Klepto Cat Mystery - Sleight Of Paw Part 17

"Interesting you should ask. We were talking earlier this evening about her. The first week she was with us, she seemed fine. But there's something missing this week. I think we'll actually have a legitimate reason to let her go." He scratched the back of his neck. "Not sure what's going on with her. It's like she's preoccupied. Kind of jumpy, actually, don't you think, Savannah?"

"Yes. Yesterday, she had just come in after taking a cigarette break. I asked her to prepare a pen for a new boarder and she just looked at me kind of blank, like she didn't understand a word I was saying."

"Hmmm, you might have a druggie on your hands there," Craig said.

Savannah scrunched up her face. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that. And you heard about Rags's reaction to her, didn't you? He freaked out when she came into the room where he was."

"Yeah, that was odd." Craig leaned forward in his chair. "Well, as it turns out, Damon knows her. He was surprised to learn that she was working for you. Said she usually works in sleazy bars as a c.o.c.ktail waitress and she sometimes dances at strip clubs. He said he has never known her to have a regular job."

"Well, that's interesting. Maybe she's turning over a new leaf...or trying to," Michael said.

Savannah laughed. "Ever positive, as Auntie Marg says."

Craig looked askance at Michael. "I don't think so. But I guess anything's possible."

The headlines in Tuesday evening's paper blared: "Raid Results In Arrests."

"Did you see this?" Michael asked when Savannah walked through the door of their home.

"Yes, I stopped by to see Auntie; and Max showed it to me. I guess Craig's operation was successful."

"Says they arrested a dozen people on all variety of charges," Michael said. And then he motioned to her. "Come here, I want to show you something."

"What?" Savannah asked as she zipped up her purse, set it down and walked over to the sofa where Michael sat.

"Here, look at this guy."

"Well, I can't see much of him. What about him?" she asked. "Is it someone you know?"

"Oh, I think he may have paid us a visit at some point-but no, we don't know him. At least, I hope not."

"You're talking in riddles, Michael."

"Look at what he's wearing, Savannah."

"Ohhhhhh. Could it be? Oh my gosh, Michael. It looks like the same fabric as the swatch Rags had at the clinic that night. We'd better call Craig."

"Wait-let's look at the online newspaper. Maybe we can bring it closer and see the fabric better. Do you remember what it looked like?"

"I sure do. Exactly."

Once Michael brought the photograph up on the computer, Savannah stared into the monitor. "Yes, that's it, Michael-I can see it clearly. That's the fabric from Rags's swatch. I'm calling Craig right now."

"What did he say?" Michael asked when Savannah had hung up the phone.

"He seemed glad for the reminder. In fact, he was a little excited about it. I guess he'd forgotten about the fabric."

"I want to talk to one of the men we picked up last night," Craig Sledge told the sergeant in charge of the jail.

"Which one, Detective?"

"Gus Ramirez."

The sergeant looked down at a list. "Oh, we just let him go. He had a public defender and made bail."

"c.r.a.p!"

"Why do you want him?"

Craig looked over at him and said, "Well, someone let a cat out of a bag and I want to talk to him about it."

"Huh?" the sergeant c.o.c.ked his head slightly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Just don't rent out his cell to anyone else. He may be needin' it." With that, Craig turned on his heels and walked back to his office. "Gonzalez, let's go. We have a possible perp to nab."

After driving around for an hour in the area where they'd originally picked up the man named Gus Ramirez, Ramon Gonzalez said, "Sledge, we've been past this block eight times. He's not here."

"Well, he could be in the club or the tat parlor. Let's go see if we can find him there." They parked and walked into Clive's Tattoos. "Have you seen Gus tonight?"

"Nope," the tattoo artist said without looking up.

"Are you sure?" Craig said pulling the plug on the tattoo gun he was using.

"Yeah, man, I'm sure. Now quit interferin' with my business, man."

"Do you know where he might be this time of night?"

"Don't know-he'll probably be at the club later."

Once outside, Gonzalez said, "Sledge, why don't we go get dinner and then do a stake-out. No one goes to the clubs before nine."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm just eager to take a good look at this guy."

"Where do you want to eat? Your favorite place?"

Craig looked confused for a moment and then said, "Oh, the diner? Naw, she ain't workin' tonight."

"You sure are sweet on that gal, aren't you?"

"She's a great gal." Craig didn't want to tell his partner that he had Damon at his cabin and Iris and the boys were out there waiting for him. Looks like I won't return until late tonight, he thought. I'd better call. "Iris, how is everything?"

"Good. We're having a nice time getting reacquainted. When will you be here?"

"I'm on a hot trail, so it may be late."

"They're expecting rain tonight. Drive carefully, will you, ya big lug?"

"Sure, anything for you. Do you need me to bring anything tonight?"

