Judas Cat

by Dorothy Salisbury Davis

  “In just three days our small town has become a place of terror and suspicion. With every hour it grows worse. Sins forgotten and forgiven long ago and paraded like a dirty wash in a Rinso ad …”

  There was a titter among the crowd. Altman had prepared to the last word. Politics was his business.

  “No, I don’t want to seem frivolous about this. It’s no laughing matter. I have seven separate complaints of slander, and last night, because I knew no other way to stop it, I called the state’s attorney for Riverdale county and asked for advice. The upshot of it was that I have here a restraining order which I am empowered to serve on the perpetrators of this dissent. I am putting it before the council whether or not I shall serve the order.

  “In all fairness to the people involved, I must say that I don’t think the original intent was dissension in our community. I think they acted in good faith. But I think you will agree with me that their zeal exceeded their discretion …”

  Alex could feel what little hope he had drain out of him. Waterman was filling his pipe, not looking at the mayor or anyone else. His shoulders were stooped, but the corners of his mouth were tense with a grim determination. Mr. Whiting’s eyes were focused on Altman’s face, as though he were trying to look through the easy confidence of the man, to see what really motivated him.

  “… Mr. Waterman has been chief of police in Hillside for thirty years. During that time he has had no more serious arrests than parking violations for the most part. But he has been a good and faithful servant, as the Bible says. He has applied for a pension, and I suppose it’s only natural that he should want to convince us that he has earned it …”

  “That’s dirty,” Alex said aloud. His father caught his arm. Altman had heard him, however, and turned.

  “I think we’ll want to hear from you in due time, Alex …”

  Sam Sorenson twisted in his chair. “Let’s get to the point, Altman. Our business doesn’t stop with gossip.”

  “That’s my point exactly, Sam. It does stop with gossip. But, as you say, let’s get to the point. When Mattson died, at the age of ninety-two, our police chief did what was expected of him. He called in the county coroner and sheriff. An autopsy was duly performed by competent men, and the report of a natural death was given. So that you won’t have to take my word for it, I’ve asked Dr. Jacobs to tell us about it and I don’t think anybody could accuse Dr. Jacobs of prejudice in favor of the coroner’s office. Isn’t that so, Jake?”

  Dr. Jacobs took his time getting to the meeting table. He looked as crabbed as an old apple, Alex thought.

  “I haven’t just found religion, Mr. Mayor, so don’t treat me to that brethren stuff,” the doctor said curtly. He continued as though he were reading: “As examining physician on the death of Andrew Mattson, I can certify that death was due to the infirmities of age, precipitated by some sort of shock, conjectured to be the unexpected attack of his pet cat.”

  “There was no evidence of physical violence?”

  “You saw the report,” Jacobs snapped.

  “Would you care to venture an opinion beyond the findings of the autopsy?”

  “As a physician or as a citizen?”

  “Whichever you prefer.”

  “All right, Mr. Altman. I do have an opinion. I’ve heard the gossip you talk about. I guess it’s the same thing, though I can’t count to seven on it. I think somebody’s kicking up a hell of a lot of dust and I’ll say it to your face, so if it’s gossip you’ll know where it came from. I don’t think this restraining order you’re getting out does one damn bit of good. It doesn’t do anything to get to the bottom of the trouble. Maybe the coroner’s report don’t show it, but there’s real shenanigans somewhere. I don’t think you should use all this oil of yours till you get the whole story before these people.” He looked from one council member to another, rather like a scolding grackle, and then stomped back to the edge of the crowd.

  “Thank you, Jake,” Altman said, smiling. “I think the doctor illustrates our whole trouble here. We’ve had every ancient grudge called up to mitigate against an unbiased view. The doctor, for example, holds the coroner’s office in low esteem. He traces his grievance to me, because I nominated him for the office. And I did it because I knew him to be competent …”

  Jacobs interrupted. “How I hold the coroner’s office has no business here, Mr. Altman. I didn’t bring it up. Neither should you.”

  The council members stirred uneasily. “Let it go, Altman, and let’s get on with the facts,” Sorenson said.

