Judas Cat Read online

  “I’d have to have pretty strong evidence before I’d go as far as saying that.”

  “Naturally. I was asking for my own information. I’ve been around long enough to see some peculiar things happen up there. Well, let’s take a look at the animal and go from there. How long has it been dead?”

  “Since about noon.”

  “That’s ten hours. It may be hard to tell anything, but we’ll see.” He walked to the car with Alex and leaned over to see who was at the wheel.

  “You know Joan Elliot, Doc?”

  “Yes, of course. The girl with the molting turtle doves. How are you, Joan?”

  “Fine, Doctor. That’s a long time to remember. Fifteen years.”

  “They’ve been kinder to you than to me, my dear. Wouldn’t you like to wait in the house? I don’t believe Mrs. Barnard has gone to bed yet. I think she’d like to see you.”

  “Thank you, doctor, but it’s late, and I like it out here.”

  He nodded and went around to the trunk where Alex was taking out the packages. “I was in a hurry and took them both,” he said. “I think the heavier one’s the cat.”

  Barnard weighed them both in his hands. “This is it,” he said. “I can tell the dead weight of it.” Again he stopped at the car door. “We may be some time. You’ll be more comfortable indoors, Joan.”

  She went in with them then, and Barnard took them first to his laboratory. It was two large rooms and occupied a wing of the house. It was meticulously neat, and well equipped. He excused himself and went to find Mrs. Barnard. Joan examined the titles of the books in one of the cases. “He’s done a lot of writing,” she said. “Alex, we’re finding out more things about more people.”

  “I told you he was a scientist,” Alex said.

  “I know, but why is he in Hillside, Alex?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? This is the heart of the dairy country, and his specialty is cattle. He’s worked himself up what amounts to a practice. Gets an annual sustainer from all the farms around here.”

  Mrs. Barnard came in with her husband then. “I’m sorry we’re disturbing you this late, ma’m,” Alex said.

  “Not at all. I rarely go to bed before twelve, and I’m delighted to have company. When Jeff’s working hard he’s not the best of company, and he’s been very busy lately. Won’t you come in and have some tea with me, Miss Elliot?”

  Alex watched them leave the room. There was a resemblance between Mrs. Barnard and Mabel Turnsby, he thought, but there was more refinement in her features. She walked in the grand manner, rather as though she were carrying a book on her head, and he remembered his mother’s comments on the way she “gave herself airs.” She might have been twenty-five or forty-five with the smoothness of her skin, the light eyes, and the straw-colored hair. She had a set little smile, and never, never laughed out loud, he thought.

  “Well,” Barnard said, “let’s take this in to the table and get it over with.” He cut away the wrappings and disposed of them in a container at his foot.

  “Ugly business,” Alex said when he saw the carcass.

  “Think of roses, whiskey, beautiful women,” Barnard said.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to be sick,” he said, but he could feel a turning in his stomach. Barnard went to the windows and opened them.

  “It doesn’t look like they did very much work on it, does it, Doc?”

  “That’s hard to say, Alex, the condition it’s in.”

  “It’s that sore under its forearm I’m most interested in. The cat was injected with something, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not being an amateur, Alex, I wouldn’t say. It looks as though that’s what it might have been.”

  “Like vaccination?”

  “Somewhat. The position is strange for an injection.”

  “My theory, strictly amateur, is that the old man picked the cat up there. That might have been why it turned on him.”

  “Possibly.”

  “How long before it died did it eat? Can you tell that, Doc?”

  “I would need more time. In fact, I need more time before I can tell you anything, Alex. Immediate symptoms of disease or poison aren’t present, and it’s pretty late to make cultures, that is, late from the time of its death. That should have been done in two or three hours. But suppose you leave it here. I’ll take some specimens and see what I can develop. I’ll call you in the morning and tell you whether it’s worth your while to come over.”

  “You don’t give me much encouragement, Doc.”

