What God and Cats Know

by Sheryl Nantus

  I did the next best thing.

  “I apologise,” I said softly. “It’s just that this is a bit more personal than I’m used to dealing with.” The hormones hung in the air between us.

  Bran stepped aside. “Accepted. But I still want to come along with you.”

  The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I shook my head, pulling my empty hand out. “I can’t. I work alone.”

  “Not anymore.” He stuffed his hands back into his pockets, an almost child-like grin on his face. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to put in another story talking about your involvement in the case.”

  The words caught in my throat. “That would compromise my work. I might never find the killer.”

  “That’s right.” Bran nodded with a knowing look. “So, why don’t we start with me asking my doorman for a glance at the security tapes to see how that envelope got up here?”

  Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose, buying some time. “I don’t have partners.” I chose the words carefully, saying them slowly. “I work alone. I’ve always worked alone. However...” His scent washed over me in waves. “As long as you do nothing, write nothing until we finish this up, you can come along. And I want a full apology for putting that picture in the paper.” My eyes flew open, glaring into his dark brown ones. “That’s as far as I’m willing to take negotiations. Take it or leave it.”

  “Deal.” Bran reached behind him, grabbing the doorknob. “So let’s go talk to Dan.”

  Chapter 6

  The doorman was actually ex-SAS, a retired officer who wanted to keep working despite receiving a decent pension. He motioned us to the back of the security station where the cameras and tapes were kept.

  “They’re on a twenty-four-hour cycle, sorry to say.” He shook his head, the few white hairs on his head peeking out from under the pseudo-military cap. “So there won’t be anything there if it happened more than a day ago.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?” Bran frowned. “Not like you, Dan.”

  The salt-and-pepper moustache bristled at the admonishment. “I didn’t miss anything. No one gets in here on my shift.” He wagged a finger at the ledger sitting atop the polished counter. “They all sign in and sign out. I don’t let anyone just wander in here.”

  “I believe you.” I butted in, not that the old man was about to break down or anything. He wasn’t sweating a single drop. In fact, he was radiating a ton of respect and authority, reminding me of Jess back in the day. “We were just wondering how this fellow walked in and out like that.”

  Bran looked at me, a confused expression on his face. “How do you know it’s a guy? Why not a girl?”

  Because I could tell by the scent. “I guess I just make the assumption ’cause it’s likely a guy did the killing.” I shrugged. “Consider it a generic term, then.”

  He turned back to Dan. “No offence meant, we were just concerned.”

  “As you should be.” The thick accent grew more and more noticeable with each syllable. “I’ll tell the other fellas to sharpen up their act or they’ll be outta here.” He jerked a thumb toward the street to make his point. “That’ll be enough of that around here.” The announcement brought a smile to my face, albeit hidden.

  “Thanks.” Bran clapped a hand on the pseudo-military uniform shoulder. “I knew I could count on you.”

  The veteran let out a rumbling chuckle through the moustache. “For you, Mr. Hanover, anything.” His cool grey eyes searched my face. “Been awhile since you brought a lady friend home. Wish you’d do that more often. Be a pleasant sight for these old eyes.” Dan threw me a sly wink, invoking a smile in return.

  “Reminds me of an old English sheepdog.” I flagged down a cab as we stood outside the condominium on King Street. “Sweet old man.”

  “Sweet enough to disarm three punks last summer who were looking to do some break and enters.” Bran chuckled, digging in his pockets for something. “Sorry, home invasions. I forget we’ve renamed them to sound something less violent.”

  The streets were now dark, the majority of commuters having fled the downtown core for the supposedly safer suburbs. Opening the back door of the cab, I slid in across the broken vinyl seats, sticking a bit on the duct tape crisscrossing the well-used cushion.

  “Got it.” The reporter brandished a small digital camera as the driver waited patiently for me to give him directions. “Where to now?”

  “The crime scene.” I directed the cabbie to drop us off a block away from where Janey Winters’s body had been found, settling back for the short drive. “Best place to go right now.”

