Theresa Weir - The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

She thought about how the only thing of real value taken during the break-in was her laptop. I don’t like this. That’s what Joe had said.

What if the thief had been after David’s computer all along?

Was she being ridiculous?

She didn’t know why, but she dragged a copy of the folder into the little box on her screen, then hit upload. A few minutes later, it was saved. Then she grabbed her cell phone and searched for the name of someone she hadn’t talked to in two years. Since then, Frank Cameron had been promoted and was now just one step down from chief of police. She told him about the break-in and her suspicions about the computer, and then she called Joe.

“I know it’s silly,” she said. “It is, right? All espionage.” She laughed, but didn’t really mean it.

“Have you told anybody else?” Joe asked.

“David’s old partner.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes. He said he’d be right over to get the computer. Now I’m embarrassed. I’m being silly, right?”

“No. Lock the door, and don’t answer it when he gets there. Do you hear me? Lock the door. I’m on my way.” He disconnected.

Just then, a knocked sounded on the front door. The knob turned, and Frank Cameron stuck his head inside.

Max stared in horror at the man entering the living room. He’d seen him before. Oh, good God, how he’d seen him before. Unable to control himself, Max jumped straight up as if he had springs on his feet. He hissed, and he could feel his tail waving behind his head, three times its normal size.

“Max!” Melody scolded.

Run! Run! He tried to mentally convey the importance of the situation. She needed to get out of there, before the man pulled out a gun and shot her the way he’d shot David. Dear, dear, David.

Max could smell the man’s sweat, and the air was full of the strange electricity that came with danger. Max wanted to run and hide in the basement. Instead, he ran straight for the man, and grabbed him with all four paws, sinking in his claws. But that wasn’t enough. He opened his mouth wide and began biting as hard as he could while the man screamed and shook his leg. Max hung on, but finally the man freed himself, his face a bright red.

Max took off, skidding around the corner, pounding down the basement steps to his favorite hiding place behind the washing machine.

He heard Melody’s voice coming through the vents. “I’m so sorry!” She sounded embarrassed. Don’t be embarrassed, Melody!

“He just had some really strong catnip,” Melody said, “and it made him crazy. Are you okay? Oh, gosh. You’re bleeding! I’m so sorry. Let me get a washcloth and a Band-Aid.”

“Forget it. You need to have that monster declawed.”

“He’s never done anything like that before.”

“I hope he’s had his rabies vaccination.”

Silence. Then, “Well, I’d have to check and see if it’s up-to-date.”

“Don’t bother. Where’s the laptop?”

Max heard Melody’s footsteps above his head. He slinked out from behind the washing machine, then crept upstairs. He peeked around the corner in time to see Melody handing the man the laptop. Ordinarily he would be happy to see it go. To keep her from looking at it, and petting it instead of him.

“Did you open any of the documents?” the man asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“They said confidential. Of course I didn’t open them.”

Max would have opened them. He would have opened them in a second. That was Melody’s problem. She was just too nice. But that’s why Max loved her. And that was probably why Joe loved her too. And all of those brats at the library.

“I haven’t seen you since David died,” she said. “I read where you got a promotion.”

“I meant to stop by, but I got so busy with work.”

“That’s okay.”

“David was a good guy,” the man said. “We miss him.”

Oh, what a liar. What a stinking liar. Couldn’t Melody see that? But she wasn’t always a good judge of character. Max thought about the string of losers that had come and gone until he’d brought Joe home. Which just went to prove that humans didn’t always know what was best for them. Sometimes they needed their cats to give them guidance.

From outside came the sound of a familiar car and familiar tires and the familiar sound of a car door and the familiar sound of footsteps, albeit with a limp that Max considered a war wound, a badge of honor, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

Joe.

And then Joe was knocking on the screen door, and then he was shouting Melody’s name and she was moving past the bad man. Because Joe wouldn’t just barge in. No, Joe would wait like the gentleman he was.

And then Joe was there, inside. And he was putting off some of the same electricity the bad man was generating, and the whole thing made Max nervous all over again, and he was suddenly getting the two men confused even though he knew one was good and one was bad. Cat stuff.

“I just stopped by to pick up the laptop,” Joe said. “I’ll turn it in to the proper people to see if there’s anything on it we should be concerned about.”

“That’s okay,” the bad man said. “I’ve got it. I’ll make sure it ends up where it needs to go.”

“I’ll take it,” Joe said, more firmly this time.

And then the bad man did something that didn’t surprise Max at all. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at Joe.

Last time Max had watched in horror, then run away. He wouldn’t hide this time. Maybe Ellen was right. Maybe he was a hero.

Once again, he launched himself at the bad man. At the very same time, Melody charged, knocking the man to the living room floor. The gun flew from his hand, and Joe grabbed it. The man sprang to his feet, with Melody riding him and Max clawing at the man’s arm. The man shook Max off. Max hit the floor. Hard. Dazed, he shook his head, creating a million Melodys. Max’s vision cleared in time for him to see Melody slammed against the wall.

“Stop!” Joe shouted, threatening to fire the gun.

Max hated the sound of gunfire, but he hoped Joe would shoot.

The man ran.

