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  “Sorry I’m late. I had to deliver a goat.”

  Vaughn shot Davie a wide-eyed stare. She’d seen that look before: We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  Davie didn’t know if Amber Johnson was a cab driver or a midwife but decided to let the truth come out organically.

  “No problem,” she said. “The door was unlocked so, we decided to wait inside.”

  Amber’s hiking boots left dusty footprints on the polished floor as she walked toward them. “That’s weird. The door should have been locked, and how did you get through the gate?”

  “Somebody cut the lock,” Davie said.

  The woman frowned as her gaze swept the room. “Where are Mr. Woodrow’s things?” Her expression turned to alarm. “Somebody must have broken in. They stole everything.”

  “Is it possible that Mr. Woodrow moved out?” Vaughn said.

  “If he did, nobody told me.”

  Vaughn moved toward her. “Were his rent payments current?”

  Amber wandered into the kitchen, perhaps to make sure the emptiness wasn’t an aberration. “He paid for a year in advance. There were still three months left on the lease.”

  “How did he pay?” Davie said.

  The woman opened a kitchen drawer but found it empty. Davie should have cautioned her not to touch anything, but her fingerprints probably didn’t matter. The place had not only been stripped of Woodrow’s possessions, it appeared to have been sanitized.

  “I didn’t handle the money. I was told Mr. Woodrow wired funds directly to the owner’s account.”

  “Who hired you to look after the place?”

  Amber turned toward Davie, still dazed by the condition of the house. “A lawyer who worked for the owner.”

  “He hired you because you’re in real estate?”

  “I got my license but I’ve never actually sold anything. My kids and I run a small organic farm, so that takes up most of my time.”

  “Do you manage other properties?”

  “Just this one.” Amber must have realized how odd that sounded. “The lawyer called out of the blue. Said he found my name on an Internet site about local Topanga businesses. He told me Mr. Woodrow traveled a lot and the owners wanted somebody local to watch the place in case of wildfires. He offered to pay me a lot of money, so I said sure.”

  Davie hadn’t been able to locate the property owner, so this was good news. “I’ll need the name and number of that attorney.”

  Amber opened her phone and called out the information. Davie recorded it in her chrono notes. The attorney’s name was Alden Brink, and the area code wasn’t local. Davie did a quick search and found his number registered to a cell in Virginia, which meant he could be anywhere. Amber also gave her Zeke Woodrow’s cell number.

  Amber moved into the dining room and made a 360-degree turn. “Everything is gone, even the curtains.” She opened the French doors and disappeared around the side of the house.

  Davie followed as far as the patio, where she and Vaughn stood on the flagstones, inhaling the fragrance of sage that drifted up from the canyon. A coyote howled in the distance. A hawk flew overhead, searching for lunch. She scanned the area for anything that looked out of place but saw nothing suspicious.

  The sun was high in the sky, casting shadows on the landscape. Davie thought of Zeke Woodrow, ambushed in that airport parking garage, and wondered why he had been there and who had wanted him dead. Even if he had left clues in the house that pointed to his killer, somebody had swept them away, along with all of his possessions. So far, nothing about this case made sense.

  Vaughn was holding his nose. “Smells organic out here.”

  “Imagine sitting on a deck chair with your morning coffee, looking at nothing but unspoiled wilderness.”

  “I’d rather be playing volleyball at the beach.”

  Amber Johnson reappeared and walked over to join them. “Everything looks okay in the side yard.”

  Before Davie could respond, her eye caught a flash of light on the slope below. She squinted against the sun and saw two eyes staring at her from inside a drainage pipe that had been cut into the soil midway down the hillside.

  Davie poked Vaughn’s arm and pointed toward the light. “Did you see that? Looks like some kind of animal.”

  “I hope it’s not a skunk,” Vaughn said. “I’d have to burn my new suit.”

  Amber walked to the edge of the patio, raising her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. “That’s Mr. Woodrow’s cat, Hootch.”

  “What kind of a name is that?” Vaughn said.

  Amber sat on her heels at the edge of the hillside. “It’s a hillbilly term for alcohol, I think.”

  Davie rummaged in her pocket for her sunglasses. “Would Mr. Woodrow move and leave his cat behind?”

  “I can’t image him doing that,” she said. “He loved that cat. Besides, we don’t let our pets run free up here because of the coyotes.”

  “Sounds like you and Mr. Woodrow were tight,” Vaughn said.

  “Actually, I never met him. Like I told you before, he traveled a lot. When he went out of town, I came over once a day to feed the cat and clean his box.”

  Davie squatted next to her. “Did he ask you to cat sit in the last couple of days?”

  Amber reached out and snapped her fingers to get the cat’s attention. “He texted a couple of days ago to let me know he was leaving again—today, in fact. I assumed he’d be here this morning to take care of Hootch, so I wasn’t planning to drop by until tonight. I can’t imagine what happened. Maybe the movers accidentally let Hootch out and Mr. Woodrow didn’t notice. Except, why didn’t he tell me he was leaving before the lease expired, and why would he need a cat sitter if he was moving out?”