"Just you," she said. Then her tone accelerated, "Hey the boys went fishing today. We're cooking up some trout for dinner. Craig, you should have seen what fun they had out there on the river together. I don't know how many times I cried from pure joy today. Thank you for giving me this wonderful gift," she said while looking at the three boys, who were in the kitchen cleaning their fish and trying to freak each other out with fish parts." She smiled. "We'll be here when you get here. Good luck with your...hot trail."

Chapter Nine.

A couple of hours later, Craig and Ramon Gonzalez parked across the street from Club Macho, watching for Gus Ramirez. "Is that him?" Gonzalez asked, looking from the man he saw on the street to the mug shot in his hand.

"That's him," Craig said, "and he's wearin' just the right attire."

"What?"

"Just hang tough. You'll find out in a few minutes. Let's go get him."

"Gus Ramirez?" Craig asked as he approached the man standing outside Club Macho.

The thickset Hispanic man spun around, dropped the joint he was smoking, and said, "Yeah, who wants to know?"

"Detective Sledge," Craig said, flashing his badge. "This is Sergeant Gonzalez. We want to ask you a few questions."

"About what, man? I paid my bail."

To Gonzalez's surprise, Craig reached over and began rubbing the fabric of Ramirez's lapel between his thumb and fingers.

"What do you want?" Gus said, slapping at the detective's hand and taking a step back.

"Just settle down, Gus," Sledge said. "I want to check you out." He looked the man up and down with a wide smile on his face and said, "Yep, you look mighty fine tonight. Just the way I hoped to find you." He thought for a moment and then said, "Let's go in the restroom, shall we?"

"What? Are you some sort of pervert? No, I'm not going in any john with you guys." He looked from one to the other and began backing away.

Craig reached out, grabbed the man, and bent one arm behind him. Pushing him along in front of him, he asked, "Where's the bathroom in this place?"

"In the back," Gonzalez said, himself somewhat perplexed by his partner's actions.

"Is there a back entrance?"

"Yeah."

"Good, let's go around back."

"Sledge, what are you doing?" Gonzalez asked in a hushed tone.

"You'll see, Gonzalez. Just stay with me here. In just a minute, you'll see this guy's true colors."

"Lock the door," Craig instructed his partner once the trio was inside the restroom. He cuffed Gus and then stood back and looked intently at him.

Craig couldn't help but notice beads of sweat running down Gus's ruddy face and disappearing into his thick black moustache. "What do ya want, man?" he asked. "What are ya gonna do? I'll have your badge, you try anything funny with me, you pervert."

Sledge reached over and began handling the lightweight, brown tweed shirt-jacket Gus wore. He examined it from top to bottom. Finally he found what he was looking for. "Ah, Gus, it appears that your dress suit here has a tear in it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the swatch Savannah had given him several days before and fingered it so that Gus could see it.

Gus's eyes grew large. "What's that, man? What do you want with me?"

"I want you to turn around and face Gonzalez, there."

Gus didn't budge, so Sledge took his right arm and swiveled him around. He held the swatch next to the hole near the bottom of the loose-fitting jacket and said, "Bingo. Do you see this here, Gonzalez? Perfect match, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," Ramon Gonzalez said, not quite understanding the significance of the discovery.

Sledge reached over and took the cuffs off Gus. "Now pull down your pants," Sledge ordered.

"No!" Gus shouted. "No! I'm not gonna let you..."

"Let me what? Get your mind out of the gutter. I just want to look at something."

"Don't you need a warrant?"

"No, but you'll need a feeding tube if you don't do as I say."

"Okay man, okay." Gus unfastened his baggy slacks and looked at Craig.

"Drop 'em." And if it will make you feel any better, I want you to leave your shorts on-if you're wearin' shorts." He raised his voice, "Just drop your pants."

Gus complied and Sledge put the cuffs back on him, his hands behind his back. Craig then squatted down and looked at the back of Gus's right thigh. "Oh, Gus, what happened here?" he asked as if he was actually concerned.

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I see a gnarly scratch-looks like you got a pretty good gouge here, maybe a week ago. Looks a little infected." He stood and turned Gus around so he could look him in the eye. "So what happened? Were you hopping over a barbed-wire fence or something?"

"Yeah," Gus said, sweat pouring out of his forehead. "Uh, yeah. I got caught on a d.a.m.n fence...when I was out in the country...fishin'. Yeah, that's it, I was fishin' and had to climb over a fence."

"Well, it looks to me more like..." he got in Gus's face and continued, "a cat scratch. Don't you think so, Gonzalez?"

Gus started yelling. "No man. There was no cat. I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Well, how is it that the cat had this piece right out of your jacket there? And the piece is missing from right where this scratch is?"

"This aint' my shirt, man. I borrowed it from a homeless guy."

"Ramirez, pull your pants up." He uncuffed him so he could comply and then quickly cuffed him again. "Okay, let's go."