  The bunched-up envelope dug into my side where it had been crammed into the small inner pocket of my leather jacket. I had the original, but it wasn’t going to undo the damage to Janey’s reputation as well as the danger to the group. Flipping open my cellphone, I made another call to my favourite police contact.

  Hank answered on the third ring. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got the picture.” I glanced over at Bran, who waved cheerfully at me. “It looks like a freelancer shot it. Best guess the guy tripped across the scene and thought he’d make a fast buck.” I ignored Bran’s angry glare.

  “You sure ’bout that?” The detective replied. “Sure it’s not the killer doing a trophy run?”

  “I don’t think so.” I chose my words carefully, aware that anything I said could pull the police into the case a lot more than they already were. I didn’t need them there. “It looks like it’s from a cellphone, the quality’s not that great. Taken on the fly without much forethought, which tells me that the murder wasn’t planned, a spur-of-the-moment thing which rules out a stalker or serial killer.”

  “Damn.” The sound of crying children vibrated in the background. “Excuse me for a second...” The roar quieted the children for only a minute before the ruckus resumed. “You going to send it in to Huffington or IA?”

  “Not going to bother. It’s been compromised. Not a chance of getting any prints off of it.” The edge of my mouth twisted up. “Besides, as you told me—they’re writing this one off.”

  “It’s still something that the boys in CSI should take a look at. Good thing you convinced him to turn over the original. I know that the boys tried a few times and he blew them off.” His voice dropped down to a professional tone. “You send that over to Huffington right away. Let them decide what’s useful and what’s not.”

  “I’m just letting you know that it’s a confirmed shot from the crime scene by someone who wasn’t a cop.” Bran’s frown forced me to close my eyes. “That’s all I’ve gotten so far. Later.” I turned the cellphone off.

  “Well, that’s interesting.” He pushed back into the creaking cushions, one arm stretching out behind my shoulders. “So you’re blowing off the cops. Why?”

  The sudden heat against my back was strangely soothing, tamping down the automatic urge to shrug off his casual touch. I watched the street unravelling in front of us. “It’s a bit complicated.”

  “No, it’s not.” Bran pursed his lips. “You want this case to go away, but not in a legal sense. You wanted to get my picture to confirm that it wasn’t a cop and is, in fact, from the killer, or at least someone who wasn’t there legally. You want the cops to let you solve it.” He leaned sideways, brushing my right ear with the heated whisper. “All I want to know is what’s so special about this woman that you’re going to blow off the cops and go vigilante.”

  The cab came to a shuddering stop, the brakes screeching their annoyance. I passed the driver a twenty and got out of the car. Bran followed, scrambling to keep up with me.

  The walk down the street to the alleyway was well lit and filled with pedestrians making their way to the small cafés and bars littering the area. This was hardly an area to grab a woman off the streets to drag her into an alleyway.

  “Hey.” Brandon caught up to me, tugging on the back of my jacket. “I asked you a question.”

  “And I’m not answering.” I
pulled up short, seeing a flash of yellow tape fluttering in the wind. “You’re the reporter. You figure it out.”

  The yellow crime tape had been stretched from one end of the entrance to the alley to the other, originally crisscrossing in a giant “X” but now ripped down and flying free. I stepped over the threshold into almost total darkness.

  The alley was barely large enough for two people to walk down side by side. The brick walls were scratched and dented. A small trail of liquid trickled down past me into the street, stinking of urine, bleach and other things I couldn’t identify.

  “How can you see anything?” A bright light flashed behind me, momentarily blinding me. Bran held up a small flashlight. “God, this place reeks.”

  “Turn that off.” It wasn’t a request. As it faded my eyes readjusted to the darkness. A scattered trail of rotting tomatoes and lettuce was spread across the concrete floor.

  Then I saw it.

  The small spots of blood were faded but not enough to evade both my eyes and nose. Kneeling down I stared at the scarlet stains, trying to recreate the scene in my mind.

