The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern (18 page)

Qwilleran leaned against the armoire and looked down. Blood was dripping from his fingertips. The leash was cutting into his other palm, and twelve feet of nylon cord were wound tightly around the legs of G. Verning Tait, who lay gasping on the floor. Koko, anchored at the other end of the leash, was squirming to slip out of his harness. The room was silent except for the hard breathing of the prisoner and the hissing of a female cat on top of the Biedermeier armoire.
24
The nurse in the First Aid room at the Fluxion bandaged the slash on Qwilleran's hand.
"I'm afraid you'll live," she said cheerfully. "It's only a scratch." "It bled a lot," he said. "That spike was razor-sharp and a foot long! It was actually a jade har poon used for spearing walrus in the Arctic." "How appropriate - under the circumstances," said the nurse with an affectionate side-glance at Qwilleran's moustache.
"Lucky I didn't get it in the stomach!" "The wound looks clean," said the nurse, "but if it gives you any trouble, see a doctor." "You can skip the commercial," Qwilleran said. "I know it by heart." She patted the final strip of adhesive tape, and admired her handiwork.
The nurse had made a good show of the bandage. It did nothing for Qwilleran's typing efficiency, but it enhanced his story when he faced his audience at the Press Club that evening. An unusually large number of Fluxion staffers developed a thirst at five thirty, and the crowd formed around Qwilleran at the bar. His published account had appeared in the afternoon edition, but his fellow staffers knew that the best details of any story never get into print.
Qwilleran said, with barely suppressed pride: "It was Koko who alerted me to the hoax. He licked one of Bunsen's photos and drew attention to the secret compartment." "I used sidelighting," Bunsen explained. "I put a light to the left of the camera at a ninety-degree angle, and it showed up the tiny crack. The camera caught it, but the eye would never know it was there." "When I discovered the swing-out compartment packed full of jade," said Qwilleran, "I was so fascinated that I didn't hear Tait coming. First thing I knew, a cat shrieked, and there was that guy coming at me with an Eskimo harpoon, a spike this long!" He measured an exaggerated twelve inches with his hands. "Koko was snarling. The other cat was flying around, screaming. And there was that maniac, coming at me with a spike! Everything went out of focus. Then - crash!
Tait fell flat on his face." Qwilleran displayed his bandaged hand. "He must have hurled the spike as he fell." Arch Riker said, "Tell them how your cat tripped him up." Qwilleran took time to light his pipe, while his audience waited for the inside story: "Koko was on a long leash, and he flew around in circles so fast - all I could see was a smoke ring in midair. And when Tait crashed to the floor, his legs were neatly trussed up in twelve feet of cord." "Crazy!" said the photographer. "Wish I'd been there with a movie camera." "I picked up the jade spike and kept Tait down on the floor while I called the police on that gold-plated French phone." "When you go, you go first class," Bunsen said. Then Lodge Kendall arrived from Headquarters. "Qwill was right all along," he told everyone. "The houseboy was innocent. Tait has told the police that he staked Paolo to a one-way fare to Mexico, then transferred the jade to the wardrobe cabinet and threw one piece behind Paolo's bed. And you remember the missing luggage? He'd given it to the boy himself." "Was it the insurance money he was after?" "Chiefly. Tait wasn't an astute businessman.
He'd lost the family fortune, and he needed a large sum of cash to invest in another harebrained scheme.... But there was something else, too. He hates the Fluxion. Ever since they played up his role in a paternity case." "I'd like to know why he didn't settle that claim out of court," Qwilleran said.
"He tried, but he was up against dirty politics, he claims. It seems there was another Tait, a cousin of George Verning, who was running for Congress that year, and the paternity claim was timed accordingly. Somebody figured the voters wouldn't know one Tait from another, and apparently it was true. The guy lost the election." Qwilleran said, "Did Tait tell the police anything about his proposed trip to Denmark?" "Nobody mentioned it at Headquarters." "Well," said Riker, "I'll tune in tomorrow for the next installment. I'm going home to dinner." "I'm going home to feed Koko a filet mignon," said Qwilleran. "After all, he saved my neck." "Don't kid yourself," Bunsen said. "He was chasing that female cat." "I dropped her off at the pet hospital," Qwilleran said. "She had an infected wound in her side. That guy probably gave her a kick when he threw her out." Qwilleran had floated high on excitement all. afternoon, but when he arrived home he succumbed to exhaustion.
