by Simon Hawke
"You haven't been kicked off the force yet," I reminded him.
"Moran'll have my badge before ten tomorrow morning," he replied glumly. "I just had to hit that asshole, didn't I?"
"I'll bet it felt good, though," I said.
He grinned at me. "Yeah. It felt great. I'm only sorry I didn't nail McVickers, too."
"He would've mopped up the floor with you," I said. "He's twice your size."
"I would've got in a couple of good shots."
"It's not over till it's over," I replied.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, why don't you just wait and see what happens tomorrow?" I said.
"Thinking of putting in a good word for me with the commissioner?" asked Leventhal. He reached out and lightly scratched me behind the ears. "I appreciate the thought, pal, but I wouldn't bother if I were you. I crossed over the line this time. Solo's not going to look too kindly on this little episode. He won't go against the chief for the likes of me. I mean, let's get real, here." He threw down his cigarette and crushed it out, then stood. "Fuck it. It's late, and I'm tired. I'm going home."
"You want some company?"
He smiled. "Thanks, I appreciate it, but no, I think I'd rather be alone. If you don't mind, I'll drop you off at Karen's place. No point in disturbing the commissioner at this hour. He'll be annoyed enough with me when he wakes up."
He took me back to Karen's apartment building, and she buzzed us in. He walked me through the lobby and called the elevator for me. When it arrived, he said, "Tell Karen I'm sorry I screwed up her first homicide case." He grimaced. "She didn't get to do too much on this one, but at least she'll get another chance. It's been good working with you, Cat. You're okay."
"And so are you," I said. "Even if you are a screwball. Go home and get some sleep."
"Yeah. Right."
I took the elevator up to the ninth floor and Karen let me in. She was still up, and anxious to know what had happened. I filled her in while Princess listened and the snats kept their distance from me. When Karen heard about Leventhal breaking Chavez's nose, she shook her head sadly.
"Well, he's screwed himself now," she said. "That's all the excuse Moran will need to have his badge."
"That's what he thinks," I said. "Maybe he's right. Maybe not."
"Loyalty to your partner is always commendable," said Karen, with a smile. And then she sighed. "It's too bad, though. He should have kept his damned temper."
"I still can't believe that Rick had anything to do with this," said Princess. "There must be some kind of dreadful mistake!"
"There isn't, kitten," I said. "He did it, all right."
"I don't believe it. How can you be so sure?" Princess asked.
"Before this whole thing went down, Dan and I attended one hell of an impressive divination ritual," I said. "And there's no question in my mind but that Rick planted the bomb."
"But... isn't divination inadmissible in court?" asked Princess. "I seem to remember hearing something like that, anyway..."
"No, you're right, Princess, it isn't," Karen said. "But they found evidence that the bomb was planted in the garage, and they have a voiceprint off those threats on the answering-machine tapes."
"I don't understand," said Princess. "How could they tell that was Rick? I mean, what makes them think so? I know what his voice sounds like better than any of them, and I certainly didn't recognize it."
"They enhanced the tapes in the police lab to get a decent print," said Karen, "and they'll probably be able to match it to Rick's voice. I'm sure they have solid grounds on which to charge him, Princess, otherwise they wouldn't have arrested him. I'm sorry."
"I still can't believe it," Princess said, sounding stunned. "I mean ... he was with us on the ERA! He cared! I know he was sincere! Why would he want to kill Susan? Why?"
"That's what I keep asking myself," I said. "Leventhal figured it this way: Rick was never in your camp at all. He never supported the ERA. He only made you think he did, so he could get in close, close enough to do what he had to do and establish a good cover for himself, so that when he made his move, he wouldn't be suspected. When we got here tonight, before we found out he'd already been arrested, Leventhal was planning to head over there and bust Rick himself, brace him, and get him to spill the beans. He figured Rick couldn't have been working on his own, that he was tied in with those Tabernacle of True Faith people, and that if pressed with what we knew, he'd break down and talk.
