Cat Playing Cupid

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Could Lindsey be following them knowing full well they were innocent? Following them because she needed a scapegoat and was somehow setting them up?

  He heard the parking machine whir as Lindsey punched the button for her ticket, heard the gate rise again. She'd turned the air-conditioning down, and already it was getting hot on the floor. He wondered if, at the last minute, he could leap out before she slammed the door. Or if he'd lose his nerve, break his solemn commitment to silence, even forget that all he need do was meow, and find himself shouting in fear for her to let him out, to save him? If, in panic, he'd spill his and Dulcie's and Kit's secret to save his own scrawny neck?

  They moved through the gate at a crawl. As they crept beneath the concrete roof, the interior of the car darkened to a murky half-light. She stopped several times, apparently as cars paused ahead of her, then she swerved abruptly into a parking space, pulling in beside a tall SUV that blocked his view on the right. He poised to leap as she got out. But she was too quick, she flipped the master lock, slammed the door nearly in his face, and slipped along beside the car, looking across the lot. Watching Ray and Ryder?

  Locked in the car, should he make his presence known? Mewl and yowl like an ordinary cat and paw at the window? One more second and she'd be gone, it would be too late.

  Cautiously rearing up, he saw Ray and Ryder crossing the street, heading for the terminal. When Lindsey moved as if to follow them, Joe remained silent, his paws sweating-then it was too late, she was gone between the parked cars.

  He tried the back door handle and the lock. He couldn't budge either, nor the lock on the other back door. Had she activated some kind of safety lock, some child-proof mechanism? When he rose to look out, she was nearly to the terminal. He paused before jumping into the front seat.

  Alone, he began to feel very small. The parking cavern spread over him vast and grim into its own horizons, as if there was nothing else in all the world. Could she mean to follow them onto a plane, find out where they were going, and then scramble to buy a ticket? The car was growing uncomfortably warm.

  Maybe she meant only to see what flight they boarded, then use a phone in the airport to call the station?

  If one of them was the killer, wouldn't they try for an international flight, skip the country, go where they'd be hard to locate? Not likely that Lindsey would have a passport with her. Would Ray and Ryder board using assumed names, carrying false IDs? Who knew what other crimes those two might have committed that would require a fake ID as a tool of the trade. Leaping to the front seat to try those locks, he heard footsteps.

  She was coming back. He ducked down fast, didn't dare jump over into the backseat again, she was too close and he was in plain sight. He crouched on the seat waiting for her to open the door, determined to fly through.

  Nothing happened. Her footsteps stopped.

  When he rose to sneak a fast look, she was standing in front of the car shielded by a pillar, looking across the vast sea of cars toward the terminal. He could see Ray and Ryder in front of an entry, they seemed to be arguing. Lindsey watched for a moment, but when they turned away, moving inside through the swinging door, she took off running.

  31

  PAWING AT the driver's-door handle of the Mercedes, Joe was surprised that it pulled down easily. No safety lock here. But he'd set off the alarm! Its whoop deafened him.

  Shouldering the door open fast, he was out of there. He remembered only then that if a car was locked from outside, then opened from the inside, this would inevitably happen. Leaping to the top of the car trying to ignore its shrill scream, and watching for security, he stared frantically across the rows of parked vehicles for Lindsey.

  He saw where Ray had parked the Honda. Looked like he'd been in such a hurry he'd left the windows down. Even rearing up, Joe couldn't see much on the street beyond. Leaping to the top of a tall RV, wondering how long that siren would keep pulsating, he looked over the tops of the other parked cars, past the gray concrete expanse to the terminal.

  There she was, running through the crowd of hurrying passengers. She seemed to be headed for a cop car parked a block away in front of the Delta entrance. As she dodged behind a bus, he saw Ray Gibbs.

  Gibbs had spotted her. He spun around, ran straight for her. She didn't see him. The alarm of the Mercedes was still blaring. Another second and Ray would grab her. Joe, speeding over the roofs of parked cars, heading for the unlocked Honda, prayed for luck, prayed they'd been in such a hurry they'd left belongings behind. Had maybe left…Leaping up clawing at the partly open glass, he hung there for an instant then bellied over into the seat praying to find…

  A jacket lay crumpled on the seat, half a dozen empty paper cups and wadded paper bags were on the floor, and, beside the jacket, Ryder's open purse. Then they were coming back, he thought frantically.