  “I don’t give you false encouragement. This was a foolhardy stunt, Alex. I can understand your doing it, but doesn’t it seem unlikely to you that the coroner’s office would have been so brazen if they weren’t pretty sure of themselves?”

  “I suppose you’re right, Doc. But it seemed like such a slick job to me, and I feel sure we don’t have the full story of what happened in that house last night.”

  “Did you question the neighbors?”

  “Yes. Mabel Turnsby’s the only one who could really see the place, and she didn’t see anything.”

  “If Mabel didn’t see anything, Alex, believe me, there wasn’t anything to see. She’s had the eyes and ears of the world all her life.” He went to the sink and washed his hands.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” Alex said. “It didn’t take so long after all.”

  “It will take me a while after you leave. Let’s see if they’ll give us a cup of tea first. How’s your father these days? I was in the Sentinel office the other day and it seemed mighty strange without him.”

  In the living room Mrs. Barnard was pouring the tea. She sat very straight on the edge of the couch and maneuvered the cups with great dignity. Joan had her tea and a plate with cookies. Her movement with the sugar and creamer were quite relaxed, and it struck Alex as he caught a glimpse of the two women from the doorway, that Joan was more at ease, more natural in this elegant house than her hostess.

  “How nice that you can join us,” Mrs. Barnard said. “I brought the extra cups in hopes that you would. Lemon, Alex?”

  “No thank you, ma’m, straight with sugar.”

  “Miss Elliot and I were talking about that poor old gentleman’s death.”

  “I was telling Mrs. Barnard how lonely you found the house, Alex.”

  Mrs. Barnard gave that set half-smile of hers. “Yes. I’ve often wondered what becomes of us when we grow old. Our inner selves. It seems to me that we’re like flowers … Take a cookie, Jeff. You didn’t eat much dinner—like flowers, in that we spread outward, unfolding in our growth, and then we contract again until there’s nothing of us left.”

  “Except the seed,” Alex said.

  “Yes, of course. That is the most important part, isn’t it?”

  If Norah Barnard had grown up in the four rooms of Andy’s house, she had come a long ways in luxury. The room was sweet with fresh flowers, and large with well-chosen furniture that exaggerated its size. But the books were too orderly, the nap on the rug too full, and Alex thought the veterinary would be much happier in the brown leather chairs in his part of the house than on the white one he now occupied. They talked of nothing much for a while. Alex waited for a good moment.

  “Mrs. Barnard, do you remember if Andy Mattson bought the place directly from your father?”

  “I don’t think he could have,” she said. “I believe the place was left with an agent when we left Hillside. Why?”

  “No particular reason,” Alex said. “We didn’t find a deed to the property, and we don’t have any clue as to where the old man came from, or whether he had any heirs. I was just wondering.”

  “The property should be registered with the town clerk. Shouldn’t it, Jeff?”

  “I think that’s the way it’s done. I was just thinking, Norah. It’s funny the way Alex came to me on this, and our connection with the old place.”

  The smile came too quickly. “Oh,” was the only word that came with it. She would not like it, he
thought. She was not particularly proud of her connection with Mabel Turnsby, and she would not want any publicity. There would be hell to pay when he and Joan left and Barnard told her why they had come. He laid the cup and saucer on the red lacquered tray.

  “It’s getting late, Alex,” Joan said.

  “Yes, I think we should move along.” He stood up. “Doc, I appreciate what you’re doing. No one knows I was coming here except ourselves.”

  “That’s just as well,” Barnard said. “I think we should keep it that way. For the time being at least.” Both of the Barnards went to the door with them.

  Mrs. Barnard gave Alex her hand. “I hope you will call on us again some evening when you and your young lady are by this way. It was nice having you both, even by accident.”

  If Joan had any charity in her heart for Norah Barnard until that moment, it was gone then. In the car, as they backed out of the driveway, she tried to think of something to say that would distract Alex from “your young lady,” if he was thinking of it. She wasn’t good at making up small talk. “What did he say about the cat?” she asked.

