Spotted Cats (8 page)

‘Wait a minute,’ I said.

They all looked at me.

‘The gate was unlocked.’

‘When?’ said Maroney.

‘When we went down there this morning. When the EMTs came, it was ajar. I didn’t think about it at the time.’

‘Is it always locked?’

‘Yes,’ said Lily.

‘Did you lock it after Sauerman left last night?’ I said to her.

She nodded slowly. ‘Sure.’ She paused, frowning. ‘At least, I think so.’

‘You could have forgotten to lock it?’ said Maroney.

She shrugged. ‘I could have, I guess. I don’t think I forgot. I mean, I always lock it, but I can’t specifically remember…’

‘Mr Newton had a key, right?’

Lily nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Who else?’

‘Just me,’ she said.

Maroney and Kinney exchanged glances. Then Maroney stood up. ‘You folks just sit tight,’ said Maroney to us. ‘We’ll have a look outside. We’ll be back in a few minutes, see what we can see in here.’

After the cops left the room, Lily said, ‘Do you think Jeff let them in?’

‘Maybe he did,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘Sure. So they could bash in his skull.’

I shrugged.

She stared out the window for a minute. ‘That Maroney,’ she said. ‘He suspects me.’

‘I don’t think so. I told him it was two men.’

‘He thinks I left the gate unlocked for them. He thinks I set it up.’

‘He might think that,’ I said.

She turned to me. ‘I didn’t, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘Professionals,’ said Lily. ‘It was professionals. They were prepared for the dogs. They came for the jaguars. They had it planned.’

‘I agree,’ I said. ‘Could somebody else have a key?’

‘Jeff could’ve given somebody a key, I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. To tell the truth, I don’t much care about figuring it out. Figuring it out isn’t going to change anything.’

‘I’m pretty interested in revenge, myself,’ I said.

Lily and I remained in the living-room while the policemen prowled around outside. We had more coffee. We didn’t talk. There wasn’t much to say.

Maroney and Kinney came back in about fifteen minutes later. ‘We found the crutch,’ Maroney said. ‘It was fifteen or twenty feet away from where it looked like his body was.’

‘As if he threw it or something,’ added Kinney.

‘Don’t you folks touch those glass cases,’ Maroney said. ‘We’ll get some forensics guys over here. Maybe we’ll get lucky.’

‘What else did you find out there?’ I said.

Maroney shrugged. ‘A coupla dead Dobermans. I’ll give the dog officer a call, have him come by to pick them up. We’ll see if there’s some way they can be tested for a drug.’

‘Why is that important?’ said Lily.

Maroney sighed. ‘If they were drugged, it tells us your burglars didn’t know how to talk to them. It also tells us the bad guys came prepared, knew what they were after, what they were doing, had the whole thing planned out, that they weren’t just beered-up kids on a lark, which I seriously doubt anyway.’

After the cops left Lily called the hospital. I stood beside her while she nodded wordlessly at the telephone. When she hung up she turned to face me. I couldn’t read her expression.

‘Well?’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘He’s in the operating room. They wouldn’t tell me anything else. It seems I’m not next of kin or something. He’s alive, I got that much out of them.’

I nodded. I reached for her hand. She allowed me to squeeze it, then she moved away from me.

‘I’m going to change,’ she said. ‘I’m going to the hospital.’

‘It won’t do Jeff any good.’

‘It’ll do me some good.’

About an hour later we were out back on the patio sipping coffee. Lily had changed into a narrow grey skirt and a yellow blouse. She was wearing heels. I had never seen her in heels before. She was attempting to summon up the courage to drive to Hyannis. When we heard the bell by the gate bong, she stood up and said, ‘I’ll get it,’ and I also stood and said, ‘I’ll go with you.’

We walked through the house and down the path. In her heels, Lily was as tall as me. Two men stood outside the gate, one a portly guy with a bald head and round wire-rimmed glasses and the other a teenage boy who reminded me of Tom Cruise with acne. The older of the two blinked at us and said, ‘Dog officer. Francis Filmore.’

Lily unlocked the gate and they came in. Francis Filmore spotted Ngwenya’s body sprawled by the path. He went to it and squatted down. ‘Aw, jeez,’ he said softly. He touched the dog’s black fur, already dulled by death.

‘Its throat was cut,’ I said.

Filmore peered up at me. ‘Why do people do things like this?’

I shrugged. ‘It was a robbery.’

‘So I heard. There’s another one?’