  Rooting in the purse, he found what he wanted. Stuffed down among lipstick, nail polish, wadded tissues, and a packet of broken crackers nestled Ryder's cell phone, either abandoned or forgotten. Pawing open the phone, he was studying it, hoping he could figure this one out, when he heard a scream.

  He never knew later how he got up onto the Honda's roof so fast, clawing himself up over the edge and then rearing high…Surprised himself that he had the cell phone clutched in his teeth, probably soaking it with cat spit. They were closer, just outside the parking area. Ray had Lindsey, pulling her arm behind her. She elbowed him and kicked at him. People were staring, but no one ran to help. Pedestrians moved back, scattered. Had the cop seen? Joe stared at the unit a block away. It looked empty.

  "What the hell do you want?" Ray was shouting. "Why did you follow us?" Joe forgot about the phone as Lindsey fought, hitting useless blows, twisting around trying to strike at his face; Ray ducked, grabbing both her arms. Lindsey kneed him hard. As he doubled over, Joe turned frantically to the phone. Where was the security vehicle that should have come to the Mercedes's siren blast? Dial 911, Joe thought frantically, dial it now-there it is, the Send button.

  But then he stopped.

  Ryder's cell phone would be on the Molena Point prefix. If he dialed 911, he'd get Molena Point PD. What he wanted, fast, was San Jose PD or the local sheriff or a nearby CHP unit-and he didn't know the prefix for those. Ray shouted again and hit Lindsey hard, sending her reeling. At the same moment, the Mercedes's alarm went quiet. Lindsey spun around and came at Ray, enraged. "You killed him!" she screamed. "You shot Carson!"

  Dropping down again through the Honda's window, Joe laid on the horn, blasting away in a wild and uneven rhythm that should get someone's attention.

  When he stopped for a minute, he heard Lindsey shout, "Who was with him when you killed him? Who was she?" This was not the soft-spoken Lindsey Wolf Joe knew, this woman was wired. "Was that Nina with him? You killed Nina, too!" she shouted, and hit him hard in the face.

  Joe gave the horn another long, ear-splitting blast then three short ones. Three more, in the signal for Need help. Then he grabbed the cell phone in his mouth, crawled out the open window, dropped to the concrete, and slid under the car. And he took off running beneath the parked cars, listening for footsteps or for some engine starting up, for a car ready to back out. He tried his best not to drool on the phone. Who knew what cat spit would do to that delicate tangle of microchips and electronic mysteries? He was looking for a place to hide, to try to get through to the local cops, when Lindsey screamed in pain. Her voice was closer, and he could hear scraping footsteps as if Ray was dragging her.

  Joe leaped to the hood of a pickup in time to see Ray hit her again, so hard she reeled against a car and fell. It was then he saw Ryder, slipping up behind Ray. Joe stiffened as she jammed a pistol in his ribs. He could just see the small automatic in the palm of her hand. "Back off, Ray! Leave her! We're getting out of here!"

  Ray spun around and in one swift move slammed Ryder's arm away and grabbed the gun. A shot rang out, echoing beneath the concrete roof. A second shot came as Joe dove for cover behind
some crates in the bed of the pickup, wondering if wooden crates would stop a stray bullet.

  There was a long silence. He slipped up to look.

  He couldn't see anyone. Not Ray, not Lindsey, not Ryder. Leaping to the top of the pickup, he saw a car pulling out of a parking place and another, a black Audi, pulling in hurriedly, as if the driver might be late for a flight.

  Apparently the new arrival hadn't heard the shots or had thought they were backfires. As the portly, dark-suited man stepped out of the Audi, Ray appeared behind him, spun him around with a hard punch to the side of the neck. The guy went down in a heap. Ray snatched his keys, fished in the guy's pockets as if looking for a parking ticket, then jumped in the car and burned rubber as he backed out and took off. Over the stink of exhaust, Joe caught a whiff of blood.

  Rearing up, he saw Lindsey rise slowly, clutching her side, pulling Ryder up with her. Ryder leaned against her as they stumbled toward Lindsey's Mercedes. Joe lost sight of them as he frantically punched in 911, for Molena Point PD. He thought he should have done that in the first place-but on the first ring, the black Audi came wheeling back, screeching into the same parking spot.