  Hootch must have recognized Amber’s voice, because he crawled out from the drainage pipe and slowly crept up the hillside. He appeared to be a large longhaired tabby, charcoal gray and beige. He reached the edge of the patio and froze, staring at Davie with suspicious pistachio-green eyes.

  Davie held out her hand. “Hey, buddy, why are you out here all alone?”

  The cat must have hoped there was food in that outstretched hand, because he slinked forward. When he got close enough, Davie petted his coat. It was matted with dirt and twigs. Hootch brushed his body against her arm, leaving a smear of cat hair on the sleeve of her black polyester jacket.

  “Poor baby,” Amber said. “Now that Mr. Woodrow has passed, I could ask a friend of mine to take Hootch. She runs a no-kill shelter and I’m sure she’d find him a good home.”

  Davie remembered the call of that coyote and knew the cat wasn’t safe living outside. She could let Amber take Hootch to her friend’s shelter, but she hadn’t yet located Woodrow’s next of kin. Maybe someone in the family wanted the cat.

  “I’ll take charge of him for now.”

  Vaughn flashed her a look that said, What the hell? She ignored his silent warning but wrote the name of the shelter in her notebook just in case.

  Hootch didn’t protest when Davie gathered him in her arms. He was heavy, about twelve pounds, she guessed. She moved toward the door, trailed by her partner, unsure about taking the cat into custody. She’d never owned a pet and didn’t know how to care for this one, even temporarily. Homicide detectives spoke for the dead, standing alone in the victim’s shoes and protecting their interests against those of all others. Maybe that also held true for their cats. Hootch’s destiny was in her hands now, and she would do whatever it took to make sure he landed on his feet.

  5

  Davie and Vaughn had just left Zeke Woodrow’s empty house and were sitting in the detective car. She could tell her partner’s irritation had faded when he agreed to drive while Davie held Hootch on her lap in the passenger seat. The sun had spiked the temperature in the car to sauna level, but opening a window created a poten
tial escape route for Hootch. Instead, Davie cranked up the A/C.

  “I’ve never arrested a cat before,” Vaughn said.

  “You should broaden your horizons, Jason.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “I’ll figure it out. First, we need to talk to Alden Brink. If we’re lucky, his office is nearby so we can interview him. Otherwise, we’ll head back to the station.”

  Hootch seemed content to sit in Davie’s lap, so she used the car’s computer to search for Alden Brink. The name was unusual but even so, she got a few hits. None seemed like a plausible match, but because it was always wise to know as much as possible about a potential witness, she ran the limited information through law enforcement databases.

  Vaughn glanced at the screen of her cell. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing.” She keyed in Brink’s telephone number and waited for somebody to answer.

  “Law offices.” The woman’s voice was nasally and hollow, like it came from some distant galaxy. Davie identified herself and asked to speak to Brink.

  “He isn’t available. Would you like to leave a message?”

  Davie checked her watch and scrawled the time on her chrono notes. “Where are you located?”

  There was a long silence. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  The woman’s response struck Davie as odd. “What’s your address?”

  “Please hold.”

  Vaughn was no longer content to listen to her side of the conversation. “What’s happening?”

  “Stonewalling.” She held the receiver to her ear for at least a minute before she heard a man’s voice on the line. That surprised her.

  “This is Alden Brink. How can I help you, Detective?”

  “I got your name from Amber Johnson. She said you represent the owner of a property in Topanga Canyon. Is that correct?”

  “What can I do for you?”

  His tone was self-assured, but Davie noted he hadn’t answered her question. “I’m investigating the murder of the tenant who was leasing the property—Zeke Woodrow.”

  There was a long silence before he responded. “Murdered? Sorry to hear it. What happened?”

  “We’re still investigating.”

  “Of course.” There was a sound of papers rustling. “I was just processing Mr. Woodrow’s paperwork. He did live in the house, but according to my records, he moved out this past weekend.”

  “I guess you forgot to tell Amber Johnson about the move.”

  “It was on my things-to-do list.” His tone was smooth and confident, like he was playing a mind game he had already won.

  “The house looked sanitized. Who did the cleanup?”

  He cleared his throat before answering. “That would have been the tenant’s responsibility. I don’t know who he hired, but I’m glad to hear they did a good job.”

  Davie ran her fingers over Hootch’s matted hair. “Does the lease list Mr. Woodrow’s next of kin or somebody to call in case of emergency?”

  There was more shuffling of paper. “I don’t see anything like that here.”

  “Did Mr. Woodrow leave a forwarding address?”

  “We didn’t need one. He left before the lease expired, so there was no refund. We consider the matter closed.”

  “Your cell has a Virginia area code. Is that where your office is located?”

  Davie heard the receptionist’s voice in the background. “Just a minute,” Brink said. “I have to take another call.” His next words were muffled as if he were talking to somebody standing next to him. “Here, hold this,” he continued. “Just don’t touch this button—” The call was disconnected. Davie redialed but nobody answered.

  “What happened?” Vaughn said.

