Judas Cat (30 page)

“Take it easy,” he said. “Nothing’s happened to me.”

“I’ll call your father and tell him you’re home,” Mrs. Whiting said. She went into the den immediately.

“For one who said she wouldn’t marry me last night, you look kind of concerned, darling,” he said to Joan.

“Don’t tease, Alex. It’s been an awful day.”

“Has anything happened here?”

“No, except you’d think a plague was running through the town. Where is it going to end, Alex?”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know at all. I hope we can bring it to a head this afternoon.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay here with Mom and wait for me. Is your family worried about you?”

“No. I call them once in a while. Dad says if there’s anything he can do I’m to let him know.”

Alex changed his clothes quickly. He took his service revolver from a box on the closet shelf. It was something he had hoped never to use again. Downstairs he drank half the tea his mother insisted that he take.

“Say a prayer, Mom,” he said, leaving the house.

As he turned off Deerpath Avenue he saw the sedan start after him. It parked in view of the station. Waterman opened the screen door and held it for him. Barnard and his father were there, and Gilbert, all of them showing the tension of waiting for his return. No one said a word until he sat down at the round table. Then they pulled their chairs about him. Alex sat where he could keep the black sedan in view.

“I see you got traveling companions,” Waterman said.

“Yes. I picked up the extra two in Riverdale.”

“Did you see Gautier?” his father asked.

“Gautier and Addison,” Alex said. “Not together, however.” He looked at Barnard. “And I met Walter Turnsby and gave him a ride down to your house, Doc.”

Barnard said nothing. His only change of expression was a little frown. His fingers moved uneasily along the desk.

“You could have saved us a lot of grief, Doc, by telling us all the things you know.”

“He told them to us this afternoon,” Waterman said. “He told us how Mattson got Mike Turnsby after old Addison, and how him and Norah found out Mattson was Walter Turnsby’s father when they got one look at the old man. I don’t know’s I blame them for wanting to keep clean of it.”

Alex leaned forward. “I didn’t mean that. Doc, I want to know one thing. I don’t like to be suspicious of the people I’m working with, and I want to know the real reason your lab was smashed up.”

Barnard’s mouth was working before he made a sound. “All right,” he said finally. “I discovered the cat had not been fed for at least forty-eight hours. It had been given an injection, something to quiet it, probably, to keep it from scratching whoever handled it.”

“But just enough dope to wear off when Mattson was alone with it. Was that it?” Waterman said.

“Just about,” said Barnard. “I couldn’t be sure. The animal was dead too long, but that’s what it looked like to me.”

“And all this time you wouldn’t tell us although you knew the county had ignored evidence like that,” Alex said. “You saw us put under a restraining order and still wouldn’t help us till now?”

“Do you think you’re the only one persecuted in this business?” Barnard said fiercely. “You were not gone from the house twenty minutes the night you brought me the accursed animal, when I got a call to remind me of what happened to Norah’s poor demented father. And still I was determined to help you … and with a hysterical wife beseeching me to let it alone. Then in the morning when I made an early call and took Norah with me to keep her safe, my laboratory was smashed to smithereens.”

“It gave you a good reason for not being able to help us,” Alex said.

“Of course. That’s what it was intended to do.”

“Seems too bad, Doc,” Waterman said, his easy voice in contrast to Barnard’s tenseness, “that cow and calf you attended at Allendale both dying.”

“All right,” Barnard said more quietly, “I bungled the delivery. I’d been up most of the night.”

“They were awful put out about it at Allendale, a prize animal like that coming early, and you attending her all summer. It didn’t do your reputation much good.”

“I’ve no reputation left. I know that. Do you think I’d be here now if I didn’t know my salvation depends on yours?”

“I suppose not,” Alex said.

“I think you better tell us now what happened to you this afternoon, Alex,” Waterman said.

“I’m certain now, Chief, that Andy Mattson and Mabel Turnsby were witnesses to a revision to the Addison will, or a codicil to that will. Andy kept one copy, and he must have made up a dummy on which he forged Mabel’s handwriting and maybe Addison’s. The attacker got the dummy. Andy had left the key with Mabel and instructions on where to find the real copy if he died suddenly.”