  Mr. Whiting shook his head. Dr. Jacobs had good intentions, but he had not helped, not with the benign attitude of the mayor.

  “I must be permitted to call for the facts in the most orderly fashion I know,” Altman said. “The coroner’s report was returned. Even Dr. Jacobs admits its thoroughness. And since there is the suggestion that I am prejudicing the meeting, I here and now call upon Chief Waterman himself to describe to you what followed.”

  Waterman made his way to the table, taking long, weary strides. He glanced uneasily at the crowd before speaking.

  “I guess I’d like to tell you first what happened before,” he said. “Maybe then you’d understand why we did what we did.”

  “Louder,” somebody called out. The mayor banged his gavel.

  “First off, Mr. Mayor, I agree with that remark of yours. Ninety-two is a long time to most of us … till maybe we got to ninety-one. Then maybe it mightn’t seem so long. Anyway, Mattson’s place was locked up tighter than a drum.” He moistened his lips. Waterman didn’t have the feeling for a crowd the mayor had. “First I’ve got to say some things showed up in our investigation I can’t talk about here. Maybe they fit and maybe they don’t, and it wouldn’t be fair if they didn’t. I think you’d appreciate that especially, Mr. Mayor. Well, like I say, the place was all locked up. The cat was yowling and clawing at the window. He was vicious and we didn’t know what was the matter with him. Cats pick up strange things sometimes. I wasn’t taking any chances, and when he came lunging at us through the window I smashed to get in, I shot him …”

  Waterman went on, giving a full description of the circumstances, the house and shop, but not once mentioned the names Turnsby or Addison.

  “That’s an interesting set of circumstances,” Altman said, “but the point is, what can you hope to prove, Mr. Waterman?”

  “I don’t rightly know that, Mr. Mayor. I’d like to find out why Doc Barnard’s lab was smashed up. I’d like to know who broke into Mattson’s house the day after he died. I know I can’t bring a charge of murder. Not so’s it would stand anyway. I know you can’t prosecute for scaring a man to death, but that’s what I think happened. And sure as shooting, somebody was mighty anxious to see the old man dead. He knew it, too. He had locks put on the inside of that shack of his. The inside. That means he wasn’t worried about getting anything in there stolen. He was just scared.”

  “Isn’t it possible that was imagination … a whim, maybe? An old man’s whim?”

  “Sure it’s possible,” Waterman said. “I guess it’s possible he died of a whim, too.”

  There was a murmur among the crowd. Sam Sorenson raised his hand.

  “Yes, Sam?”

  “I just want to ask Waterman if he feels all this fuss is necessary?”

  “Well, I tell you, Sam,” Waterman said. “I don’t think Alex or me are doing anything we don’t think fits into the picture on Mattson’s death. There’s bound to be things come out that don’t fit, but we aren’t going after them just to stir up trouble, if that’s what you mean. Now, this fuss you speak about. That’s coming from gossip, that’s all, and it’s not gossip we started.”

  Joe Hershel indicated he wanted a word. “Something I’d like to get straight for my own information: how did Alex Whiting become involved? Don’t you have a full time assistant, Waterman?”

  “Yes …”

  Hershel interrupted. “You hired him yourself, Chief. Don’t you think
he’s competent?”

  Alex hoped fervently at that moment that Waterman would let go his information on Hershel’s dealings with the mayor and Addison. This was sheer distraction from the issue, and Joe Hershel knew it.

  “Yes,” Waterman said slowly, “I think Gilbert is competent. He’s light on experience. But so am I, like the mayor pointed out to you. I called Alex in the first place because we got a way of cooperating in this town, and if Andy was dead I thought Alex might be a great help to me making arrangements, and I knew he’d want the story for the Sentinel. As one thing and another showed up, Alex was more and more of a help.”

  “He’s also the source of a great deal of your trouble, Chief,” the mayor said. “There’s a lot of difference between the duties of a policeman and a newspaperman.”