  Janey had ended up here, her feet pointed toward the street. I looked at the bricks on each side and the ground. It was a mess. Scratches, deep scratches. Felis nails had done those, not human. She had fought him to the end, trying to use the walls for leverage.

  “How can you see anything?” Bran crouched down, resting his back against the wall.

  I picked up Janey’s scent easily. There had been enough of it back at the house that it was impossible not to notice. But there was another one there, one I didn’t know.

  It wasn’t Dennis. I could put Jess’s theory to rest on that part. She wasn’t having an affair with anyone and thankfully not a member of the Board but there was another Pride signature there and it was strong. It was strong, male and so thick it clogged the back of my throat as I tried to imbed it in my memory and my senses. There was something familiar about it, something that stung the top of my mouth as I tried to focus in on it. It was like taking a mixed drink and trying to pick out the individual types of alcohol and flavours.

  “What are you doing?” The reporter sighed, rubbing his leather duster back and forth against the wall. “Dang, my back’s itchy.”

  I caught the faintest whiff of Janey’s perfume, expensive, with the sweaty evidence of a struggle from both parties. Twisting around and around I stared at the bricks and the floor, searching every inch.

  Then I saw it, the smallest possible hair sticking out of a crack high on the wall. Bran followed me as I stood up to pluck it from the dirty crack with my bare fingers.

  “That’s not evidence, is it?” He glanced back toward the street as if he expected the police to descend on us at any minute declaring us to be under arrest.

  “No.” Pulling a small baggie from my pocket, I flicked the hair in, sealing it tight. It was Felis and not the normal alley cat kind. There’s just something about our fur making it unlike any other.

  “If that’s evidence it should have been collected by the cops.” Bran shook his head, moving closer to me. “You’re going to get us both arrested.”

  “I didn’t think you were afraid of much.” If the police had found other hairs they would have been unable to identify them as human, more likely written them off as from the street cats roaming the area. Unless they pulled the hair down to the bare bones, DNA analysis, then had something to compare it to they’d have no chance of identifying it. Felis DNA wasn’t anywhere on file other than with the Pride archives. Now all I had to do was find out whom it belonged to.

  Bran’s hand landed on my shoulder. “So, finding anything? I can’t see squat in this darkness.” He squinted at me in the dim light. “And for the record, I’m not afraid of much but I do dislike being hauled off to jail for messing with a murder case.”

  “Well, you’re not. So there.” Pocketing the plastic bag, I crouched again. “Just stay up there and be quiet. If you want to make yourself useful, keep an eye out for anyone ducking in here.”

  “The only reason anyone’d come in here is either to piss or to get a blowjob from a hooker.” He glanced down at me. “No disrespect intended.”

  “None taken. Hush.” Pulling out the bent envelope, I salvaged the photograph. “Come here, please.”

  “Go here, come here. I’d hate to be your boyfriend.” He chuckled as he moved to stand beside me. “Now what?”

  “I’m standing right where the body was.” I handed him the photograph, pushing it into his hands. “Turn on your flashlight if you need to.”

  The small white beam sent jagged shards of pain through my eyes before I could adjust. “Can I see your digital camera?”

  He handed it over, pointing the beam at our feet. “It’s got an automatic flash, if that’s any help.”

  “Good.” I looked at the picture then shifted to one side. “This would be about where the photographer stood when he took the shot, right?”

  The light bounced around the narrow alley before landing again at our feet. “More or less. If you consider the blood spot here to be pretty well where she fell, probably from a broken nose or from his…” I paused, about to say the word “claws”, holding back.

  Looking through the small screen, I pushed the button. A quick flash illuminated the two of us, diminishing quickly. I handed the camera back. “How close is that to what we have?”

  “Hardly.” He showed me the backlit image. “You wouldn’t have caught her feet and hands.”

  “So I’m too short to have stood here and taken that picture, correct?”