"It would've been a bluff, of course," I continued, "because you're right, Princess, a divination isn't admissible in court. We'd have required corroborating evidence. However, there was a good chance Rick wouldn't know that. Most people don't. But like I said, the divination ritual we had performed for us was pretty damned impressive, and it was done by a guy who really knew his stuff. You'll have to take my word for that part, but trust me, there wasn't any doubt about it. Rick was the one who planted the bomb, all right, and what we got from that divination would have been enough to shake him up pretty badly if Leventhal had confronted him with it. Or at least he thought so.
"The only thing was, Chavez and McVickers beat us to the punch and busted Rick first. They were following pretty much the same course we were, only they kept a couple of steps ahead of us. I figure they'd put it together pretty much the same way we did. Maybe they even had a divination of their owned performed, I don't know, but it's a safe bet that if they did, whoever they found to do it wasn't as good as our guy was. I seriously doubt they had any more than we did, which means they didn't have anything solid, nothing that would really nail it down unless Rick confessed.
"The only trouble was, Rick hadn't done that. They'd had him down there for at least four hours by the time we got there, and it didn't look like they were getting very far. They still had him in interrogation. Rick looked a little nervous and anxious, and he looked a bit shook up, but he didn't look scared. That bothered me. Rick's just a kid. He's not a hardened, professional killer, and he'd just been arrested for murder. So why didn't he look scared?"
"What are you getting at, Gomez?" asked Karen.
"I'll tell you," I replied. "See, I didn't put it all together until just a little while ago, and a lot of it's still guesswork, but I'm betting that when all the facts come in, they'll bear me out. What we've got here is an almost perfect crime. There isn't really any way to tie Rick into it for sure in a manner that will guarantee a conviction. There's no way to trace the explosive that he used, unless somewhere down the line somebody comes forward with that information, and there's not much chance of that. Nobody saw him do it. He made damned sure of that. At best, all we've got is circumstantial evidence.''
"We know the bomb was planted in the garage," said Karen.
"That's about all we know for sure," I said. "And even then, it could've been anybody. People manage to get into security apartment buildings all the time."
"We've got the voiceprint," Karen said. "And the fact that the caller knew Susan's home number. The manager would know that."
"So could almost anybody else," I said. "You know how easy it is to get unlisted numbers? You could call the phone company and represent yourself as a police officer on an investigation, or a member of some government agency, or another operator investigating fraudulent charges, or any of a number of other cons. For that matter, for all we know, it could've been someone who worked for the phone company, or maybe a computer hacker who managed to break into their data base. Sean Prescott had this fan who kept getting his home number every time he changed it. But the voice-print, that's the interesting part.
"Rick knew about voiceprints. It's part of the security system in this building, built into the elevator computer. So why would Rick leave threatening messages on Susan's answering machine if he knew a voiceprint analysis could tie him into it? Unless he also knew that by disguising his voice, muffling it somehow, they'd have to do enhancing on the tapes at the police lab in order to get a decent print, and a good lawyer c
ould cast a lot of doubt on that sort of thing. On top of which, it still didn't prove he was the killer. At best, it might only prove he'd made the threatening calls. Without a confession, we simply wouldn't have a case. Solo could tell you better than I could, because he used to be the D.A. in this town, but frankly, I don't even think the D.A.'s office would bother to prosecute on evidence as flimsy as that. And Rick knows that, he knew it all along, which is why he was a bit shook up down at police headquarters, because two big cops were leaning on him pretty hard, but he wasn't scared. He knew that all he had to do was keep his mouth shut and refuse to talk without a lawyer present and he'd skate. So in a way, although he doesn't realize it yet, Chavez and McVickers did Leventhal a favor. Instead of letting him take the risk of making a shaky bust, they took it, and it backfired on them. Rick Daniels didn't bluff, and he won't. He'll be out by tomorrow afternoon.
