Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

Qwilleran peeled off his coat and tie, grabbed a highpowered flashlight from the broom closet, and raced to the upper level to begin a frantic search of every known hiding place, every crevice in the radiating beams, under and over every piece of furniture, inside every drawer and closet... all the while calling her name. He didn't see the headlights approaching the barn through the woods, but he heard the pounding on what remained of the back door. Looking over the balcony railing, he saw Nick and Lori Bamba wandering inquisitively into the kitchen.

"Is this blood on the floor?" Nick was asking.

"What's wrong with Koko?" Lori was saying.

As Qwilleran walked down the ramp, flashlight in hand, Nick called up to him, "I picked up the Ban dE on my police band when we left the theatre. How bad is it?" Qwilleran could hardly force himself to say what he was thinking.

"It looks... as if... they've stolen Yum Yum.

" "Stolen Yum Yum!" they echoed in shocked unison.

"The police were here, and I reported the theft of a radio and cassettes. I didn't know then that she was missing. I've searched everywhere. I'm convinced she's gone. There's an emptiness when she's not here." He stooped and picked up a stray emery board and snapped it in two.

"Koko knows something's radically wrong. He knows she's gone." "Why would they take her?" Lori wondered. That was something Qwilleran preferred not to contemplate. He walked aimlessly back and forth, pounding his moustache. Nick headed for the phone.

"I'm going to call the police again." Qwilleran and the cat on the refrigerator had been staring at each other.

"One minute, Nick!" he said.

"At the theatre you mentioned you'd seen the prowler again." "Yes, today.

His car was parked outside the Dimsdale Diner, so I went in and sat at the counter next to this bearded guy. The cook called him Chuck.

I talked about fishing and baseball, but he didn't respond. I got the impression he wasn't tightly wound, or else he was stoned. I'm sure he hangs out in Shantytown." "Let's go out there," Qwilleran said impulsively, reaching for a jacket.

"D'you think he's the one who broke in?" "I'm getting ideas. Everything's beginning to mesh." He combed his moustache vigorously with his fingertips.

"Okay. We'll take my car. It's got everything we need." Qwilleran said, "Lori, talk to Koko. He's acting like a zombie." The road north from Pickax ran straight, and Nick drove fast. At Ittibittiwassee Road he turned left into the wooded slum, the car bouncing slowly along the rutted road between the trees, the headlights picking up glimpses of shacks and junk vehicles.

"If his car isn't here," Nick said, "we'll try the site of the old mine." At the mention of the abandoned mine, and all it implied, Qwilleran felt nausea in the pit of his stomach.

"There it is! That's the car!" he said. Nick turned off his lights and parked in a patch of weeds behind a junk truck.

"If he's the right one, I can radio the police." "How shall we work this?" "I'll get him to open up. You stand back out of sight, Qwill, until I get my foot in the door." "Let me go first." "No. Your moustache is too well known. Hand me the gun from the glove compartment, in case he gives us any trouble." "Easy with the car door," Qwilleran said, as they stepped out into the weeds. The maroon car was pulled up to a ramshackle travel trailer with a dim light showing through the small window. A radio was playing. By approaching the window obliquely, the two men could see parts of the interior while avoiding the meagre spill of light into the yard. They saw a heavily bearded man lying on a cot, fully clothed, taking swigs from a pint bottle.

Although the face was hairy, red gashes could be seen on the forehead.

Another gash crusted with dried blood trailed from the corner of one eye, which was swollen shut. Qwilleran thought, To get those wounds from glass, he'd have to go through the door headfirst; he was clawed! He whispered to Nick, "I can see my radio and cassettes in there." They crept forward. Then Nick banged on the door and called out in a friendly voice, "Hey, Chuck! I've got some burgers and beer from the diner!" After a slight delay, the door opened cautiously. It opened outward, and Nick yanked it all the way.

"Jeez, man! Wha' happened? You been in a fight--or what?" "Who're you?" the bearded man mumbled.

"You know me--Harry from the diner." Both men barged through the door as the fellow stepped back uncertainly.

"You're cops!" "Hell, no! I'm Harry, don't you remember? This is my uncle Bob." There was a foul odor in the littered trailer, also a large collection of electronic equipment, also a silver pocketknife alongside a small sink.

"Wotcha doin' here?" "Just wanna warn you, Chuck. The cops are on your tail. You gotta get out of here." "Where's the beer?" Qwilleran said with avuncular concern, "Forget the beer, son. You need a doctor... Harry, can we take him to a doctor?