Miaow doesn't speak. Rafferty is looking at her, but he can feel Morrison's eyes dart to him. He returns the man's gaze and gives a tiny shrug.
"The two of you have discussed this, haven't you?" Morrison asks.
"Sure. She's just nervous about what you're going to ask her."
"Is that it, Miaow? Are you worried about what I'm going to ask you?"
"Talk about Poke okay," Miaow says in the same stubborn pidgin. "Talk before Poke no good."
"Her English-" Rafferty begins, but Morrison warns him off with a look.
"That's fine, then. Let's talk about Poke. Do you like living with Poke, Miaow?"
She chews her lower lip, folds and unfolds her hands, and squirms on the hard couch. After what seems like an eternity, she nods.
"And, Poke, do you like having Miaow live with you?"
"I love Miaow," Rafferty says.
"Do you think Miaow loves you?"
"I hope so. But she'd have to tell you that."
Morrison looks at Miaow expectantly. Miaow opens her mouth and closes it again. Then, moving stiffly, she reaches over and puts her hand in Rafferty's. She turns her head and regards him soberly. Something inside Rafferty shivers and then dissolves.
Morrison sits back in his chair with a suppressed sigh. He crosses his legs and relaxes. "Tell me about Poke's apartment, Miaow."
Miaow looks surprised at the question. She closes her eyes for a moment as though she is searching it for a trap. "High," she says at last.
"Really." Morrison sounds impressed. "How high?"
"Eight floors." She raises her right hand as high as it will go and keeps it there. "Eight floors above the street. No dirt."
"Well, well. How many rooms?"
Miaow's eyes go to the wall as she visualizes it. "Four."
"Let me guess," Morrison says, beginning to count on his fingers. "You have a living room, and a kitchen, and Poke's bedroom, and-and-"
"My bedroom," Miaow says. "I have one room for me."
"You're a lucky girl. Lots of kids don't have their own room."
"Lots of kids don't have a house," Miaow says severely. Rafferty begins to relax. "We have a bathroom, too. Our own bathroom. It has hot water. We can use it and Rose can use it, but nobody else gets to use it, no matter how bad they have to go, unless we say they can."
"Would you let me use it?" Morrison asks.
"If you said please." She adjusts herself on the couch. "Then, maybe."
"Who is Rose?"
For a moment Miaow looks confused, as though it is impossible that there should be someone who doesn't know Rose. Then she says, "Poke's girlfriend." She looks up at Poke and says, "Same-same mama for me." Rafferty involuntarily says, "Ohh," and wishes Rose had heard her.
Morrison pulls his chair a few inches closer. "Tell me one thing you like about Poke."
Miaow looks up at Rafferty again and then down at the center of his chest. "He never yells at me. Not even once."
"Tell me one thing you don't like about Poke."
She gives it a moment's thought. "His clothes. He doesn't have any pretty clothes."
"I do too," Rafferty says immediately.
"Do not."
"Do too."
Morrison's eyes go back and forth between them.
Miaow grabs a handful of Rafferty's sport coat and gives it a tug hard enough to pop a button. "You don't have any pink shirts except the one I bought you."
"You bought Poke a shirt, Miaow?"
A decisive nod. "All of his are ugly."
"I've noticed," Morrison says.
"Two against one," Rafferty says bitterly.
Miaow barks a laugh and elbows him, surprisingly hard, in the ribs. "Same as Rose and me."
"Tell me about your room, Miaow."
"It's pink," Miaow says. "Poke bought me a pink rug, too. And I have two beds, on top of each other, like a building-"
"Bunk beds?" Morrison asks.
"And I can hang pictures anywhere I want, and there's a really little room that's just for my clothes. A room just for clothes. And I have almost enough clothes to fill it, and they're new clothes, too. They smell good. And if I don't want anybody to come in my room, I can close the door."
"Do you lock it?"
"No. I use the frowny face when I don't want anybody to come in. When it's okay for people to come in, I use the smiley face. I made them," she adds, in case Morrison is confused. "They're really cardboard, but I drew faces on them."
"And you sleep there all alone."
"Except for Superman," Miaow says, and Morrison's eyebrows leap half an inch.
"It's temporary," Rafferty says, but Miaow is already talking.
"He used to sleep on the couch, but now Poke sleeps there. With a gun. To protect us."
"Really," Morrison says icily, and Rafferty's cell phone rings.
"Ummm," Rafferty says, and answers the phone.
"People keep beating him up," Miaow says happily.
"Arthit?" Rafferty is aware of Morrison's very level blue eyes on him.
"We've got her," Arthit says. "We've got an address, I mean."
"Is anybody home?"
"How would I know? We found a neighbor lady who knows where the sister moved. They might still be together."
"Is your man still on the scene?"
"Sure. He just called."
"Have him watch the door. He shouldn't talk to her, unless she tries to leave. He can't let her leave."
"Poke," Morrison says, flagging for attention.
"Where is it?" Rafferty asks, pulling out his notebook.
Arthit gives him an address.
"I'll get there as fast as I can." He hangs up and finds Morrison regarding him questioningly.
"I have a problem," Rafferty says. "Start with Miaow, okay, Hank? I'll be back by the time you're finished."
"This is an important meeting," Morrison says. "It's not something we can start and stop again. You should have cleared the afternoon, Poke."
"I did, Hank. This is something I can't help. It's an emergency."
"Emergencies. Sleeping in the living room with a gun. This is not what I wanted to hear today."
"Miaow will explain it. Is that okay with you, Miaow?"
Miaow looks from him to Morrison. "I guess."
"Hank, it won't happen again. All this stuff is temporary. I'm trying to help somebody, and it just-"
"I'll let Miaow tell me about it." Morrison is obviously disconcerted. "But if you're not back here in ninety minutes, Poke, we're going to have a problem."
Rafferty rises, adjusting his jacket to keep Morrison from seeing the gun. "I'll be back. This is an emergency. Only this time, Hank. Seriously. Once in a lifetime."
As he leaves the room, he hears Miaow say, "He's always like that."
"I don't know where she is."
Doughnut's sister walks with a limp so severe it almost looks like a parody, dragging a flopping foot behind her like a stone. She grips the furniture as she goes, looking for balance. The living room is arranged so there is something solid for her to hold on to every three or four feet. She wears a loose, shapeless black dress, ankle length, and a wide black plastic bracelet on her left wrist. Her face puts her somewhere in her thirties, but they have obviously been hard years. Strands of gray are already woven through her hair.
Rafferty is standing in the doorway, since she did not invite him in. "But you can get a message to her."
She makes an equivocal gesture with her right hand: Maybe, maybe not. Her left hand is holding on to the back of a chair.
"This is important," Rafferty says. "To your sister and to you, too."
A dubious shake of the head. "So what is it?"
"I want you to tell her this: I understand why she kept the three disks from Claus Ulrich's apartment. Tell her I know what happened to Claus and why, but no one else does. There are no police involved. If she talks to me, I'll try to make sure that no police become involved."
Her eyes had widened fractionally at Ulrich's name, but now the impassive face is back in place. "And if she doesn't?"