Now, looking at the dark monitor, he lifted a tentative paw over the keyboard. If he was to really try, could he learn to bring up police reports? Run fingerprints through AFIS? Access mug shots? Oh, right. And get caught in here alone using Max’s computer, and wouldn’t that tear it? Turning away from temptation, into Max’s bookcase, he curled up in a vacant space between copies of the California Penal Code, hoping the chief or one of the detectives would come dragging back in the small hours with some new information. Snuggled between the heavy books, he was soon warm and yawning; soon sleep eased around him like a huge hand offering comfort and safe harbor, all the security of home.
JOE WAS JERKED awake when the office lights blazed on. He sat up in the bookcase, slitting his eyes against the glare, watched Max toss his Levi’s jacket on the couch. The desk phone was flashing red. The chief sat down in his swivel chair, put his feet on the desk, leaning so far back that his brown, short-cropped, thinning hair was right in Joe’s face. He picked up the headset, didn’t turn on the speaker.
Leaning out from the bookshelf, Joe eased so close to the chief that his whiskers were only inches from Harper’s ear. It took him a minute to realize that Max was talking with the LAPD. Detective Sam Lakey’s voice was gravelly, he sounded like he had a few years on him, and maybe a bit of extra flesh, as well. “You have our BOL on Pearl Toola?”
“We have,” Max said. “So far, no line on her. What’s up?”
“You’ve talked with homicide, here?” Lakey said. “On the murder of her ex-husband and his wife?”
“Several times.”
“What we have now might be related, or might not. We’re looking at her in an embezzlement, a new case that just came in. Homicide’s thinking this might be connected, the thefts a possible motive for the Toola murders in San Bernardino County.
“Beckman Heavy Equipment,” Lakey said. “It’s a contractor’s rental service. Eight hundred thousand dollars missing. Pearl was their bookkeeper, she and Caroline Toola both worked there. They were neighbors, Caroline helped her get the job there some five years ago. Both were still employed there when Caroline died. Pearl left the firm shortly after the murders, told them she needed to get away for a while, too much stress after her ex-husband was shot.” There was amusement in his voice.
Max said, “And the company’s just now reporting the discrepancy?”
“They just now found it,” Lakey said. “When Pearl left, they were without a full-time bookkeeper; it was a make-do situation for a while, utilizing other office help. When they finally found a new bookkeeper, she not only uncovered the bogus withdrawals, she’s certain it was Pearl. Said most likely Pearl would have kept a second set of books, said you couldn’t pull off that kind of manipulation and keep things straight without your own written record. And of course there’s no way Pearl would have the second set of figures on the computer. Even if she’d erased it, it would still be on the hard drive, could still be found by a pro.”
“So Pearl rips them off,” Max said, “Caroline finds out, but in some way tips her hand that she knows.”
“Possible,” Lakey said.
Then Pearl killed Caroline not only out of jealousy, the tomcat thought, but to silence her, keep her from blowing the whistle? Joe was frowning down at Max’s notes when he heard Kathleen’s voice from up at the front desk, and immediately eased back between the hard volumes. He was curled up again pretending to nap when Kathleen’s footsteps came down the hall. She stopped in the doorway, looking in. Max motioned her on in, motioned for her to pull up a chair, and turned the speaker on.
Lakey was saying, “Beckman’s new bookkeeper spent several days going over the books, to familiarize herself with how the company operated and to get a jump on tax season. When she began to find the discrepancies, she called in Mr. Beckman. He took one look, and they got in a second accountant to help her. They traced the problem backward, contacted a number of customers to have a look at their statements—which didn’t match the copies in the Beckman files. The thefts, and the bogus entries, stopped after the murders. Six weeks later, Pearl left the company.
“She told Homicide she was moving down to San Diego for a while because of the stress, that she’d be staying with a friend. When Jimmie Beckman was sure the books had been doctored, he called us, called in his lawyer, and filed charges.
“San Diego said Pearl never arrived at the address she gave, and didn’t contact the friend. That was late June. Then when Maudie moved to Molena Point, homicide thought Pearl might follow her up there. You’re the best lead we have,” Lakey said. “You have a file on her?”
Max nodded. “Fingerprints. Photographs. Thirty-seven years old. Five ten, about 140 pounds. Jet black, straight hair. Shoulder length, in a forties-style pageboy. Unusually white skin. Lean, bony face. Dark brown eyes, almost black. Some ten years ago, she worked the blackjack tables at Harrah’s, in Vegas. California driver’s license, no rap sheet.”
Listening to the description of Pearl, Joe grew as edgy as if he had ticks in his fur. Tall woman, thin, bony face. How long had that tall blonde been at the motel? How long had she been in the village? In his opinion, if this was Pearl Toola with a bleach job, a short haircut, and a permanent, she hadn’t improved her looks much. He thought about the photographs of Benny’s lean, sour-looking mother. Why hadn’t he recognized her tonight, after having looked at Maudie’s album? Why hadn’t he known the sharp-faced blonde at once, despite the straw-colored hair?
Max said, “Pearl embezzles nearly a mill, keeps a second set of books, and before she skips she kills the one coworker who might know enough to turn her in. She already hates Caroline, for presumably stealing her husband, so she does a thorough job of it, and kills them both.”
When Max and Lakey hung up, Max filled Kathleen in.
“So Pearl,” Kathleen said, “thinking Maudie might have seen her the night she shot them, follows Maudie here.”
“But why didn’t Caroline blow the whistle on Pearl at once?” Max said. “Turn her in when she first found out?”
“Because of the child?” Kathleen said. “Because with the trauma of the divorce, she didn’t want that dumped on the kid, too? To know his mother was a criminal and was in jail? Maybe she meant to wait until the missing money was discovered, and then hand over the evidence?”
“Or was Caroline already blackmailing Pearl?” Max said. “And that was why Pearl killed her?”
On the bookshelf, Joe Grey was thinking that the only thing the two hadn’t nailed down—and he felt sure they were right on target—was Pearl’s connection to the invasions. If that really was Pearl in the motel, if he wasn’t imagining the likeness. Had Dallas picked up any prints in the motel? But Pearl had no record, so there’d be nothing on her in AFIS. And why would Pearl, arriving in Molena Point following Maudie, take part in a series of attacks that seemed to have nothing to do with the murders or the embezzlement? What exactly was her connection to the invasions?
But that was puzzling only until he remembered that Pearl knew Kent Colletto. That she’d been coming up to the village every summer for years, with Maudie’s family, ever since Benny was a baby, that Pearl had known the Colletto boys from the time they were little kids. The tomcat, sandwiched among the volumes of the California Penal Code, sat thinking.
So far, the police had no reason to compare the blonde’s prints—provided they’d found any—with the prints on L.A.’s report. No reason to connect the invasions to Pearl, no lead to Pearl in AFIS. The tomcat fidgeted with his need to join the discussion, to suggest to the chief they compare Pearl’s prints to the woman in the motel. And the only way he could communicate with the chief was by phone, unseen, unrecognized. He thought about the dark, empty offices opening along the hall, all those unattended phones so quickly accessible. He had only to slip into any office and place a call to Max.