Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

The sun was still high in the sky, where it belonged on a summer evening in the north country. The play on the field was leisurely. The sports fans were appropriately rude.

During a lull in the game, Qwilleran asked, "How did you find out about the dog?"

"The family reported it to the police, and I went out to their house. They're not supposed to talk to the media, and the nurse wouldn't let me in, but then the daughter saw me and said it was all right. She was in my history class when I was teaching - an A-plus student. When I'd assign a chapter, she'd augment it with research in the library.... Sock it to 'im, Dave! Break his bat!... She should've gone on to college."

"Why didn't she?"

"They wanted her at home to take care of her invalid mother. I think she's a lonely and frustrated girl. I could tell she wanted to talk to me, lawyer or no lawyer. We went out on the patio and reminisced about high school - had a few laughs."

"Could you tell how she was reacting to the publicity and the pressure?"

"She was all broken up about the dog. He was a chow. His name was Zak, spelled Z-a-k. Dead on second! Good mitt, Juny!... Finally she told me, off the record, that the dog really belonged to her brother, but the lawyer wanted the public to think he was Floyd's."

"So all the dog lovers would feel sorry for his client," Qwilleran suggested.

"Right! Her brother lives in an apartment where they don't allow pets, so he kenneled Zak at his parents' house, nights. Served a double purpose. Everybody in the country has a watchdog.... Make it three, Dave. You're hot!"

Dave made it three, the green shirts trotted onto the field, and the red shirts took their turn at bat.

"Was Floyd's son in any of your classes?" Qwilleran asked.

"All I can say is: He occupied a seat. A student he was not! He and his buddy from Chipmunk were always in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Fighting... carrying knives... underage drinking..."

" Any drugs?"

"Alcohol was the chief problem then. That was a few years ago, you know. Eddie and the other kid were expelled.... Okay, Typos! Murder those bedpan pushers!"

From the third row Riker bellowed, "Send those bloodsuckers to the morgue!"

Nevertheless, at the end of the sixth, the score stood 12 to 5 in the Tubes' favor. Qwilleran watched with mild enthusiasm; he preferred hardball to softball. He liked the overhand or sidearm pitch, the crack of a real baseball, the long run to first, and nine innings. At the next lull he asked Roger, "Does Floyd's daughter think the shooting was connected with the charge against her father?"

"She didn't say, and I didn't ask. Sensitive subject."

"What time did the shooting take place?"

"About two in the morning. Her mother was awake and heard the shot. She rang for her daughter."

"Did anyone hear the dog bark at the prowler?"

"I guess not."

The game ended at 13 to 8, and Roger stood up, yelling. "Good try, guys! Next year we'll anesthetize those tube jockeys!"

When Qwilleran returned to the barn after the game, Yum Yum was curled up like a shrimp in his favorite lounge chair, asleep. Koko was in the foyer, looking out the window.

"If it's Zak you're waiting for, give up!" Qwilleran told him. "He won't be coming around anymore.... Let's have a read. Book!

Book!"

After one last intense look down the trail, Koko tore himself away from the window and did some educated sniffing on the bookshelves. Finally he nosed The Panama Canal: An Engineering Treatise.

"Thank you for reminding me," said Qwilleran, who had forgotten to open the book since bringing it home.

It contained many statistics and black-and-white photos of World War I

vintage, and although Qwilleran found it quite absorbing, Yum Yum quickly fell asleep, and Koko kept yawning conspicuously.

"To be continued," Qwilleran said as he replaced the book on the history shelf.

-7-

After the ballgame and the Panama Canal session, Qwilleran phoned Polly at her apartment. "Did you read the front page today?" he asked. "Did you see the item about the Trevelyan dog?"

"Wasn't that a senseless, uncivilized thing to do?" she replied vehemently. "What did they hope to accomplish? It won't bring the fugitive back! It won't compensate them for their financial losses!"

"And it wasn't even Floyd's dog," Qwilleran told her. "It belonged to his son, your builder."

"That's even worse!"

"He's the chow who came to work with the crew every day - a beautiful animal, friendly and well-behaved."

"Are there any suspects, have you heard?"

"Not as yet, I guess. Police are investigating."

"Oh, dear," Polly sighed. "One evil only leads to another."

Qwilleran changed the tone of his voice from objective to warmly personal. "And how is everything with you and Bootsie?"

"We're well, thank you. And what did you do today, dear?"