Out the door and to his car. Joe started to follow, paused, then turned to Melody, who was sitting on the floor, against the wall like a broken doll.

From outside came the squeal of tires, and then the bad man was gone. It was over.

Max and Joe ran to Melody. Joe dropped to her side just as her eyes opened. “I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded funny. A little groggy. “I just hit my head.”

Joe felt around at the spot she indicated. Melody winced. “You’re already getting a lump,” he said.

“He got the laptop, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Afraid so.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s gonna be his word against mine. He has a loyal following within the department.”

“I backed it up.”

“What?”

“The files. I backed up all of the files.”

“I should have shot him,” Joe said. “But I’ve never shot anybody. Ever. And I don’t like guns. I have to carry one, but I don’t like them.”

“That’s so funny,” Melody said.

Max was thinking the same thing.

“Holy hell.” Joe’s voice shook as he cradled Melody’s face in both of his hands, leaned closer, and kissed her. A lot. And before Max knew it, they were lying on the floor, and then they were tugging at clothes and kissing and laughing.

It wasn’t until much later that Melody and Joe headed to Joe’s house in order to access his computer and the cloud server Melody used for her backup files. Now they were in his cozy office with his books and albums, sitting side by side in front of his desktop computer.

Melody entered her password, then, with a series of clicks, opened the first file. “I don’t understand,” she said, squinting at the screen. “It’s just a lot of dates and names.”

Joe hit the keys, opening one file after another until he’d quickly perused them all. Then he explained: “For the past three years, confiscated drugs have gone missing from the police department. I mean a lot of drugs. Like millions of dollars worth. There were some people who thought David might actually be involved in the thefts.”

Melody gasped. “He would never-”

“I know, I know. I think he was a convenient scapegoat. A red herring, probably planted by Cameron. Another reason suspicion fell on David was that he was getting close to fingering the dirty cop. These are records of all the comings and goings in the department. Who was working, who logged in and out of the evidence room. It’s all here. He was slowly and methodically building a case against Cameron.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“David’s death wasn’t a random break-in gone bad. It was a hit.”

For two years, she’d thought David had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. To find out his death might have been deliberate… She felt both confused and outraged. “Why now? If Cameron was searching for David’s computer, why now?”

“I’ve been doing a little snooping of my own, looking into David’s murder. Some things just didn’t add up. My investigation stirred up a trail that led back to the night of David’s death. I actually made an inquiry about David’s personal computer, fully expecting it to have been confiscated as possible evidence. At that point, I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret within the department. Several people knew I was looking into his death. I never suspected an inside job.”

“And your shooting? Do you think it was connected?” Melody asked.

“I think I was getting too curious. But that’s just a theory at this point. I may never be able to connect Cameron to that job. But David’s death is another matter. And I’ve got Cameron’s gun. It’s a long shot, but worth pursuing.”

Joe pulled out his cell phone and keyed in a number. “Got a favor to ask,” he said once the person at the other end answered. “Need ballistics run on a gun. But I don’t want the data to go through the department.” Joe gave him the details and the match he was hoping for, then hung up. “An unorthodox request, but he owes me one.”

Two days later, just after Melody got home from work, Joe called with the ballistic results. His voice was strained and sober. “Melody, David was killed by Frank Cameron’s gun.”

She put a hand to her mouth, but didn’t say a word. So many emotions ran through her, all at the same time. Shock that someone in such a position of power could do such a thing, relief that he’d been caught, pride that David had investigated, pride that Joe had picked up the thread and carried it through to the end.

“We now have indisputable evidence,” Joe said. “The ballistics report, along with David’s files, will be enough to put Cameron away for a long time. Maybe forever.”

She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded even though Joe couldn’t see her.

“Are you okay? I shouldn’t have told you over the phone, but I have to get this paperwork downtown so a warrant can be issued today. I don’t want Cameron to catch wind of this.”

“No, I understand.” She pulled in a deep breath. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine. Do what you have to do.”

A few hours later, Joe called to let her know that Cameron had been arrested at his home. “Handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a police car, like any other criminal.”

By 10:00 p.m., news of the arrest hit all three local stations, and by morning it was on the front page of the Star Tribune and Pioneer Press. And of course they worked Max into the story, reminding readers and listeners that the officer who’d been murdered was none other than the cat lady’s late husband and Max’s original owner.

*

Melody smoothed her black-and-white floral skirt, adjusted her pink sweater with red trim, knocked on Joe’s door, then stepped back and waited for him to answer. “I brought you some daisies.” She held them out with one hand. The cut ends were soaked in wet paper towels and wrapped in a plastic bag. “And a cupcake.” She handed him a pale blue cupcake with a black cat face.

“Want to come in?” Joe asked.

She followed him inside, all the way to the kitchen where he opened the cupboard, got out a glass, filled it with water, and arranged the white and yellow daisies. He placed the container in the window behind the porcelain sink.

Beautiful. If she’d had her camera, she would have taken a picture. She hadn’t taken any pictures since David’s death.

Joe rotated the cupcake in his hand. “This looks too good to eat.” He was dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled a couple of turns, as if he’d been doing dishes. His dark hair was disheveled, and his feet were bare.