  Ray leaped out, gun in hand.

  At the same moment, a figure jumped out of the Mercedes and took off running, doubled over. Joe couldn't see if it was Lindsey or Ryder. Brown hair, a glimpse of jeans-both had brown hair, both were wearing jeans. The phone made three rings, then Officer Hendricks picked up.

  "Get Garza on your radio," Joe told Hendricks, wanting to shout but keeping his voice low. "Ray Gibbs. At San Jose airport. He just shot either Ryder Wolf or her sister. Short-term parking."

  Looking up, he saw Ray standing at the open door of Lindsey's car, looking in. Saw Gibbs fire another shot into the front seat, and then take off running after the escaping figure. As he disappeared among the cars, a police car pulled in, moving slowly, the lone officer scanning the area as he cruised behind the parked cars in the direction of the shots.

  Joe could hear Hendricks talking, presumably on the radio, as he'd instructed. The cop car had turned into the lane that would put him behind Lindsey's Mercedes, which stood with its door open. The smell of blood was strong. Stepping out, gun drawn, the officer approached the driver's side, where he could see in. "Hands on top of your head. Get out slowly."

  Inside, no one moved.

  "Get out now!"

  A dozen cars away the black Audi slid quietly out of its parking place and headed at a sedate pace for the exit. With the light glancing against its closed windows, Joe couldn't see if Ray was alone or if he had Lindsey or Ryder.

  "He's in a stolen black Audi," Joe said softly. "He's leaving, he-"

  He could see the cop on his radio calling for assistance-he looked up in Joe's direction, as if he'd heard the tomcat's whisper. Silently Joe laid down the phone in the bed of the pickup, pawed it behind the crates, leaped over the side of the truck bed, and hit the ground running.

  32

  DALLAS'S BLAZER had just passed the Soquel exit on Highway 1. From this juncture they had three choices: Stay on 1 up the coast, take 9 toward Saratoga, or take 17 toward 280 and San Jose. They hadn't seen a sign of the navy blue Honda, nor had they had any response to their "Be on the lookout." Moving into the right lane, Dallas pulled off the highway and into a gas station. He was reaching for the radio when Harper came on.

  "Where are you?"

  "Just pulled over at Soquel. Not a sign of him, don't know which-"

  "Cut over to San Jose. His car's at the airport, short-term parking. Wait a minute," Max said. "He just pulled out in a black Audi, no plate number."

  Dallas swerved out of the gas station and hit the road again. "Who do you have up there? Why didn't they get the plate? Are they on his tail?"

  "No one," Max said stiffly. "No law enforcement."

  "What do you mean, no one? Who called in?" Dallas stared at the microphone in his hand, then back at the road.

  "Mike's with you?" Max said.

  "Affirmative," Dallas said, scowling.

  "Lindsey's car is there. San Jose is at the scene. There's a woman in the front seat, wounded."

  Mike grabbed the radio from Dallas. Max was saying, "A second woman ran, no sign of her."

  "Is it Lindsey?" Mike shouted. "How bad is she? What happened?"

  "No ID yet. We don't know who, or how bad. Medics are on the way."

  "Step on it," Mike yelled at Dallas.

  Dallas had already switched on the red light, heading fast for the 17 turnoff that would take them inland to San Jose; as he peeled up the ramp onto the freeway, Mike shouted, "Are they sure it's Lindsey's car? Can't the informant ID her?"

  "Informant didn't stay on the line," Max said. "We're talking to uniforms at the scene. Car's registered to Lindsey Wolf but no ID on the woman, no purse."

  "Description?"

  "Brown hair. Hazel eyes. About five seven. Wearing jeans. A Levi's jacket on the seat under her. Informant said there were two women, thought both might have been shot."

  Dallas hit the siren and gave it the gas. "Watch for the Audi coming this way."

  Mike leaned forward nervously, watching traffic. "There must be a million black Audis." But he did the best he could, as fast as they were moving. "Why would he come back this way? Why not head north, on the 101? If he hurt Lindsey…," he said with cold threat.

  "Settle down, you don't know that's Lindsey. You can't do her any good if you're all worked up. Settle down and watch for the Audi."

