped with the smell—my nose started to twitch at the blood scent, still strong even though I had double and triple-bagged the damned thing. Slamming the door behind me, I picked up the stack of mail from the floor and headed upstairs into my living space, flipping through the envelopes. An offer for a magazine subscription, an offer for a book club and an offer for cheap cellphone service. But no offers to take this mess off my hands or hand me the answer in three easy payments.
My computer was an old beast, so while it went through the ancient ceremony of booting up I wandered back downstairs. My stomach had finally settled down enough to proclaim it was empty, hungry and wanting something edible that wasn’t fried or filled with sugar—so fickle at this age.
I picked up the television remote, flipping around the dial while mentally cataloguing the contents of my pantry. The channel stopped on the Food Network. Bad idea. My stomach let out a growl at seeing a display of obscenely large hamburgers.
"Yep, Ramen noodles it is.” The cupboards offered up a package of instant noodles, caught between a few cans of vegetable soup and three cans of tuna. Within a minute I had the water waiting to boil in the small pot and had turned my attention back to the television set.
The local all-news channel had moved on from Janey’s death, giving it a quick sound bite about the investigation continuing, which was a nice buzzword for saying they had stalled. Not that I was complaining, having the cops around wasn’t going to help.
Finally settling on Animal Planet I dumped the contents of the packet into the water, turned the heat off and put the lid on the pot and ran back up to the computer.
The Inquisitor had its own website, no surprise th
ere. And, of course, the current issue was spread across the front page with poor Janey Winters taking up a small square at the bottom with a thumbnail photograph and the tag “Cat Woman found dead!” It wasn’t a good shot, intentionally fuzzed to avoid anyone really identifying the face. Some of the fuzz had to have been added electronically but it was still disturbing as all hell. I skipped over the images and headed for the information page. Sure enough, Brandon Hanover was there with a link to his email address.
Of course I wasn’t going to just email him. Aside that I was sure he had a spam filter the size of California I didn’t know when he ever checked his email, not to mention that I didn’t like doing business without seeing or hearing a person. It was much easier catching a lie when you could see a person’s sweat or hear the tension in their voice.
But I did Google him. Oh, did I. And a half-hour later I dialled his phone number, slurping the last of the noodles up and starting to munch on a plate of crackers and slices of old, old cheddar cheese. It helped cover up the smell of the blood but the aroma still danced in my nostrils, sending me back to early morning hunts and urging me to get a nice rare slab of meat for a snack later.
“Hey.” The tone was jovial and mellow.
“Hey, Hanover!”
“Who’s this?” The voice dropped from friendly and cheerful to less than welcoming. “Who’s this?”
“I’m looking into the death of Janey Winters. You know, the dead woman you got pictures of somehow and sold to that trashy rag you work for?”
The laugh almost deafened me. “Oh, right. The catwoman. What’s it to you?”
“Like I said, I’m looking into the case. Can I meet you and discuss it over a beer? Or three?” If I knew something about reporters, I knew they would never pass up a free drink. He figured he’d pump me for more information on his catwoman and I’d deliver it while taking the crumbs he’d offer back.
What God and Cats Know Page 4