Koko reacted the same way. The cat lay on his side, legs stiffly extended, one ear bent under his head - to all appearances a dead cat except for a thoughtful look in half-open eyes. He ignored his dinner. Qwilleran went to bed early, and his dreams were pertinent and convincing. He dreamed that Percy was saying, "Qwill, you and Koko have done such a good job on the Tait case, we want you to find David Lyke's murderer," and Qwilleran said, "The investigation may take us to Japan, Chief," and Percy said, "Go right ahead! You can have an unlimited expense account." Qwilleran's moustache twitched in his sleep. So did the cat's whiskers. Koko was dreaming, too.
Early Saturday morning, while Qwilleran was snoring gently and his subconscious was wrestling with the Lyke mystery, the telephone began ringing insistently. When it succeeded in shaking him awake, he reached groggily toward the bedside table, found the receiver, and heard the operator say: "This is Aarhus, Denmark. I have a call for Mr. James Qwilleran." "Speaking," Qwilleran croaked in his early- morning voice.
"Qwill, this is Harry," came a transatlantic shout. "We just heard the news!" "You did? In Denmark?" "It came over the radio." "It's a big shame. He was a nice guy." "I don't know about him," said Noyton. "I only knew her. He must have cracked up." "Who cracked up?" "What's the matter? Aren't you awake yet?" "I'm awake," said Qwilleran. "What are you talking about?" "Is this Qwill? This is Qwilleran, isn't it?" "I think so. I'm a little groggy. Are you talking about the murder?" "Murder!" shouted Noyton.
"What murder?" Qwilleran paused. "Aren't you talking about David Lyke?" "I'm talking about G. Verning Tait! What's happened to David?" "He's dead. He was shot last Monday night." "David dead! My God! Who did it?" "They don't know. It happened in his apartment. In the middle of the evening." "Somebody break in?" "It doesn't appear so." "Why would anyone want to kill David? He was a fantastic guy!" "What was it you heard on the radio over there?" Qwilleran asked.
"About Tait's arrest. Mrs. Tait's family couldn't believe it when they heard the news." Qwilleran sat up straight. "You know her family?" "Just met them. Fine people. Her brother's working with me on the hush-hush deal I told you about. Don't forget: I promised you the Fluxion will get the scoop!" "What's the nature of it?" "I'm financing a fantastic manufacturing process. Qwill, I'm going to be the richest man in the world!" "Is it a new invention?" "A scientific discovery," Noyton said. "While he rest of the world is fooling around with outer space, the Danes are doing something for man-kind here and now." "Sounds great!" "Until I got over here, I didn't know what it was all about. I just took her word that it was something world-shaking." "Whose word?" "Mrs. Tait's." "She tipped you off to her brother's discovery?" "Well, you see, Dr. Thorvaldson needed financing, and she knew her husband couldn't swing it. She'd heard about me and thought I could handle it. Of course, she wanted a kickback - under the able, so to speak." Noyton paused.
"This is all off-the-record, of course." Qwilleran said: "Tait was heading for Denmark. He probably expected to invest the insurance money." There was some interference on the line. "Are you still there?" Qwilleran said.
Noyton's voice had faded. "Listen, I'll call you tomorrow - can you hear me? - as soon as everything's sewed up legally.... This is a lousy connection.... Hope they nab David's killer. So long! Call you within twenty-four hours." It was Saturday, but Qwilleran went into the office to work ahead on the next issue of Gracious Abodes. He was determined, now, that Fran Unger should not get the magazine away from him. He hoped also to see Percy and say "I told you so," but the managing editor was attending a publishers' conference in New York. During the day Qwilleran made two important phone calls - one to the hospital to inquire about the cat, and one to the Middy Studio to make a dinner date with Cokey.
When he went home in the late afternoon to feed Koko, he found a scene of frantic activity. Koko was careening drunkenly around the apartment. He was playing with his homemade mouse - a game related to hockey, basketball, and tennis, with elements of wrestling. The cat skidded the small gray thing over the polished floor, pounced on it, tossed it in the air, batted it across the room, pursued it, made a flying tackle, clutched it in his forepaws, and rolled back and forth in ecstasy until the mouse slipped from his grasp, and the chase began again. With an audience Koko was inclined to vaunt his prowess. As Qwilleran watched, the cat dribbled the mouse the length of the living room, gave it a well-aimed whack, and scored a goal - directly under the old Spanish chest. Then he trotted after it, peered under the low chest, and raised his head in a long, demanding howl.