  “Nothing. He thinks I’m a damned fool. Maybe I am.”

  Joan did not say anything, and it was then that Alex thought of Mrs. Barnard’s words, “your young lady.” The wind was in Joan’s hair and she put up her hands to capture it. Out of the side of his eye he noticed the lines of her dress against her drawn tight by the lifting of her arms. He had known Joan Elliot all his life, around town, in school and at the office, but he had never been so much aware of her as at this moment.

  “Smell the sweet clover, Alex?”

  “That’s me,” he said.

  Not a store in town was open after eleven except on Saturday night. Most of the house lights were out on Joan’s street as they drove up in front of her home. A small yellow lamp was on in the hallway. “Dad’s left the light, anyway,” Joan said. “They’ll wonder where I’ve been.”

  Alex walked up to the porch with her. Oak Street was lazily lighted by the converted gas lamps. He could remember when each one was lighted by hand. He had made the rounds of them with Ned Thorson many times when he was a boy. “You wouldn’t think anything worse than gossip could happen here, would you?”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said. “But there’s something very wrong here, isn’t there, Alex?”

  “I hope not. But I think there is.”

  “I feel it,” Joan said. “It’s silly, but I feel it. I feel as though people in the town were a thousand miles apart.”

  “Hillside isn’t that big,” he said.

  “I think it is now. Good night, Alex.”

  Chapter 10

  HE PARKED THE CAR in the driveway, not bothering to put it in the garage on warm nights. His father was in his pajamas, but he was waiting in the den. “Where the devil have you been, Alex? You might have let us know.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t think I’d be this late.”

  “It’s not so late. We just wanted to know where you were. Waterman was around to see you.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He didn’t say. Altman was looking for you, too. He made himself pretty clear. He wants the coroner’s report published in Friday’s paper.”

  Alex lit a cigarette. “Maybe I did a stupid thing tonight, Dad. Joan and I went up to the county building and found the carcass of the cat where it had been put out for the incinerator. I brought it back to Barnard.”

  Mr. Whiting motioned to Alex for a cigarette.

  “Barnard says it’s been dead too long to tell much, but he’s going to try.”

  They were both thoughtful for a few moments. Then Mr. Whiting asked: “Did you have any trouble getting the cat?”

  “I got it. It seemed like trouble, but I guess it wasn’t. A prisoner at the jail saw me and shook me down for twenty bucks.”

  “That’s not good, Alex. You can’t trust those fellows. And if nothing shows up in the cat you may have yourself in trouble for nothing.”

  “I couldn’t help it, Dad. I had to take that chance. I don’t think he’d recognize me again, and it was either that or have him raise the whole place.”

  “I suppose. Did you tell Barnard the whole story before you involved him?”

  “Yes. He took it with his eyes open. Oh my God …”

  “What is it, Alex?”

  “There were two packages in the box for the incinerator. I wasn’t sure so I took both of them. One’s probably old Andy’s clothes. They’re still in the car trunk.”

  “You can get rid of them in the morning. Now that you’ve gone this far you mustn’t get the jitters about it, Alex. If you do you’re in real trouble.”

  “I don’t have the jitters, Dad. But it’s easier to dump something at night.”

  “All right. Burn them in the furnace now.”

  “Maybe that’s best.” Alex went to the car. The only sounds in the town were the sing-song of the crickets and the croaking of the frogs from Craig’s marsh. The car trunk was empty.

  Chapter 11

  ALEX STOOD AT THE side of the car for a few moments. There was the sound of a truck motor somewhere on Highway 64 and a little rustle of the leaves in the wind, but nothing moved at all on Deerpath Avenue. He went back into the house. “It’s gone,” he said.

  “Gone? You mean someone took it from the car?”

  “That’s right. Do you know what this means, Dad? This is the first positive indication that Andy Mattson’s death was not an accident. Everything else might have a natural explanation, but not this.”