“What makes you so sure, Alex?”

“I’ve given my word not to disclose that information—not at this time anyway.”

“If that’s what it is, it’s going to take all our wit and persuasion to get it from her,” Waterman said, “and that’s probably just what those thugs out there are waiting for.”

“That’s what I figured,” Alex said.

“Let’s hear what happened up there,” Waterman said.

Alex told them, omitting only the confidential information provided by Gautier. Waterman made an occasional note on the big tablet while he listened. “What was your feeling about Turnsby?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Chief. I felt there was something between him and Addison that didn’t come across to me while I was there or afterwards. I got the feeling they knew each other pretty well, although they didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Can you tell us anything about him, Doc?”

“Very little. He was a strange man. I only saw him once, and what Norah’s told me about him. She was scared to death of him as a youngster, and he was always the mother’s favorite … I can’t help feeling uneasy about his being at our house now. He never cared about us, not even enough to inform Norah of her mother’s death.”

“I was wondering about that,” Waterman said. He turned to Alex. “Do you feel Hershel fits into the picture any place?”

“I don’t know. Until we get the codicil we can’t discount him. He was getting pretty anxious to put that deal over with Addison. But I think that’s as far as him and Altman fit. Where’s the mayor this afternoon?”

“I’m not sure. Gilbert picked up word he was having a baby today on top of everything else.”

“It’s good to know something normal’s happening in the town,” Mr. Whiting said.

Waterman was making notes. He looked up to catch Alex glancing out of the window at the car. “Patient, ain’t they?” he said. “What about this lawyer fellow? How do you feel about him?”

“Either he was dead right in figuring this story, or he set a perfect trap for us, and I don’t know how we’re going to tell until we walk into it. In a way he’s just about guided my whole thinking on it.”

“What’s his name again?” Barnard asked.

“Gautier. Roy Gautier.”

“The name’s familiar. He ran for office once, didn’t he?”

“State’s attorney.”

Waterman got up from the table. “I found that little vagrant you was talking about, Alex. Jim Pasteriki flushed him out of his haystack. He’s entertaining him till I get around to picking him up. I got nothing to hold him on, and not much to hold him with so I’ve been taking my time about it. Alex, you’ve dug out more miscellaneous information than a porcupine’s got quills. I think we ought to concentrate on just two things now and add the rest up later: Mattson locked himself in tight whenever he was indoors, and if he was taking those precautions, I don’t think he opened the door that night to any stranger. I’m not sure he’d open it to anybody he knew, feeling the way he did.” He picked up the sheaf of notes and took them to his desk. He pulled the roll-top down over them and locked it. “And now, Alex, I guess we can go call on Mabel. We’ll be about as welcome as a family of skunks. You coming, Charlie?”

Mr. Whiting nodded.

“And you still want to come, Doc?”

“Yes. I’ve gone this far, I’ll stay to the end.”

“Well, it’s going to be the end of something I guess,” Waterman said. “And maybe you can help shake her loose of that family ghost that’s been haunting her.” He took his revolver from its holster, unloaded and reloaded it. “I hope I don’t have to use this but I don’t aim to lose anything we get from Mabel. I think we’ll walk from here. I feel safer with my feet on the ground. When we get there, Gilbert, you’ll go back of Mattson’s place and cover the house. Don’t let anybody come in while we’re there.”

Gilbert ran his tongue over his lips. His eyes were watery with fear. Alex was conscious of the weight of his revolver in his pocket. As they left the station, Waterman turned and locked the door. They waited while he went around and left the key with the fire chief, much as a businessman might when he was going out to lunch.

It was four blocks from the station to Mabel’s house, and Alex thought as they started of the many times he had traveled it these last four days. Waterman and his father were ahead, Mr. Whiting’s blue shirt dark with perspiration, his neck red, and his shoulders broad and still very straight. Waterman’s coat hung on him as though it were pasted on the thin stooped shoulders. These were the things Alex thought about. His mind would go no further on the subject of Andy Mattson’s death. There were the sounds of doors closing, and only rarely, far ahead of them, were there people in sight, and when they came to where these people had been, they were gone. A train whistle sounded in the distance, a freight train, Alex thought, knowing the time of day. The streets they crossed smelled of tar and were soft beneath their feet. He fell to watching Waterman’s feet, the slow determined pace of them. He could hear Barnard’s heavy breathing as the veterinary walked beside him, and on his other side, Gilbert was counting the cracks in the pavement. When they came to Sunrise Avenue, Alex saw the black sedan a block behind them, and as they turned up Mabel’s walk and went around her house to the back door, the car passed them, and stopped opposite the vacant lot next to Mattson’s house.