"But that's not all of it," I went on. "What I kept coming back to was the motive. There had to be a motive. If Rick was tied up with the Tabernacle of True Faith, then maybe that was it. Or, possibly, he was just some screwball religious fanatic who was set off by them, maybe when he heard the program with Sean Prescott, who knows? It's tempting to try tying in that kooky bunch with this whole thing, but there's just one thing that doesn't fit. Those people might hold views that are unpopular, and maybe they're intolerant and inflexible in their beliefs, but when it comes right down to it, they don't believe in murder. It's a sin. They believe in the sanctity of human life, they're opposed to abortion because they believe it's murder. They believe in a fundamental interpretation of the Bible and the Bible says, 'Thou shalt not kill.'
"Okay," I said, "maybe a few of them went off the deep end and found some way to rationalize killing Susan Jacobs, but it just doesn't seem very likely. They may be narrow-minded, they may be simple, but deep down, they believe they're doing the right thing. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' That seems pretty clear. And if maybe one of them was fanatical enough to think the Lord had somehow appointed him as the instrument of that vengeance, then it would fit that he would confess, and proclaim proudly that the Lord had told him to do it. Only Rick hasn't done that. And he won't. Because Rick simply doesn't fit the profile of that kind of fanatic. But maybe he's another kind.
"It all comes back to what his motive was. If he really thought the ERA was blasphemy and he thought killing Susan Jacobs would kill the ERA, then he couldn't have been more wrong. Ever since the murder, the ERA's gotten more publicity than ever before, and a lot of people are starting to think very seriously about it. The news media's dying to interview you, Princess, which is why we've had you hidden out here, but when this is over, you'll be the most sought-after cat in town. A real celebrity. And then you'll really have a platform, won't you?"
"Gomez! What are you saying?" Princess said.
"You know exactly what I'm saying," I replied. "For Rick, there were two motives. He really does care about animals. He cares about them a lot, probably likes them more than people. He went out of his way to make things easier for the thaumagenes in his building. I think he really was committed to the ERA, passionately committed, fanatically so, and that's where the first motive comes in. It's political. He knew the murder of Susan Jacobs would make her a martyr for the cause and catapult the ERA into the headlines, and it did just that. The way the media's been playing it up, I wouldn't be surprised if it got on the ballot in the next election, and maybe it's even got a better than fair shot of passing. But the second motive, and this is where the guesswork comes in, had to be money. Probably a lot of money. And part of that money would come from the life-insurance policy on Susan Jacobs, and I'm betting that when we get a look at that policy, we'll find out that you, Princess, are the chief beneficiary. Maybe even the sole beneficiary. Susan didn't have any kids. She was all business. But not quite all business, because whatever maternal feelings she might've had, she bestowed on you, Princess, and I think that when we look at all the paperwork, we'll find out that she'd set up a legal guardianship for you that would probably allow you to live pretty comfortably on your own. And you knew that, too, didn't you, which is why not once during this whole thing did you express any anxiety about what was to become of you. What did you do, promise Rick a share of the loot?"
"You're crazy," Princess said. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous! How dare you suggest such a thing? It's absolutely outrageous!"
"Is it? You're spoiled rotten, Princess, I knew that when I first met you. And when I didn't trip all over my tail trying to get in your good graces, you got all frosty and contemptuous, because you're used to getting your own way. Hell, you were the one who came up with the whole idea of ERA in the first place, and Susan ran with it for you, both because she saw where she could make some political gain from it and because she loved you. Yes, that's right, she loved you, the way women who often insulate themselves from real emotion love their pets, but you despised her, didn't you? You hated her guts, because despite insisting that everyone refer to you as her 'feline friend,' everything that Susan did for you reminded you that you were a pampered pet, and you just couldn't stand that. I know exactly how you felt, because I know myself what it feels like to be proud. When I was young myself, I couldn't stand the thought of being bought by somebody and owned, so I did something about it. But you never had the moxie to strike out for yourself and try to make it on your own. You had to have it all given to you, but you'd hate the hand that did the giving. And there's the real motive, Princess. Yours, because you're the one who planned the whole thing and talked that poor sap Rick into doing it. For you, it was a crime not only of greed and political fanaticism, but it was also a crime of passion. The perfect crime. Only not perfect enough."