I nodded and jerked my head in the direction of Tondo’s corpse up the path. Filmore stood up slowly. ‘Dobermans are nice dogs,’ he said to me.

‘I guess that depends on your definition.’

‘Smart, loyal, dependable.’

‘By that definition, I agree.’

At that moment, a dark blue sedan pulled up beside Filmore’s wagon, and two men in suits got out. Lily went to the gate. One of them flipped a leather case open, showing her a shield. ‘Forensics,’ he said.

She jerked her head up the path in the direction of the bungalow. ‘Up there.’

The detective nodded, and he and his partner moved towards the house. Lily came back and stood beside me and the dog officer. The detectives exchanged hellos with Francis Filmore on their way by.

‘Road pizzas,’ said Filmore, after the forensics cops had disappeared into the house.

I frowned at him. ‘Huh?’

‘Some people try to run dogs over,’ he said. ‘Also squirrels, coons, possums, housecats. Turtles and snakes and frogs, too. They think it’s sport. The kids around here, they like to cruise at night, see what they can run over. Dogs get them the most points. They have contests. Half a dozen kids in cars. End of the evening, they tote up their points. Loser buys a case of beer for all of ’em. They guzzle it down, then, lots of times, they end up as road pizzas themselves. Great sport.’

‘Some people deserve to have their throats cut,’ I said.

Filmore nodded and sighed. To the boy he said, ‘Well, come on, Jackie. Let’s lug ’em out.’

Jackie took Ngwenya’s front end and Filmore lifted the dog by its hind legs. Ngwenya’s body had already stiffened. They carried him to their van, laid him gently in the back, and returned for Tondo. Lily stood close beside me, watching.

When the two were done, Filmore slammed the back door shut. ‘Sorry about your dogs,’ he said to us with a wave.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Why people think they have to kill dogs,’ he said, shaking his head.

We watched as the van turned around and bumped down the dusty road. Then Lily took my hand and we went back into the house.

A
FTER FRANCIS FILMORE CARTED
away the dogs and the forensics detectives finished snooping around the house and grounds, Lily said, ‘I’m going to the hospital.’

‘Want company?’

She touched my face with her fingertips. ‘I don’t think so. Do you understand?’

I nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘I’ll be back for dinner. You’ll be here?’

‘If you want.’

‘I want. I’ll cook something fancy.’

I walked down the path with her to her Cherokee. She opened the door, then turned to face me. She leaned against me and kissed my mouth. It was a sweet, quick kiss. All affection, no passion. ‘I’m sure glad you were here, Brady Coyne,’ she said.

I fingered the Band-Aid on my throat. ‘Yeah, me too.’

I wandered back to the house. I made myself a sandwich from the leftover lobster salad I found in the refrigerator. There was a bottle of Grolsch beer in there, too. I ate at the kitchen table. Then I went back into the living-room.

The contents of the desk still littered the floor. Maybe the forensics guys had looked over everything. But they didn’t clean up.

I decided to save Lily the trouble. I knelt down and began to gather everything into a pile. There were bills waiting to be paid, some correspondence, assorted pieces of junk mail. I couldn’t help glancing at it all as I picked it up. I told myself I was Jeff’s lawyer. His business was my business.

A letter from James, Jeff’s son. News from school and a carefully worded request for money, dated back in April.

A note from Sheila, Jeff’s former wife, June 6. Civil, formal, short. Her cheque hadn’t arrived.

There was an insurance policy and an accompanying bill. The policy was a standard homeowner’s. The bill noted a health policy, the homeowner’s, and the separate policy for the jaguars. Jaguar insurance was costly, but now it looked like a shrewd investment.

I stacked everything up after glancing at it. There was an electric bill, a bill from the exterminator, a property tax bill. There was a phone bill which listed about a dozen long-distance calls. Three I recognized as my office number. There was one to Rutland, Vermont—that, I figured, was Sheila, who lived in Rutland—two to Saratoga Springs, New York, where Ellen attended Skidmore, and one, collect from Lewiston, Maine. James went to Bates.

There were also four collect calls from the same number in West Yellowstone, Montana, all on consecutive days at the end of May. They caught my eye, because it just happens that West Yellowstone, Montana, is one of my favourite places in the entire world. Aside from being the gateway to Yellowstone Park, West Yellowstone is the fly-fishing centre of the universe. I’ve spent lots of time there. I have many friends in West Yellowstone.

As far as I knew, Jeff Newton had no interest in fly fishing.