  “Are you sure it was the old man’s clothes?”

  “No. Just guessing.”

  “Where could it have been taken?”

  “Either at Barnard’s or in the few minutes I’ve been talking to you.”

  “It was a mistake to give that prisoner that much money, Alex. He must have set them after you immediately.”

  “But how, Dad? I didn’t see anyone around the place except the deputy. He wouldn’t leave the jail unattended. And who would know where I was going? The prisoner didn’t know who I was from Adam.”

  “Two and two add up fast in this, Alex. Anybody knowing what was in the box at the morgue would know who was interested in it. The people knowing the coroner’s verdict narrows it down still further. It comes out to you or Waterman. A phone call at the time might have eliminated him. It’s not the kind of thing he’d have been likely to do anyway.”

  “Then if it was taken here,” Alex said, “it’s pretty sure whoever got it thought he was getting the cat … unless he’d been following me all evening, and I think I’d have known that. If it was taken at Barnard’s place it means they wanted the old man’s clothes. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

  “Nothing makes sense from here,” his father said. “I’ll tell you one thing. You’ve really got Barnard involved now. I think you ought to warn him at least.”

  Alex looked at his watch. It was almost twelve o’clock. People had a horror of night phone calls in Hillside, and whoever was on the switchboard would have ears for nothing except the call. “I don’t like to call him at this hour, Dad. Besides, his wife was annoyed at him for letting himself become involved.”

  “I don’t blame her, but I think you should call him just the same. A vet gets late calls sometimes.”

  “Who’s on the switchboard tonight?”

  “Sarah Randalls. She was about ten o’clock anyway.”

  She had gone directly to work from the ball game, Alex thought. She might be on a split shift and she was a good friend of Joan’s. “I’m going to run over to the station first,” he said.

  His father sighed. “All right, Alex. Do it your way. But use your good sense. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  Alex took his jacket from the hall closet and went out. The car starter sounded raucous in the stillness. He did not turn on his lights until he was in the street. At the town hall the only lights were in the fire station. Whoever
was on duty there would take police calls too. Waterman had gone home for the night. He drove across the town again and turned up Oak Street. There was a light in the Elliot living room. Joan had not gone upstairs yet. He parked the car and went to the door.

  “Sarah’s off at twelve,” Joan said when he told her what he wanted. “We could drive by and offer her a ride home.”

  They waited until Sarah was half a block from the exchange before pulling up beside her. “Can we drop you home?” Joan asked, opening the door.

  “I’d love it.” She pushed in next to Joan. “It sure was hot in the exchange. I thought I’d die trying to keep awake. … Something smells funny in here. Like a hospital.”

  “Lifebuoy,” Alex said. “Would you like a little ride to cool off?”

  Sarah giggled. “I’d love it. You kids go up to the late show in Riverdale? I’m dying to see it. Every picture we get is ten years old. I’m surprised we got talkies yet. Talkies,” she repeated. “Gee, that sounds old-fashioned.”

  Alex took the road toward Three Corners. Sarah chattered on. “… Who cared about the score, anyway, if you don’t mind my saying it, Alex. All people wanted was to talk about the old man getting killed. And is the mayor sore! He’s been calling up everybody, telling ’em the old man died. ‘Died. That’s all. Just died,’ he says.”

  “I don’t know how you could fall asleep with all that going on,” Alex said.

  “It just got monotonous after a while. He’s such a big blow, anyway. I guess I shouldn’t say that about the mayor. Everybody says he’s good for business and he’ll get Hillside on the map some day. Gee, it’s pretty out here, with the moon and all. I’ll be off nights next week and it’ll be full then …”

  She was off again. Alex looked back at the veterinary’s house as they passed. There was a light in the laboratory and one upstairs. Barnard was probably working on the cat. The Venetian blinds were drawn but the windows were open. Alex felt better. At the highway restaurant two automobile transports and a moving van were parked. “How about some ice cream cones if I bring them out?” he asked.