  “I don’t know as I’d go along with you on that, Mr. Mayor. Not if they’re both honest, and I ain’t ever seen a dishonest thing printed in the Sentinel.”

  “We’re getting off the track again,” the mayor said, “although I’m inclined to feel that a newspaperman deals in personalities where a police officer should deal in facts. However, to the actual case: you say Mattson’s house was broken into the night after he died?”

  “Yes.”

  “I presume you had taken an inventory of his possessions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anything missing?”

  Waterman thought of Mabel, and of her tragic secret about her brother, and what it might have been that she had taken from the chair. “No,” he said, “nothing was missing that we could identify.”

  “Then isn’t there the possibility of mischief-makers—teenagers for example, who’d think it a lark to get into the old man’s house, especially in light of the secluded life he led?”

  “Mayor, I couldn’t put a limit on the possibilities,” Waterman said.

  “Now to get to the mysterious business of Mattson’s cat. I think we should hear directly from the people involved. Did you authorize young Whiting to go to the county morgue?”

  “That was my idea,” Alex spoke up.

  “Come up here, young man, if you want to say something.”

  Alex wanted to say a lot of things, but he would be guided by the same caution Waterman had shown. There was no use hanging himself on the rope the mayor was providing. Alex explained slowly and deliberately the reasons why he felt that further examination of the cat was indicated.

  “And yet the coroner’s office gave a report on it?” Altman said.

  “Yes, sir. But they gave the report two or three hours after they had picked it up. Tobin gave it to Chief Waterman over the phone. The very fact that it was out there for disposal when I got there at ten o’clock that night indicated to me that they weren’t as thorough as you might think.”

  “I see,” Altman said. “Maybe we should hear from Doctor Barnard on this since he entered the conspiracy.”

  “It was no conspiracy, sir.”

  “All right, shall we call it a coalition?”

  “Just a minute, mayor.” It was Matt Sanders speaking for the first time at the meeting. “When did you get the coroner’s report, Waterman?”

  “The next morning, about ten o’clock. I got the opinion over the phone from Tobin that night, and then I sent Gilbert up for my copy of it.”

  “And you picked up the carcass of the cat at ten o’clock the night before, Alex?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was the examination of Mattson’s body complete by then?”

  “They were waiting for results on tests from the county hospital,” Waterman said.

  “Just supposing it turned up in some of those tests the old man was poisoned?” Sanders said. “You’d think they’d have kept the cat on hand to see if evidence on it was on his claws or something, wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe you would,” the mayor said, “but since there was no poison, no indication of anything except a normal death, I don’t see where that involves us now.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t,” Alex said, “but they’re certainly giving us the once over lightly, just like they did the cat. I don’t know what was wrong with that animal, but I’m dead sure something was.”

  “Do you have any theories on it, Alex?” There was sarcasm in the mayor’s voice.

  “If I do, sir, I’ll tell them to Chief Waterman.”

  “I see. Perhaps now we can have a word with Doctor Barnard. As far as I know he’s suffered the greatest injury from this business.”

  Barnard came forward slowly. He had almost reached the table when there was a sudden flurry of activity among the crowd. Someone was pushing through it to the front. “Him!” a woman called out. “Let me by, will you? I’ve got something to say. I’ve got rights in Hillside. I pay taxes.”

  Everyone was looking at her. It was Mrs. Liston, keeper of the home for stray animals. She was a fiery old lady with short white hair that was as uncontrolled as her tongue. It was generally thought that she was a bit queer, but harmless enough. Barnard paused only a moment and then went on to the table.

  “Sit down if you like Doc,” the mayor said, and the veterinary took the chair offered him. “Now Mrs. Liston, are you sure what you have to say pertains to this meeting?”

  “It pertains all right,” she said, sweeping her hair from her eyes with her arm. “This man should have his license taken from him. He’s cruel, mean. Puts away poor helpless little animals what’s got as much right on this green earth as us. Lets them be experimented with and puts them away.”