For a second Alex wondered if they could be sheriff’s deputies. Surely they could not operate so boldly outside the law. But he had forgotten, Hillside was without the law. It was like a town that somehow had been cut off from the rest of the world and become a law unto itself. Gilbert left them reluctantly and went to take up his solitary vigil from among Andy’s overgrown bushes.

For just an instant Alex saw Mabel’s white top over the kitchen curtains, but Waterman’s knock went unanswered. There was only the clucking of chickens in the back yards along the street, and the heavy breathing of the men as they waited. At last Waterman took his pen knife from his pocket and began to cut away the screening on the door. Mabel came then, opening the door only wide enough to show her face. Waterman had unlatched the screen door and opened it.

“Please go away,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t feel good.” Her eyes, the fear wild in them, went from one face to another.

“Just for a little bit, Mabel,” Waterman said gently. “We aren’t going to hurt you at all.”

Her eyes dropped to his hand on the door knob. His knuckles showed white beneath the skin with the firmness of his grip. The door fell open then as she let it go. Waterman went in first, and Alex after him. Barnard and Whiting came up the steps and into the house, closing the door behind them.

“We’ll stay in the kitchen and not track up the house,” Waterman said.

The old woman’s lips were almost white and her skin hung as loose about her face as the clothes upon her back. All the primness, the nattiness and the pride were gone. Even her hair was straggling out of the bun. She sat at the porcelain-topped table, her hands yellow on its whiteness. Waterman sat down beside her. Alex stood by the window. Barnard and Mr. Whiting pulled chairs a bit away from the table and sat down.

“Mabel,” Waterman started, “there ain’t nothing in this world worth the pain you’re going through, and what you’ve been keeping from us is coming out bit by bit in spite of you and the Addisons, Altman … All of you put together can’t stop us from getting at the truth now. Give your conscience a rest, dear lady, and give us a chance to have some peace and respect in the town we’ve lived in all our lives, like you …”

Mabel’s lower lip began to tremble and she caught it between her teeth.

“You should have known we’d find out about your brother Mike, if you made us go looking for it. We didn’t talk about that. We didn’t tell anybody in the town, even when you started that nasty talk about Alex here. That wasn’t like you, Mabel. I don’t know what it was made you do it. I just don’t know. Knowing you all these years, and seeing you around church and visiting with the missus, making things for poor people … it just kind of hurts deep down inside me, seeing you go bad like that.”

She began to cry then, quiet sobs that seemed to choke out of her frail body. Alex turned his back on them. If this was the only way, there should have been a more merciful one.

“Won’t you tell us the truth now?” Waterman persisted.

“I can’t. Don’t you see there’s nobody I can trust?”

“Not even me, now?” Waterman said.

“No,” she wailed. “I don’t want a cat like Andy got.”

“God in heaven, let’s get out of here,” Barnard said. The sweat was streaming down his face. He rubbed a drop from his nose with the back of his hand.

Waterman looked at him, a fierce, silencing look. “Mabel,” he continued in his easy manner, “I’m going to give you a chance to let all your troubles go out the door with us when we leave here. Let me have what you took from Andy’s house the night after he died.”

“I never took anything,” she said.

“Yes you did,” Waterman said patiently. “You took it because he told you to. He gave you a key to his house. He wanted you to have it if he died. He trusted you, Mabel. You were the only person in the world he trusted. We know what it was he left you—a codicil to Henry Addison’s will, and we know they want it awful bad. You can’t stand up against them, Mabel. If you’d been in his house when they came back that night, I don’t think you’d have the chance to tell us now. We’ve tried to fight them, and if we don’t win out Alex and me go to jail for contempt of court. Jails weren’t meant for the likes of us, Mabel, or the likes of you …”