I stared at the phone bill. Then I went to the kitchen phone and pecked out the West Yellowstone number. It rang four times before a man’s voice said, ‘The Totem.’

‘Who is this, please?’

‘Gleason. Buddy Gleason. Can I do somethin’ for you?’

I hesitated. ‘I’m calling from Massachusetts. I’m a friend of Jeff Newton?’

‘Who?’

‘Jeff Newton. You don’t know him?’

‘I don’t think so. What’s up?’

‘Somebody there called him collect. My name is Coyne, and I’m Mr Newton’s lawyer. I’m checking, his phone bill for him, and he’s got several collect calls on it from this number.’

The guy called Gleason chuckled. ‘This is a bar, Mr Coyne. The Totem Café? This here is our pay phone. All sorts of people use it.’

‘The Totem,’ I said. ‘I’ve been there. A guy named Fred used to tend bar there.’

‘Fred took a job up to Great Falls sometime last summer. Nice fella, Fred.’

‘Any idea who might’ve called Jeff Newton here in Massachusetts?’

‘Nope. Coulda been anybody.’

‘These calls were on May 20, 21, 22 and 23. One call each day. Evening, actually. All were around eight in the evening.’

‘Shit, that was two months ago. Sorry I can’t help you.’

‘Well, I appreciate it, anyway. Next time I’m out there I’ll drop in.’

‘Do that. Be nice to see you.’

I hung up. All Westerners were friendly. That had been my experience.

I found another Grolsch in the refrigerator and went back into the living-room. I finished stacking the papers on the desk. I moved the furniture back to where it belonged. I didn’t touch the glass cases.

After I got the place cleaned up, I took my Grolsch into the kitchen. I sat at the table and lit a cigarette. Then I picked up the phone and tried the Wellesley number again.

Gloria answered on the second ring. ‘Yes? Hello?’

Oh, oh. I could read volumes in the way Gloria answered the phone. Or at least I imagined I could. Today she was busy, distracted, unsettled. ‘Hi, hon,’ I said.

‘Oh, Brady.’ Pause. ‘Where are you?’

‘At Jeff Newton’s in Orleans. Everything OK?’

‘Sure. Fine.’

Everything was not fine, she meant.

‘Well, uh, Joey called me yesterday. I’m returning his call. Is he around?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh. Well, um…’

‘Your son is gone for the weekend. Where? I don’t know. With whom? None of my business.’ She laughed quickly. ‘Sorry. Joseph and I have had a few issues recently, that’s all.’

‘What kind of issues?’

‘It doesn’t matter, Brady. Not your problem.’

‘Is that why he called? These issues?’

‘I don’t know why he called. We’re not, um, communicating very well lately.’

‘Gloria,’ I said, ‘what’s going on?’

‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘you’ve got a right to know. I just—hell, Brady. He’s not doing his part. It’s as if I was his servant. He’s got a few chores, you know? Things that need to be done. No reason he can’t help out. But will he go to the dump, like I ask him to? Hell, no. Not without a big scene. Does he pick up the Coke cans and empty potato chip bags from the TV room after he and that little Debbie finish watching movies and making out in there? Shit, no.’ I heard her take a deep breath and let it out. Its accusation hissed into the telephone. ‘I’m sorry. You asked.’

‘Look’

‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this. He and I will work it out. Listen, if you want to talk to him, I assume he’ll wander back tomorrow night sometime. Want me to tell him you called?’

‘Sure. Thanks.’ I hesitated. ‘I’ll try to talk to him, hon.’

‘Don’t bother. This is our problem. I can handle it.’

‘I’ll talk to him. He’s got to contribute.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, well maybe you could. Because I don’t seem to be getting very far. Billy was never like this.’

‘Billy was himself. This is Joey.’

‘Hey, wow. Thanks for the philosophy. Brady, you’re always so damned good at analysing other people’s problems. We clients really appreciate all your wisdom.’

I tried to ignore her sudden burst of sarcasm. ‘He’s my son, too,’ I said. ‘That makes it my problem.’

She snorted a short, ironic laugh. ‘Hardly.’

‘I’ll talk to him,’ I repeated.

‘That should be interesting,’ she said. ‘You should have great perspective on it.’

Which meant that Joey, in Gloria’s mind, was becoming just like me. This did not bode well for either of them.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ I said, after taking in and letting out a deep breath. ‘Have a nice weekend, Gloria. I’ll try Joey again.’