  She looked at her partner. “I’m not sure. Either Alden Brink runs the most dysfunctional law office on the planet or it’s time to up our game.”

  The cat seemed calm until Vaughn put the car in drive. The noise must have triggered a flashback, because Hootch clawed his way up to Davie’s shoulder and launched his body into the back of the car, leaving her skin burning with pain. She turned in time to see him burrow into the space beneath the seat.

  “We’ll have to dismantle the ride to get him out of there,” Vaughn said, clearly irritated.

  “Chill, Jason. One of the garage mechanics can remove the backseat if it comes to that.”

  “You need to get him out of there,” Vaughn said. “What if he freaks out again and causes an accident?“

  Her partner had a point. Hootch had already snagged her jacket and clawed her shoulder. Who knew the extent of his fury?

  “I can try to coax him out, but I’ll need the universal persuader—food. Let’s find a pet store.”

  She used her cell to locate a retail outlet a short distance away. Davie dashed inside while her partner stayed in the car to call Officer Luna at the Airport Police station to ask about a backdoor into Woodrow’s military records.

  When Davie came out of the store, she had a shopping cart full of essential supplies, including a litter box, food, a large airplane crate, and a credit card receipt for $105.96. Vaughn watched as she loaded part of the supplies into the trunk. Davie climbed into the back with the crate and the food, knelt on the floor, and peered into the dark space beneath the seat. A pair of pistachio-green eyes glared back at her. She popped the tab on a can of salmon cat food and peeled off the lid.

  “Jeez, Davie. What kind of crap are you feeding him? It’s stinking up the car.”

  She slid the can toward Hootch’s hiding place. “Turn up the air conditioner.”

  “It’s already cranked up to Polar Vortex.”

  “Did you talk to Luna?”

  Vaughn shifted and backed out of the parking spot. “He doesn’t know how to access Woodrow’s records, but he’s an active Reserve, so he’s going to use his ID to get into the system. If he finds anything, he’ll let us know.”

  Hootch wasn’t responding to the bait, so Davie scooped some salmon onto her finger and shoved her hand under the seat.

  Vaughn merged into traffic. “At least it beats getting a court order and waiting ten weeks for a response.”

  “Any other alternatives?”

  “He said we could contact the Army’s personnel office. They might at least give us the name of a relative.”

  As the car accelerated onto the freeway, Davie felt something like sandpaper scrape across her finger. She pulled her hand from under the seat to inspect for injuries. The food was gone. She reloaded her finger with salmon and pushed it toward the cat. It took fifteen more minutes to lure Hootch out from under the seat. As she coaxed him into the crate, her fingers felt something small and hard between his shoulder blades.

  “The cat has a lump on his neck.”

  “How big is it?”

  She probed Hootch’s skin. “Hard to say. About a millimeter long and half as wide.”

  “That’s what he gets for sleeping rough in the wilds of Topanga Canyon.”

  She nudged Hootch into the crate and closed the door. “I think we should take him to a vet.”

  Vaughn lowered the visor to block the sun. “I told you not to bring him with us. We’re trying to solve a homicide, Davie. We don’t have time for a sick cat.”

  “He’s the victim’s cat. That makes me responsible for his well­being. There’s a clinic on Sepulveda near Santa Monica Boulevard. It’s open 24/7 and it’s on our way to the station. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll tell them it’s an emergency.”

  “A vet in West L.A.? Are you kidding me? It’ll cost a fortune. Just don’t ask me to chip in on the bill.”

  “You spend more than that every day on lattes.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Check back with me when they cut off your credit.”

  6

  Vaughn parked the car
on the bottom floor of the veterinary clinic garage in a spot that allowed Davie to see the street, an accommodation her partner made without comment.

  He opened the windows to rid the car of cat food odor. “I’ll stay here and make a few more calls.”

  Davie horsed the heavy crate to the elevator and pushed the button for the second floor. A set of double doors opened into a well-lit lobby where the fragrance of flowery disinfectant hovered in the air. She assumed the strong chemical smell was an attempt to reassure pets and their owners that microbes or flesh-eating viruses need not apply.

  A middle-aged woman sat on a couch, sharing a sloppy kiss with her little black dog. A man and woman who looked like two investment bankers sat on the opposite side of the room talking on their cell phones and completely ignoring their apricot poodle. She wondered if there was a happy medium when it came to pet owners. At least she heard no sobbing. She wasn’t sure she could handle that.

  Hootch howled as they sat together on one of the couches, waiting for the next available veterinarian. She poked her finger inside the crate and stroked his nose, but the gesture didn’t comfort him.

  A few minutes later, a man in his mid-thirties walked toward her. His brown eyes were engaged and focused completely on her as he introduced himself as Dr. Dimetri. His short beard and flowing mahogany hair reminded her of a Russian orchestra conductor—a bit mad but in an appealing sort of way.

  He smiled warmly. “Come with me, please.”

  He motioned for her to follow him down a long aisle. Hootch continued to meow as Dimetri ushered her into one of several examining rooms. She lifted the crate onto a stainless steel table and told the doctor about the lump on the cat’s neck.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said.