Indivisible. Part 18

"I take my responsibilities seriously."

"Is she your responsibility?"

"Looks that way."

She allowed a pang of regret. They might have had something lovely. "Have you determined their s.e.x?"

"Haven't exactly gotten that close."

"When the mother goes out, check the pups."

"They'll have my scent."

"They're living in your closet."

"Good point."

"Besides," she said, "it's an old wives' tale that human scent makes animals leave their young."

"Really?"

"Really. So, I'd prefer females, but two of the same gender will do." He frowned. "I still don't think-"

"Take them while she's out."

"Then what? She comes back and they're gone?"

"That's how it works. She'll make sure they didn't wander off, then forget they were ever there."

He still looked undecided.

"I appreciate your concern, but I want the pups. In this area, my experience trumps yours." She would not take no, and he must have seen that.

He spread his hands. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

When he'd gone, she led t.i.tan back inside, murmuring to him, "I know it's hard." He would not procreate, but he would make a fine companion. A deep ache hollowed her as she closed him back into the cage to wait for his master. Companionship never quite ...

"You're sad." Lucy's hand on her arm was light and cool.

"I'm sorry for his pain." She looked into the dog's drowsy eyes, imagining he knew his loss and mourned it.

"I know it's not the dog."

"Of course it is. What do you mean?"

"I know how you feel about the chief."

"No, you don't."

"Oh, Lizzie." Lucy slid her arms around her. "You can't hide it. Why would you?"

"He's in love with someone else."

"Because he doesn't know you. If he did, he would love you as I love you. As I'll always love you. My sister, my heart."

Liz hugged her back. "I love you too, Lucy. You're all that matters to me."

"You in for Sue?" Moser asked, arriving for his shift in crisp, pressed uniform, his goatee perfectly encircling his mouth and defining his chin.

"How long do you spend grooming, Moser?"

"It's not the time; it's the care you take." He rubbed his long brown fingers over the facial hair, reminding each one to behave. "Or you can go for the scruffy I-might-be-trouble look."

"Now you're talking." Jonah grinned. "I wash up for banquets, though. And when I work with the kids."

"I have seen that and been greatly comforted." Moser looked over his shoulder at the computer. "Still working the racc.o.o.ns?"

Seeing Liz had kept the racc.o.o.ns jangling in his mind. Was there someone with a cruel streak taking it out on unsuspecting animals? "You know what bothers me about the racc.o.o.ns?" Jonah turned. "I see cruelty, but I don't see rage."

Moser moved that through his thorough and methodical mind. "You don't think making two animals tear themselves apart is an act of rage?"

"Maybe. But it seems more calculated." He leaned back in the creaky seat. Shooting a coyote with a shotgun was either self-defense or sport. But the meticulous effort put into the racc.o.o.ns felt altogether different. "Think about the process. Two animals captured and drugged."

"Or drugged, then captured."

Jonah spread his hands. "Maybe the bait is doped, but it has to be potent enough to keep them out while he cuts them open."

"Pretty grizzly."

"But painless." Jonah tapped his lip with the pencil. "Or they'd be fighting, and he couldn't cut and sew. Certainly not fastidiously. All those neat st.i.tches."

"But the pain when they wake up. Delayed gratification can still be rage, only deeper."

"Very deep. But look at it. The first two were joined superficially, essentially remaining two separate animals. The second pair had four legs between them, organs joined, no longer complete individuals. What's the motivation?"

"I still think torture fits. It's just not a kind we've seen before."

Jonah shrugged. "Maybe you're right."

"Have you looked at the guy who trashed the Half Moon? There could be a connection between weird animal stuff and weird freak-out stuff."

"Yes, there could."

"What about Caldwell?"

"A connection?"

"No. Just anything new?"

"Newly's working it."

Moser nodded. "Well, I'm here now." He hung his jacket and cleared his throat. "Anything more from Sue?"

"No. And I need to keep some distance there."

A call came in, and because Ruth didn't work weekends, Jonah answered. "Redford Police Department."

A young voice said, "There's like ... these dead cats."

Another voice stage-whispered, "Tell him they're stuck together."

