Clyde shouted at him, then followed him, running-but before Joe hit the shop door, he stopped. He did a sudden, cartoon cat skid, spinning back to the curb, to the gutter where the tiny, bright corner of a credit card had caught his attention with a hint of Wilma�s scent and the faint, metallic smell of blood.
Pawing aside a crumpled paper bag, he uncovered the bent plastic card. Yes, it smelled of Wilma, all right. It had been folded the way Clyde folded his outdated credit cards when new ones arrived in the mail. He would fold the old card once, break it in half, then fold and break it again before he threw it away.
This card wasn�t broken, just bent. The name Wilma Getz was embossed clearly below the red band that bore the name of a chain bookstore for which Wilma received bonus credits. It was the red stripe across the top that had caught Joe�s attention.
The asphalt beneath where it had lain featured what was clearly a blood spot, dry but fresh. In this heat it wouldn�t take long to dry. He tried to calculate. Maybe an hour? He had no way to ascertain exactly how long since that blood had been spilled, but surely no more than three hours. He was no forensic pathologist, he was just a simple hunter who�d had a fair amount of experience with spilled blood. Taking the card in his teeth, he backed out of the gutter looking up at Clyde.
Gently Clyde reached for it, lifting it gingerly by one edge. He looked at its brightly colored logo and at Wilma�s embossed name. �What�s that on the corner? Is that blood?�
�Blood.�
�You sure?�
Joe just looked at him.
�Human blood?� Clyde asked. He had total faith in Joe�s ability to distinguish human blood from, say, mouse blood or the blood of some canine unfortunate enough to have run afoul of the tomcat.
�Human blood,� Joe said.
�That could be the blood in Wilma�s car, then. Can you tell if it�s Wilma�s blood?�
�That I can�t tell.�
Clyde looked around them, but no one was near to witness their exchange.�This,� Clyde said, �is what we came to find! This, we can show Davis. How the hell did you see this, how did you find this under that trash?�
�Saw the red stripe, then caught her scent. My superior sense of smell, and my superior wide-angle vision, combined with a far more sensitive retina that enables me to-�
�Okay! I�ve read the books. You smelled it, then you saw it.� Reaching down, Clyde gripped Joe firmly, both out of friendship and to keep him from leaping away again as they headed for the car. Joe refrained from pointing out that if he hadn�t left the car, against orders, he would never have found this piece of evidence.
Before Clyde started the engine, he laid the credit card in a clean tissue, folded the corners over, and placed it, too, in the glove compartment. Then he called Davis�s cell, switching on the speaker out of deference to Joe.
She picked up on the first ring, grunted when she heard Clyde�s voice. �I�m sitting in Chili�s with a couple of CHP guys. Sheriff�s deputy just left. I�ll meet you by the register.�
Driving the short distance across the parking lot, Clyde pulled into a slot in front of the restaurant, then looked down at Joe.�That was a long shot on Wilma�s part.�
�Maybe that was all she had time to do. She�d know there�d be a report out for her when she didn�t show up, that her name would be on every police computer��
�The street sweeper could have picked it up, anyone could have.� Clyde removed the wrapped credit card from the glove compartment, leaving the lipstick-stained tissue. �Here comes Davis up to the front. Get in the carrier; you�re not staying here.� He gave Joe a stern look. �If I can smuggle you into Chili�s, you damn well better behave yourself. No yowling. No thrashing around making a scene.�
�When have I ever yowled and thrashed around making a scene, as you put it? I want to hear what Davis found. Order me a burger. Rare, with no-�
�I know how you like your burgers. Shut up and get in the carrier.�
20
J oe slunk into the cat carrier growling at Clyde, watched Clyde fasten the latches, and felt the carrier rudely snatched up and swung out of the car; the next moment they were entering Chili�s, into a heady miasma of broiled hamburger, French fries, and various rich pastas that hit the tomcat with a jolt. He hadn�t realized he was so hungry. Clyde greeted Davis and they settled into a booth, Clyde dropping Joe�s carrier on the leather seat, which smelled of uncounted occupants and of spilled mustard.
�Have you eaten?� Clyde asked her.
�No,� Davis said. �Nothing but coffee, I�m awash in it.�
Joe, if he sat tall in the carrier, could see the sturdily built detective across the table, her short black hair smooth and clean, her dark uniform regulation severe. Where most detectives wore civilian clothes, easy and comfortable, Juana Davis preferred a uniform. Joe�s theory was, she felt that it made her look slimmer. �I�m starved,� she said, picking up her menu.
When the hostess came, glancing apprehensively into the carrier, Clyde said,�Just got off the plane. Trained cat, very valuable. He does movie work.� The yellow luggage ticket hanging from the handle was an excellent touch, and seemed to impress the thin, swarthy waitress.
�What movies has he made?� she asked with a considerable accent.
�Oh, he�s done over a dozen films as a bit player, but only two so far where he starred, where he had top billing.� Clyde mentioned two nonexistent movie titles, hoping she hadn�t lived in the U.S. long enough to know the difference.
Davis, sitting across from Clyde, remained straight-faced. When the waitress had taken their order and disappeared, Davis said,�I�m not going to ask why you brought your cat. Or why you took him into Liz Claiborne�s.� She looked at Clyde for a long time. He said nothing. �Are you going to explain to me what happened in there? I heard a pretty strange story from the deputy who just came from talking with the manager.�
Clyde looked at her blankly.
�About the tissue,� Davis said patiently. �And about that tomcat running loose in the store.�
Clyde gave her a disingenuous look that to anyone but a cop would reek of honesty.�He got out of his carrier. Guess I didn�t fasten it securely. Cat picked up a used tissue somewhere while I was describing Wilma, asking if she�d been there. I thought I had the carrier door fastened.�
Davis did not respond. Joe wished she�d show some expression. As warm and thoughtful as Juana Davis was on occasion, that cop�s look could be unnerving.
�Juana,� Clyde said, �Wilma�s like my family, you know that. I�m really worried about her, I had to just go in and ask, had to do something. I�with Wilma gone, I didn�t have anyone to leave the cat with.
�But then,� he said with excitement, �when I left the store, luck was with me. Incredible�� He reached in his pocket, drew out the wrapped credit card, laid it on the table, and opened the tissue. �Looks like, for once, my stupid civilian nosiness paid off.�
Davis looked at the credit card, at Wilma�s name, at the dark stain that appeared to be dried blood. She looked up at Clyde. Still a cop�s look, silent and expressionless, a look designed to unnerve the toughest convict.
�It was in the gutter. Among some trash, right where I parked my car.�
Juana�s rigid demeanor and her unreadable black Latina eyes made her look more severe than she was.
�I figure,� Clyde said, �either someone robbed her and dropped this-except why was it bent? Or that Wilma was mugged and kidnapped, and had time to drop it herself. To bend it and drop it. A carjacking, maybe? You think that�s blood on there? Could she have slashed someone with it, then dropped it hoping it would be found?