  ***

  IN THE FALSE twilight of the parking complex, police and sheriff's cars were crowded around an EMT van, blocking Lindsey's tan Mercedes and four parking lanes. San Jose officers stood redirecting traffic as a pair of medics slid a stretcher bearing a blanket-covered figure into the emergency vehicle, and climbed in behind it. Beyond the tangle of law enforcement, down on the concrete at the level of tires and hubcaps, Joe Grey crouched beneath an old brown Jeep. He hadn't been able to glimpse the figure in the Mercedes. Couldn't see whether it was Ryder or Lindsey. And now all he could see were cops' legs, the place was wall-to-wall cops.

  But there had been only one person in the Mercedes, he knew that much. As the medics had put her on the stretcher, he'd gotten a glimpse of slim, Levi's-clad legs, dull-colored jogging shoes such as Lindsey had worn-but so had Ryder. He'd been mildly surprised that she wasn't dressed fancy when he first saw her leaving the condo. And now, with uniforms all around him, he could hardly leap atop a car and peer into the medics' van trying to see more.

  Sure as hell, an unattended animal in this setting would encourage some overzealous rookie to call the pound. And later, what joking comment would these guys, talking with MPPD, make about a weird gray tomcat sitting atop a car, watching the crime scene. And wouldn't that tear it, after his anonymous phone call.

  Plus, Joe thought, I talked with Hendricks on the phone, and Hendricks knows the snitch's voice. Hearing jokes about a nosy gray tomcat, would Hendricks get curious enough to put two and two together? Put the gray tomcat and the voice together, thinking outside the box? No matter how far out that scenario seemed, it might get others in the department thinking, and watching him too closely, even if, at first, only in a joking way.

  The EMT van started its engine, ready to head for the hospital, and Joe still didn't know who was in there. He was moving forward beneath the parked cars, hoping to hear someone mention a name, when the van driver killed his engine. Something was happening.

  Joe could see the van rocking, as if, inside, the medics were moving fast. He crept closer, his paws sweating.

  He felt certain that after his call, Mike and probably Dallas were on their way. He felt sick for Mike, racing to get here, imagining the worst-as Joe, right now, was trying not to do.

  He knew how he'd feel if he thought Dulcie had been shot, he'd race to the scene wanting to eviscerate whoever had attacked his lady. Right now, Mike would be feeling the same.

  Whatever was going on in the medics'
van seemed to take forever; the van continued to rock, while outside, officers continued to protect the area, turning cars and pedestrians away from the scene. Creeping ever closer, he was only a few feet from the van when the back doors opened and a young, sandy-haired medic stepped down, stood talking with the San Jose sergeant who seemed to be in charge; the sergeant was a tall stringbeany, bald-headed guy. His few brief words chilled Joe.

  "Go on out and help work traffic," the medic said. "I'll call for the medical examiner."

  Whoever was in the van was with them no longer. Either Lindsey or Ryder had died as the medics fought to save her. Joe had to have a closer look, he had to know.

  He was now only two cars away. Crouching against a front tire, he could see inside the van, see the body on the stretcher, covered by a length of sheet, the face also covered. His heart felt as heavy as lead. Despite the danger of being seen, he slipped out from under the car on its far side, leaped to its hood, and crouched in the shadows of a pillar from where he could see in through the van's open door.

  A hank of wavy brown hair hung from beneath the sheet, over the side of the stretcher. He was trying to remember the exact shade of each woman's hair, trying to determine which sister lay there, when the whoop of a siren and the screech of tires sent him dropping under the car again, out of sight.

  From beneath the greasy underpinnings of the older car, he looked out across the concrete that was reddened now by reflections of a whirling light. He had crept out far enough to see that the light was spinning atop Dallas's tan Blazer when the vehicle screeched to a halt and Mike bailed out, running for the ambulance.

  33

  IN THE NIGHT-DARK woods, Charlie headed back toward home carrying Sage in her arms, Kit riding on her shoulder. Her flashlight was nearly dead, just the weakest wash of fading beam as she tried to pick out hindering branches blocking her path. She felt sick that she'd had to shoot the two coyotes. Coyotes were in no way evil, they were only hunting as they'd been born to do, they were only what God had made them. Not evil in the way a human could be evil.