Jonah took the girls' names and address. He had the number on caller ID. "You've got the station," he called to Moser. "I've got a fresh pair."

Piper locked up and started along the back of the bakery toward the path, then shrieked when Miles loomed up beside her. He pressed his hands to his ears, eyes wide.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she said, "What are you doing?"

"I was looking for you."

Okay, a little creepy. "What for?"

"Are you alone?"

"Urn ..."

"I mean is the bakery closed?"

"It's only open until two. Plus, I sold out of everything."

His features drooped with disappointment as though she'd stuck fingers in dough and pulled.

"Are you hungry?"

"I hoped you might have something interesting."

"You did?" If he was conning her, he had the goofiest way of doing it. "I guess I could make something."

A smile flashed. "That would be good. Very good."

She hadn't tried anything new since Sarge had fired her, but there were ingredients in the industrial fridge she'd been meaning to dabble with before the big kibosh. "Come on." She unlocked the kitchen door and let Miles in. It probably wasn't smart to be alone with a guy she knew nothing about. But looking into his face, she saw no hint of malice. Tia wasn't even pressing charges. She said, "Want to watch?"

His face brightened. "Yes. If you wash your hands."

"You wash yours too."

"I do. Every hour and whenever necessary."

"Wouldn't want the germs to grow."

"Are you making fun of me?"

She smiled. "It's called teasing."

"Oh. It sounds like making fun."

"But you can see the difference, if you look."

He gave a slow nod. "I can see the difference."

"Well, come on then. Let's make a mess! Kidding." She laughed, then laughed harder. "I'm kidding." kidding."

"It was funny." He nodded. "If you were kidding."

Thirteen.

The number two hath by the heathen been accounted accursed, because it was the first departure from unity.-JOSEPH TRAPP Jonah studied the cats, brushing the fur away from the shaved flesh where the st.i.tches had torn out. Once again two of each animal's limbs had been removed at the shoulder and hip joints. This time the joined pelvises had not disconnected.

He prodded the guts with his pen. He didn't know much physiology, but it seemed that some of the organs had been connected to serve both animals like two esophaguses-esophagi?-connecting to one stomach. He saw no sign of struggle. Maybe this pair hadn't survived the surgery. Then why dump them here? Taunting?

Jonah leaned back on his heels. The girls who had called still looked out the upstairs window, though their mom had firmly shooed them inside. He wished they hadn't seen it, but the house nestled against the mountain, and Jonah guessed the cats had fallen-or been thrown-from the trail above.

This time they were domestic animals, perhaps someone's pets. That could be considered escalation, the surgical mutations, a refined style of torture. There were doc.u.mented cases of psychopaths with a medical fetish, Jack the Ripper for one. Maybe the guy imagined himself a surgeon, a Dr. Frankenstein. But why two animals together?

It came back to motivation. Cruelty and killing were rooted in power, the desire to demonstrate ultimate control over a living thing, in this case forcing two creatures to go against their natures or die. There was a very sick mind operating here, and he had no idea where to go with it.

He took out his phone and keyed Liz. She didn't answer. Well, it was Sunday. She had to have some life. Or else she was avoiding him. He bagged the cats and brought them to the funeral parlor morgue.

"You're kidding, right?" Morey Bejoe blinked slowly.

"Nope. I need to keep them cold and unmolested until the vet can take a look."

Morey shook his head, then shrugged. "Okay. You're the boss."

He handed over the cats and headed back through town, down the main street, ready to be home, to wield a hammer, drill, and saw. Nearing the bakery, he thought about Sarge. Maybe he should visit. It had been a few days. He glanced at the bakery as he pa.s.sed, then slammed on the brakes, put the truck in reverse, and screeched to a stop outside the window.

Piper sat at the front table with a man who by his size and haircut must be the elusive Miles. He pulled the Bronco to the curb half a block up and got out. He strode over and rattled the door until Piper unlocked it, then pushed in and searched behind her.

"He's gone. Ran out the back."

He couldn't be far. Jonah stalked through the kitchen and pushed open the door. Nothing but dim and quiet. He searched the pantry and the walk-in, then went back to Piper and scowled. "Did you tell him to run?"