"Stop it!" Princess shouted. "I don't want to hear anymore! How can you be so abominably cruel? Karen, make him stop!"
Only Karen didn't say anything. She was watching me, her eyes wide, glancing from me to Princess and back again. She was taking it all in, and it made sense, and she knew it. I had no proof, but her cop instincts told her I was right.
"I'll stop it, kitten, but not yet," I replied, "because you still haven't heard it all. The guy who did our divination for us was a fella called the Mystic. A very powerful witch, and a gifted psychic, to boot. He was able to reconstruct for us much of what went down, by holding onto a piece of debris left over from the bomb and getting impressions of what Rick was thinking when he planted it. He didn't tell the others everything that he picked up, because some of it confused him, but he told me, because we've got some mutual friends in common and, well, I won't go into all that now. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that on the way back, he was in contact with my mind, and he told me something he didn't tell the others. He said that Rick had kept thinking about 'all the little animals' while he was planting that hellish device, thinking that he was doing it for them, and that he was thinking one more thing. The Mystic told me that he got the distinct impression that the killer kept thinking about royalty, and that was what confused him. 'It's for the Princess,' Rick kept thinking. 'For all the little animals, and for the Princess.' The poor sap loved you, too, didn't he? The kid who cared so much about all the little animals, but didn't have a thaumagene of his own, because he couldn't afford one. Did you promise him that, too, Princess? Did you promise him that you would be his pet?"
Her eyes were twin slits of loathing as she hunched over, glaring at me with her ears pinned back. "You can't prove any of this," she said, her voice almost a hiss. "And even if you could prove it, what good would it do you?"
"It would do me a lot of good, kitten," I said. "Personally, it would make me feel just fine. And it wouldn't do you much good at all, because maybe there's no provision in the law for sending a cat to prison, but I'm sure the insurance company would disallow your claim as Susan's beneficiary. You'll never see any of that money. And whoever Susan had appointed to act as your legal guardian-Mark Michaels, maybe, or perhaps one of her girlfriends-will cut you loose
without a dime and with no roof over your head. And you'll have to either find somebody to take you in or live out on the streets and eat from dumpsters. Either way, I doubt your haughty pride would survive it, kitten.
"As for proof," I continued, "you're right, I haven't got any. But that doesn't really matter, because you're going to give it to me. You're going to confess, Princess, and you're going to give my partner the proof he needs to nail down this case and send Rick Daniels to jail for murder one. As for what happens to you after that.. . frankly, kitten, I don't give a damn."
She snarled at me with contempt. "You're a fool, Gomez. A dumb, arrogant, fool torn. What makes you think I'm going to confess to anything?"
"The ERA makes me think that," I replied. "The fact that our civil rights aren't really legally defined. You know, it's a damned shame, but there just isn't any law against a cat fight. And if you don't give me what I need, kitten, I'm going to claw your pretty little hide to shreds."
The look of contempt was suddenly replaced by one of fear. She took one look at me and knew I meant every word of what I said. "Karen," she said, fearfully, "you can't let him do this!"
"Oh, no?" said Karen. "Just watch me."
I started to move toward her purposefully. With a yowl of fear, she leaped off the couch and snatched up one of Karen's stupid little snats in her teeth. The snat gave a high-pitched, gargly, mewling sound as Princess raced with it in her mouth out to the open balcony. She leaped up onto the wall and looked back at me, wild-eyed, holding the wriggling snat in her teeth, threatening to drop it nine stories to the ground.
"Don't!" Karen cried. "Don't, please!"
People really do love their pets. It's true, I thought, sometimes people care for animals more than they care for other people. But I've never had that problem. I try to keep things in perspective. I moved toward the balcony.
"Gomez, don't!" Karen cried. "She'll do it!"
"So let her. What the hell do I care?" I said, keeping my eye on Princess as I closed the distance between us. "I never did like snats, anyway."