  Bran shone the light on the black and white photo. “I’d say so.” The beam bounced around the narrow alley before returning to our feet, near the bloodstain. “This picture must have been taken by some guy about my height, at least.” The reporter flashed the beam at our feet, illuminating us in an eerie glow. “He wasn’t a short one, that’s for sure.” He smiled at me. “I’d guess you’re about five foot four, eh? I’m a bit taller than that.”

  “Really.” I studied him for a minute. “Not by much.”

  “Hey.” Bran spread his hands with a smile. “You know us men. Always exaggerating something.”

  “Hmph. So you take it.” I poked him in the ribs “accidentally.” “Sorry.”

  “Sure.” He handed me the small flashlight, turning it off. “Let’s see how this works.” Moving his hands over his head he added a few inches to his own height.

  The flash went off and he lowered the camera between the two of us. The image was distinct, taking in much more space than I had photographed the first time.

  “Hmm.” Taking the black-and-white photograph back, I stuffed it in the envelope then into my pocket. “Well, that gives us some idea of the killer’s height.”

  “And that person would be...” I ignored the obvious plea for information.

  Bran let out a melodramatic sigh when I turned around, ignoring him. “Look, this isn’t going to go any easier if you keep shutting me out except for when you need my sexy body.” The light went out, leaving us in darkness. The heat radiated off him, so close he was. His heady scent threatened to overwhelm everything else I had or could pick up. It was like a thick afghan blanket that started to curl up around and over me, cradling me in its warmth and rocking me to a deep, contented sleep.

  “Just take a step away from me, please.” I closed my eyes again as they readjusted to the dark. Now my senses were reeling from the musk of a strong Pride male, two strong Pride women and a single, very strong human male. One of us was dead and the other the killer.

  Now it would seem that all I had to do was race back to the Farm and hand them the hair to have them check it against the database, but that wasn’t going to happen. In the first place, we didn’t keep records like that. There were still some things in which the Pride were woefully behind, and keeping track of DNA was one of them. It was expensive as well as invasive. It was tough enough getting the newer generations to agree to trying to find ma
tches within the Family, never mind trying to obtain DNA samples from all and sundry. Those that were on file were few and far between, primarily volunteered by those who trusted in our contacts to deliver the information in secret, which were, again, few and far between.

  In the second I wasn’t sure whom to trust. It wasn’t Dennis or anyone I personally knew but that left a whole lot of males, Alphas and otherwise, who could have killed Janey. Hank sure wasn’t going to be able to offer any help. I doubted the Toronto Police Service or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police kept a special database for genetic freaks, at least, not that they would tell me about. I sure wasn’t going to be able to call all the men together and sniff each one, however humorous the mental image was.

  “Right. I’m out of here.” Stepping over the imaginary dead body, I made my way out the narrow passage onto the street, pulling in a deep lungful of relatively clean air.

  “And...” Bran appeared behind me, letting out a cough. “Where to next?”

  “Me? I’m going home to sleep. You, you’re heading home as well.” I waved at him as I walked away. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  Chapter 7

  The streets were filling up with tourists, probably getting out from the stage shows or the movies, each looking for a nice slice of Toronto to take back home with them. As I manoeuvred through the crowd I could hear Bran swearing behind me, but his voice faded with time and distance.

  I hopped the first streetcar that came my way, pushing my way through a posse of chattering teens to grab a seat near the back. I’d always been a fan of the Red Rocket and used it as much as possible. Well, the cost of gas and downtown parking helped keep my driving down to a minimum, thank you very much. I glanced behind me as we lurched forward, grabbing the plastic seat next to me for support. Sure enough I had lost Brandon in the crowd. For a reporter he wasn’t all that fast in following someone. Maybe that was why he was writing for a rag like the Inquisitor.

  Not that I could blame the guy for taking a freak story and running with it, to be brutally honest. However, the Felis hadn’t managed to stay quiet for generations by allowing people to dig up the truth about our existence.