  Barnard took a deep breath. He looked at Mrs. Liston and then to the mayor. “Mrs. Liston is referring to the time I provided the county with a couple of dogs and a cat to try and trace the source of the typhus epidemic. I made the mistake of soliciting her help in obtaining the proper specimens. She’s never forgiven me.”

  The mayor was sympathetic, but Sorenson was getting to the end of his patience. “You come up to the office and tell me about it some time, Mrs. Liston,” Altman said, “then maybe we can bring it before a council meeting.”

  “I gave Mr. Mattson that cat,” she said, ignoring him. “I never found a better home for an animal …”

  “Yes, yes, Mrs. Liston,” Altman interrupted.

  But she rode right over him. “And I’ve found homes for eighty-six kittens, twenty-seven dogs, and I even had two opossum once I gave to the Withrow children, but their father made them give them back. Said they killed chickens. No animal kills unless he’s starving …”

  The mayor looked beseechingly at his secretary. She laid down her pencil and notebook and went to Mrs. Liston. Before the old lady left, however, she had one last word: “But before I see a creature in that butcher’s hands, I’d drown ’em in the river with my own hands …”

  As Alex watched Agnes Baldwin lead the old lady away, he saw Joan and her two brothers standing among the crowd.

  “I never knew we had so many crack-pots,” Sorenson muttered. “It takes all kinds.”

  “She’s harmless,” Barnard said. “But it’s that kind of blind, stupid prejudice that gets us into trouble. What did you want to ask me, Mr. Altman?”

  “Yes. I think we might start with the night young Whiting brought the cat to you. Did he tell you the circumstances under which he obtained it?”

  “He did.” Barnard’s face was rigid.

  “May I ask why you allowed yourself to get mixed up in it?”

  “Because I hold the coroner’s office and the entire county regime in the utmost contempt. They are as corrupt as sin, whatever your interpretation of that is. What are they good for? Fixing traffic tickets, handing out appropriations not where they’ll do any good for the county, but where they’ll line their own pockets, where they’ll roll the plush carpet to the Addison Industries …”

  Barnard rose halfway to his feet, the words coming faster and faster, his voice nearly choking. The mayor couldn’t take his eyes from the tense face of the veterinary, and his hand fumbled on the table for his gavel.r />
  “Yes. The Addison Industries. You’ve been avoiding that word, haven’t you, Mr. Altman? In your own way you’ve crawled up the carpet yourself many a time. You’d like it rolled to Hillside, so’s you could have a crowd of people like you’ve got here now, saying ‘Yes, Mr. Mayor,’ not ‘Why, Mr. Mayor?’ And they’ll get it if they sleep through this, Mr. Altman, and they’ll deserve it. People get what they earn by indifference. What’s the use fighting against stupidity? What’s one man, two men standing up and shouting the truth? Lie down with the dogs and to hell with it.”

  Barnard dropped back into the chair. Altman poured a glass of water and set it before him, the mayor’s hand trembling. From where he stood, Alex heard Mrs. Baldwin whisper, “Is he drunk?” There was a hush over the crowd.

  “Doctor Barnard is overwrought,” the mayor said. “This heat is enough to kill a man.”

  Barnard drank the water. “I’ll answer your questions,” he said.

  “I’ll be as considerate as I can,” Altman said, “but I think we must know the facts. Just correct me if I’m wrong in this. You prepared the carcass of the animal for extensive tests, I presume looking for poisons, or some illness. Did you leave the specimens overnight?”

  “Yes. It makes several hours for the cultures to develop.”

  “And you found nothing to indicate any illness in the animal?”

  “Nothing. But I had not examined the cultures in the morning when my laboratory was destroyed.”

  “Just so,” the mayor said. “Your entire laboratory was ravaged. Not merely the cultures. Were you working on anything else that might have caused enmity?”

  “No.”

  “Could it have been done by someone like Mrs. Liston, for example?”

  “What do you think?”

  “No. Not likely. But it is obvious that you have some enemies … You called Waterman as soon as you returned home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you satisfied with his investigation?”

  “Quite.”

  “Is there anything else you feel would contribute to the council’s understanding of the situation?”