"No problem," said Qwilleran. "This time I'm equipped." From the hall closet he brought the umbrella that Mrs. Hawkins had so conveniently forgotten. The first sweep under the chest produced nothing but dust, and Koko increased the volume of his demands. Qwilleran got down on the floor and poked the finial into far dark corners, fishing out the jade button that had disappeared a few days before. Koko's clamor was loud and unceasing.
The next sweep of the umbrella brought forth something pink!
Not exactly pink, Qwilleran told himself, but almost pink... and it looked vaguely familiar. He had an idea what it was. And he knew very well how it had managed to get there.
"Koko!" he said sternly. "What do you know about this?" Before the cat could answer with a guttural sound and a wrestling match with an invisible enemy, Qwilleran went to the telephone and rapidly dialed a number.
"Cokey," he said, "I'm going to be late picking you up. Why don't you take a cab to the Press Club and meet me there?... No, just a little business emergency I've got to handle... All right. See you shortly. And I may have some news for you!" Qwilleran turned back to the cat. "Koko, when did you eat this pink stuff? Where did you find it?"
When Qwilleran arrived at the Press Club, Cokey was waiting in the lobby, sitting in one of the worn leather sofas.
"There's trouble," she said. "I can read it in your face." "Wait till we get a table, and I'll explain," he said. "Let's sit in the cocktail lounge. I'm expecting a phone call." They went to a table with a red-checked tablecloth, well patched and darned.
"There's been an unexpected development in connection with David's murder," Qwilleran began, "and Koko's involved. He was in David's apartment when the fatal shot was fired, and he apparently ate some wool. When I brought him home that night, he looked odd. I thought he'd had a fright. Now I'm inclined to think it was a stomachache. I suppose cats get stomachaches." "He couldn't digest the wool?" Cokey said.
"He might have managed the wool, but there was something else in the cloth. After he came home, he must have upchucked the whole thing and hidden it under the Spanish chest. I found it an hour ago." Cokey clapped her hands to her face. "And you recognized it? Don't tell me you actually recognized it!" "Yes, and I think it would have looked familiar to you, too. It was a yellowish-pink wool with gold metallic threads." "Natalie Noyton! That handwoven dress she wore to the party!" Qwilleran nodded. "It appears that Natalie was in Dave's apartment Monday night, and she may have been there when he was shot. At any rate, it was something that had to be reported to the police, so I took the peach-colored wool over to Headquarters. That's why I was late." "What did they say?" "When I left, they were hustling out to Lost Lake Hills. Our police reporter promised to call me here if anything develops." "I wonder why Natalie didn't come forward and volunteer some information to the police?" "That's what worries me," said Qwilleran. "If she had information to give, and the killer knew it, he might try to silence her." The domed ceiling of the club multiplied the voices of the Saturday-night crowd into a roar, but above it came an amplified announcement on the public-address system: "Telephone for Mr. Qwilleran." "That's our night man at Police Headquarters. I'll be right back." He hurried to the phone booth.
When he returned, his eyes had acquired a darkness.
"What's wrong, Qwill? Is it something terrible?" "The police were too late." "Too late?" "Too late to find Natalie alive." "Murdered!" "No. She took her own life," said Qwilleran.
"Evidently a heavy dose of alcohol and then sleeping pills." A sad wail came from Cokey. "But why? Why?" "Apparently it was explained in her diary. She was hopelessly in love with her decorator, and he wasn't one to discourage an affair." "That I know!" "Natalie thought Dave was ready to marry her the moment she got a divorce, and she wanted him so desperately that she agreed to her husband's terms: no financial settlement and no request for child custody. Then last weekend it dawned on her that Dave would never marry her - or anyone else. When Odd Bunsen and I turned up at her house Monday morning and she refused to see us, she must have been out of her mind with disappointment and remorse and a kind of hopeless panic." "I'd be blind with fury!" said Cokey.
"She was blind enough to think she could set things right by killing David." "Then it was Natalie - " "It was Natalie.... Afterward, she went home, dismissed the maid, and lived through twenty-four hours of hell before ending it. She's been dead since Tuesday night." There was a long silence at the table. After a while Qwilleran said, "The police found the peach-colored dress in her closet. The shawl had quite a lot of fringe missing." Then the menus came, and Cokey said: "I'm not hungry. Let's go for a walk-and talk about other things." They walked, and talked about Koko and the new cat whose name was Yu or Freya.